Marrying Her Viking Enemy

by Harper St. George

  * * *

  Elswyth could hardly bear the stone-hard hatred she saw in Rolfe’s face. This was the commander she knew lingered beneath the surface of the man she had come to love. This was the enemy warrior capable of violence. It was not the man who had smiled at her so tenderly, nor the man who had whispered deliciously wicked things in her ear as he’d come inside her. This man was as cold and beautiful as the moors in winter, with hard plains and jagged edges that were as beautiful as they were inhospitable.

  As the coldness of his gaze crawled inside her, making her shiver even harder, she had to wonder if he would even try to get her back from Domnall. He looked as if he could turn and leave without even giving her a second thought. And why wouldn’t he? They were very possibly in Alba. Domnall had won. Any attempt to get her back now would be an act of aggression that would likely bring retaliation to Alvey. He knew she had stolen from him and she couldn’t use her voice to tell him that Domnall lied about her supplying the Scots with information. Why would he want her? If she wasn’t so exhausted and heartsore, she might have cried again.

  ‘Nay,’ Rolfe finally said, answering the question she had nearly forgotten hung in the air. ‘I do not care to hear from her. Tell me what you want to give her back to me.’

  She would have tumbled to the ground with relief had Domnall’s grip on her waist not have been so tight she could barely breathe. It was a short-lived relief, however. She barely wanted to face Rolfe any more than she wanted to go with Domnall at the moment.

  ‘You still want her, knowing she’s a traitor?’

  Despite herself, Elswyth stiffened, bracing herself for the answer.

  ‘I want her because she’s my wife. You will pay for taking her, Scot.’

  It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Rolfe wanted her back because the slight of taking a wife could not go unseen. It had nothing to do with her. He probably hated her. If the coldness in his eyes was an indication, he did hate her. She wanted to go back to the day before her father had come, when everything had been good between them and she’d been falling in love with her husband. She was afraid that now they could never go back. Nothing could change what either of them had done. She had lost both her family and her husband.

  ‘Have you harmed her?’ Rolfe asked.

  ‘You mean have I taken her?’ Domnall replied. ‘Not yet.’

  From somewhere in the deep shadows of the nearby trees a piercing cry broke through the silence that had fallen. Rolfe didn’t react, but Domnall stiffened behind her. She didn’t know how he knew, but it appeared they all assumed it was a Scot calling out as he lost his life. It was followed by another one on the opposite side. Rolfe’s men had them surrounded. Domnall began to subtly tremble behind her while Rolfe looked on.

  ‘Let her go and I’ll give you a head start,’ Rolfe said.

  The sharp tip of the dagger pressed harder into her neck. A warm trickle of blood oozed out of the tiny puncture to slide down her neck. Before she knew what was happening, Domnall was pulling her backwards. Her feet stumbled over the uneven ground and she slipped a bit, but tried to hold her neck away from the blade’s point. Rolfe and his men didn’t move. They stayed vigilant.

  Finally Domnall made it to where his horse was waiting. He mounted, half-pulling her up with him, so that she draped over the side of the horse facing Rolfe. ‘Dismount!’ the Scot yelled.

  Rolfe and his men slowly moved to comply, but as soon as they did Domnall pushed her away and took off. His horse went flying off into the grey morning. Elswyth landed with a painful crash, her head throbbing and her limbs shaking as she rested on her hands and knees.

  Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. She knew without looking that it was Rolfe, she would know his touch anywhere. Though his face and eyes were still hard, he did keep his touch gentle as he cut the binding around her head. Hooves thundered past them on either side as his men set off after Domnall, but Rolfe stayed calm as he looked her over. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing that won’t heal quickly.’ Her tongue felt swollen and slow from having the cloth shoved in her mouth.

  Rolfe turned back to Sleipnir and pulled a skein of water off his back, pressing it to her lips. She drank greedily, some of the water trickling down her chin to moisten the front of her dress. When she’d had her fill, he took it away to replace the stopper and she brought her bound hands up to wipe the water away.

