The notorious Lord of Roul...

...must take her as his bride!

Lady Avelyn flees an unwanted betrothal to an elderly warlord only to be hunted down and returned to King David’s court by fearsome Elrik, Lord of Roul, a legendary warrior with a heart of ice—and a kiss of fire. And now Avelyn is bound to Elrik—and his bed—when Elrik is commanded to wed her instead!

“Another sensual, action packed tale.”

—RT Book Reviews on At the Warrior’s Mercy

“Lynn has real talent.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dragon’s Promise

Award-winning author DENISE LYNN lives in the USA with her husband, son and numerous four-legged ‘kids’. Between the pages of romance novels she has travelled to lands and times filled with brave knights, courageous ladies and never-ending love. Now she can share with others her dream of telling tales of adventure and romance. You can write to her at PO Box 17, Monclova, OH 43542, USA, or visit her website: denise-lynn.com.

Also by Denise Lynn

Falcon’s Heart

Commanded to His Bed

Bedded by Her Lord

Bedded by the Warrior

The Warrior’s Runaway Wife

Warehaven Warriors miniseries

Halloween Temptations

Pregnant by the Warrior

The Warrior’s Winter Bride

At the Warrior’s Mercy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Warrior’s Runaway Wife

Denise Lynn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07387-5

THE WARRIOR’S RUNAWAY WIFE

© 2018 Denise L. Koch

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

Carlisle Castle—April 1145

The large double doors of the Great Hall groaned open, slowing the fever-pitched conversations to a hushed whispering. Lord Elrik of Roul strode through the open doors, bringing even the whispers to a complete halt.

Rain from the spring storm fell in rivulets from the wolf pelts trimming his full-length mantle. The cape swirled, sending droplets of rainwater to the floor in his wake.

Men and women alike made way, clearing the path ahead of his long strides. The clinking of his linked-mail hauberk and spurs along with the heavy fall of his footsteps were the only sounds echoing in the hall.

The visitors to King David’s court stared in fascination at the sight of the fabled man before them. Some were young enough to have grown up hearing stories of the King’s Wolves. They’d trembled at the tales told in the dark of night, wondering how much truth lay behind the words, yet not wanting to discover the answer for themselves.

From the unkempt overlong hair, black as night and shot through with silver, to his frowning countenance, the furrowed brow resembling a dark outcrop over his greenish-gold eyes, to the beard covering his lower face, hiding his features, leaving only the thin line of his tightly held mouth visible, made them wonder if he was indeed part-wolf. A barely civilised, not quite human warrior who would think nothing of unleashing the terrors of hell on an unsuspecting prey.

Elrik dropped to a knee at the bottom of the raised dais and bowed his head. He knew what these people thought of him, these weak-kneed courtiers who had rarely, if ever, used the sword belted to their side for anything more than show, and he cared not. As the Lord of Roul, he did what he needed to do to keep his lands, and his family, safe.

Being one of David’s Wolves wasn’t easy, but then he’d never been blessed with a life of ease so why would this be any different? The one saving grace was that his three brothers made up the rest of his wolf pack and he could trust them with his life.

King David stood. ‘Roul, join me.’

Elrik rose and followed the King into the smaller chamber beyond the dais. Once the door closed behind the two of them they were afforded a privacy not available in the Great Hall.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly.’ David poured two goblets of deep red wine and offered one to Elrik, before settling into a chair.

He accepted the liquid, hoping it would thaw his blood. ‘My liege?’

‘I apologise for taking you from the comfort of your fires, but I’ve a need for your particular skill.’

‘Who do you need found?’ He’d been born with an uncanny ability to track down things lost, whether it be a missing shoe or a person not wishing to be found.

‘Avelyn of Brandr.’

Elrik paused before swallowing his wine. In the space of one heartbeat it all came flooding back. His father had sought to commit treason against King David at the prompting of Galdon, Lord of Brandr Isle. Brandr, named so because of the long, sharp, pointed rocks that stuck out from the northern end of the isle like ready swords, drawn for attack, wasn’t enough land for Galdon. Whether the traitor had acted of his own accord, or at the behest of his uncle by marriage and liege, Lord Somerled, the Lord of Argyll, or his maternal grandfather Óláfr, the King of the Isles, was never discovered since Brandr had used his connections to escape punishment. Unlike Elrik’s father.

To save his father’s life, he and his younger brother Gregor had thrown themselves at King David’s feet, begging for mercy. Their plea had been heard and mercy granted—at the cost of nothing more than their souls.

While their father had been confined to Roul Isle, he and Gregor, along with their two younger brothers, when they’d become old enough, had become King David’s Wolves. Men tasked with deeds that required secrecy and, at times, the steadfast ruthlessness of a wolf.

He swallowed, then said, ‘I wasn’t aware Brandr had a daughter.’

‘A natural-born daughter.’

Elrik wasn’t surprised. Especially since Brandr’s mother was conceived out of wedlock. Still, why would King Óláfr’s grandson come to the King of Scotland for assistance? More curious, why would Brandr risk coming to King David when the man had once joined forces with those intent on taking the throne from David? Not wanting to dredge up the traitor’s history—especially since his own father had been part of that treasonous act—he instead asked, ‘And Brandr came to you rather than going to his uncle or grandfather?’

‘Yes, it appears that way.’

‘Any reason given for keeping them in the dark?’

‘A marriage has been arranged between the girl and Sir Bolk, one of Óláfr’s minor lords.’

Bolk? ‘Surely you don’t mean Bolk the elder?’

The King nodded. ‘Yes. If I’m counting correctly, this will be his third wife.’

What had the girl’s father been thinking to agree to that arrangement? That old, gnarled warlord had outlived the previous two. Obviously, Brandr’s daughter had not liked the idea of being number three. ‘How long has she been gone?’

‘My understanding is that she vanished three weeks ago, just moments before officially meeting the man.’

Elrik set his empty goblet on the table, waving off a refill, and asked, ‘Any description of the woman?’

‘All I was told was that she has night-black hair, ice-blue eyes, fair skin, a well-made form and a temper befitting a daughter of Brandr.’

Excellent. Not only was he required to find the daughter of a warlord whom he considered an enemy of his family, but a king’s great-granddaughter who had a three-week head start on him and a headstrong one who most likely desired not to be found.

‘Where was she last seen?’

‘She ran away from Oban.’

There was little there other than the ruins of an ancient tower fort. ‘Any word after that?’

‘There were rumours of a black-haired wench in Duffield who’d killed a man for trying to stop her from stealing bread. Brandr’s men stopped their search there.’

Elrik doubted the rumours held any truth. If the girl was smart enough to run away without being caught thus far, she wasn’t going to risk capture by doing anything to foolishly call attention to herself.

However, if she had been spotted in Duffield, this mission could prove a little more difficult, which was why her father’s men had stopped their search. Going into England to hunt for the girl was one thing, but heading deeper into the Earl of Derby’s lands was another thing altogether. The first Earl of Derby had done much to help King Stephen keep unfriendly forces at bay—it was doubtful the second earl would do any less.

Elrik knew he could find himself at the wrong end of a sword. Which, of course, was why he was being given the task—the Wolves were expendable. If captured, King David wasn’t going to offer a ransom—in fact, the King would deny all knowledge of the mission.

So, he needed to make certain he wasn’t caught.

The woman was either very strong and brave, or completely lacking in wits. She’d already travelled a far distance for a woman alone. Thankfully, it required no special powers to know she was headed for the southern coast and then on to Normandy, or France.

‘You need to find her before she leaves England.’

‘Where will Brandr be expecting her return?’

‘Not our concern, since his expectations will go unmet. Bring her here to me. Marrying off the eighteen-year-old great-granddaughter of a king to a nearly eighty-year-old minor vassal with no title, or holdings to speak of, seems a little suspicious, made more so by Brandr’s request for my assistance.’

Elrik couldn’t disagree with that reasoning. ‘It is a bit...odd.’

‘More than just odd. Considering the man has already proven he cannot be trusted, I can’t help but wonder what he is plotting.’ David waved a hand, dismissing further discussion. ‘Find her, bring her here and do it quickly. Brandr will arrive within the next four weeks. I do not wish his presence for any longer than necessary and I intend to put a halt to his plans before his arrival.’

Elrik’s stomach knotted at the last part of the King’s statement. Something about David’s emotionless, steady tone of voice when he said he intended to put a halt to Brandr’s plans was...unsettling. The King already knew what he was going to do—and Elrik wondered if there was more to his involvement than David was willing to divulge at this moment.

