Longing for Her Forbidden Viking

by Harper St. George

  That thought forced him to look away and stare down into his mead, but the honeyed notes in the liquid only reminded him of the way the firelight played over the gold tones in her hair. Cursing under his breath, he wondered how much more of this celebration he’d be forced to endure.

  The couple had long since retired to their bedchamber upstairs for the evening. Given the thin walls and flooring, there was no question that the marriage had been well and truly consummated. The usual ribald comments had begun and Ellan had sat across from him, blushing with each one. More telling was how she would glance over to him, letting him know her thoughts followed his own. Lady Gwendolyn had been indulgent and let the suggestive remarks pass until she had finally proposed more dancing. Aevir had been a fool to think the music would provide any sort of relief from wanting Ellan. In fact, as the evening wore on and his gaze kept finding her dancing form, he was beginning to think that the only way to rid himself of his obsession would be to have her once and get it over with. Jarl Vidar might disapprove, but whatever the punishment was it would be worth it.

  Pushing his tankard back, he went to rise and go to her, but Jarl Vidar’s voice stayed him.

  ‘Aevir, stay a moment,’ Jarl Vidar called.

  He sat back down, wondering if his intention had been so clearly written on his face. Frequently the Jarl wore a forbidding expression, but tonight he was relaxed and smiling. His own gaze was drawn to the movements of his lady wife as she danced.

  Aevir breathed a sigh of relief that his intentions towards Ellan hadn’t been revealed. ‘Aye, Jarl.’

  ‘I want you to know that I appreciate you giving me your loyalty. You and your men have already proven to be invaluable assets to Alvey.’

  Aevir grinned. ‘We don’t come cheaply, but we’re worth it.’

  The Jarl was probably a couple of winters younger than Aevir, which was young for a jarl. It was a testament to how ripe this land was for opportunity to quickly gain status, which was what had tempted Aevir to come fight for Vidar. He’d roamed his homeland, raided the Franks and worked as a mercenary as far away as Constantinople for a handful of years, filling his coffers. His men respected him and he was known as an honest and effective warrior. However, the status he craved had eluded him. To become a jarl in his own right he needed land and lots of it, along with a small army to rule.

  Jarl Vidar laughed. ‘Indeed. When you gave me your loyalty, I told you that you’d be well rewarded for it. Well, I’ve finally decided on a marriage that will help you secure the status you desire.’

  On her deathbed, his mother had praised his strength, but had bade him not to flaunt it. The son of a slave was not meant to rise high in the world and strength would make him a target for men who wanted to keep him in his place. He’d vowed in that moment that one day he would rise to the same level of the men she feared. Though she wouldn’t be there to see him, he’d walk proudly among them, deserving of every bit of respect that they commanded for themselves. While he had travelled far and wide, the stain of being a bastard son of a slave had followed him. It had become clear to him that marriage to a high-born woman was the only way to rid himself of it.

  Vidar’s proclamation shouldn’t have come as a shock, but it did. When he’d first arrived in Alvey and sworn his oath, the Jarl had spoken privately to him about arranging a marriage. At the time, Aevir had accepted it as the next necessary phase of his life. He’d never expected it to happen so soon.

  ‘Aevir?’ Jarl Vidar’s voice broke through his hesitation. ‘You don’t seem pleased.’

  Aevir shook his head. ‘I’m very pleased, merely surprised. Who is the woman?’

  He knew that he had failed to appear happy when two identical creases formed between the Jarl’s brows. Leaning forward and lowering his voice, Jarl Vidar said, ‘I know that you were married once before. I understand if you want to wait—’

  ‘Nay.’ An image of the only wife of his heart flashed through Aevir’s mind. She was laughing at him after he’d slipped on the frozen lake helping to carry a swine to her home. It was the first time he had met her and still how he imagined her during the very rare times he allowed his thoughts to drift that way. He refused to think of her now and forcefully returned her memory to the confines of his heart. His first marriage had been for love; his next would be for status and nothing more. ‘Thank you, Jarl, but waiting isn’t necessary. Who is to be my...?’ He couldn’t say wife. He wouldn’t. ‘Who am I to marry?’