  ‘How did you know they had me?’

  ‘We got word of the Scots being sighted as I was planning to ride out after I discovered you missing. We followed your path towards Banford and came across Gyllir.’

  ‘Is she hurt?’ Elswyth had been so worried for the gentle horse, not having seen what had happened to her after being taken.

  ‘She has a slight limp, but it looked to be minor. We found where you had come across the Scots and it was a simple matter to follow them here.’ He spoke without emotion. She could have been anyone he had saved in keeping with his duty.

  ‘Thank you, Rolfe. I... I wasn’t certain that you’d want to have me back.’

  He paused briefly in tying the skein to his saddle, but then he finished the task and looked back at her. She could not tell what he was thinking or feeling. Perhaps saving her hadn’t meant he’d wanted to have her back at all.

  ‘Would you untie me?’ She held up her wrists to remind him, but he merely looked at them. His face was impassive and her stomach sank. ‘Am...am I a prisoner?’

  ‘Did you steal the bloodstone from me?’

  She swallowed, hating the answer that she had to give. She hated that she had taken it. If she had to do it all over again... She closed her eyes and put that useless thought away. Nothing could change the past. ‘Rolfe, I—’

  His hard voice cut off her words. ‘Tell me “aye” or “nay”.’ His tone brooked no argument, drawing her gaze to his impassive face.

  ‘Aye,’ she said, her voice a little more than a whisper.

  ‘Then you’re a prisoner.’ His words were flat as he turned to pull a fur that had been wrapped up behind his saddle. He shook it out and wrapped it around her shoulders, his movements as impersonal as if she were a stranger. Though his hands moved up and down her arms to help warm her faster and get her blood flowing, there was nothing to hint at the tenderness or the passion they had shared.

  ‘What will you do with me?’ she managed to ask as he boosted her on to his horse.

  He didn’t say a word as he mounted behind her and turned Sleipnir around, heading south towards Alvey’s border. His left arm hooked around her waist to keep her stable. Her body felt so tired and she trembled from the cold that had seeped deep into the marrow of her bones that she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stay up without his assistance.

  ‘Rolfe, you must know that I only took it because—’

  ‘Enough! I can’t talk to you now.’ The bitterness in his voice was the only outward sign of the deep anger burning inside him.

  * * *

  Rolfe despised how good she felt in his arms. After a day and nearly two sleepless nights without her, he’d longed only to have her in his arms again, to hold her against him and know that she was safe and his. It didn’t seem to matter that he had learned she had used him ruthlessly for her own purposes. He knew that and his anger burned so hot that he could scarcely contain it, but his heart and his body hadn’t yet caught up to his mind. They craved her with the intensity of an animal too long separated from its mate. So he allowed himself this time to hold her. They should reach Banford by afternoon and then that would be the end. He’d turn her over to Vidar and she would have to answer for her crimes just like anyone else.

  At first she’d tried to hold herself stiffly against him, but soon the motion of the horse became too much for her exhaustion and she slumped forward. That was to be expected. More concerning was the fact that she
had yet to stop trembling. The sound of her teeth chattering along with the occasional sounds of Sleipnir’s huffs of breath was the only thing that broke through the stillness of the morning.

  ‘Elswyth?’ He hoped to rouse her, thinking that even though they were in a hurry, he should make her walk a bit to get her blood flowing again. She didn’t stir, so he repeated her name a bit louder and with more authority. When she still didn’t rouse, a flicker of fear moved through him.

  A few years ago he’d been to the Great North with a group hunting the great white bears that lived there. They’d been besieged by a snow storm and had sought shelter, but it hadn’t stopped a few of them from being overtaken with the cold. They’d shivered uncontrollably even after they’d found the warmth of the fire. Two of them had fallen asleep and never revived. It had been much colder then, but those men had been stout and large-boned. Elswyth was smaller framed and more delicate and she’d been without a fur for at least a day and a night with steady snow. A twinge of guilt tightened his chest uncomfortably. Her clothing was the same as that she had come to him with, barely adequate for winter, much less the extended exposure she’d endured. They hadn’t had time to commission new clothing for her in heavier fabrics. Or perhaps there had been time, he simply hadn’t seen clothing her as a priority when he’d wanted her without her clothes as much as possible.