For over ten years he’d been the King’s Wolf. Not once had he questioned any order he’d been given, not even the ones that had forced him to harden his heart, or turn a deaf ear to those pleading for mercy. But this was different—it was personal. It touched on the very reason he’d sold his soul to the King. ‘Why me?’

‘The girl had nothing to do with the past.’ David’s stare darkened. ‘At that time, she was but a child and her father hadn’t yet claimed her as his daughter.’ He paused before leaning forward to add, ‘Your father made his choice. He would have done nothing different whether Brandr had been involved or not.’

Elrik disagreed. He’d been there. He’d heard Brandr’s rallying speeches against the foreigners King David had put in control of what were considered choice areas of land and seen the effect the man’s passionately spoken words had had on the older men gathered in Roul’s Great Hall. With nothing but his voice, he’d stirred them into a frenzied desire for revenge.

The striped scars crisscrossing his back were a permanent reminder of the hellish glee Brandr took in seeing punishment meted out to those deemed insubordinate—whether they had been or not. Brandr hadn’t applied the lash, but he’d done much to ensure it had been used.

Elrik wasn’t about to voice his thoughts to the King. Brandr was a king’s grandson and the nephew of a very powerful lord, while he was nothing more than a traitor’s son.

‘You will do as ordered, Roul.’

Elrik kept a tight hold on his rage, swallowed the bitterness coating his tongue and nodded. ‘Of course, my lord.’

King David leaned back against the chair and tossed him a sack of coins. ‘This should cover what you need. I’ve no men to spare.’

Elrik dropped the smaller sack into the leather pouch secured to the inside of his cloak. The money would come in handy and additional men would only slow him down. ‘What need I of any men?’

‘Perhaps I failed to mention that Brandr’s men found evidence that someone might be hunting the lady. He fears their intention is not to bring her home alive.’

Chapter One

South of Derbyshire, England—one week later

‘Open up.’ The wooden door to the room rattled. ‘I’ve a ready need for a willing whore.’

Avelyn cringed at the man’s request and kept a firm grip on the borrowed dagger she held out before her as she backed away from the locked door of her room. The need to protect herself was from habit since she knew she need only keep quiet and eventually he would move further along the corridor.

Just as they had for the last seven nights, men looking for a willing woman had stopped by to test her door countless times before moving on to find one that would open beneath their touch. So far, she’d been lucky and the thin metal locking bar had held.

There seemed to be a code of honour of sorts, even for this brothel. Apparently, a locked door meant either that the room was already occupied, or the lady wished no company at that moment. To her surprise, the men seemed to abide by that wish.

When silence once again fell in the hallway, she lowered her weapon and breathed. She choked out a strangled laugh at the loudness of her breath. Not even the unceasing rain beating on the roof had drowned out what sounded like a near gasp for life.

Avelyn sat on a stool by the window, staring at the overcast sky. Everything was grey. The sky, the road outside the brothel, even the buildings blended into near nothingness against the unending grey.

She longed to be gone from here, but had let her newfound friend Hannah talk her into waiting yet another day in the hopes the sky would clear even a little. Right now, after nearly eight days of rain, the streams would be so overfilled that the crossings would not be passable, which would only increase the likelihood of being caught.

She hadn’t risked her life running away from her father and forthcoming nuptials only to be captured and returned.

Everyone at home had told her that she’d been lucky and how privileged she should have felt to find herself betrothed to one of King Óláfr’s warlords. Especially considering the King was not beholden to concern himself with her welfare. Óláfr was her father’s grandfather—her great-grandfather—but she was nothing more than a by-blow from a dalliance her father had had with a common servant. King Óláfr was not beholden to see to her future. So, why had he gone to such lengths for her?

Even with the questions plaguing her over the arrangement, when Lord Somerled had first come to Brandr with the news, she had been so excited about the prospect of being married that she’d slipped away to return to her mother’s burned-down hut in the village to retrieve a ring her mother had given her on her twelfth birthday. She’d been told it had been her grandmother’s wedding band and she’d buried it to keep the ring safe until her own wedding day loomed in hopes that she could convince her husband-to-be to use it as her wedding band.

But those who’d thought her so lucky and privileged had not seen the warlord selected to be her husband. He was old, so ancient that his own sons were older than she. He was wrinkled, his skin ashen. And he had a belly that hung half way to his knees. She couldn’t begin to imagine her wedding night.

And when she had tried to reason it out in her mind, it seemed that the only viable options open to her were either death by her own hand, or to run away.

Unwilling to kill herself, she’d chosen to run. However, because her half-brother Osbert was watching her far too closely, she’d bolted quickly, taking with her a small stash of food, her ring, which she’d placed in a small pouch and hung around her neck with a ribbon, and even fewer prospects. There were not many ways for her to make enough money to buy food and none of them seemed welcome.

The food had lasted her only the first two days. On the third night, she’d stolen bread from a cottage window where it had been left on the sill to cool. She’d almost been caught. A man stumbling out of the local inn, barely able to walk a straight line, had seen her swipe the round loaf and took chase. Quicker on her feet, she’d outrun him, only looking back once when she’d heard him shout out in pain as he’d tripped over a tree root. His slurred curses let her know that he’d live, so she’d not stopped.

The next night she’d not been as lucky at finding anything to eat. So, the following evening she’d joined the gathering outside the gates of a castle and waited for the food scraps that would be tossed their way. She’d managed to nab a sodden, hard bread trencher and a couple of pieces of half-eaten fruit, food that would seem like gifts from heaven to her growling stomach.

But she recognised the half-dead stare of hunger from a bedraggled child at her side. It had been a part of her own childhood. Without having to think twice, she placed over half of the trencher, along with the fruit, in the small, shaking hands.

Thus had become her life—a woman alone, on the run, hiding from all who might seek to harm her, or worse, return her to her father. She’d been sick from hunger and exhausted from her non-stop march south. At times, she’d considered giving up her quest for escape. But then an image of the man waiting to become her husband flashed through her mind, lending her enough strength to put one foot in front of the other.

To her relief, she’d managed, for the most part, to avoid others by keeping off the main roads and staying out of town. But one afternoon, while she’d been leaning against a tree bemoaning her fate, an arrow had whizzed right past her nose to pierce the tree trunk, quivering less than a finger’s width away.

She’d run wildly through a forest to a narrow, rutted road and kept running until she’d fallen to her knees. Exhausted she’d crawled from the road to hide beneath piles of leaves and underbrush. The sun had been high in the sky when she’d finally woken to find herself hungrier and more tired than she’d been the evening before.

She’d happened into a good-sized town and quickly found the common well in the centre. That was where Hannah had found her—gulping water from the bucket while sobbing like a spineless fool.

The good lady had coaxed the story from her—it hadn’t been hard considering her mind was as numb as her body—and she had brought her here, to the brothel above the town’s inn where Hannah and a few other women made their living.

So far nobody had tried to talk or force her into plying the same trade. They’d simply given her the use of one of their rented rooms while two of them shared another and brought her food and drink.

Avelyn was more than grateful for their help in her time of need and vowed to herself that she would find a way to repay them some day soon.

Movement in the street below caught her attention. Three men she’d not seen before walked towards the inn, their booted feet splashing muddy water from the puddles on to the hems of their long, hooded mantles.

The tallest of the three looked up as if he knew she watched. Avelyn leaned away from the window, hiding from his searching gaze. Something about him and his companions sent worry skipping along her spine. She shivered as the apprehension settled cold in her belly.

A soft, quick knock on her door drew her away from her troublesome cares. Recognising Hannah’s gentle tap, Avelyn rose to cross the small room and open the door to invite her newfound friend inside.

The boisterous sounds from the main room below had been loud, but they grew impossibly louder when she pulled open the door. She’d grown accustomed to the jovial laughter and curses of drunken men, but tonight the tone held a tension-filled undercurrent that had not been present before.

She motioned Hannah inside and quickly closed the door against the troubling voices. From the concerned look on her friend’s face, she, too, felt the tense heaviness in the air. ‘What is wrong?’

With a roll of her eyes, Hannah headed towards the bed. ‘Let us sit.’

Avelyn closed the door, then joined the other woman. The foreboding chill from seeing the strangers still lingered and now turned to icy cold pricks of warning with each step she’d taken.

Again, she asked, ‘What is wrong?’

Hannah sighed as she looked around the room before saying, ‘You know that Mabel has been unable to be here the last three nights.’

