The Viking Warrior's Bride

by Harper St. George

  Now she had to face the fact that only one of them had come to do battle and it appeared it would be with her. With that in mind she seized on the only piece of information that might save her from the marriage. Turning her gaze back to Jarl Eirik, she said, ‘My father told me that Magnus was your second in command and the only man worthy of wedding into our family. If this Magnus has chosen not to honour this agreement, then I am afraid that I will not honour a replacement.’

  The Jarl did not answer for a moment. Instead, he gave a long slow look at the men in the seven other boats that had pulled up next to his. There were at least twenty men on each one, while the two in back held a few horses. She allowed herself the tiny sliver of hope that she had saved herself. But then he spoke. ‘The agreement called for my most trusted warrior. Magnus was named verbally, but his name was not recorded in the document. Just as your name was not recorded. The text only states that my most trusted warrior is to marry the daughter of Alvey. I have the scroll if you’ll allow me to show you.’

  She opened her mouth to refuse him, but Rodor stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. She met his shrewd gaze and noted the displeasure there. He’d been her father’s man from long before her birth—if anyone knew what her father’s wishes had been, it was he. He’d probably even seen the document her father had signed.

  ‘Do not do this thing you’re planning, Gwendolyn. If you antagonise your husband now, think of the consequences to yourself later. Think of the consequences to our people. A true leader must put everyone else before himself...or herself.’

  Her heart plummeted to land with a thud in her stomach. All this time she had been so certain that something would change, but she realised now that she’d only been fooling herself. It hadn’t been certainty at all, but a childish indulgence. Nothing would save her from her fate. Her father had made sure of that before he’d passed by making his wishes known to all the men. They followed her now because she’d earned their respect, but she knew how tenuous that respect was. If she openly thwarted her beloved father’s wishes, they’d turn on her. If Jarl Eirik had chosen not to honour the agreement, then that would be one thing; but, if she were the cause of him baulking, that would be another altogether.

  The men thought they needed these Danes for protection. Personally, she didn’t agree. Aye, the northern tribes were becoming bolder. That was compounded by the rebellious Northmen who’d fled the Danes pushing northward to take Alvey land. They were being squeezed from both sides, yet Gwendolyn was confident that her men could handle things alone. But Jarl Eirik had promised them gold and warriors in exchange for her hand and her father had thought the exchange necessary.

  Swallowing her pride, she realised that she’d have to handle this diplomatically, so she nodded to Jarl Eirik. ‘You may come on land. Bring your proof and whatever you may need to rest for the evening. We’ll see if everything is as you say.’

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Rodor nod as he stepped back to his place with the men. The one named Vidar had ceased his laughing, but only to stare at her. She ignored him, training her gaze on Jarl Eirik as he directed his men to disembark. He followed them, his boots splashing in the shallow water at the bank of the river as he jumped out of the boat and walked to shore. He was a tall man, taller than Rodor. His shoulders were broad and his wheat-coloured hair swept down past his shoulders. He was handsome and had a solemn air about him. If he hadn’t been her adversary, she saw immediately that she would have liked him.

  His younger brother Vidar followed—she wouldn’t think of him as her betrothed until it was absolutely unavoidable. When he splashed down from his boat and walked towards shore, she noted that he walked with a swagger that was missing from his older brother’s walk. He was of the same height as Jarl Eirik and his hair was a similar shade of blond. It was obvious they were brothers. But the younger one’s eyes were insolent and fierce. Gwendolyn very much doubted she would have liked him at all under other circumstances.

  ‘Come,’ she said and turned to follow the trail home. She forced down the ache in her throat and blinked back the sting of tears. She had not cried since the day her father had died. She wouldn’t allow this Dane to reduce her to shame herself in front of him.

  Somehow between now and the night ahead, she’d figure a way out of this marriage. She wouldn’t have a man dictate her future to her, especially an enemy stranger.

  Chapter Two

  The trail was so narrow that they’d been forced to walk in pairs, and Vidar had fallen into step beside his brother. They’d left half of the men behind to guard the boats and the treasure contained within them—the fortune his brother had been forced to part with to secure this marriage. The girl walked before them with a man he’d heard her call by the name Wulf at her side, while the rest of her men followed behind.

  ‘Have you considered that this might be a trap?’ Vidar asked, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel to the others. Not that he believed any of the Saxons knew the Danish tongue, but he’d rather his own men not hear. The evergreen forest towered high above them, nearly blocking what little light there was, leaving it almost too dark to see the trail in front of them. She could be leading them anywhere.

  ‘Aye, but it’s not,’ Eirik said, his gaze on the trail.

  Vidar had to agree that a trap was probably unlikely. As of now, they had the Saxon men outnumbered, but there could be more hiding anywhere along the trail. And their knowledge of the Alveys was nearly non-existent. They could have hundreds of warriors. Yet his brother spoke with such confidence that Vidar was compelled to ask, ‘How are you so certain?’