  Allowing Sleipnir his head, he pulled the knife from his boot and cut the bindings at her wrists. Then he turned her in his arms to see her pale face and the faint blue shadows around her lips and beneath her eyes. ‘Saxon,’ he called.

  She shifted and the relief he felt nearly sent him falling to the ground.

  ‘Saxon, talk to me,’ he said, unable to stop himself from cupping her cheek. It was nearly as cold as the snow.

  ‘Dane.’ It was the softest whisper, but it brought a smile to his face none the less. He found the pulse in her neck and breathed another sigh of relief when it was strong and steady beneath his fingers. ‘So tired and cold,’ she mumbled, seeking the heat of his body and turning into him. ‘Please can I sleep?’

  ‘Aye, Saxon. I’ll keep you safe.’ He held her against his chest and pulled away her fur, tucking her against him so that only their clothes were between them. She needed as much heat from his body as she could get. Then he wrapped his fur around them both and tucked hers around her so that she was doubly protected. The new position hindered their speed, but they were still able to make slow and steady progress. He checked her often to make certain she wasn’t slipping into a deeper sleep. Each time the strong beat of her pulse reassured him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rolfe had not seen Elswyth in three days. She’d been sleeping—very nearly unconscious—when they had finally made Banford around nightfall. He’d meant to take her to one of the huts Cnut had built for his warriors, a small, thatched-roof structure that was little more than a place to sleep overnight. Instead, he’d taken one look at the inviting trail of smoke coming from the opening in the roof of her family’s farmhouse and had taken her home.

  An elderly woman—he’d later come to learn she was their housemaid—had been tending the fire when he’d kicked the door open with his booted foot. She jumped up and grabbed a cooking knife, but settled when she recognised him. Her wide eyes had gone to the fur-wrapped bundle in his arms as he’d ordered her to bring a straw mattress to set beside the hearth. That’s where he’d laid Elswyth. The old woman had immediately began to cluck over her like a concerned hen. Rolfe had stayed until he was certain his wife would recover and then he’d left, commanding a Dane warrior to guard the front door. None of the Saxons in Banford could be trusted until he had questioned them all.

  Aevir had returned at the end of the first day with Rolfe’s warriors. Only a few of the Scots who had taken Elswyth had managed to escape, but Domnall was regrettably one of them. It was a fight Rolfe was more than prepared to fight another day. With Aevir’s help, they were able to speak with every person in the village over the course of the next two days. All of them claimed innocence when it came to joining with the Scots and to his surprise he was inclined to believe them.

  Godric, both of Elswyth’s brothers, ten single men and four men along with their wives hadn’t been seen for days. The popular opinion was that they had gone north to join with the Scots once it had become apparent that taking Banford would come to naught. In fact, many of the villagers seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when he spoke to them. Most of those left behind were families and the elderly who seemed more than willing to trade their anger for peace with the Danes.

  Something told him that his wife not one of them. She had demanded his presence to every Dane he had stationed at her door, arguing when they wouldn’t allow her to leave the home, and was once driven to physical violence so that he’d had to order every blade in the house confiscated. He told Aevir and even himself that he was content to await Vidar’s arrival—after all, it was up to the Jarl to mete out justice for a crime done within his own walls. But even Rolfe couldn’t hide from the truth late at night when he sought the meagre comforts of his bed.