‘Yes. She’s been at home with a sick child.’ Avelyn gasped. ‘Did something happen?’

‘No. No, the child is getting better. But Edward, a favoured customer of Mabel’s, is below and he demands a woman. If it can’t be Mabel, it must be someone who looks like her.’

Avelyn frowned. He wanted a whore, what did her looks matter? ‘What difference does the woman’s looks make to him?’

Hannah patted her arm. ‘Not all men come to us for pleasures of the flesh. Some require nothing more than simple human contact, a hug, a kind word, a caress. This man is old and he lost his wife two years ago. Apparently, she had black hair and a slim body in her youth.’

Avelyn closed her eyes. Since the others had often remarked that she and Mabel could be sisters, she knew why Hannah had come to her. But to be certain, she looked at the woman and said, ‘What are you asking of me?’

‘You are not daft. You know what I’m asking you. I need you to take Mabel’s place this night.’ Before Avelyn could protest, Hannah quickly added, ‘The man is unable to perform, so it is not as if you would need to do anything more than let him hold you.’

‘Hold me?’ There had to be more to it than that.

‘Well, he’d hold you through the night, in bed, unclothed. He will call you Agnes and might require a kiss or two and sometimes he likes to fumble with Mabel’s breasts, but I swear that is all.’

That was all? Avelyn blinked. Other than a quick, chaste peck on the cheek, she’d never been kissed by a man before. And she certainly had never let a man see, let alone touch, her naked flesh. What seemed nothing to Hannah was far more than what Avelyn had ever done, or wanted to do, with a man not her husband.

Hannah broke the lengthening silence. ‘Nobody ever need know and for very little more than your companionship, he will give you enough coins to compensate for what we’ve provided you.’

The reckoning Avelyn feared might one day come had arrived. She shouldn’t have let Hannah convince her to stay until the rain ceased, no matter the logic behind the woman’s reasoning.

Now she was faced with paying off a debt and had no means to do so except by surrendering her grandmother’s ring, or doing as Hannah requested. She couldn’t give up the ring—it was all she had left from her mother.

Avelyn wanted to cry at her lack of options, but forced the useless tears back. As Hannah had said, no one would ever know. As long as even a slender thread of luck remained on her side, she would soon be gone from here—maybe in the morning, if it stopped raining. She could then rush on to Normandy or France and start a new life where nobody knew who she was, or about this night, or that she’d even stayed in this place.

Except, no matter where she ran, one person would know—she would know and, somehow, she would have to learn how to live with her shame.

She nodded her agreement, adding, ‘If he tries anything other than what you have stated, I will gut him.’

Hannah laughed and patted her arm. ‘Rest assured that will not be necessary.’

* * *

From his seat in the far corner of the establishment, Elrik watched and waited for the right moment. Two of his men were situated in different corners of the main room, doing the same as he—listening to the conversations of the others.

Everyone in town seemed to know that the owner of this ale house rented out the upper rooms to women willing to share their favours...for a price.

There’d been talk of new lady, a young one with hair the colour of night who had yet to accept a customer. Several of the men present had wagers on who would be the first.

If his hunch was right, this woman could be the one he sought. The search thus far for Brandr’s daughter hadn’t been easy—it wasn’t as if he could put his nose to the ground like a hound. Instead, snippets of conversations overheard in one place and rumours garnered in another helped to lead him in the right direction. The bits gathered had brought him here.

He was glad he’d changed his mind about travelling alone. His men had come in handy more than once during this search, as what pieces of gossip he missed, they had overheard.

Fulke, one of his men, approached and took a seat on the bench behind Elrik. ‘The elderly man who is sitting at the table nearest the fire, where I was, is looking for a black-haired wench for the night. Seems his regular woman isn’t available.’

Elrik lifted his tankard to his lips, but didn’t drink, instead, he asked softly, ‘Are they going to find him another?’

‘The woman in green is heading above to see if one is available.’

Elrik turned his full attention to the man Fulke spoke of. He was old, bony and from the way his hands shook Elrik wondered how he didn’t spill most of his drink on himself.

He rose and pretended to shiver, then approached the old man. ‘The fire looks inviting. Mind if I join you?’

‘Suit yourself. I won’t be here long.’

Elrik took a seat and waved the barmaid over. ‘Bring me ale and one for my friend here.’

The old man squinted at him. ‘Haven’t seen you here afore now.’

‘Just passing through.’

‘Ah. Decided to enjoy a little soft company for the night?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘What type of wench you looking for?’

Elrik shrugged. ‘A lusty red-haired one would be to my liking.’

‘Not me.’ The man shook his head and a few of the sparse white hairs on his head flopped down over his face. ‘I want one like my Agnes. A little thing with black hair and breasts that’ll fit in my hand.’

Elrik swallowed his laugh at the man’s bawdy talk. ‘Is your Agnes at home?’ If so, she probably wouldn’t be happy to know where her husband was this night.

‘No.’ A heavy sadness fell over the man, setting his lips to droop and making Elrik feel guilty for having ruined the man’s former good mood. ‘She’s been gone these last two springs now.’

‘I am sorry. I meant not to trouble you.’

‘No trouble. I come here when missing her gets to be too much to bear.’ He leaned over the table and lowered his voice. ‘At times just having a woman’s arms around me while I sleep helps ease the loss.’

Elrik patted the man’s hand before picking up his tankard. ‘You cared greatly for her.’

‘I loved her, lad. That I did.’

He wasn’t going to debate the misguided notion of marital love with the man. ‘You should find yourself another wife.’

To Elrik’s surprise, the old man stomped a foot and slapped his knee as he howled with laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes, he said between gasps for breath, ‘Oh, that’s a good one that is. What would I do with a wife at my age?’

‘I suppose the same things you did with Agnes.’

‘You are younger than you appear, aren’t you?’ The man reached across the table to throw a half-hearted punch at Elrik’s shoulder. ‘Trust me, boy, twenty or thirty years from now you’ll see things differently.’

Elrik resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘You misunderstood me. I meant things like sharing a meal, or a conversation around the fire and a soft warm body to lie against in bed. Nothing more.’

‘I’d not bring another woman to Agnes’s bed. No.’

The woman in the green over-gown came back down the stairs and approached the table. ‘Edward, give her but a few moments to get ready and then you can go up. It’s the room on the end. Just knock, she’ll be waiting.’

The man turned to the others gathered and raised his mug. ‘You owe me, boys.’

Elrik knew the man had just won the wager over who would be the first to visit the new woman’s room. Too bad he wasn’t about to let that happen—at least not until he discovered if this woman was Brandr’s daughter or not.

Needing to get upstairs without drawing unwanted attention, he asked the woman in green, ‘Any of the ladies free at the moment?’

She looked him up and down and then smiled. ‘For someone like you, they’ll fight over the honour. Do you have any preferences?’

The old man answered, ‘He likes them red-haired and lusty.’

‘That settles it then. The second door on the right will be the one you want. She’s free right now.’

Elrik rose and shot a glance towards Fulke, giving him the slightest nod in the direction of the stairs. He then took his leave of the old man. ‘I trust you’ll enjoy your evening.’

‘As will you, I’m sure.’

He approached the stairs, pausing by Samuel, his other guard, and gave him the same slight nod towards the stairs. While he was above trying to determine whether this woman was Brandr’s daughter or not, his men would make their way closer to the bottom of the stairs. They would then be near at hand if he ran into any trouble.

Elrik took the steps two at a time and quickly traversed the length of the corridor, stopping in front of the last door. Careful to keep his knock soft as an old man might, he tapped on the door.

‘Enter.’

He pushed open the door and approached the bed in the dimly lit room. As stiff as a board upon the bed, the young woman had the covers pulled up to her chin. She held fast to the edge of the blankets with a grip that turned her knuckles white. Hair the colour of night was spread out atop the pillow beneath her head. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

This was no experienced whore. It was only a guess, but he was fairly certain he’d just found Brandr’s missing daughter. He leaned over the bed and whispered, ‘Lady Avelyn, your little adventure is over, get up.’

Her eyes sprang open at the same time her lips parted. He clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Do not force me to carry you from here naked. I doubt your father would approve.’

She shook her head, then wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged.

Elrik lifted his hand slightly, giving her room to talk, but keeping his palm close enough to cover any scream should she decide to do so.

‘I am not going home.’

Had the appearance of her icy-blue eyes not given her identity away, her comment confirmed his suspicion. His guess had been correct—this was indeed Brandr’s daughter. He knelt on the bed and loomed over her. ‘The old man you are waiting for will be up here in mere moments. I am not letting you share a bed with him.’

