Marrying Her Viking Enemy

by Harper St. George

  ‘You’ve been sent to exact Saxon vengeance. Admit it.’ His blue eyes gleamed at her over his shoulder, that same almost-smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.

  ‘I’ll admit nothing,’ she quipped, squeezing out the linen and indulging this strange urge to tease with him. ‘But if a Saxon gave you this scratch, ’tis my duty to make it hurt more.’

  He laughed and sat back against the rim, his eyes stroking her face. ‘Then I’m forced to disclose the truth. It was no Saxon, but a Scot. Are you under the same allegiance to the Scots?’

  She had to force herself not to take in a breath or show any sort of reaction. He was teasing, but it was as close to the truth as anyone had come in the entire time she had served Lady Gwendolyn. She was not in league with the Scots, but her father very well might be by now. There had been rumours that he’d met with them before she’d left.

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’ She gave a shrug, hoping the comment sounded flippant and a part of the game.

  ‘That’s good to know. Otherwise I would worry about your axe.’

  ‘You’re not worried about it regardless? Saxon vengeance, as you said.’

  His eyes fairly sparkled with merriment and she found herself unable to look away from them. It was as if someone had found a way to dye them the most vivid shade of blue she had ever seen. He slowly shook his head, a drop of water running down the side of his face. ‘It’s an interesting choice of weapon.’

  She stared down at the axe attached to her belt because she had to look away from him. ‘It’s more tool than weapon. It’s useful on the farm and I’ve grown accustomed to wearing it.’ She didn’t mention that she was more accurate than any man when it came to hitting targets with it. ‘Lady Gwendolyn has been kind enough to give me archery lessons while I’m here. Perhaps you should worry about that tomorrow on the practice field.’

  This made him grin and that dimple in his cheek shone. He was so handsome when he smiled that she had to look away again. He was likely to think she was a fool like Ellan with how she seemed suddenly unable to hold his stare. There were many ways that this man unsettled her. What was happening? Was he flirting with her? Was this teasing usual for the warrior?

  Enemy, enemy, enemy, the mantra repeated in her head.

  ‘I’ll look forward to seeing that.’ Something about the way he said that, so firm and exact, made her believe it. It also made her chest swell with pride. Despite herself, it pleased her that a warrior of his renown wanted to watch her skill.

  ‘Is that where you were all summer?’ She busied herself by sorting the items on the tray and preparing the poultice. ‘Fighting the Scots?’ She told herself that she was asking out of curiosity, but the words of her father wouldn’t leave her. They made that feeling of unease churn deep in her belly. Any news about the relations between Danes and Scots would be useful to him.

  ‘Not all summer, but a fair bit of it. They’ve been active, but are so far no threat to Alvey.’

  ‘My home is to the north. Should I be worried about them?’ It was a fair question. She had spent many nights in her bed worrying about the Scots to the north and the Danes to the south, and her tiny village caught between them.

  ‘Nay, no need to worry yet. And, Elswyth...’ She nearly dropped the poultice when he reached out to touch her shoulder. His eyes were deep and solemn with concern. The warmth from his touch moved down her back to settle deep in her belly, wrapping itself around that knot of unease. ‘We’ll protect you from them if the time comes.’

  And what if we are the reason the Scots have come? What if Father has done something that has brought them to our door?

  She didn’t ask those questions, though. She would not give her family away. ‘How do you know they won’t be too powerful?’

  He smiled again and let her go. His teeth were straight and white, making his smile far too pleasing for a warrior such as him. He should be fierce, with a fierce smile to match. His expression turned to pure masculine arrogance when he answered, ‘They’ll never be too powerful for the Danes.’

  She scoffed and made a show of finishing her work with the poultice, mixing the herbs in the bowl before readying a bandage with a length of folded linen. However, deep in her heart, she feared that he was right. She’d been impressed with the Danes who had spent the summer in Alvey. She’d been even more impressed by the sheer power of the army that had marched into Alvey hours ago. Tomorrow she would see them in practice, but she really had no need to see them to know that they would be fierce. Their reputation preceded them there.

