Marrying Her Viking Enemy
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He raised his chin a notch and gave her an approving nod. ‘You’re a quick learner.’
He said it as if the trait met with his approval and that approval filled her with pride. Instead of commenting on his statement and facing that emotion, she asked, ‘How is your shoulder?’
Part of her had wondered in anticipation if Lady Gwendolyn would direct her to tend to him again that morning, while another part of her had been busy coming up with a bevy of excuses that would get her out of the task. In the end it hadn’t mattered, she’d left the little alcove she shared with Ellan at the same time a serving girl had emerged from his chamber. The white hot flair of jealousy she’d experienced had been quickly extinguished and tucked out of sight. What did it matter to her if someone else tended him? It particularly did not matter that the girl had emerged with mussed hair, making Elswyth wonder exactly how long she’d stayed in Rolfe’s chamber and to which part of him she had attended.
‘It’s sore but improved.’ His honesty impressed her. Most men she knew would not admit to any ailment. Her older brother Galan had once walked on a broken foot for three whole days before it had swollen so large that his shoe had to be cut off. Only then had he admitted he ‘might have twisted it a bit’.
‘Is there any inflammation? Heat?’
He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Not any more than there was, but I’m nearly out of the salve you left. Can you can bring more tonight?’
She stared at him, weighing the risks of agreeing to help him again. There was no denying the fact that helping him would give her a chance to gather information for Father, but her sense of self-preservation warned her away from him. He unsettled her, making her feel interest when she shouldn’t. Yet, she understood that to refuse would rouse suspicion, so she nodded and said, ‘I’ll prepare more for you.’
‘Do you wield the axe as well as you do the bow?’ The abrupt change in topic startled her, prompting him to nod towards her hip where her axe was secured.
‘Better. I’ve been using it for years.’
‘Would you show me?’ He gestured towards the piles of wood a bit farther down the field past where Ellan and Lady Gwendolyn were practising.
‘Do you not know how to use one, Dane?’
Through his close-cropped beard she could see the dimple in his cheek when he smiled and shook his head. ‘The sword is my weapon. I can swing an axe in battle, but I can see how a smaller one for throwing could be useful.’
No man had ever asked her to show him how to do anything before. At the farm, she and Ellan ran the household and helped with the animals when it was needed. No one asked them for advice or sought them out, though that hardly deterred her from offering her opinion on matters when she saw that it would be beneficial. Still, she couldn’t stop the pleasure that welled in her chest that this warrior would ask her for a demonstration. Unable to find her voice, she nodded and set down her bow before unstrapping the quiver of arrows from her back. When she was finished, he stepped back to let her lead him farther afield.
Finding a nice, round stump, she rolled it to a clearing farther away from the practising warriors and set it in place upright. Satisfied with its position, she walked back to him and withdrew the axe from her belt. ‘As with your sword, I imagine, the trick is to keep your blade well tended. It need not be so sharp that it nicks your clothing, but it shouldn’t be dull.’
‘Do you sharpen your own blades?’ He took the axe from her and held it up, running the pad of his thumb across the edge of the blade.
‘Aye, it was necessary at home. Father didn’t approve of my use of it so forbade anyone to help me. Of course, here the blacksmith has been kind enough to see to the task.’
Grinning, he handed it back to her handle first. ‘But you didn’t let your father’s disapproval stop you.’
‘Nay, of course not.’ In some ways his censure had spurned her onwards. Her father was a difficult man, equal parts kind and stubborn. After her mother’s abandonment, he had seemed to look upon both her and Ellan with suspicion, as if they were somehow waiting to betray the family as well. That suspicion drove her now to prove to him that she could be relied upon. Growing up, it had meant that she had been forced to grab at her every freedom. Fortunately, he’d allowed her to keep them once she’d wrested them away.
‘I can tell you’re related to Lady Gwendolyn. Independence must run in your line.’ He said it with pleasure, as if it was something to be celebrated instead of criticised. An opinion in direct opposition to her father’s...and most of the men in her life, now that she thought about it. Lord Vidar was the only man she’d known to tolerate his wife’s eccentricities as he had.