  ‘Her name is Annis. She is a Saxon relation of my brother Eirik. Her father was a powerful Saxon, he still is, though he operates under Eirik’s rule. The family is a relation of the Northumbrian King Ecgberht, so the marriage will come with a small portion of land.’

  ‘Not in Alvey?’

  The Jarl shook his head. ‘Nay, south, but not as far as Eirik’s land. You’ll essentially oversee the territory between. I had thought to offer the position to Rolfe, but it wasn’t a good fit because he prefers to stay in Alvey.’ He grinned and added, ‘He also seems to prefer Elswyth. The arrangement is much more suitable to a man of your ambition.’

  The match was a good one. Aevir would hold a strong position and have access to those who governed. He could marry this unknown woman and keep her at a distance, consummate their marriage and allow her to lead a separate life from him. He could continue wielding his sword while she stayed at home. Depending on her view of the Danes, she might even prefer to live with her family over him. That arrangement was the type he had imagined when he decided that another marriage was necessary for him to achieve his goals.

  ‘It is a good match. What do you know of this Annis?’

  Jarl Vidar smiled. ‘Last time I saw her she was a child, but that was years ago and she’s bound to have grown a bit.’

  A bitter taste rose in the back of his throat. He had no liking for child-brides, or women who were forced to marry. ‘Then the girl is an innocent?’

  ‘Nay, she’s a widow. Her husband, a Saxon, died recently and there were no children.’

  Somehow that seemed better. Perhaps she mourned her husband still and wouldn’t expect much from her new one. Still, having the reality of it before him made dread settle like a lead weight in his belly. His gaze found Ellan, her smile bright in the sea of cheers and clapping around her. Just looking upon her warmed something long grown cold within him. He hadn’t realised until this moment that the promise of more with her had started to bud inside his chest. He was forced to rip it out by the roots, for it was a ridiculous notion. Aside from the fact that he suspected she was in Alvey for duplicitous reasons, the truth was that she was a simple farm girl who could not give him the status he craved.

  ‘When do you think a wedding can be arranged?’ he asked.

  Jarl Vidar grinned, apparently convinced of Aevir’s enthusiasm. ‘You’ll meet her after the spring thaw. You can be married soon after. We’ll travel down together, assuming this mess with the Scots allows it.’

  Aevir forced himself to smile, but it felt wooden and awkward. It was hardly more than a twitch of his lips. The Jarl seemed content with the outcome, however, and leaned forward to clasp his arm. Aevir stayed a moment to accept the good wishes of the men around him before excusing himself for the evening.

  Sensing that it was now or never, he intended to persuade Ellan to spend the rest of the night with him. He was leaving to patrol the northern border in the morning and could spare one night to know what it was like to lose himself inside her. From the way she had proclaimed it her right to kiss whomever she wanted, he imagined she wasn’t quite as innocent as the Jarl believed. Because Rolfe had married her sister, Aevir had begun to suspect the proclamation was simply to ensure her safety. She wasn’t actually a blood relative to the man, so any punishment for touching her would likely be in the form of a fine. It was a price he was willing to pay to be with her.

  He immediately looked for Ellan again
and his heart stuttered when he couldn’t find her dancing. Lady Gwendolyn and the other women laughed and held hands as they turned in a circle, but there was no Ellan.

  Pushing his way through the crowd, he opened the door and hurried out into the cold night, genuinely concerned that a man might have taken her. The mead had flowed easily tonight and the wedding had made many of the men more eager than usual, himself included. The yard was deserted as almost everyone was packed inside the hall. Some had already sought their beds for the night, but it was too cold to linger outside. A light rustling of fabric had him walking around the corner of the hall to see her leaning back against the side, her face raised to the night air. Several strands of hair had fallen from her braid and the crown of ivy she wore tilted to the side, but somehow the dishevelment only made her more beautiful. There was a tightening deep in his belly as he watched her and that more than his conversation with Jarl Vidar made his voice harsh when he asked, ‘What are you doing out here?’