If he did anything that witless, King David would be offering up a special serving of wolf’s head—his—on a platter at the next banquet.

‘So, either you get up and get dressed or I’ll pull you from the bed and dress you myself.’

To his amazement, she hesitated as if debating some third option he’d not given her.

Elrik leaned closer to disabuse her of the idea. ‘It is simple. Get up and dressed on your own, or I will see to both myself. Either way, you are getting out of that bed and you are getting dressed.’

When she narrowed her eyes at him, he had the feeling that she was preparing to argue. Which was something they had no time for at the moment. He grabbed the blankets and tore them from her grasp.

She squeaked and crossed her arms against her chest, trying to cover herself.

‘Unless you possess a third breast, you have nothing I’ve not seen before.’ He took hold of her wrists. ‘I have no time for your false show of sudden modesty. Get up.’

‘I am not a whore.’

He knew she wasn’t. She might be Brandr’s bastard daughter, but he knew that until this unfortunate event, she was far too valuable for him not to have kept a tight control over her upbringing. As the man’s only daughter, there would have been little opportunity for her to have become a whore. But the fact was that he’d found her in bed, naked, in a known brothel and she was going to debate her position? Elrik pulled her up from the bed. ‘We can argue that later. Where are your clothes?’

She nodded towards the window. He released her, pausing to say, ‘Do not run and do not scream.’

He then retrieved a chemise and tunic from a bench beneath the window. Pushing the clothing against her chest, he ordered, ‘Get dressed.’

Instead of doing as he bid, she stood there, holding the clothing, and stared at him. ‘I am not going with you.’

A twinge of tension started behind his eyes. He hadn’t wanted this mission to begin with. However, he was certain that if he didn’t deliver her to King David, his lands and life would be in grave danger.

His temples throbbed. David should have sent one of his younger brothers on this task. Either one—Rory or Edan—would have been a better choice than him. At least they had the patience and temperament to deal with women in a much kinder and gentler manner than he.

His deceased wife had taught him well that women were untrustworthy liars and good for only one thing—the getting of children—and, as in Muriel’s case, sometimes not even that.

Elrik jerked the clothes out of her hands. After gathering the skirt of the chemise in his hands, he dropped it over her head. Keeping his attention directed at the fabric beneath his fingers instead of the pale smoothness of her skin, or the dips and swells of her comely body, he tugged the chemise down to cover her.

He then did the same with her tunic, leaving the laces hanging, before pushing her down on to the bed to squat before her and drag the stockings over her feet and legs, then slipped on a pair of soft boots.

Elrik placed his hands on her knees. ‘I like this no more than you. But I am charged with taking you to Carlisle. You can argue this arranged marriage of yours with King David.’

She shook her head and crossed her arms before her as if the action would grant her some type of protection.

‘I warn you, Lady Avelyn, I have little patience for childish behaviour from anyone but children. It will go better for you if you come willingly as an adult ready to calmly debate this marriage arrangement, rather than being dropped at King David’s feet like an unwilling prisoner. I promise you the King will be less likely to entertain the complaints of a prisoner.’

When she remained seated and did nothing other than look away, he added, ‘I will not ignore my orders, nor will I fail to execute them. You can get up and come with me of your own accord, or I can carry you like a sack of grain.’

That warning got her attention. She stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

In no mood for further delay, Elrik stood up and before she could determine what he was about to do, he hauled her up over his shoulder.

‘All right.’ She pounded her fists on his back. ‘You have proved your point. Put me down.’

He set her on her feet and turned her to face the door. ‘We are leaving. Now.’

Avelyn refused to budge. ‘I owe them for my keep.’

Elrik rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease the still-growing tension, then reached inside his mantle for the coins King David had given him. Without counting them, he tossed the sack on the bed. ‘That will more than cover the roof over your head and food.’ He pushed her forward. ‘Now go.’

‘No. Wait.’

‘Wait?’

She rushed to a small table in the far corner of the room, picked up a small pouch and slipped the ribbon dangling from it over her head. After tucking the pouch inside the neck of her gown, she came back to him.

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

He waved towards the door. ‘Then go.’

‘You are just going to walk out of here with me?’

‘That is the plan, yes.’

‘And you don’t expect anyone to question or stop you from doing so?’

He would like to see them try such an act, it might provide him with an opportunity to release some of the tightness burning along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. ‘Why would anyone do so? Do you belong to anyone here?’

‘No.’

‘Have you entered into some sort of dubious agreement with anyone?’

‘No.’

‘Then I do not see what reason they would have to stop me.’

‘They don’t know you.’

Elrik blinked. ‘They obviously don’t know you either.’

‘I have been here over a week. They know me.’

If that were true, she would not now be in this position. It was doubtful that she would still be under this roof. ‘Oh, so you told them you were Lord Brandr’s daughter and that you’d run away from a marriage arranged by your great-grandfather King Óláfr?’

She hesitated. ‘No.’

‘Would you like to tell them? We can go below and once I get everyone’s attention you can then make your announcement. Of course, I won’t be responsible for any who decide to take you captive and hold you for ransom—or think to return you to your father for some sort of reward—or worse, marry you himself with the assumption that there will be something worthwhile to gain.’

She shot him a look that threatened to skewer him on the spot before opening the door and marching stiffly out into the corridor.

Chapter Two

Avelyn fisted her hands at her side. The last few days she’d started to believe that she’d managed to escape her fate and would not be found.

Instead, once again she learned the uselessness of fanciful hopes, wishes and luck.

How had this oaf found her? She’d expected her father to send men after her, but she’d thought they would be his men, someone she knew or someone who was at least familiar.

Apparently, her father had gone to King David for assistance instead of to his grandfather, King Óláfr, or even to his uncle and liege, Lord Somerled.

Why?

Perhaps he didn’t want them to learn that she’d run away rather than wed the man they’d chosen as her husband.

And now this...this stranger thought he was going to take her to King David like an errant child? She frowned as yet another hopeful thought drifted into her mind. Was it possible that her father had dragged the Scots King into this because he’d had a change of heart and had found the ancient warlord chosen as her husband to be unsuitable?

It was doubtful, but she clung to that thought as it would be the only slender thread of sanity available to her. However, her fanciful wishes did little to explain the identity of this man.

From what she could tell, he was strongly built—the long, fur-lined mantle covered him from shoulder to ankle, so she couldn’t see the shape of his body—but he’d easily lifted her over his shoulder with one arm. Yet, at the same time, his attempt to dress her hadn’t been overly harsh, fumbling perhaps, as if unused to the task, but not cruel.

And his touch, when it had rested on her knees as he’d tried to reason with her, had been warm. Had she not been distraught over being found she could have easily fallen into the comfort that warmth had conveyed.

His eyes were green, flecked with gold. His hair was nearly as black as hers, but his was shot through with silvery strands that made it impossible to know his age.

But he wasn’t old. Older than she was, but not ancient like the man she’d been betrothed to wed.

‘Who are you?’ she asked over her shoulder.

He did nothing but grunt and poke a finger into her back to prod her along the corridor towards the stairs.

Just as they reached the top of the stairs they met an old man. She could only assume this was Edward, the old man Hannah had coerced her into sharing a bed with. He was most likely headed to her room. Avelyn wondered how her unwanted rescuer would deal with this event.

Edward looked from her to the man behind her, a frown of puzzlement creasing his already lined face. ‘This is not the red-haired wench.’

‘No. It isn’t.’

‘This is my woman. I paid for her.’

‘How much?’

‘What does the amount matter to you?’ Edward reached for her, adding, ‘I paid. She is mine.’

‘It matters greatly to me because she is my wife.’ The man looped an arm about her waist and pulled her close. ‘And because we have three hungry children at home who would be grateful for the coin their mother could deliver.’

Wife? Home? Three hungry children?

Struck mute by his outrageous lies, Avelyn could only stare blindly ahead. She wasn’t completely lacking in wits. He had spouted the lies in an attempt to leave the inn without incident. She wished he’d have devised something less demeaning to her.

‘If the amount is right, I might be willing to allow her to go with you. Provided, of course, that I stand guard over the two of you to ensure no harm comes to the mother of my children.’

Avelyn narrowed her eyes, then turned her head to glare up at him. She didn’t know him well enough to decipher the quick look he gave her, but she was fairly certain it had been a silent warning to keep quiet—a warning she planned to ignore.