  ‘You Danes are all alike. Too full of yourselves for your own good.’

  ‘It’s not conceit if it’s true. I’ve never lost a fight.’

  She found it very easy to believe him. He sat in that humble tub like a king, his powerful arms stretched along the rim, his eyes shining with confidence. In that moment she had to wonder if it was possible for anyone to best him.

  His eyes had gone slightly hooded as he watched her, an indolent quality coming over his face. ‘I toured the north after Lord Vidar married Lady Gwendolyn. I don’t remember meeting you.’ He said it as if he would’ve remembered.

  God knew that she would have remembered him had they met before. He was too vibrant and too formidable, equal parts terrifying and fascinating.

  ‘Nay, we never met.’ She remembered their visit well, though her father had kept her and Ellan hidden away inside so that she’d never actually seen Rolfe. It was no secret to anyone that Father distrusted the Danes. She suspected it had been one of the reasons Lord Gwendolyn had sent for her and her sister. The woman was ever trying to make peace, but it seemed no matter what she did, Father wouldn’t approve.

  He despised the fact that his own wife had run off with one of them. It ate at him constantly. Before it had happened, he’d always been stern and quiet, but something had changed in him in the years since. He brimmed with anger and bitterness. Lady Gwendolyn marrying a Dane had brought it all to overflowing. He hated that she’d married Lord Vidar and he hated all the Danes in Alvey that came as a result of that marriage. There would be no peace as far as he was concerned.

  Elswyth had been surprised that Father had agreed to Lady Gwendolyn’s plan, but his reasoning had become clear on the morning of their departure. He had approached her horse where she was saying goodbye to her younger brother Baldric. Ellan had followed their older brother, Galan, out of the yard, giving them a brief moment of solitude.

  Pitching his voice low, he’d said, ‘Keep your eyes open, Elswyth. We need to know what these Danes are really up to. I’ll expect your account upon your return.’ She’d stared at him in shock, but he’d only slapped the horse on the rump and called after her, ‘I’m depending on you!’

  He had meant for her to spy. A lump of unease had been present in her belly ever since. Rolfe’s presence only made it worse. While everyone knew that Lord Vidar was in charge, he would not dare to lead warriors against people he was sworn to protect. Should an uprising occur, it would be Rolfe sent to dowse it. Rolfe commanded the warriors. Rolfe would raise his sword against her village and her family if it was ordered.

  Knowing all of that, she couldn’t understand why he fascinated her so. She should despise him. Because of men like him, her mother had abandoned the family. Elswyth had been forced to take over her duties when she’d scarcely been able to carry a pail of water on her own. She had spent the formative years of her childhood wondering how she could have prevented her mother from leaving, questioning if she had been a better daughter would her mother have stayed and even secretly thinking that perhaps she herself was unlovable.

  Yet, even with that history giving her plenty of reasons to hate him, she couldn’t keep her eyes from him. From beneath her lashes, her gaze swept over his broad shoulders and the cords of muscle that defined his arms. ‘You’ll need to get yourself dry so that I can put the poultice on your shoul
der. It shouldn’t get wet.’

  Without giving her a chance to prepare herself or even avert her eyes, he stood in the tub. Water sluiced down his strong body in rivulets, reflecting gold in the soft glow of the candles. The solid muscles in his back tapered down to a narrow waist and a pair of buttocks that might have been carved stone. His thighs were corded in muscle, thick as tree trunks and just as strong from the looks of them, with a light sprinkling of dark blond hair. In the slit of light visible between them, the weight of his manly parts hung—a gasp tore from her throat when a sheet of linen blocked her view, making her realise that she had been staring. Not once had she even attempted to avert her gaze. He had been decent enough to not ogle her the entire time she’d been in his chamber, his eyes had never left her face as they’d talked, but she couldn’t find the decency to look away from his nakedness. Her face burned in shame as she forced her attention to the poultice.