Still, for all the delight it gave her, it made her feel rather like a horse. Her attributes weighed and measured against the line of her ancestors. ‘Does independence run in your line as well, Dane?’
He laughed, a deep and rich sound that was entirely more pleasing than it should have been. ‘You could say that. I have four older sisters, each one more independent than the next.’
She tried to imagine a young Rolfe with four older sisters badgering him about, but she couldn’t do it even though she liked the idea of it. She could only see him as the powerful man that he was. Every man in a position of power over women needed at least one woman in his life to answer to.
Instead of responding, she gripped the axe by the handle and held it high over her head. Aiming for the centre of the stump, she let it go, hitting her mark dead on with a smooth popping sound as the tip of the blade embedded itself in the wood.
‘That’s good. Do it two more times and we’ll call it skill and not luck.’
He was teasing her, and she couldn’t help but laugh. Twice more would be no trouble at all. She had been throwing axes since she was a child. Retrieving it, she went on to show him two more times how accurate she was. Each throw landed within a finger width of the one before.
‘Now you try.’ She grinned as she walked back to him, holding the axe out. ‘Let’s see how lucky you are.’
‘The difference, Saxon, is that I never claimed to be skilled.’
‘Now you’re retreating? Interesting. I took you for a man of courage.’
He chuckled and took it from her, his fingertips grazing her palm and making goosebumps move up her arm. Only when she stepped back to give him space to throw did she realise that they had drawn a small crowd. Being with him had made her forget everyone else and she would have sworn it was the same with him. He didn’t seem to care that his warriors watched them. In fact, he only seemed to have eyes for her. When she spoke his gaze never strayed from her face and, every time she’d thrown the axe or shot an arrow, she had felt his study of her. Being the centre of his attention was a heady thing, but no matter how important or valued he made her feel, she must remember that he was the man who would be sent to destroy her family if the need arose.
He finally looked away from her to study the stump, bringing the axe up to gauge the distance. She worried that he wouldn’t get leverage without the use of his left arm for balance, but when he threw it the axe sailed through the air, easily reaching the stump. He probably could’ve thrown it much farther. It sliced into the wood deeply, landing roughly a hand’s width below the gouges she had left.
‘Not bad,’ she said as he walked to retrieve the axe, and she couldn’t stop her treacherous gaze from roaming down his backside when he bent over to pull it out of the stump. The sight of his nude body, muscled and unquestionably masculine, was still vivid in her mind. A tiny flicker of awareness joined the tension in her belly. It gave her pause, because she’d never felt that for a Saxon man.
Had she been secretly harbouring a core of wickedness like her mother all this time? Last night she’d been able to assuage her guilt by convincing herself that her feelings had been a natural result of seeing her first nude male body. But that wasn’t precisely true, she realised now. It was him. The Dane clearly made her feel wicked things.
His next throw was a bit wide, barely clipping the stump on its right side. His third attempt was true and hit where her first blade had touched to the cheers of the small group of warriors watching them. He gave a simple nod of acknowledgement to them.
‘You’re very good for someone who doesn’t know how to throw an axe.’ Honestly, she would have been amazed had he been terrible. The man was probably good at everything he tried.
‘Not as good as you,’ he said, bringing the axe back to her.
‘Nothing a little practice won’t cure.’
Holding it out for her, handle side out, he said, ‘You’ve mastered the axe. You’re progressing at archery. How would you like to try learning the sword? Or am I wrong and you mastered the blade as a child?’
She smiled at his question and shook her head, taking the axe to affix it to her belt. ‘I’ve never held a blade. My father forbade it and a sword was too costly for me to acquire on my own.’
‘Do you want to learn?’ He asked it as if it were a simple thing.
‘From you?’ Why did her heart pounce in anticipation?
He nodded. ‘Unless you’re afraid of disobeying your father.’ There was a challenge in his eyes as he said that. ‘But you never let that stop you before, have you?’