She jutted an elbow into his gut and turned her attention to Edward. ‘That is not the reason he wishes to watch.’

Her rescuer’s fingers tightened against her waist, but she forged ahead, determined to make him feel as foolish and embarrassed as he’d made her feel. ‘Oh, no, his rutting leaves behind nothing memorable except children and he wishes to see if he can learn anything.’

The man’s soft hiss gave her enough satisfaction to stop her own outrageous claims.

Edward stepped aside, shaking his head vigorously as he waved them towards the stairs. ‘No. No. Please, go. I will find another.’

Without wasting any time, the man moved his hand from her waist to wrap his fingers around her wrist before rushing her to the steps. Halfway down he muttered, ‘Woman, you need have care with your words.’

‘My words?’ She kept her voice just as low as he had. ‘You made me look and feel like a whore.’

He once again tightened his hold. ‘You did that to yourself.’

Avelyn tried to tug free. ‘I did no such thing.’

‘My mistake. I could have sworn I found you in bed, naked, waiting for a man to join you for the night.’

She couldn’t very well deny what he’d found upon entering her room. However, it wasn’t quite what he’d assumed. ‘Nothing was going to happen.’

Their discussion stopped as they reached the bottom of the stairs where two men waited, but she wasn’t about to let this end her explanation for long. Avelyn hung back, uncertain what these men wanted. But her rescuer walked past them, saying, ‘Let’s be on our way.’

She was relieved to discover they were his men since both looked as dark and dangerous as he. The two fell into step behind her and they all exited the establishment.

The cold rain pelting against her face did nothing to cool her ire. He’d called her a whore—accused her of things that would enrage her father should even a hint of such a rumour reach his ears.

Not willing to spend another heartbeat in this man’s hold, Avelyn jerked her arm free and marched quickly ahead.

Heavy footsteps stomping in the mud behind her warned that he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. She knew she’d be unable to escape, especially right now, while they were on foot. But she didn’t have to endure his company.

She glared at him over her shoulder. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘I will gladly do so once I deliver you to King David.’ He again captured her wrist with strong fingers, then pulled her about to face him.

The two men stopped alongside, only to be ordered, ‘Retrieve the horses and meet us near the well.’

The crestfallen looks on their faces might have been laughable at another time. But right now she didn’t care that their desire for listening had been thwarted. The things she wanted to say to this man did not need an audience that would make her the object of gossip.

Once they were on their way, she looked up at the man who’d quickly made himself an irritant in her life. ‘Release me.’

To her surprise, he did. She stepped back, putting a little space between them. ‘I am not a whore.’

His lazy, bored glance from the sky back down to her did not endear him to her in the slightest. In fact, his silent display of derision only made her want to fly into a rage. Instead, she fisted her hands at her side and repeated, ‘I am not a whore.’

‘I wouldn’t expect Lord Brandr’s daughter to be one. Although, finding you as I did would have made it easy for another to have come to that conclusion.’

The arrogant half-smile on his face was her undoing. Everything she had suffered these last weeks—the hunger and thirst, the fear, the cold dampness—all roiled to the fore serving to ignite her rage. Avelyn raised her arm to strike the smug expression from his face.

His arm shot out as fast as a loosened arrow and he grasped her forearm, warning, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ He pulled her against his chest. ‘I am not beholden to your father, nor to you. I will not meekly endure your abuse no matter how angry you become.’

Avelyn lowered her head, wishing she could simply disappear as quickly as her rage had at the deep tone of his voice. What was wrong with her to make her act like such a simpleton, such a fool?

At her lingering silence, he said, ‘Your anger is misplaced. I have done you no harm, nor have I wronged you.’

‘I know. I am sorry and apologise. It’s just that...’

She stopped speaking and closed her eyes, unable to find the words she sought and not wanting to say anything more to a man not known to her.

He released her and with a finger beneath her chin lifted her head. ‘What? It’s just that what?’

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He didn’t appear angry or out of sorts. Just curious, as if what she’d been about to say mattered. ‘It’s just that I don’t wish to wed Sir Bolk.’

He laughed softly and lowered his hand. ‘I can understand that. I wouldn’t want to marry him either.’

How could she not laugh at his ridiculous comment? However, knowing he was taking her back to do just that—marry Sir Bolk—tempered her humour.

Avelyn sighed and stepped away from the comfort she’d found pressed against his chest. ‘Yes, well, while neither of us wishes to marry my great-grandfather’s warlord, I will soon be forced to do so.’ She shivered at the thought of sharing a life and a bed with the man.

‘Then you have two or three days to find a reason that will convince King David to intervene on your behalf.’

‘I am nothing more than a piece of property. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.’

‘Ah, perhaps you have forgotten, property has value.’

That was true. Property did have value. But that value was determined by men who had little, if any, concern for her or for anything she might want for her future. A future she hadn’t thought about in what seemed ages.

Her wants were no different than any other woman’s. She wanted a husband, home and children. But she had little faith in the love that troubadours sang about—it seemed a rather fleeting and useless emotion. Something more solid seemed a better choice—caring, friendship, sharing, a partnership of sorts were all things she would prefer over some elusive feeling that served only to leave one suffering the relentless pain of loss.

Her mother had pined for her love every day until the last. Even on her death bed, she’d wanted nothing more than the touch of his lips against hers one more time. At fourteen years old Avelyn had come to the harsh realisation that this love her mother craved was never going to come to her bedside—at least not while she lived. After her mother had died, she’d vowed never to allow herself to be trapped so neatly by a man’s pretty words.

No matter how sweetly spoken, they were false and meaningless.

But that didn’t mean she did not want a husband. She simply wanted one who would honestly care for her and her alone. One who was nearer her own age, so they could grow old together. One strong enough to protect her if need be and lustful enough to give her children.

One not unlike the man before her.

Avelyn gasped softly. What devil had put that notion in her head?

She took another step backwards, wanting to put more than an arm’s length of distance between them.

‘Avelyn? Lady Avelyn?’

From the sharper tone of his voice and the quizzical way his brows were drawn closer together, he had asked her a question. One she’d missed while her unruly mind was off wandering places it shouldn’t go.

‘What?’

‘I asked why Sir Bolk had been chosen.’

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. It isn’t as if they included me in making their decision.’

‘You have a brain, otherwise you would not have got this far on your own. So, think about it. Why would they have chosen such an elderly man and why would he have agreed?’

‘Well, of course he agreed. What man in their right mind would naysay their King?’

‘You obviously don’t know Sir Bolk. Not even the King could sway him if he wasn’t agreeable to the arrangement.’

‘No, I don’t know him. Nor do I wish to.’

‘He must have seen some advantage to the wedding.’

‘Other than trying to outlive a third wife?’

‘I doubt if that would happen. However, he would go to his death bed as son-in-law to Brandr and great-grandson-in-law to King Óláfr. Everything of value he possessed at that moment would go to—’

‘My father!’ she interjected, cutting off his words. ‘Including me.’ She staggered a couple of steps back, shocked by the realisation that her father and great-grandfather were even more underhanded than she could have imagined.

‘Then they would have the opportunity to marry you off once again.’

Even though Bolk’s possessions were meagre, they would all pass to her father. Avelyn wanted to scream. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and asked, ‘Do you think King David would go against my family?’

‘If given a good enough reason to do so.’

‘You said I have two or three days to devise one?’

‘That is about how long it will take to reach Carlisle.’

She stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on his arm. ‘Then, my good sir...’ she pulled her hand back ‘...what is your name?’

‘Roul. Lord Elrik of Roul.’

Avelyn burst out laughing. When she was able to gain control of herself, she wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head. ‘Of course you are. It only makes perfect sense that King David sent his Wolf to sniff out and retrieve King Óláfr’s lowly prey.’

He frowned down at her. ‘I fail to see the humour.’

‘That is because you are not in my place. I am nothing but a defenceless dove. You are a wolf. It seems out of place that they would send such a skilled hunter to track down so meek a prey.’

He offered her his arm and then turned to escort her to the men and horses waiting near the well. ‘It is impossible to know ahead of time how dangerous a prey might prove to be.’

‘Yes, that is true. You had no way of knowing if this dove hid fangs inside her beak.’

He nodded in agreement. ‘Or perhaps talons worthy of any eagle.’

Once they reached the others, Elrik paused to ask, ‘Can you ride?’

Avelyn could count the times she’d been on the back of a horse on one hand—two fingers in truth. But the alternative was obvious—she’d be forced to share his mount and that would place her too close to him for comfort. She shrugged. ‘Not well, but I’ll manage.’