  Her eyes widened as she opened them. ‘Aevir! You frightened me.’

  He almost despised how much he wanted her. The sentiment did nothing to soften the tone of his voice. ‘It’s not safe for you out here alone.’

  His tone seemed to startle her for a moment, but she quickly, gathered her wits and gave him a hesitant smile. ‘But I’m not alone...you’re here now.’

  Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with exertion. A fine mist of sweat shimmered on her face, making him ache to taste the salt of her skin. ‘And why do you think that makes you any safer?’ Somehow, he had drifted closer so that he stood directly in front of her. The mead seemed to dull everything around them while bringing her into sharp clarity before him.

  She looked up at him and said with perfect innocence, ‘Because I know that you wouldn’t harm me.’

  Her bottom lip was plump and moist, causing him to remember how she had kissed him back in the larder. ‘You’re right. Pleasure is so much better.’

  His palms pressed into the coarse wood at her back on either side of her. He felt like a moth must feel being drawn to the flame that would surely destroy it, but being powerless to resist its beauty.

  She gasped as if only now grasping the particular danger she was in and her hands came up to rest on his chest. She didn’t push him away, however. ‘You know that Lord Vidar wouldn’t allow...’ She swallowed audibly and seemed unable to finish her thought.

  All instinct now, he leaned down so that his mouth nearly brushed her ear. Her scent overwhelmed his senses, causing his body to clench with arousal that made him feel drunk as it swept through him. ‘Come to bed with me, Ellan.’

  ‘Aevir,’ she whispered her outrage, but when her gaze met his he could see the answer to his arousal in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips.

  The promise of gratification pulsed through him. He could take her here against the wall if he wanted, but it wouldn’t do. She deserved a bed and he deserved an entire night to purge her from his mind.

  ‘Ellan!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s slightly breathless and alarmed voice filled the night. ‘Are you out here?’ Sounds of merriment came through the open doorway of the hall.

  Ellan’s wide eyes met his and she gave a regretful shake of her head before ducking underneath his arm to flee. ‘I’m here. It was stuffy inside, so I came out to get some cool air,’ she said as she rounded the corner.

  Lady Gwendolyn’s reply was lost as they walked inside and closed the door behind them. He let his forehead drop against the rough wooden wall and released a breath of frustration. Half of him thanked the gods for intervening before he made his obsession with her worse, while the other half wanted to sling her over his shoulder and take her off to his bed where he would spend the rest of the night with her legs wrapped around his waist.

  Finally, he took in a deep breath and straightened. The cool air into his lungs brought the return of clarity and rational thought. It was good that they had been interrupted. He shouldn’t have been willing to risk the Jarl’s ire to be with her for a night. Tomorrow he would return to the northern border as planned to help quell the threat from the Scots and he vowed to forget the girl who had bewitched him.

  Chapter Two

  Ellan’s father arrived a sennight later to collect her. His arrival wasn’t unexpected, but Ellan hadn’t realised how much she had hoped that he had simply forgotten her until word arrived that he was there. Pulling her shoulders back, she forced a courage she didn’t feel and stepped through the front gate to greet him, leaving the safety of Alvey’s walls behind her. Temporarily.

  She would confront her father, tell him in no uncertain terms that she was staying in Alvey and return to the tiny alcove above the hall that had been her home for the last several months. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to fathom the conversation having any other ending. If she dared to think it might, then she might succumb to despair and that wouldn’t do. Returning to Banford was akin to death as far as she was concerned. There was no life for her there.

  She would stay here and find the same happiness that Elswyth had found with Rolfe. Their courtship and wedding had been so fast and unexpected that Ellan still had trouble believing it had happened. Of course, some of that might be because she spent her days obsessing over Aevir and her nights reliving the scarce moments they had had together. Even her memories of her sister’s wedding were coloured with visions of how handsome Aevir had looked in his finery.