Actually, she had let that stop her. Since her mother left, she’d been doing everything she could to prove to her father that she wasn’t like the woman. That meant that, aside from a few indiscretions such as the axe, she had done everything to find his favour. Father would not want her spending time with this man, yet she was very tempted to accept the offer.
Rolfe’s voice had been pitched too low to be overheard, but she still took a look around to make sure. Lady Gwendolyn casually glanced over at them from where she was still instructing Ellan, curiosity burning in her features. The warriors, assuming correctly that the entertainment was over, were slowly going back to their own sparring. That more than anything decided her. She couldn’t bear their audience as she practised. Slowly shaking her head, she said, ‘I cannot. I’m afraid that my pride couldn’t bear the scrutiny of an audience.’
‘There’s a clearing to the south. It’s not far from the walls of Alvey, but far enough for privacy. I could teach you there in the mornings.’
He spoke so earnestly that she almost forgot to be suspicious. Almost. ‘Why would you teach me?’
He took in a breath, his chest expanding with the effort as he thought over his answer. ‘Because you want to learn and I can see that no one else will teach you.’ She didn’t know what she had expected from him, but it wasn’t that.
She did want to learn. Every day at home felt like a threat with the Scots and the Danes on each side. The more she learned the better chance she had of protecting herself and her younger siblings. Of course, she also had purely selfish reasons. She was good at learning how to fight. She liked the training. ‘What would be the point if I’m to leave in a fortnight?’
‘You’re right. It’s not nearly long enough to master the skill, but it’s enough to give you basic knowledge.’ He paused, but she sensed that he wasn’t finished. ‘Although I understand if you’re too afraid.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ she said before she realised that he’d baited her.
Grinning, he said, ‘Then I’ll see you in the morning.’ He walked away and she was curious enough about him and what the morning would bring that she let him go without arguing. One morning with him wouldn’t change anything.
Chapter Five
‘What are you smiling about?’ Ellan surprised Elswyth by following her outside the great hall later that evening.
They had finished the evening meal, so Elswyth had come out for a bit of fresh air and to clear her head. The warriors were crammed inside to capacity, but despite the crowd, she’d been aware of Rolfe’s gaze on her all evening. ‘Was I smiling?’ Elswyth frowned.
‘Aye. It was quite strange watching you all night because you hardly ever smile. What has you so cheerful?’
‘If I was smiling—’ which she really didn’t think she had been ‘—it’s because we’ll be leaving soon.’ Her thoughts of Rolfe were so new and unexpected that she wanted to keep them to herself for a while. Maybe for ever. Nothing could ever come of them.
Leading the way, she meandered with no particular destination through the various cook fires that flickered in the yard. Several men huddled around each one, talking and not paying the sisters any attention. It seemed that Lady Gwendolyn had mentioned to the newcomers that they were to be left unmolested.
‘Hmm... I thought you were smiling because a certain Dane couldn’t keep his eyes off you all night.’ Ellan grinned and, even in the deep shadows of twilight, her eyes sparkled with merriment.
‘He couldn’t, could he?’ The words were out before she could stop herself. Once she said them it was a relief to have someone know. ‘I must admit that these warriors are different than I thought they would be. I suppose I was expecting barbarians and, while some of them fit the description, most of them are...tamer than I anticipated.’ Would her father believe her if she told him that? Even saying the words felt like some sort of betrayal to him.
Elswyth had never met the group of Danes that her mother had run off with. They had camped along the coast, a little bit north-east of Banford. Her mother had come across them on one of their trips inland. That trip had led to several others until one night Elswyth had heard her parents arguing. She’d heard enough to realise that Father had found their mother in a compromising position with one of the Danes and had fought the man. At home that night he’d given her an ultimatum: repent and face punishment or be banished. She had chosen banishment. The next morning she’d left to meet her Dane and they’d never seen her again.