He lifted a brow, but said nothing. Instead, he removed his long mantle and slung it over her shoulders. While securing the pin to hold the cloak in place and tucking her hair inside the hood, he said, ‘This will keep you from getting any wetter than you already are.’

‘What about you? It will do little good for you to catch a chill.’

‘I won’t get sick from a little rain.’

She looked up at the animal next to her and, even though it was the smallest of the lot, she wondered how she was going to scramble up on something that tall. Before she could ask, Elrik wrapped both hands round her waist and lifted her up on to the saddle.

Avelyn swung a leg over to the other side and tucked the long edges of his cloak beneath her legs. She took a deep breath before taking the offered reins in her hands, then stated, ‘I am ready.’

She could only hope her words sounded more confident to him than they had to her own ears.

‘You will be fine.’ He patted her knee before mounting his own horse.

* * *

By the time they stopped a few hours later, the rain had ceased and now the clouds had begun to part allowing the stars to twinkle against the darkening sky.

Avelyn shivered on her log seat before the fire and barely tasted the food in her mouth. She was tired and stiff from riding. Her hands ached from holding on to the reins so tightly the entire time and her thighs burned from clamping them against the saddle in an attempt not to fall.

Her rescuer, Lord Elrik, had said nothing, but she’d felt him watching her the entire time and had feared that at any moment he was going to pluck her from her horse and plop her in front of him on his. She had to admit that there had been a couple of times when she’d not have argued with that arrangement. Times when they’d ridden too fast, or when the road beneath the horse’s hooves seemed to rise too steeply as they’d climbed a hill.

To her amazement, she’d managed. But right now, she was most thankful to be planted firmly on solid ground. Her only desire was to curl into a ball and give over to the beckoning sleep teasing at her sluggish mind.

Elrik leaned against a tree and watched Avelyn sway and then quickly jerk upright as she stopped herself from falling asleep right there on the log. It was obvious the woman was exhausted. It’d been more obvious that riding a horse was not something she’d been taught.

They’d lost a few hours due to her inexperience and that was something he couldn’t afford to let happen tomorrow. She wasn’t going to be pleased, but they needed to make up some time and would only be able to do so if she rode with him.

The thought of holding her before him, his arms around her, his chest a platform for her back, didn’t seem as unappealing as he might have expected. Granted, she would argue and put up a fuss at first, but she would soon become accustomed to the feel of his body against hers. After all, it wasn’t as if they would be doing anything unseemly.

He groaned softly at the image that thought had conjured.

Elrik shook the vision from his mind. What was wrong with him? Had a comely body and pretty face made him suddenly lose the ability to reason? She was Brandr’s daughter. Hadn’t that family already caused him enough trouble?

Besides, a woman was the last thing he needed in his life—no matter how attractive he’d found her. Experience had taught him that women were not worth the time, expense or heartache they brought along with them.

Hadn’t Muriel given him enough grief to last two lifetimes?

No. Holding her in front of him would not do. He needed to come up with some other way of keeping her securely on the horse.

Avelyn swayed on her seat again, but caught herself with a jerk that brought her upright once again.

When she once again swayed on the log, she’d been slower to jerk herself awake.

Elrik pushed away from the tree, knowing that this next sway would not be stopped as successfully. He caught her in his arms a heartbeat before she hit the ground.

Cradling her against his chest, he carried her to the makeshift pallet spread out not too far from the warmth of the fire and placed her on the blanket. Without waking, she instantly rolled on to her side, curling into a relaxed ball with a hand beneath her cheek.

He grabbed his mantle, which, after it had been dried by the fire, had been laid alongside the pallet, and covered her with the fur-lined garment. After tucking the edges tightly around her, he rose and stared at a wayward ebony lock of hair resting against the paleness of her cheek.

He had to give Brandr credit for one thing at least. The man could be a traitorous viper at the best of times, but he had produced a very lovely daughter.

Elrik joined his men near the fire.

Just as he stretched his legs out to get comfortable, Fulke asked, ‘How are you going to deliver her to King David if she falls from her horse and breaks her neck first?’

Not one to let a question go without comment, Samuel said, ‘It isn’t her neck we should be worried about. At the rate we are travelling, it’ll be our own necks in danger.’

Sometimes, like now when complaining seemed the current activity of choice, Elrik had to remind himself that these were more than just childhood friends, they were his two best men—they could both sleep in the saddle while still retaining control of their horses, both were handy with a blade be it a sword or a dagger and both men would always protect his back if the need arose. So, enduring their complaints was usually bearable.

This was not one of those nights. ‘The pace will pick up tomorrow and she’ll not break her neck.’

When Samuel opened his mouth, Elrik glared at him. The dark look gained him the result he’d desired—the man closed his mouth without saying another word.

Chapter Three

To Avelyn’s relief, she’d slept well on the hardness of the ground. It was more like her old pallet at her mother’s than the over-soft, lumpy mattress in her shared chamber at her father’s keep. For the first time in what seemed ages, she’d awakened feeling rested, although a bit stiff, and ready to continue their journey.

She did wish, however, they could do so on foot instead of on the back of a horse.

Well aware that her wish would not be considered, she studied the horse being led in her direction. It was the one she’d ridden yesterday, the smallest of the four, but as far as she was concerned the only difference size made was in the distance to the ground—the fall would still hurt as much.

What did catch her attention was the saddle. The one she’d used yesterday—with the shorter pommel and cantle—had been placed on Roul’s animal, while his saddle, with the high front and back meant to help keep him seated during a battle, was on her horse. Lashed to the inside of both the pommel and the cantle was a rolled-up blanket.

That wasn’t the only difference. The stirrups had been cinched higher so that she’d be riding with her knees slightly bent, instead of hanging straight down, and a lead string had been secured to the reins.

Roul held his hand out. ‘Come, we need to make up for lost time.’

She hesitantly took a step forward and grasped his hand.

The fingers closing around hers were warm and a smile curved up the corners of his mouth, lending Avelyn a small amount of courage as she joined him alongside the horse.

He stroked his free hand the length of the animal’s nose. ‘I didn’t properly introduce you yesterday as I should have. Avelyn, this is Little Lady and she’s helped train more guards than I can count.’

‘You brought her along to train a guard?’

With his fingers still woven between hers, he raised their hands to the horse’s head. ‘No. I was uncertain if the runaway I sought could ride or not.’

He stroked the animal’s neck with their entwined hands. ‘And since I’ve discovered that she cannot, I am giving Little Lady here a task she is well suited to perform.’

From the way the animal eyed her, Avelyn got the impression she was not exactly a welcome task.

Roul nudged her shoulder with his. ‘Relax. She’s never bitten or thrown anyone.’

Under her breath, Avelyn muttered, ‘Yet.’

His laugh let her know that her comment had been heard.

It wasn’t until he grasped the lead string with one hand and rested the other hand on her shoulder that she noticed she was stroking the horse alone—his hand no longer covered hers. Avelyn frowned.

How had he managed that without her knowledge?

From the solid wall of warmth at her back she knew that while he might have released her hand and moved behind her while she’d remained unaware, he’d stayed close enough to prevent anything from happening. She stiffened her spine.

He lightly squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ll be this close for the entire journey. Nothing is going to harm you.’

She wasn’t certain what bothered her more—the heated breath rushing against her ear, his nearness that made her feel protected yet threatened at the same time, his words promising her she’d come to no harm, or the sudden realisation that he wasn’t going to give her any chance to escape.

‘Ready?’

As much as she wanted to tell him no, she knew they weren’t going to stand here for ever. ‘I suppose.’

‘Up with you.’ He lifted her on to the saddle before she could change her mind and handed her the reins. ‘Lady will follow my horse’s lead. You need do nothing to guide her.’

He adjusted the roll of blankets behind her, wedging it tighter between her body and the cantle, then did the same with the roll in front. ‘These should keep you from sliding around on the saddle. If you feel unsteady, hang on to the pommel.’

After checking the length of the stirrups, he rested a hand on her knee and looked up, assuring her, ‘You will be fine. Just try to relax.’

Through the layers of her tunic and chemise, she felt the warmth of his touch. And he wanted her to relax? She nodded. ‘I shall try.’

Elrik mounted his horse and tucked the end of the lead string behind his belt. Since Little Lady would follow along without baulking, he knew he didn’t need to keep a tight hold on her lead.