  ‘When I leave, I’m taking nearly half the warriors with me and leaving the gold behind.’ Eirik smiled, the white of it breaking through the shadows. ‘If she wanted to kill you, she’d do it then when she’d have fewer men to contend with and it would be autumn before I knew about it. Spring before I’d be able to come back to avenge you. It’s in her best interest to wait.’

  Vidar scoffed and glanced through the tops of the trees, trying to find the sun. ‘Many thanks, Brother. I’ll look forward to that when you’re gone.’

  Eirik laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I doubt it’ll happen.’

  Somehow his brother’s ‘doubt’ wasn’t the least bit reassuring. Vidar clenched his jaw and stared at the back of the girl who walked before them. Vidar still had trouble thinking of her as his bride. None of this felt like it was really happening. By tomorrow evening the land they were walking on could very well be his, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it. He wasn’t a farmer or a shepherd, or whatever they did up here in this remote place. His destiny was to brave new lands to find new resources and secure his fortune.

  No matter what happened on this night or any other, he’d make sure to fulfil that destiny. These people had survived well enough without him. He’d leave as soon as he was able and continue his life as before. Eirik couldn’t stop him and, unless he missed his guess, his bride would rather see him go.

  Though he’d probably have to get her with child first.

  The thought brought his attention back to her. They had been steadily walking up an incline, traversing up the side of the hill, so the girl’s backside was at eye level. Her tunic was low enough that it covered the plump flesh, but he could still see it bouncing beneath the fabric, the swells of each cheek working with each step she took. And he remembered vividly how her tunic had been pulled up as she’d come out of the tree, allowing him a view of those rounded curves in her trousers. It could be worse, he reminded himself. Bedding her wouldn’t be unpleasant, he decided, and began to anticipate it as the only bright spot in this arrangement. It had been weeks since he’d last lain with a woman.

  The flickering of fire up ahead caught his eye and he realised they were coming out of the forest. The trail ended and they walked out into a flat grassland
that backed up to a fortress larger than he’d been expecting. The entire settlement was set back into the side of a hill. The river made up the west and north side, blocked off by both a stone wall and sheer drop of several yards. The stone wall continued around the south and east sides of the property, but it was far more vast in both length and height than any of the Saxon walls he’d seen. Inside the wall, set up higher on the hill, were several larger buildings and many smaller ones scattered about them. It was too dark to make out specific details, but he was impressed with what he saw. He’d imagined a few huts around a granary, but this was remarkable. If he wasn’t mistaken in the dim light, a few of the buildings looked to be made of the same stone as the wall.

  Gwendolyn turned when they reached the wall, her gaze flicking over him before landing on Eirik. ‘Welcome to my home, Jarl Eirik.’ Vidar noticed that she specifically excluded him from the greeting. Did the girl think goading him was in her best interest? He smiled, already warming to the idea of taming her.

  ‘Many thanks, Lady Gwendolyn. I’m impressed with your fortifications,’ Eirik answered. The wall was well over two men high. Torches were set at even intervals along the top of the wall, giving a little bit of light to the early evening.

  ‘Thank you. My grandfather was an intelligent man with the gift of foresight. He had this built back when we’d only heard talk about the invaders.’

  She didn’t say the word ‘invaders’ with malice, but her gaze slid over to Vidar just the same. It appeared the lady only considered him the invader and not Eirik. Did she not realise that he would not be here if it weren’t for Eirik? Vidar very nearly snorted, but managed to hold himself in check. There’d be plenty of time after the wedding to put her in her place.

  ‘A wise man indeed,’ Eirik agreed, his gaze traversing the wall. ‘Has it held up well to attack?’

  ‘Aye,’ the girl said, raising her chin a notch in pride.

  ‘It’s never fallen,’ said the man at her side. ‘It’s been tested, but not once has it failed us.’ He appeared old enough to be the girl’s father. His dark hair was streaked with grey at the temples, while his beard had patches of silver. He carried himself with the same pride of ownership as the girl.

  ‘Jarl Eirik, this is my father’s man, Rodor. He knows everything there is to know about Alvey. He was born here and has the charge of our warriors just as his father before him.’

  Vidar watched them exchange greetings and offered his own arm for Rodor. The man hesitated, his gaze faltering for a moment as he glanced at Gwendolyn. It was true that the girl had led the men below, but Vidar hadn’t been sure if it had been a scheme. Part of something she’d concocted to make a show of her power in their first meeting. But that look spoke volumes. This older man, who’d clearly had the trust and respect of her father, trusted her. Not only that, but he gave deference to her wishes. Interesting.

  She gave an almost imperceptible tilt of her head that Rodor took for consent. Only then did the man clasp Vidar’s arm in the same grip he’d shared with the Jarl and exchange a greeting. Gwendolyn turned her head away as if she couldn’t bear to see Vidar acknowledged in any way other than that of an enemy or threat. When he let go of the man’s arm, she turned and led them all to the main gate, which had been thrown open in welcome. Although it didn’t feel like much of a welcome when they walked inside.

  Vidar had to suppress a shiver of trepidation as he passed through the gates. The men inside had been alerted to their arrival and stood on either side of the entrance. Though they were not holding their weapons, swords, axes, and knives were stowed at the waistbands and across their backs. He had to wonder if the girl commanded them as easily as she did Rodor.

