This boy—now a man—was important to her.
Rolfe’s muscles froze, unable to carry out his natural instinct to protect himself as Osric came closer. His grip tightened on his sword, but his arm stayed up, caught in that moment of slackness before attacking. ‘Osric! Don’t!’ His words fell on deaf ears as the Saxon lunged, swinging his blade.
Cnut yelled, plunging before Rolfe to intercept his would-be attacker. Before Rolfe could even call out, Osric fell to the ground, blood pouring from a deep wound across his torso. It was a death blow. The light had faded from Osric’s eyes before his shoulders landed with a dull thud.
The horrible moment was over as quickly as it had begun. Rolfe was forced to step over him and continue the battle until it was finally over. Whether Osric had been there as a messenger or had joined the Scots, Rolfe didn’t know. Despite the order to take prisoners, no men had been left alive. They had defended themselves too fiercely, clearly determined to die fighting.
With Osric’s death, the glimmer of hope Rolfe had carried that he and Elswyth might be able to find their way to happiness had died. She would never be able to forgive him for the killing her friend. But even if she could, Osric’s presence only furthered the theory that Banford was ripe with treachery. Godric had to be behind it and Rolfe had no choice but to try to prove that theory.
Elswyth would hate him. It was a certainty, but if only that had stood between them, he might have found some reason to hope. As it was, his standoff with Osric had proven that which Rolfe most feared. Elswyth had made him lose his focus. Because of his growing infatuation with her, he’d allowed himself to shirk his duty, to feint when he should not have hesitated in meeting Osric with his sword. He might be dead now if not for Cnut. Or worse. Had Osric posed an immediate threat to one of Rolfe’s men, could Rolfe have saved him? Would he still have hesitated? That hesitation was an unforgivable crime as far as Rolfe was concerned.
Darkness settled over him as he made his way through the next hours. Men were sent with Cnut to Banford with the news of Osric’s treachery. Aevir was to be called in and Godric was to be brought to Alvey for questioning. Rolfe went home to his wife with a heavy heart.
* * *
They arrived near midnight and Rolfe stayed downstairs long enough to relay what had happened to Vidar and to wash the stench of battle from himself in the bathhouse. Only then was he able to take himself to his wife. Silently pushing open the door to their chamber, he lit a single candle and pulled the bed curtain back to watch her sleep. He was exhausted, but his body still stirred at the sight of her. In fact, he’d left Wyborn downstairs by the fire, because he wanted one more night with her before seeing the hatred on her face. Before he had to put necessary distance between them. Tomorrow he would have to somehow figure out a way to remove her from his heart.
Stripping off his clothes, he crawled into bed with her and pulled her soft, warm body against him. She sighed, instinctively curving herself into him.
‘Saxon,’ he whispered against her neck as her familiar scent washed over him.
‘Dane,’ she answered back, but her voice was still thick with sleep and dreams. The woman could sleep through an invading army.
His palms moved over her body through her nightdress, remembering the planes and curves, filling themselves with her softness. His mouth found hers, drinking her sweetness, as one of his hands found its way beneath the linen to her bottom. It was the touch of his bare skin on hers that finally broke her sleep.
‘Rolfe,’ she whispered against his lips, then repeated his name with more urgency as she pulled away, turning in his arms, to see him. ‘You’re home!’ Her arms went around him and she kissed every part of his face as if checking for damage. ‘Are you injured?’
‘There was a fight, but I’m not injured.’ He hoped she didn’t ask him for details, because he couldn’t talk about it now. He only asked for one more night with her. Tomorrow would be soon enough to push her away.
‘Thank God.’ She said it like she meant it, repeating it as if she’d spent the hours of his absence praying for his return. Perhaps she had. Perhaps she had missed him as much as he’d missed her. Her hands travelled over his naked chest and farther down as if she couldn’t quite believe he was unharmed.
Rolling her on to her back, he rose above her, taking in her precious face as she stared up at him.
