Marrying Her Viking Enemy

by Harper St. George

  Rolfe’s gaze narrowed in question, so she smiled. ‘Aye,’ she said with a nod.

  A large smile curved his mouth and he left the blacksmith to come and stand before her. ‘Aye?’ he asked again, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes only endearing him to her.

  ‘Aye, I will be your wife.’

  His smiled broadened, eventually becoming a laugh that was laced with nerves. ‘You’re certain? Even if your father—’

  She cut him off, wanting to enjoy this moment of happiness without bringing dark thoughts between them. ‘As soon as possible. I’ve talked to Lady Gwendolyn. She believes that it’s best for us to marry before my father arrives. She and Lord Vidar will explain things to him.’

  ‘As soon as possible. Tonight?’ he teased.

  She couldn’t help but to give in to her nervous laughter. ‘Nay, but as soon as things can be planned.’

  ‘Tomorrow, then.’ This he said with more certainty and her heart gave a little jump.

  She could be married to him by this time tomorrow night. Her future was set on a course and for once, she didn’t want to alter it. Her heart pounded and her stomach churned in a way that was far more fierce than the butterflies from earlier, but somehow it was a good feeling all the same. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

  ‘Happy.’ He gave her a tender smile and pulled her in close, though he stopped short of taking her in his arms as people rushed around them going about their evening. ‘There is no one else I want as my wife.’

  Though the words were tender, there was a hesitance in his eyes that she couldn’t help but notice. If she was honest, there was some hesitance in her own heart as well, but it didn’t stop the happiness she felt.

  * * *

  The wedding was two days later. Lady Gwendolyn had insisted on preparing a small feast while Elswyth and Ellan had hurried to make her bridal tunic, all of which took time. Although Lady Gwendolyn had offered to lend her something to wear, Elswyth thought that it was important to go to the wedding wearing only her own clothing. It wouldn’t be right to pretend to be grander than she was—Rolfe needed to understand what he was getting: sadly only her and nothing else. So she and her sister had spent the past two days adding embroidery in fine blue and yellow thread to the bodice and hem of her best tunic, which was a pale green that she thought matched her eyes nicely.

  They finished just in time for Lady Gwendolyn to help her to a steamy soak in the bathhouse. It was a new building in Alvey, built since Lord Vidar had been in residence, and was an entirely new experience for Elswyth. The only baths she’d had up until that point were hastily taken before the fire at home. This was luxurious. The entire chamber was filled with steam that left her feeling cleansed inside and out. That feeling was only enhanced by the way Lady Gwendolyn and Ellan scraped and polished every part of her body with a sea sponge. It left her skin pink and she felt as though she was glowing. Afterwards they rubbed a sweet-smelling oil into her skin that left her feeling soft and relaxed.

  She tried not to think of why they were paying this much attention to her physical appearance, but it was impossible to keep her thoughts from the night ahead. As the warm water slid over her skin, she kept remembering Rolfe’s kisses and his promise to use his tongue on her body. There was no telling what that meant and there was no way she could discuss it with Lady Gwendolyn or even Ellan, but every time she remembered his words and the husk in his voice as he’d said them, her stomach gave a little leap of anticipation. It hardly seemed real. He would be hers tonight. The old guilt that she was turning into her mother was still there, but now she was able to push it to the back of her mind, secure in the fact that she was helping her family. Rolfe had helped her see that and she was forever grateful to him for it.

  ‘We have to hurry.’ Lady Gwendolyn’s eyes were bright in the shadowed light of the bathhouse. ‘Rolfe will come soon to his own bath.’

  Her face went hot at the thought of him preparing for the night ahead—for her—and both Lady Gwendolyn and Ellan laughed. They wrapped a soft woollen blanket around her and Lady Gwendolyn asked in a gentle voice, ‘Do you know what to expect tonight, Elswyth?’