  He stepped out of the tub on to a rug made of rushes and tied the sheet around his waist. Grabbing another sheet of linen, he wrapped it around his shoulders, though he did it awkwardly with one hand while keeping his left arm against his torso. She would have helped him had she not been too astonished at her own bad behaviour. Instead, she waited for him to get settled on the bench before bringing the tray over to set it on the table next to him, her face—indeed her entire body—still flaming with embarrassment. Slowly and with as little touch against his bare skin as possible, she used the sheet to dry off his back.

  Working with efficiency, she managed to apply the poultice on to his wound and wrap linen around his shoulder. The light sprinkling of fur on his chest teased her fingertips on the first pass, sending cinders of curious sensation running down her arm. This man was nothing like she had imagined. He wasn’t a monster, or even particularly unpleasant. He was simply a man, made of warm, solid muscle and bone. Yet, that realisation somehow made him more dangerous to her. Tying off the end of the bandage, she stood back, making minor adjustments to the wrapping. ‘I’ll make you a sling. You should wear it to keep your shoulder braced until it starts to heal. You don’t want it to break open again.’

  ‘I’ll try.’ Wearing only the linen slung low around his waist, he walked to a chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out an under-tunic. ‘Would you help me put it on?’

  With a wordless nod, she took the folded linen from him. She was tall for a woman, but he was so much taller he had to stoop down for her to put it over his head. A tightening of his jaw was the only indication he gave that he experienced discomfort as he shoved his left arm through the sleeve. She didn’t even give him time to rummage through the chest for trousers, knowing that she couldn’t handle the embarrassment of watching him discard the linen sheet to put them on. Instead, she immediately grabbed the material for the sling and stepped up to him.

  He smelled good. Clean like the soap, but also like evergreen needles in the forest mixed with a rich masculine scent that was very pleasing. He was quiet as she fitted it, knotted it and then slipped it across his chest, but she could feel his eyes on her face. They seemed curious and that damnable kindness lurking in their depths made it impossible for her to summon the anger and hate that she meant to feel towards him.

  ‘When do you go back home?’

  The question made her heart stutter. Satisfied with the sling, she lowered her arms from his shoulders and forced herself to take a step back from him. Distance seemed very good at the moment. ‘My father is meant to come before the next full moon.’

  ‘A fortnight, then.’ He nodded as if the information pleased him somehow, as if he was mulling something over and that worked nicely into his plans, when she shouldn’t fit anywhere into his plans.

  Her heart picked up speed and she turned to quickly gather up the tray of medicinals that she’d brought. Never mind that her hands shook for some odd reason or that her knees were so weak she felt certain they would follow suit. Distance. The single word replaced the ‘enemy’ mantra in her head because she no longer believed that to be true. Or worse. It was true, but it was no longer enough to keep a wall between them.

  ‘Good evening.’

  ‘I look forward to seeing your aim on the practice field in the morning.’ His voice followed her out.

  Chapter Three

  ‘That’s twice I’ve bested you. If these swords weren’t wooden, you’d be dead by now.’ Aevir deftly swung away, leaving several feet between him and Rolfe.

  Rolfe doubled his assault, ignoring how his arm smarted where Aevir’s training sword had hit as he pushed his friend even farther back in an attempt to wipe the smug smile from his face. Rolfe had spent the entire morning running the men through their paces and taking playful digs from some of them about his sling. It was time they realised that having his left arm in a brace wouldn’t slow him down. ‘You must be jesting. You’ve yet to best me once.’

  Aevir scoffed, ‘I would’ve drawn first blood had the sword been metal.’ He lunged forward again and Rolfe rolled to the side, leaving Aevir off balance.

  ‘And when do we ever battle to first blood?’ Rolfe asked.

  ‘Had the blade drawn blood, you would have cried out in pain and broken your stride, leaving yourself open so that I could skewer your gullet.’