Once they were on the road, his men split up, Fulke in front and Samuel behind. With them guarding the road, Elrik was better able to keep his attention on Avelyn.

Even though they were moving faster than they had yesterday, her rigid back and near-white knuckles from gripping the reins so tightly made him wonder how long she’d be able to keep up this pace.

Elrik rarely remained at King David’s court longer than absolutely necessary. The times he had tarried overlong, he’d discovered that few, if any, of the men and women in attendance wanted anything to do with David’s Wolf.

However, he had been called to court often enough to notice the actions and manners of the people there and he’d seen enough women of substance on horseback to realise that learning to ride was normal for them. So, Lady Avelyn’s lack of skill confused him.

‘How is it that you never learned to ride a horse?’

Without taking her stare from the spot between her horse’s ears, she asked in return, ‘Even if I’d have had a need to learn, where would I have found a suitable horse?’

‘In your father’s stable?’

The laugh that escaped her lips was more bitter than pleasant. ‘My father did not acknowledge my existence until after my mother died.’

‘I thought—’

‘The same thing everyone else thinks,’ she interrupted whatever he’d been about to say. ‘That I was born and raised in my father’s keep. An assumption that couldn’t be more wrong.’

Elrik knew she was the man’s natural-born daughter conceived outside his marriage. Still, she was an important enough possession to have been raised at his keep and taught the ways of nobility. Since Brandr had been more concerned with removing King David’s rule over the land, perhaps he hadn’t been aware of her birth. ‘Did he know about you?’

‘My mother said that he did. She’d been a servant in his keep, but when it was discovered she carried the lord’s child, the steward banished her from the keep.’ She paused, frowning a moment, then said, ‘Mother had been certain the order came from the lord or lady, yet he seemed shocked when he discovered me in our hut after her funeral. Perhaps he hadn’t issued the order.’

Elrik shook his head, wondering what he’d been thinking to have started such a personal conversation about things that were none of his concern, but curiosity prompted him to push forward, asking, ‘What do you mean he discovered you?’

‘I still don’t know why he came that day.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper as if she were talking to herself. ‘She’d pined for him for as long as I can remember. His name was the one on her lips when she took her last breath. But her prayers and wishes had gone unanswered. Not once in the fourteen years since I’d been born had he come to our home. Not until after her body was covered with dirt.’

‘And that’s when he came for you?’

‘Came for me?’ She looked up at him and shook her head. ‘No. I think he came to make certain my mother was truly gone.’

‘And instead, he found you?’

‘Only by accident. I’d been sitting in a corner eating my last crust of bread when he entered with two of his guards. They stopped me when I tried bolting to safety. I thought they were going to kill me from the way they were excitedly shoving me back and forth, daring each other to be the first to take a taste, but after staring at me for a few moments he ordered the guards to release me.’

Elrik doubted if their intent had been to kill her. ‘So, he did recognise you?’

‘He said I looked like his mother, the late Lady Avelyn. That’s when I realised I’d not been named for my mother’s mother, but for his. Which obviously shocked him, because he paled upon learning my name.’

‘No one had ever told you that?’

‘When my mother said I was named for my grandmother, I always thought she’d meant her mother. So, both he and I were rather surprised.’

She laughed at the memory and, this time, her laughter was lighter, not quite as bitter as it had been earlier. Since she seemed a bit more relaxed than she had when they had first started out, Elrik wanted to keep her talking, so he asked, ‘Did he then move you to the keep?’

Again, she shook her head. ‘Not that day. He had one of his men gather some food from the village for me and vowed to return in a day or so.’

It was difficult to imagine Brandr leaving a fourteen-year-old girl to fend for herself even for just a day or two, especially one who he knew was his natural-born daughter. Old enough to take as a wife—or simply use as one—she’d been left unguarded and alone. Perhaps that was what he had hoped would happen—it would have taken away his responsibility for her care.

Elrik glanced at Avelyn and noticed that she’d released her death grip on the reins and had rested one hand atop the pommel.

‘To my surprise, he did return.’

Since Brandr had shown no previous interest in her or her mother, Elrik could understand her surprise.

‘He and his men terrified the whole village when they loaded me and my few possessions into a cart before torching the hut.’

This time, the stiffening of her body and clenching of her hands had nothing to do with fear of the horse, but obvious anger at Brandr’s actions.

Elrik asked, ‘Did he give any reason for setting fire to what could have provided another with shelter?’

‘He’d claimed it was so I had no place to ever return to. But from the way he tore through my mother’s things first, I believed he’d been looking for something and, when he couldn’t find it, burned the hut to ensure no one else would either.’

‘What could your mother have had that was so valuable to him?’

‘While I suspect he was looking for a gold ring, I never cared enough to ask.’ Avelyn shrugged. ‘All I knew was that he’d destroyed the only home I’d ever known.’

He’d always considered Brandr to be heartless, but he’d never imagined the man to be so devious and petty. It would have made more sense to thoroughly search the hut again instead of torching it. Destroying an enemy’s property during battle was one thing, but to destroy what was essentially his own property out of frustration or spite was not only thoughtless and short-sighted, it showed a complete lack of concern for his villagers—the very people whose welfare was his responsibility.

Noticing the sad downturn of her lips, Elrik drew her attention back to her suspicions. ‘A gold ring?’

‘For my twelfth birthday, my mother gave me a gold ring, stating it had been my grandmother’s wedding band and that I was to keep it safe at all costs.’

‘And did you?’

‘I buried it beneath the floor under my pallet.’

Of course the man hadn’t thought of digging up the hard-packed floor. ‘That was good thinking for one so young.’

‘No, not really. I knew the ring was of value from the markings on it and burying it like a treasure was all I could think of doing.’

‘Markings?’

‘Yes.’ She reached inside the neck of her gown, tugged out the small pouch and handed him the ring, saying, ‘I don’t know what they mean.’

Elrik inspected the piece of jewellery. The ring was not a wedding band. He narrowed his gaze and glanced at her before looking back at the gold seal ring. She couldn’t read. Had her father seen to anything that might have benefitted his daughter? If not, then why hadn’t his grandfather done so?

She might have been born to a servant, but she was a lord’s daughter, more importantly the great-granddaughter of a king. There were things she needed to know how to do in order to be able to run a keep successfully, otherwise she would have to always rely on her husband, or trust the people in her service and neither were the best options. It would be far too easy for someone to take advantage of her.

He held the top of the ring out for her to see. ‘This is the letter “A” over the top of your great-grandfather’s seal. Your grandmother would have used it to put her official wax mark on any missives she’d sent.’ He turned the ring. ‘The roses on the side are simply for decoration.’

She frowned. ‘Why would my mother say it was a wedding band?’

‘Perhaps she’d been told it was and didn’t know any different.’

‘Why would she have it in the first place?’

Elrik handed the ring back to her. ‘I can only guess that your father gave it to her for some reason.’ It could have been a token of his affection, or payment for services rendered, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

While once again securing the ring in its pouch tucked safely beneath the neck of her gown, she asked, ‘I can neither read, nor write, so why would she have placed so much importance on keeping it safe when she gave it to me?’

‘Lady Avelyn, it is a way for you to prove your relationship to your family if need be. Your mother was looking out for your future in the only way she could.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Oh! Maybe this is what my father was looking for when he tore apart my mother’s home.’

‘Most likely.’ Although why Brandr would need any proof of his identity was a mystery he had no desire to unravel.

‘He could have just asked. There was no reason to destroy my home.’

Elrik had no reply to her comment as there was no good reason for his actions. A few moments of silence passed when he felt her watching him and when he turned his focus back to her, she asked, ‘Have I ruined your high regard for Lord Brandr?’

Fulke turned to look over his shoulder at her question until Elrik’s hard glare made him once again face forward. Not willing to divulge his hatred of her father, he answered her innocent question as non-committally as possible, ‘Fear not. My regard for Brandr has never been high.’

‘Yet you are returning me to him.’

He reminded her, ‘I am taking you to King David.’

‘Who will then hand me back over to the tender care of my father.’

The disdain in her voice prompted him to ask, ‘Your life with him has not been better than it was before?’

Avelyn looked at him, wondering if she’d already told him far too much. Instead of telling him that life with her father had been much harder than she’d expected, she said, ‘I learned more in the four years at his keep than I did in the fourteen years with my mother.’

It wasn’t a lie, she had learned more—much more about the ways of men and the lies they told.

‘I imagine it wasn’t easy to leave the life you’d known behind.’