  The truth was that he was afraid of what he might do when he saw her again. Anger at her treason and lies had nearly burned him alive from the inside, but he couldn’t deny the swell of tenderness he felt when he thought of her. As much as he tried to turn it to hate, he couldn’t. She had betrayed him just as Hilde had—in some ways even worse—but some part of him would not let him forget how she had relaxed into him every night after giving him her body. How her elegant fingers would curl his hair around them absently as she stroked his shoulders and chest, whispering that she had never been happier. Most of all he couldn’t forget how he’d thought they’d have the rest of their lives together and how happy that had made him.

  Her mind was keen and eager to learn so he’d planned to keep teaching her the sword and even how to read and write the runes in which she’d shown interest. They were supposed to have had many long winter nights ahead when he’d tell her about his travels and his family. Perhaps he’d even take her back home to meet them one summer. And their children... His throat inevitably closed when he thought of those imagined, yet already beloved creatures with their loving mother. He’d already had their entire life in his head, but it was gone now.

  Their future was gone and he couldn’t decide between anger and heartache, so they both ate at him with vicious teeth until he was snarling at everyone and everything that crossed his path. He didn’t think he would harm her when he saw her—he had sworn to protect her and he would abide by that until she was no longer his—but he couldn’t chance what he might do. So he stayed away from her and he avoided his straw mattress—a sorry excuse for a bed if he’d ever seen one—for as long as he could until he could fall into it each night and have exhaustion overtake him. Unfortunately, he was a man of action and, while they waited for Vidar to reach them and for some sign of the missing Banford citizens, he only had to wait.

  * * *

  The evening of the third night found him sitting at the hearth in Cnut’s longhouse with Aevir at his side. He had long ago finished his mead, but he held the tankard in his hands as he stared at the fire.

  ‘Go to your wife, Brother,’ Aevir said, giving him an infuriating smile before he threw back the remainder of his own mead.

  ‘Don’t call her that,’ Rolfe said, his voice husky from disuse.

  ‘It’s what she is, isn’t she?’

  Rolfe shook his head. ‘Not for long.’ He’d already decided that divorce was the best option. Vidar would grant it given the circumstances.

  ‘You’ll have to talk to her for the divorce.’ Aevir’s easy voice was grating on his nerves.

  ‘Then I’ll talk to her at that time.’

  Aevir sighed and then said the words that could have been his last had Rolfe not known him so well. ‘I’ve never known you to be a coward.’

 
Rolfe threw his tankard to the floor where it landed with a loud thwack and dented the wooden plank. He was on Aevir before the man could defend himself, knocking the bench he sat on backwards, taking Aevir and the two men who sat next to him to the floor with it. ‘Words of a dying man,’ Rolfe growled, drawing back his fist to blight out the infuriating smirk Aevir still wore.

  Aevir managed to dodge the blow and struggled upwards, reversing their positions so that he had the upper hand. Grabbing Rolfe’s tunic, he said, ‘I know the look of an infatuated man when I see it. Go talk to her and put us all out of our misery.’

  Rolfe managed to knock him in the stomach, taking the air out of him and startling him enough so that Rolfe could flip their positions yet again. This time when he had Aevir beneath him he swung and managed to clip his chin with the edge of his knuckles before Aevir dodged away completely. ‘You know nothing about what I’m feeling.’

  Aevir twisted and managed to get a foot under Rolfe’s knee, knocking him off balance. Aevir used the momentum of his fall to get behind him, locking his arms around Rolfe’s torso to confine him while his heavy thighs worked to contain Rolfe’s struggles. The men were evenly matched in strength so it was anyone’s guess who would come out on top, though Rolfe could hear several men calling out wagers.

  ‘I know what it is to love, you fool, and I know what it is to lose that love,’ Aevir growled in his ear as they struggled. ‘I would give anything to have her back for even one day, to say all the things I didn’t have time for. You have time now, don’t waste any more of it than you already have.’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Rolfe hissed, knowing that no one else would hear him over the cacophony of noise the men were making as they cheered them on. ‘She lied to me. She stole from me. I cannot forgive that.’ Everyone knew how Rolfe’s own wife had betrayed him.