  If only Father hadn’t arrived at night, or if he had at least deigned to camp within the safety of the fortress’s walls instead of outside them, she might feel a little braver. A glance to the night sky revealed not even a single star to light the way. She shivered at the ominous darkness and pulled her cloak even tighter around her shoulders.

  The overflow of Dane warriors who now resided in Alvey—their numbers far too large to be contained within the walls—were camped nearby. Their fires made a wide trail of light from the walls to the forest in the distance and their tents flickered pale in shafts of moonlight. In some ways, she would feel safer going in that direction, but she turned towards the small fire set away from the others. Her father was too proud to seek sanctuary with the people he viewed as his enemy.

  His wiry frame leaned over a spit roasting what looked to be a rabbit. As she approached, he moved away from it and stood. Even from this distance she could tell that he was glaring at her with disapproval. It was the same expression he always wore when he looked at her. If there had been a time when he’d gazed upon her with love and understanding, she couldn’t remember it. Since Mother had run away years ago, there had been only grave censure and a suspicion that she would betray the family in some way as well. After all, she had the look of her mother and the heart of a woman. Betrayal was all but assured.

  He waited for her to step into the meagre light given off by the fire, then he said, ‘You will marry in a sennight.’

  Though she had done everything she could to prepare herself for this moment, his first words to her after months of separation still caused a zing of pain to dart through her. There were no tender words of greeting. No declaration of how he’d missed her, only the harsh announcement. She was a burden to be disposed of, not a beloved daughter to be welcomed with open arms.

  Again, an image of Aevir came to mind. He had come back to Alvey only hours ago, but he had been too busy conferring with Rolfe and Lord Vidar about a skirmish with the Scots to look her way. If only marrying him were an option.

  ‘You’ve found someone to take me off your hands at last.’ She tried for irreverent, but her tone fell flat. ‘A Saxon?’

  Light from Father’s campfire flickered in the deep shadows of night, casting hollows and jagged lines across the weathered planes of his unforgiving expression.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised by his words. Threats of marriage had been hovering over her head like a sickle poised to descend on a fresh patch of wheat for th
e past year. The only difference this time was that the promise had never been quite so specific. So ripe with certainty and malice. This was real. He’d made a deal with some unknown man and it didn’t particularly matter if she approved of his choice or not. He’d foist her off to become someone else’s responsibility.

  His lips twisted in a grin that made him look rather like a growling mongrel. ‘Your lady may have lowered herself to marry a heathen Dane, but you will not.’

  Father was a proud Saxon who would rather fight the invading Danes than accept peace with them. When he’d found out that Lady Gwendolyn had married Lord Vidar, he’d said that he’d sooner his daughters be dead than married to the barbarians. It didn’t matter that Lady Gwendolyn had done it to foster peace between her beloved Saxons and the invading Norsemen, he hated her regardless. Rumours even claimed that he’d started meeting with the Scots to plot against Alvey. Whether or not those rumours were true, Ellan didn’t know.

  Her gaze instinctively drifted back to the comforting presence of Alvey’s walls looming behind her. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she said, ‘I would choose my own husband.’

  ‘You belong to me until you’re married. You’ll do as I say.’

  Her lips parted, but there were no words to combat his callousness. The jagged edges of his statement reached inside her, scooping out her heart and leaving a black, gaping hole behind. With nothing to warm it, her blood chilled. A shiver threatened to tear through her and rattle her teeth, but she held it back by clenching her jaw so hard the bone ached. Her composure was her only defence. He couldn’t see how terrified she was or how he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  ‘Then who is to be my husband?’ She couldn’t resist a quick glance at her older brother, Galan, who had come to stand beside Father on the other side of the campfire. His face was impassive in the shadows of the night. She wanted to ask him if he approved of this marriage, but she held her tongue and swallowed down the bitter taste of his betrayal.