To this day, Elswyth didn’t understand what could prompt someone to leave their family behind. She had struggled with the question for years, but wasn’t any closer to coming to an answer. The only conclusion she’d come to was that she needed to try extra hard to prove her loyalty. If that meant despising the Danes, then that’s what she did. Only now that didn’t seem so simple to do.
A Dane at the nearest cook fire threw back his head and laughed at something his friend, a Saxon warrior, had said. Father would have her believe the Dane and Saxon warriors were constantly at each other’s throats, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Not here.
‘You like him, don’t you?’
Elswyth’s ears burned. ‘Shh.’ She glanced around to make certain that no one had overheard her sister’s dubious claim. ‘I don’t like him, not the way your tone implies.’ Liar, a tiny voice in her head accused. ‘I merely think he is kind and not nearly as ruthless as I had thought.’
Ellan didn’t believe her. She wore a smug smile that made her eyes gleam victoriously. ‘Time will tell.’
Elswyth opened her mouth to argue. She didn’t quite understand her need to argue, she only knew that she needed to emphatically deny any interest in the warrior so that her sister would understand that in no way did she favour the man. She was not like their mother and she would not abandon her family for one of them.
‘Elswyth!’ The voice came from nowhere, but it drew every eye in the area. The men at the nearby fire briefly stopped talking to look around, but went back to their meal when no culprit could be found.
Her heart clamoured, taking a moment to gather itself before trying to beat free of her chest when her gaze landed on a flurry of movement in the shadow of the granary. Someone stood there motioning to her, the hand white in the inky black that surrounded it.
‘Who is that?’ Ellan asked, following her gaze.
‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was Galan,’ she whispered. But that couldn’t be. Their older brother was at home on the farm, not here sneaking around among their enemy, especially not alone.
The longer she stared into the shadows, and the more urgently he waved her over, the more convinced she became of his identity. If it was he, it could only mean that there had been trouble at home. Father! Dear God, what if something had happened to him? ‘Stay here. I’ll go see what he wants.’
She made her way around the perimeter of the open area, not going directly towards the granary. No one seemed to notice her as she turned in that direction. Galan—or who she assumed to be her brother—whirled when she approached and retreated farther through the fortress, moving with ease through the night. His cloak was up around his head to shield his identity. He could have been any number of the Saxon men who wandered through the village at this time of night. But he wasn’t and her heart pounded from that knowledge as she followed him. He finally stopped in the shadow of the wall—the gates were swung wide open which is probably how he’d got inside.
A small village made of tents had been set up outside because Alvey wasn’t big enough to hold all the warriors within her walls. A sea of fabric fluttered in the cold winter gusts as far as the trees. This was the first time she’d seen them and the sight nearly stole her breath. More of the warriors had returned from the south than she had anticipated. Despite what she’d said to Ellan and how she felt about Rolfe, the spectacle of them made her shiver with the reminder of how precarious this all was. War could come any day. If her family chose the wrong side... She couldn’t even allow herself to finish the thought.
Stepping carefully into the shadows, she approached her brother. The white of his smile was barely visible in the twilight and she was seized by the need to hug him and shake him all at the same time. She decided on hugging, closing her eyes in thanks for his safety when his arms went around her. It only lasted a brief moment, but it was enough to reassure her that, aside from being thinner than she remembered, he was whole. She released him when he pulled back, but only to grip him by the shoulders and look up into his dirt-streaked face. ‘What are you doing here? Have you come alone?’
‘Aye. I’m by myself.’
Between the Scots, the Danes, unknown Saxons and travellers, it was foolish to travel alone. ‘But why? It’s too dangerous. Any number of catastrophes could have befallen you on the way.’
His smile fell to become a scowl. ‘I can take care of myself, Elswyth. Besides, I didn’t come all this way to have you scold me.’
‘Why are you here? Has something happened to Father?’ In her excitement it was hard to keep her voice low so that any of the Danes coming in and out of the gates wouldn’t hear.
‘Nay, Father is well, or at least I assume he is. I haven’t been home yet, I’ve come straight here.’ He hesitated and her chest tightened. ‘It’s Baldric. He’s been taken by the Scots.’