  ‘I think I know enough. I was raised on a farm.’ She tried to laugh as if she weren’t nervous. However, the closer the time came the more worried she became. It couldn’t possibly be exactly like she’d seen with the sheep, could it?

  As if she sensed her unease, Lady Gwendolyn took her hand and brushed her wet hair back from her face. ‘There can and should be pleasure for you in the act. Remember that. I believe that Rolfe will ensure that for you, but if he doesn’t, then talk to him or, if you feel you can’t, then come talk to me. Promise?’

  Elswyth nodded and then hurried into her underdress and pulled her cloak tightly around her. There was no snow today, but the wind was biting as they hurried to the great hall and upstairs to the chamber Lady Gwendolyn shared with Lord Vidar. The rest of the time before the wedding was spent with Lady Gwendolyn telling them stories that kept them laughing from when she’d first met Lord Vidar while they combed Elswyth’s hair dry and dressed.

  * * *

  Rolfe paced before the fire in the hall, anxious to see Elswyth and make her his wife. He hadn’t wanted a feast and he couldn’t have cared less what she wore to wed him, but Lady Gwendolyn had seemed to think both of those were important. He’d relented, because he’d had no choice, but as each day had passed it had only made him long for Elswyth more. He told himself that it was only the night ahead that he was anticipating and he almost believed it.

  Night was beginning to fall when she finally made her way down the steps to the great hall with Lady Gwendolyn and Ellan trailing behind her. She looked lovely in a pale green tunic that only made her eyes appear deeper. The apples of her cheeks held a bit of colour as she stared at him, barely able to look away as she made her way to him. She was clearly nervous, her palms running anxiously down the side of the overdress. She and her sister had taken great pains with the stitching, but he could hardly notice it. His eyes were only for her face.

  Aevir, who had returned from the north to attend the ceremony, said something about the night ahead from his place beside him. Rolfe was too intent on his wife to comprehend the words, but he knew they were crude by the way the other men snickered. Elswyth hesitated and Rolfe growled out, ‘Shut up’, which only made the men laugh harder.

  ‘Enough!’ Lady Gwendolyn scolded them in a harsh whisper when they were close enough. They quieted, but there were a few snorts among them.

  Even though Elswyth’s blush had deepened with obvious embarrassment, she didn’t let that stop her from reaching out to take his hands. Pride swelled in his chest as she took in his form. He wore a well-fitted tunic of midnight blue, embroidered with gold-silk trim at the shoulders and hem. The material stretched tight across his chest in a way that he knew emphasised his broad shoulders. He knew that she liked what she saw by the way her eyes widened a fraction and she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. And she was. Her deep chestnut hair had been pulled back from her forehead in an intricate weave of plaits, but the heavy length had been left to fall around her waist. He couldn’t wait to wind the silk of it around his wrists as he took her beneath him later. He was half-hard from watching her come across the room to him, knowing that she was his, knowing that nothing could stand in the way of his finally having her tonight. When he’d first seen her a primitive part of him had wanted to take her in his arms right then to let everyone know that she belonged to him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, drawing him away from the dark fantasy. She wore a wreath made of wheat and straw with rowan berries set around the crown of her head and she let one of his hands go to touch it as if she were ashamed of it. ‘This is your last chance to make a run for freedom.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘I
...’ She trailed off, but then seemed to resolve herself and she finally met his gaze. ‘I’m sorry I can’t come to you with more. I’ve heard some of the stories told around the hall at night. I know that you deserve a woman who can come to you with a crown made of gold.’

  She meant the stories about great men and their prize brides. He grinned and gave her a slow shake of his head as he recaptured her hand. ‘Nay, I don’t want that. I wouldn’t miss all the Saxon vengeance you have in store for me.’

  The bright smile she gave him settled inside him, warming some deep place he hadn’t even known had needed her sunshine. In the back of his mind lurked the very real danger that their happiness might be short-lived, or that their happiness might blind him.