  She walked through the warriors and they parted for her as if she were their queen. Vidar realised that his original assessment of her had been hasty. This was no token respect she was given. These men respected her because somehow she had earned it.

  Vidar ground his molars together, already anticipating the battle of wills ahead. It wouldn’t be fought with weapons. It would be more subtle, and fought with words and deeds. He’d have to wrest their respect away from her and earn it for himself.

  * * *

  ‘The Danes have come.’ Gwendolyn could barely say the words before she pressed a hand to her mouth, as if they’d cut her lips on their way out.

  ‘Aye. I’ve heard. The news spread fast once their ships were spotted.’ Her older sister, Annis, closed the door to Gwendolyn’s bedchamber and swept her into her arms.

  Gwendolyn allowed herself a moment of weakness and took comfort in the embrace. Her knees had been weak since the moment she’d climbed out of that tree and met the Northmen face to face. Her fear had only got worse as she’d led the men to her home. Now that they were inside, drinking her ale and helping themselves to her meat, she’d barely made it to her chamber before the fear overtook her.

  She’d heard talk about the Danes ever since she could remember. They were large and unkempt with the slovenly mannerisms of barbarians. Her only real dealings with them before now were that band of misfit Danes who terrorised the countryside. They didn’t belong to this group of men, though. They were rebels. Rumours were that only a portion of them were Danes with the rest of the group being made up of outcasts from the Picts, Scots, and God knew who else. During that battle, she’d been too grief stricken and intent on avenging her brother’s death to notice much about them.

  What frightened her so much about these Danes who’d all but taken over Northumbria was that they weren’t unkempt and slovenly at all. They were dignified and ordered. Jarl Eirik appeared just as aristocratic as her own father had. The men as a group carried themselves with pride and poise. When she looked into Vidar’s eyes, she saw intelligence and cunning, not the look of a barbarian she’d been expecting. She could handle a bloodthirsty animal much easier than a calculating nobleman, particularly one bent on claiming her for marriage and taking her property.

  Her bedchamber was the only place she could indulge her emotions, even if only for a moment. And Annis was the only person she trusted enough to allow her to see her as she really was. With Annis she didn’t have to appear strong or brave. She buried her face in the crook of Annis’ shoulder and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. However, nothing could stop her hands from shaking as she put them around her sister’s shoulders.

  ‘Are they so awful?’ Annis asked, her voice low as if the Danes already had ownership of everything and any words spoken against them were blasphemy.

  Gwendolyn nodded. ‘More awful than I had imagined.’

  ‘What of your...husband?’ She hesitated on the last word as if trying to find another way to say it. But there was no other way. Gwendolyn feared that she was as good as wed to him.

  ‘Any man who is not Cam is horrible. But that man is worse than horrible.’ Gwendolyn took another deep breath and pulled herself up to her full height, which was a few inches taller than her tiny sister. Though Gwendolyn had two older sisters, she’d always been the tallest and the most active of the three. When her sisters were content to allow their mother to lead them in lessons in embroidery and the proper running of a household, Gwendolyn had followed their older brother Cedric everywhere. Eventually her parents had consented and he’d allowed her to join in with the weaponry and fight training given to the boys her age. It was because of him that she was more accurate with the crossbow than any of the men and could hold her own with the longbow.

  In a way, it was because of Cedric that she was in this awful predicament. If he’d not been killed in battle, along with Cam—her betrothed—then she’d not be faced with marriage to a Dane.

  ‘I understand that you still mourn Cam. We all do.’ Annis tucked a strand of hair behind Gwendolyn’s ear. ‘But the Danes are only men. They can’t possibly be that awful.’

  Gwendolyn turned from her sister and hurried
across the room to the shelves where she kept the important documents that had belonged to her father. In preparation for the marriage, Gwendolyn had moved into the master’s chamber. With her brother dead, Annis married to a lowly farmer with no lofty aspirations and her other sister comfortably ensconced in the abbey and devoted to a life of prayer, there was no one left to be master except for the man Gwendolyn eventually married. She only hoped it wouldn’t be this Dane.

  Grabbing the small chest from the shelf, she sat it on the table and opened the lid to pull out the scroll her father had hidden away. It was the one that had given her to that heathen. ‘They are that terrible, Annis,’ she said. ‘His name is Vidar and you can’t even imagine how he looks at me. It’s not the same way Eadward looks at you.’ Eadward fairly worshipped her sister. He’d looked at her as if he could see no one else since they were children. ‘It’s as if he already owns me and is taking measure of my worth.’

  She shook her head as she unrolled the scroll, nearly ripping it in her haste to find the name Magnus. If Magnus was the one named in the document, and not Vidar, then she wouldn’t have to honour this ridiculous agreement that her father had made in haste and desperation. This was nothing more than her father’s misplaced fear. He’d been afraid to die without seeing her cared for, not realising that she didn’t need to be cared for. She could care for herself, the estate and all the land between the north and Northumbria without a man at her side.