‘No, but other people would disagree with you. There were many at my father’s keep who believed the life I had before was not worth living. They didn’t understand how being brought to Brandr could prove a hardship for me. The simple truth was that I had nowhere else to go.’ She would have rather been left alone living in her mother’s home.

‘How did you find yourself betrothed to Bolk?’

‘I suppose the same as any unwed woman—my family arranged it. From what Lord Somerled claimed when he arrived with the news, my great-grandfather arranged it all.’

She looked up at him. From the bland expression on his face, she knew he wasn’t interested in anything about her, but had likely been seeking to draw her fear away from being on the back of a horse. His tactic had worked, but it was time to learn what she could about him.

‘Enough about me. What was your childhood like?’

At first, he stiffened and she feared he would say nothing. She’d spent four years living with people who spoke to her only when they absolutely had to do so. These last days spent with Hannah had been a rare blessing as the women were all more than happy to converse. She didn’t look forward to a return of the silence.

When she could stand the quiet no longer, she said, ‘Please, my lord, I do not ask that you betray any secrets, I want only to hear the sound of another’s voice.’

Finally, he sighed, then said, ‘My childhood was likely not much different than yours. But my three brothers and I grew up with our father as our mother died in childbirth.’

‘The baby survived?’

‘Yes. Two of the women in the village had given birth about the same time, so they cared for Rory along with Edan who was about one in addition to their own.’

That made sense to her since it wasn’t unusual for the women in her village to band together and help each other in time of need. Besides, how would his father have cared for an infant by himself? She couldn’t imagine her father even bothering to attempt the task. He would have been more likely to set the baby outside the castle walls to await its certain death than to assume any responsibility for its well-being.

‘How old were you and your other brother?’

‘I was nine, so Gregor would have been six.’

At nine he was still a child. ‘How did your father cope with two young boys and his other duties?’

Roul laughed before answering, ‘He didn’t. He saw to his duties while I kept Gregor and myself out of trouble as much as possible.’

The guard behind them snorted. Without turning around, Roul responded, ‘I did a fairly good job of it, except for the times other boys got us embroiled in childish pranks.’

His men were quick to interject. ‘Like raiding the roost for eggs to toss from trees at people passing by?’

The one in front of them added, ‘Or getting mud all over the clean laundry?’

Avelyn couldn’t help but laugh. When this subsided, she said, ‘So the lord’s boys weren’t much different than those from the village?’

‘Probably worse, since we had no one at home to mete out punishment for our pranks,’ he admitted, then added, ‘Like the whipping these two took when one passer-by was Samuel’s father.’ He hitched a thumb over his shoulder to the guard riding behind them, before he nodded towards the guard in front of them and said, ‘And Fulke’s mother was the head laundress.’

‘Sadly, the pranks ended shortly after that,’ Samuel said.

‘Why is that?’

‘Because their parents...’ Roul nodded towards both men before continuing ‘...suggested to my father that Gregor and I needed some tasks to keep us from having idle hands during the day. So, we had lessons with the priest in the morning and spent our afternoons split between the stables where we learned how to care for and ride horses and the bailey learning how to fight.’

Fulke added, ‘We didn’t exactly get off lightly either. The two of us were banished to the shipyard and wharf until we were old enough to handle a weapon.’

‘What did you do then?’ Avelyn asked.

‘Trained hard to get into Roul’s guard.’

She looked at Elrik, who shook his head. ‘Not mine—my father’s.’

‘Oh. I thought all men owed service to their lord.’

‘Well, yes, but on Roul, as long as we aren’t under attack—or the threat of attack—their service is only mandatory a couple of weeks a year. We need the men working at the shipyard and docks in addition to the keep. But even those who choose to employ their services at the keep aren’t necessarily qualified to join the guard.’

She frowned in confusion and leaned back against the blanket-padded cantle. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

‘While every keep needs to be guarded at all times, the normal day-to-day responsibilities can be supplemented with men who aren’t always there. For example, right now Henry is on gate duty for the next two weeks. He’ll eat and sleep in the guard quarters at night, so that he’s available any time day or night. When his two weeks are completed he’ll return to his own home, wife, family and his normal routine at the docks.’

‘But he’s not a guard?’

‘No. He is on guard duty.’ Elrik drew in a breath and frowned, before explaining further, ‘Where Samuel here is a guard and is never off duty. He will take his turns at guard duty wherever he is assigned, but if I or my brothers need him for another task that’s where he will go.’

She glanced over her shoulder at Samuel. ‘And you do this by choice?’

The man nodded.

Elrik leaned over to whisper, ‘He is no good with tools, so he’s useless at the shipyard and he likes to drink too much to be left to his own devices at the dock.’

As Elrik sat back up, Samuel cleared his throat and then said, ‘But I am good with a sword and this way I don’t have to cook, do my own laundry, find my own place to live and the pay is reasonable, so I’ve no complaints with my lot.’

Without turning around Fulke added, ‘And sometimes the task that takes us away from Roul is easy, making it far more preferable than gate duty.’

‘Gate duty is hard?’

‘Boring!’ both men answered at the same time.

‘What made you choose these two for this task?’ she asked Elrik.

‘Simple. Whenever I’ve need of men I trust without question, these two are first on my very short list. Since the three of us grew up together we can communicate many things without words. I know that when Fulke stiffens in his saddle that something questionable is ahead, or when Samuel hisses beneath his breath danger lurks nearby. I know without ordering and without a doubt that they will guard my back.’

‘And we trust Elrik to return us to Roul in one piece.’ Samuel said.

Ahead of them, Fulke nodded in agreement.

‘So, the three of you are...friends?’

Elrik shrugged. ‘I suppose you could say that.’

‘Perhaps,’ Fulke said while looking over his shoulder. ‘But I am not tucking either of you into bed tonight.’

Samuel snorted before blowing a loud smacking kiss towards the other man.

‘Enough.’ Elrik ordered. ‘As evidenced by their behaviour we are more like brothers than friends. Even so, at times, someone has to be in charge.’

Avelyn nodded. ‘Yes, I can see where some order at times might be needed. Do you think that someone in charge might order a break soon?’

Samuel stretched, then yawned. ‘Now there’s an order that would be welcome.’

Elrik looked up at the sky and, from the slight widening of his eyes, seemed surprised to discover the sun had already passed its cenit to begin its descent. He motioned towards a clearing just ahead. ‘We’ve ridden longer than I’d thought. We’ll stop here to eat and stretch.’

Fulke and Samuel rode ahead. When Avelyn and Elrik arrived at the clearing a few moments later, the men had already started to unpack a leather sack of food.

Elrik dismounted and, after removing the padding, he assisted her from the horse. The moment her feet hit the ground, Avelyn’s legs wobbled and she stumbled against him, clinging to his shoulders to regain her footing.

His arms closed around her easily, as if they had done so countless times to support her and hold her close. ‘Take a moment.’

The deep huskiness of his voice caught her attention. She looked up at the face so near hers. The hardness of the chest she rested against, the warmth of his embrace and his heavily lidded gaze warned her that taking a moment would not be wise. A shiver raced down her spine, leaving her less steady on her feet than she’d been a heartbeat before.

Avelyn gasped softly and tore her stare from his. She pulled away, forcing her legs to hold her upright, and lowered her hands from his shoulders. ‘I am fine now. Thank you.’

‘You are far from fine.’ His voice had lost all traces of any warmth. In fact, he sounded decidedly angry. He took her arm and led her towards a log. ‘Sit down before you end up face first in the dirt.’

She pulled free of his grasp and then took a seat. ‘You create such a lovely vision of me.’

‘You could have said something earlier about being stiff and tired.’

Why was he now being so contrary? ‘Yes, I could have and then you would have complained about me slowing you down.’

‘I need to get you to King David quickly.’

‘Oh, yes, so he can hand me over to wed Sir Bolk.’ She stared up at him and quirked a brow. ‘Perhaps I should suggest that you would be a better mate for the ogre than I. Do you think your King might agree with me?’

‘Is that your attempt at humour?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I am quite serious. It seems to me that the two of you might have much in common.’

‘Such as?’

‘Surliness, impatience and arrogance to begin with. If you give me but a moment, I am certain I can find more things you share.’

A muffled snort from one of the men let her know that they were paying close attention to this conversation. She didn’t care.

‘Arrogance?’

‘Yes, you heard me correctly. Arrogance.’

His threatening glare deepened, but Avelyn refused to let it intimidate her. She held his dark stare with what she hoped was a threatening glare of her own.

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