  But right now she looked at him as if she could love him and he felt himself sliding towards that abyss and losing himself in her. He wanted to bathe in it, to drink it all in until he was drunk on that feeling.

  Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the future. Tonight was only about him and his Saxon bride.

  For the next few moments, the world kept moving around them, but he only saw Elswyth. Alvey’s priest spoke, but she never broke Rolfe’s stare, seeming to be as fascinated with him as he was with her. When it was time he spoke his vows in a clear and deep voice that he hoped conveyed to her how much he meant them. When her turn came, she made him proud by doing no less than he had, speaking in a strong, clear voice.

  Finally, he broke the spell to look at Vidar who stood next to him. The man pressed a ring into his palm, the light from the candles glittering off the gold. Rolfe turned back to her and took her small, graceful fingers in his as he spoke the ceremonial words, ‘With this ring, I take you as my wife. I give you my protection and my loyalty, and I pledge to you that I will give my life before allowing any harm to come to yours. We are one...from now until eternity.’

  Her lips trembled as she took in a deep breath and her eyes reddened with unshed tears. Yet happiness shone out from her as she smiled at him and something around the vicinity of his heart threatened to break open. It didn’t matter that the words were ceremonial. He meant them and her voice was steadfast when she said, ‘I accept you as my husband.’

  Gently, he nudged the band of gold down her finger until it settled into place, claiming her as his. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go to turn to Aevir at his other side. Aevir held up the new sword wrapped carefully in linen. He unwrapped it carefully before handing it off to Rolfe. If they were back home, it would have been his family’s sword, passed down from generation to generation. But they weren’t home, so he’d had the blacksmith working for days—since before Elswyth had told him aye—to make a new one. The hilt was ornate with a scroll pattern on the guard.

  Rolfe presented it to her on the flat of his palms. ‘I am entrusting this into your care to be given to our first-born son. May we have many children.’

  A nearly overwhelming feeling of pride swept through him as she took it from him and said, ‘I accept.’ Then with reverence—for the sword was symbolic of Rolfe entrusting her to further his bloodline and bear his children—she handed it to Lady Gwendolyn and took Rolfe’s hands in hers. ‘I will be proud to bear your sons and daughters.’

  He squeezed her hands and pulled her close, brushing his lips against hers. A cheer went up through the great hall. As his arms slipped around her, he whispered against her ear, ‘You are mine now, Saxon.’

  They were officially man and wife.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The rest of the evening passed in a blur of activity. It was full of food, good wishes for their future, Elswyth pretending not to hear the many jests regarding their wedding night and drinking the special honeyed mead that had been prepared for them. Finally, although many people were still feasting around them, Rolfe put his arm around her and pulled her to his side to whisper, ‘I can’t wait any longer, Saxon. Are you ready for bed?’

  She knew what he was really asking. The truth was plain in the way his eyes burned into her. At some point during the evening her nerves had given way to anticipation. Oh, the nervousness was still present, but excitement burned hotter. Admiring the comely bow of his lips, she said, ‘Aye, I’m ready.’

  Rolfe rose and pulled her to her feet, causing another exasperating cheer to go up through the hall, nearly shaking the rafters. She was confused when six men, including Lord Vidar and Aevir, followed them to the stairs. There had been no visible signal so she could only assume that the six had been predetermined, but no one had told her to expect this part. Squeezing Rolfe’s fingers tighter, she wrapped her other hand around his upper arm. He gave her a smile that she was sure was meant to reassure her, but it was too wolfish to help.

  The men followed them right up to Rolfe’s chamber, where he paused only to swing her up into his arms and carry her over the threshold. Thank goodness he kicked the door behind them, blocking everyone else out, even Wyborn.

  As she slid down his body, Rolfe reached back to secure the door, ensuring their privacy. ‘Do you need time to prepare yourself, Wife?’ The way his arm kept tight around her waist coupled with the look on his face told her that he might give her time, but it wouldn’t be much. The blue of his eyes had deepened to almost the same midnight hue of his tunic.