‘What’s wrong?’ Her brow furrowed and she touched his cheek even as she widened her thighs so that he could settle between them. ‘Something’s happened.’
He shook his head, too overcome with her to talk. Instead of asking again, she only smiled and pulled him down to kiss him. He closed his eyes and put all of his regret and, aye, even love into that kiss. Her hands worked between them, pulling her clothing out of the way to make way for him. Finally, her fingers wrapped around his length and she guided him to her. He gasped as his rigid length slipped into her moist heat. She arched beneath him, beckoning him for more and sighing against his lips when he gave it to her.
He took her slowly, knowing that tonight might have to last him a lifetime.
* * *
When Elswyth awoke the next morning, Rolfe had gone. Downstairs the men had already sequestered themselves at a table in the corner, discussing the battle, she assumed. Lady Gwendolyn hadn’t been very forthcoming with information, only saying that aye, the men had battled the Scots and that her family had not been involved, before keeping her busy all day in her chamber with mending and embroidery. It had been enough for a time, but as the day had become night and she’d only been able to share quick glances with Rolfe, Elswyth was losing her patience. It was as if everyone had made a concerted effort to keep her from her husband.
Aevir had arrived during the evening meal, and when she thought that meant the men might break for the night, it only sent them into another round of discussion. Elswyth had finally taken up a stool by the fire where she played a dice game with Ellan, determined to wait them out and approach her husband as soon as he rose.
Something was wrong. She didn’t know what it was, but something had happened in the time Rolfe was gone and it had changed him. It was in his face. She had seen it last night and cursed herself a fool for letting him distract her before finding out the truth. Whatever it was, it scared her and she wouldn’t rest tonight until she got to the bottom of it. There was a distance between them that frightened her.
The door came open and a man rushed in. She recognised him as one of the men who stood guard on the wall. His eyes were wide and determined as he walked to Lord Vidar. The dice slipped from her hands and she rose to her feet, knowing instinctively that something had happened.
‘Godric is here,’ he said a bit too loudly.
‘What are you doing?’ Ellan asked, coming to her feet when Elswyth turned to go get her cloak.
‘I’m going to see Father. Something has happened and, if Rolfe won’t tell me, I’ll ask him.’ There was also the small issue of delivering the news of her wedding to him, but somehow that seemed secondary now.
She hurried upstairs and came back down just in time to see Rolfe heading out the door. Determined to find out what was going on, she hurried through the hall before anyone could stop her. Lady Gwendolyn called to her, but she pretended not to hear and kept moving forward. When she stepped outside, it was easy to see where to go. A group of men had gathered beneath the light of the torches inside the wall.
‘I asked for my daughters.’ She heard her father’s deep voice through the crowd as she pushed her way through.
‘And we have come instead.’ The iron in Lord Vidar’s voice was unmistakable.
‘You would deny me my own daughters?’ Godric’s voice rose a fraction.
‘Nay, but I would know what you’re about first. My man tells me you left Banford days ago,’ Lord Vidar answered.
She neared the front to see Father grin, revealing well-kept te
eth, though a few were missing. ‘Went hunting. No harm done. I’ve come to take my daughters home and I’d like to leave in the morning.’
‘Won’t you stay and take a meal with us tomorrow?’ Lord Vidar asked.
He shook his head and at his side Galan crossed his arms over his chest. ‘No time for feasting.’
‘Elswyth won’t be returning with you,’ Rolfe answered, drawing the man’s astute gaze. ‘She’s my wife.’
Elswyth winced at the words. She had a speech prepared, one in which she would have gently let her father know what had happened. Instead of the anger she had expected, her father only looked pensive. Galan was the one who grew angry. His arms dropped to his sides and his fists clenched as he took a step towards Rolfe. ‘Did you force her?’
‘Nay, I didn’t force her. She was very happy to become my wife.’
‘What did you do to her, you bastard? She would never marry a Dane willingly.’ Galan’s voice rose a notch on that last part.