  ‘You live in your fantasies.’ Rolfe laughed and renewed his attack. The truth was that he had been distracted in their sparring match, but it hadn’t been because of his wound. Elswyth had come out on to the other side of the field with her bow and a quiver of arrows and was currently shooting at targets. His gaze had been caught by her form in profile, equal parts slim and lush as she had notched an arrow and pulled back the string. He’d been waiting to see if she’d made her target when Aevir had hit him.

  ‘Go easy, Aevir.’ Vidar’s voice interrupted their sparring. ‘He’s an injured man. I wouldn’t have you making his injury worse.’

  Rolfe groaned silently. Vidar meant well, but he’d only make the teasing worse.

  Aevir grinned and lowered his sword. ‘The Jarl has saved you, my friend.’

  The sling on Rolfe’s left arm restricted his balance a bit, but his wound was hardly in any danger. ‘Nay, let’s finish.’

  Aevir raised his sword to accept the challenge, but Vidar stepped between them. ‘We have other things to discuss this morning, now that you’ve both had some rest.’ The three of them walked to the edge of the practice field. The clang of steel on steel and splintering wood as the warriors continued to practise filled the air around them.

  ‘As long as it’s the Scots and not wives we’re discussing again,’ Aevir said in a dry tone.

  ‘Wives?’ Rolfe asked.

  Vidar gave him a telling glance before looking towards his own wife, who had made her way to them across the sparring field where she’d been leading a group of archers in practice. Lady Gwendolyn was quite possibly the most accomplished archer Rolfe had ever seen. She smiled at them as she approached, but trepidation lurked in her expression, a rare moment of uncertainty for her.

  ‘Good morning. How is your shoulder?’ Lady Gwendolyn asked.

  After assuring her that he was on the mend, he asked, ‘Am I being offered up as a husband?’

  She had the grace to look sheepish. ‘I admit the lack of marriages among the Danes and Saxons concerns me. We’ve had a few families take us up on the offer of coin in exchange for marriage to the Danes, but most are reluctant.’ It had been their hope that after their marriage others would follow suit. They wanted to unite the Saxons and Danes in Alvey through marriage and avoid as much bloodshed as possible.

  ‘It will take time.’ Vidar ran a hand down her back in silent support.

  She nodded before continuing. ‘We would like it to be known that our highest warriors...including you...are looking for wives. I think an offering of higher-status marriages would ease some reluctance.’

  Rolfe laughed, but it was a hollow sound
. The very thought of marriage made the skin on his neck tighten uncomfortably. ‘You are offering me up as husband.’

  Her cheeks reddened, but she didn’t back down from her stance. ‘You have to admit that many would say you are a desirable husband. Your word among the Danes is second only to Vidar’s. You are known as a great warrior with great wealth.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Rolfe said, mulling over her words and making Vidar laugh out loud.

  ‘It’s good to see you’re still humble, Brother.’

  Ignoring him, Rolfe said, ‘I can see how this would be helpful for harmony.’ It would not, however, be helpful for his peace of mind. He tried not to think of the woman he’d nearly married back home, but her face came to mind anyway. Hilde had been beautiful. He’d convinced himself that she was kind and generous, everything he’d thought he’d wanted in a wife. He’d learned too late—after her thievery—that her beautiful outside had hidden a traitorous core. She’d only used him for her own gain.

  Lady Gwendolyn’s smile brightened, encouraged by his words. ‘I resisted my father’s way of thinking, but I understand now how marriage to further peace is best for everyone.’ Vidar smiled at her, his eyes full of gentleness and admiration.

  Rolfe wasn’t entirely surprised by the plan and it certainly spoke to that odd longing for a family he’d felt upon his homecoming last night, but he didn’t relish the idea of marrying. The amount of trust inherent in such a union was not something he was comfortable with. Of its own volition, his gaze landed on Elswyth. The same short-handled axe from last night was hooked on the belt around her waist, leading him to wonder if she wielded it as well as the bow and arrow.