‘What?’ That was the last thing she had expected him to say. Their younger brother was only fourteen winters and he had no interaction with the Scots, or he hadn’t when she’d been home. Galan had been their father’s accomplice in advocating for joining their ranks. He’d ridden with Father last spring to their secret meetings with the warriors. She had hoped that the winter would bring an end to that, but it seemed her hope had been in vain. ‘How is that possible?’
Galan had the grace to look guilty. The cloak had fallen back a bit and he ran the heel of his hand over his brow and couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. ‘He went with me to our meeting with them.’ Ignoring her gasp of outrage, he continued, ‘While we were there a group of Scots met up with some Danes who were on their way to Alvey, we believe. They destroyed them, Elswyth. Every last one of the Scots were killed.’
She tried not to imagine the carnage that sort of battle involved, but the images flashed behind her eyes anyway. Rolfe had taken a Scot’s spear a few days ago. Could it have been him and his group of warriors? She shuddered at the violence she had known him capable of. ‘You were not involved in the battle?’
He shook his head. ‘Nay, we were at their camp. The group of Scots were on their way to us, but obviously they never made it. A scout found the carnage left behind and came to let us know. The Scots suspect that Father was somehow involved in revealing their location to the Danes.’
‘That’s preposterous! Father would never betray their location.’ Whether or not she agreed with his madness in attempting to drive the Danes from their land, she knew that he was an honourable man. He would never betray anyone he considered a friend or ally.
‘We both know that. They, however, want proof of our loyalty.’
‘How does kidnapping a child prove anything of loyalty?’
‘Baldric is hardly a child. He will be fifteen winters very soon.’
She sniffed in disagreement. The weight of Baldric’s hand in hers was still vivid from all the nights she had lain in bed with him after Mother had gone, telling him stories when he couldn’t sleep or was ill. He wasn’t old enough to be brought into this madness. ‘He is a child and he should never have been there. How could you have taken him with you?’
‘He demanded to come and he’s old enough to make his own decisions now.’
She strongly disagreed with that, but arguing that now wouldn’t get them anywhere. ‘What does Baldric have to do with proving Father’s loyalty?’
‘Because the Dane bastards...’ He paused to spit as if the word was foul on his tongue.
‘Shh.’ A quick look around assured her that no one had overheard him.
‘They stole a small fortune from the Scots they attacked. It was a stash of coin and jewels meant for the mercenaries at our meeting.’
‘Mercenaries!’ This time it was Galan’s turn to shush her. ‘Have things progressed so far already? They’re hiring mercenaries to attack the Danes?’
Galan took her arm and led her farther away from the gates. In a whisper he explained, ‘There are Danes on their western coast. They are preparing to fight those. At the moment there are no set plans for Alvey.’
That was a relief, but it was only a matter of time, she feared. Somehow in all of this, hating the Danes had come second to keeping her family safe.
‘I don’t know the details,’ he continued, ‘but one of the jewels that was taken with the coin was a bloodstone. It belongs to King Causantín’s family and has some ceremonial importance to them. That is what they want us to recover. If we can deliver it to them, then they will consider Father’s loyalty proven and release Baldric. Do you think you can do it?’
She still didn’t understand their idea of loyalty. Wasn’t it possible for Father to despise them and yet return the stone to free Baldric? Sometimes she failed to comprehend the logic of warriors. ‘You want me to find the bloodstone?’
‘Aye. They believe that Rolfe led the band of Danes that took it. He’s here?’
She nodded, because her mouth was suddenly too dry for speech. Last night Rolfe had sat with Lord Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn in the hall, sacks of coin between them. Later, when she’d patched his wound, she had noticed a red stone on his bed set amid some silver. Could that be the one?
‘Good. Then the stone is likely here as well. You must find it, Elswyth. It’s the only way to save Baldric.’
‘But how will I know which one it is?’
He shrugged. ‘All I know is that it is the size of a walnut and is set in gold on a chain.’
‘I may have seen it.’
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