Elswyth winced when confronted with the bald hatred she had known to expect from them. They would think she had betrayed them when they learned the truth of Rolfe’s words. Part of her wanted to go back inside before one of them saw her.
Rolfe’s voice interrupted that thought. ‘She did marry me and she did so willingly. The marriage is valid with witnesses and the endorsement of your lord.’ She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was hard, nothing like the man who had come to her last night ‘We regret that it had to be done in haste and without your agreement, but I’m prepared to reimburse you for the omission and to give you a fair bride price. I’d like to offer you twenty-five pounds of silver.’ It was more than double the typical amount.
Father scoffed. ‘Do you think silver is all it will take to buy my acceptance of this farce?’
‘It’s no farce.’ Rolfe’s voice had gentled, but only slightly. ‘The deed has been consummated and she is content as my wife. I have vowed to give her my protection and keep her safe.’
A flicker of uncertainty appeared on Father’s face and for the first time something very close to pain displaced the hatred. She longed to reach out to him and tell him that she was happy. It was time to reveal herself.
Father’s next words brought her up short.
‘Safe,’ the older man said. ‘Does that include her home? Her family? Did you tell her about your actions in Banford before or after the wedding? Have you told her about Osric?’
She had expected Rolfe to scoff, to deny any knowledge of the wrongdoing her father’s tone implied, but that didn’t happen. A damning silence fell over the men. A sick feeling formed in the pit of her stomach and she knew that this was why Rolfe had appeared so hollow. Something had indeed happened.
‘Rolfe?’
He turned, eyes wide with guilt as if he were stricken to see her. The crowd made room for her and she stepped into the clearing in the middle of the circle they created. When Rolfe didn’t speak, she turned to her father. ‘Father, what happened in Banford?’
‘Go back inside.’ Rolfe’s voice was hard, leaving no room for argument as he pressed his hand to her waist. It wasn’t the sort of touch she associated with him. It was cold, almost impersonal, as if she were an object and not the woman he’d held with such tenderness in the past. A shiver worked its way down her spine.
Elswyth stared up at her husband, having been aware that this side of him existed—the forbidding commander of warriors—but she’d almost forgotten it. Nor had she expected to see it directed at her. It only reinforced the distance she had felt growing between them since his return. Telling herself that she was mistaken, she pressed a hand to the one at her waist and gave him an uncertain smile. ‘I want to stay. What is he talking about?’
‘We’ll talk about this later. Inside,’ came his immediate and unyielding reply. There was something in his face lurking behind the command, something that she dimly recognised as fear, and it frightened her. She’d never seen Rolfe afraid. It told her that whatever they were talking about was important and it concerned her. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Turning to her father and Galan, she stepped away from Rolfe’s hand on her waist and asked, ‘What happened in Banford and what is this about Osric?’
Her father opened his mouth to speak, but before a sound came out Lord Vidar said, ‘Do not, Godric.’ His voice was deep and strong with authority.
She stared at his hard face, taken aback that the men she thought she had come to know so well were behaving in this way. A threatening wave of premonition came over her, and she looked to Rolfe. He appeared angry, but the fear was still there, twisting his handsome features with pain. ‘Elswyth.’ His voice had gentled a bit. ‘Come, let me tell you in our chamber.’ There was a subtle question in his voice as he held out his hand to her.
Her gaze fixated on that hand, wavering. She so wanted to disappear with him, hiding away in their chamber from whatever horrible thing was about to happen. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. She might have actually taken his hand. Her palm tingled, already anticipating his familiar warmth and comfort, but Galan spoke. ‘He killed Osric.’
‘Lie!’ Rolfe yelled, staring at her brother as if he could strike him down with one look.
Elswyth reeled from those words. She thought of Osric’s boyish smile and the way his hair always had the one curl that would flop over his forehead. The way he would tease her about getting too attached to the baby lambs who lost their mothers, but he would stay up late right beside her the entire time helping her care for them. His heart had been just as soft as hers when it came to them. And now that kindness was gone, stripped from the world as if it had never existed.