  ‘Nay.’ Her whisper was so low she couldn’t be certain that he’d heard her, so she gave a quick shake of her head to make sure.

  ‘You’re so beautiful. All night I’ve only been able to think how lucky I am.’ He touched her cheek, her hair, his palm eventually moving down the long sleeve of her linen underdress. The heat from his touch nearly scorched her through the material.

  ‘Will they stay at the door until...until...?’ She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  He nodded. ‘The ceremony is useful, but we’re not truly married until we drink the honeyed mead and I spend my seed inside you. Should the validity of the marriage ever be questioned, and there’s a good chance it might, we need witnesses to stand up for us.’

  God knew she didn’t want to tempt fate and have them actually wait inside the chamber while the deed was done, but curiosity wouldn’t allow the question to go unasked. ‘But how will they know the deed is done?’

  He grinned a grin that was full of sin and need. ‘The walls are thin and there are sounds that...’ Swallowing visibly, he said, ‘I think things will become apparent as they happen.’

  She nodded, satisfied with that for now. Having her curiosity sated only allowed her earlier misgivings to return. ‘I’m sorry I have nothing for you.’ Nerves coupled with the shame of coming to him in such a humble wedding ceremony made her start to babble. ‘Lady Gwendolyn told me about the usual custom of gifting you with a sword. I don’t even have a proper dowry.’

  ‘I don’t care about those things.’ His voice was gentle and deep as his fingers came to rest on her jaw, slowly lifting her face so that she met his gaze. ‘Jarl Vidar gave me the choice of any woman. I chose you because I want you, not because I want the things you can give me.’

  ‘Are you saying that I should be grateful to have been chosen by you?’ Seizing on his words, she attempted to bring levity to the moment and gave a curtsy. ‘Thank you, oh, Lord Dane, for choosing such a humble wife.’

  He chuckled and tickled her waist to make her straighten. It worked and she laughed as he hauled her back into his arms. ‘Why do I think I might long for the missed opportunity to have chosen a biddable wife?’

  ‘You won’t. You’d get bored with biddable.’

  ‘I would,’ he agreed, his eyes already losing the humour that sparkled within them. ‘Kiss me,’ he said.

  His mouth was only a breath from hers so it was no trouble to lean forward and close the gap. He quickly took control of the kiss, covering her mouth with his and gently scraping her bottom lip with the edge of his teeth. She gasped at the sensation and he took advantage, thrusting the tip
of his tongue against hers. The sensual stroke made her body come alive as his earlier kisses had, only this time her reaction was more intense because she knew there would be no stopping. Heat raced through her core, throbbing deep down inside her.

  His hand moved from her waist, up her ribcage, to mould itself against her breast. Her flesh filled his palm briefly before he cupped the weight, allowing his thumb to stroke over the tip. Her nipple pebbled in response, her entire breast seeming to swell as it ached for more of his attention. But he kept his touch slow and leisurely, continuing his tender assault of her mouth while his thumb moved in a teasing circle around the tip of her breast. When she arched against him, silently pleading for more of his touch, he moved his attention to her other breast, teasing that nipple until it, too, ached for more of his touch.

  ‘More, Rolfe.’ Without meaning to, her hips pushed against him and she grasped at the back of his tunic, wanting to get beneath it and feel the heat from his skin against her own.

  He drew back to look at her and the admiration shining down at her was enough to take her breath away. He moved slowly and deliberately, as if he was afraid he would frighten her, to work the brooches at her shoulders, unfastening one and then the other until her overdress dropped to the floor with a swishing sound. She stepped out of the slippers she wore and kicked the dress away, watching as his long and graceful fingers went to remove his own tunic. He tossed it towards the trunk at the end of his bed and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, working at the fastenings of his boots. His fingers shook a little.