‘He can’t be gone,’ she whispered to herself, but Rolfe was there behind her and he heard her, confirming her worst fears.
‘I’m sorry, Elswyth.’ His voice was soft, but it was cold and distant. The man she knew would have called her Saxon and his voice would have ached with the admission as he touched her. This man was not the husband who had left her.
She whirled to face her husband. ‘You killed him?’ She couldn’t even conceive of a scenario where that event was likely.
‘Nay.’ His voice hardened and he glanced at her brother in annoyance, before looking back to her. ‘Come inside with me. I vow I’ll tell you everything that happened.’
‘You’ll lie to her, you mean,’ Galan said before she could answer. ‘Your men killed him because he was talking to the Scots. Because you’re so arrogant a man must be cut down for even talking to someone you dislike.’
‘Damn you! Shut up and let me speak to my wife!’ Rolfe shouted.
‘You’ve had plenty of time to talk to her,’ her father cut in. ‘You came back last night, didn’t you? That’s plenty of time.’
‘Last night?’ She stared up at her husband and she knew he was remembering just as she was how they had passed the night in bed. He’d known this horrible thing and he hadn’t come to her once today to tell her. The guilt was shining from his eyes, proving that her father spoke the truth.
‘You’ve had even longer than that to confess the destruction you wrought in Banford.’ Father’s voice cut between them.
‘What did you do in Banford?’ she asked, feeling very much as if the man before her were a stranger.
Rolfe swallowed and proceeded in a precise voice as if he were explaining something complicated to someone slow, or trying to distance a deranged person away from the knife in their hand. She wasn’t certain which scenario applied to her at the moment. It seemed that everyone knew everything except for her and she very much felt as if she could strike out at someone if she wasn’t let in on the secret soon. ‘Osric was with the Scots we found,’ he said. ‘He fought alongside them when we attacked. Our plan was to take prisoners, but it was clear from the beginning that they only wanted victory or death.’
A lump welled in
her throat and her lip trembled with the force it took to ask, ‘He’s gone?’
Rolfe gave a curt nod and her vision blurred with tears.
‘Even before that they burned Osric’s home and Durwin’s, too,’ Father said. ‘Claimed they found Durwin across the border in Alba where they killed him.’
Her hands were shaking when she brought them to her face, needing a moment to take in what had happened without everyone staring at her. But it didn’t help. She could feel their eyes on her. A spasm of pain tore through her body as she imagined Osric cut down by Rolfe’s order. The sight of his dear face wouldn’t leave her. She’d never see his smile again, or his kind brown eyes as he brought her a pudding from his mother. And poor Durwin. He’d been married with a child on the way. Why had he been with the Scots?
Then a thought came to her. If she had married Osric, none of this would have happened. He’d still be alive and smiling at her. Father had wanted her to marry him. He’d not made a secret of it, not really. She’d pretended surprise when Ellan brought it up, but only because it wasn’t something she had wanted to entertain. Osric had been like her brother, or maybe she’d been too stupid to understand how to pick a proper husband. He would have been kind to her and she had no doubt that she could have talked him out of joining her father’s cause. Had she married him, he would have been home and not out with the Scots. He would be safe and alive. Guilt nearly made her drop to her knees.
As she’d had her crisis the conversation and shouting had continued around her, but the words, ‘grounds for divorce’, spoken by her father brought her back to what was happening.
‘There will be no divorce,’ Rolfe was saying.
They spoke as if she wasn’t there. As if deciding her future wasn’t a conversation worth including her in. But then that should come as no surprise, because no one had bothered to tell her any of this before the issue had been forced. She barely managed to stifle a sob as she pushed her way through the crowd, needing to isolate herself from the madness around her.
Marrying Her Viking Enemy Page 17