He noticed that the people of Alvey appeared to love her. At both farms they visited that day, as had happened in the village, they were greeted with reservation and distrust by the people. Yet, Gwendolyn was always embraced. He imagined they saw her as some sort of martyr forced to submit to the enemy she had married. He wondered how they would react if they knew it was he who’d been forced to change his approach to his wife.
It never failed that the women came up to welcome her. Then later, when they were all gathered around the table in discussion, the men listened when she spoke. They trusted and respected her.
Vidar came to realise that he had underestimated her when they’d first been married and he was sorry for it. His brothers Eirik and Gunnar had taught him from a young age to take measure of a situation and the people in it, especially his enemies. While he had viewed her as an enemy and a possible threat, he’d failed to give her the respect that was her rightful due. He’d been unfair to her, because she was a woman pretending to be a warrior. Or that’s how he’d seen her. He hadn’t seen how truly valuable she was to Alvey.
He saw it now.
She was not his enemy. If he could close the chasm between them, then she could very well be his greatest ally as he worked to unite Alvey.
He also noticed something else. Something that he had never even considered throughout the long winter he’d spent lamenting this marriage. He liked her. He liked being in her company, but he didn’t quite know what to do with that feeling.
It puzzled him throughout the day. As strange as it was, he didn’t know what it meant to like being with her. In a life that had never included a relationship beyond a passing pleasure with a woman, he was uncertain how to proceed with her.
* * *
They made camp that night on the outskirts of the last farm they’d visited. He’d noticed that in their group of warriors made up of Saxons and Danes, the Saxons tended to make a circle around her as they rode. When they stopped to join the camp that some warriors had already ridden ahead to make for the evening, a few of the Saxons tripped over themselves to help her dismount and see to her horse. She smiled at them and handed her horse over with thanks as she took her roll of blankets to secure her place for the evening.
Vidar had the sudden and disturbing idea that she might have married one of those warriors had her father not given her to him. They were all strong warriors. Any one of them could have been her pick, had she been in the market for a husband. It was the first time he’d considered the fact that another might hold a place in her esteem. He didn’t like the thought and tried to remember if he’d noticed her showing particular affection for any of them. Swinging his leg over to dismount, he recalled that she’d mentioned having a betrothed. The man had been killed in battle, but he’d forgotten the particulars or even how long ago it had been. Had the man been killed alongside her brother?
Handing off the reins to a boy who’d approached him, he said a word of thanks and glanced back to his wife. She’d settled herself on her blankets. The firelight played across her pale features, burnishing them with a subtle glow. He walked to the wagon to retrieve the tankard and fill it from their special cask of mead. They’d had their meal at the farm, so they wouldn’t be eating under the stars tonight.
She smiled up at him when he took his place on the blankets that had been arranged beside her, and, accustomed to the routine, she accepted the cup and took a long drink. He couldn’t take his gaze from her face and watched the graceful column of her throat as she swallowed. When she finished, she handed it back to him, a puzzled smile on her face. No doubt she was wondering why he was staring and he couldn’t even be certain of the answer to that. He only knew that he couldn’t bring himself to look away.
‘It went well today,’ he said to distract from his obsession. Her eyes appeared as dark as midnight in the shadows cast by the fire. They were deep, velvet pools of blue.
‘It did. They seemed less resistant than Scur and his village yesterday.’
‘Do you suppose it’s because they feel less threatened by the warriors?’ he asked, genuinely curious about her opinion.
She gave a small nod and drew her knees up to rest her arms on them. ‘I suppose. I think it’s also because the farms are in need of strong men to work and to marry their girls. The more people to work, the more profitable they become.’
He silently agreed. It appeared their resistance would come from the villages. Setting the tankard between them, he leaned back on an elbow and watched the men preparing for sleep around them. As if they’d come to some silent agreement after last night that Vidar wasn’t privy to, the men left a large swathe of empty ground around him and Gwendolyn. He wished it were necessary. Her gentle scent tickled his nose and an answering tug of interest tightened low in his belly.
‘Gwendolyn, you mentioned once that you had been betrothed.’ He paused, uncertain how he meant to continue that statement. Did he want to know what had happened? Did he want some assurance that she wasn’t pining over some lost love?
‘Aye, I was betrothed to Rodor’s son. His name was Cam and he was meant to take Rodor’s place and lead our warriors. He was always a part of my life. He was older than I was, almost the same age as Cedric, my brother. I always knew that I’d marry him.’
He nearly winced at that. If she’d known him that long, surely she’d developed tender feelings for him.
She continued. ‘He was my brother’s dearest friend, so when I’d follow Cedric around, Cam was always near. Eventually they saw me less as a nuisance and more of an equal.’
‘An equal.’ He echoed her words.
She turned her head to look at him and nodded. ‘Aye, I could best them both in archery and held my own with my sword.’
‘Did your brother allow you to ride into battle? Were you there the day he was killed?’
‘My father never allowed me to ride knowing that we’d battle. The most I’d ever seen were small skirmishes when we’d be out and come across a few men. Once we’d encountered a small group of the rebels in the north hills. There were only a handful and nearly a score of us. It was barely a skirmish at all and happened by mere accident. But that changed after my brother was killed. He and Rodor were at my side when we tracked the men who killed Cedric and Cam.’ She fell quiet for a moment, clearly lost in her thoughts of that day.
It shouldn’t matter that she obviously had affection for another man, but it did. He found that he wanted her thoughts as well as her body. ‘Come, let us sleep.’ He drank the last of the mead and set it aside before lying down. She stretched out on her back beside him.
A moment passed in silence, her gaze on the sky overhead and his on her. Though he feigned trying to sleep, he studied her profile, his gaze lingering on the pillow of her lips.
‘Why do you ask about my betrothed?’ Her voice was low, creating an intimacy between them. She turned her head to look at him and the power of her gaze tugged at him.
He was jealous of this faceless man who had owned the right to her hand before he had. He was jealous of the soft feelings she might harbour for the man. He wanted to ask if she still mourned, but given that she’d been friends with him, he knew that she must. And that wasn’t even really what bothered him. He wanted to know if she loved Cam. If she’d been heartbroken upon his death. Not simply heartbroken for the loss of a friend, but heartbroken for the loss of her heart. The loss of her life.
After a moment, he settled on the closest version of the truth he knew. ‘Because you’re a puzzle to me.’
He could tell that hadn’t been the answer she’d expected, because her brow furrowed and she smiled a bit. ‘And you’re a puzzle to me.’
He smiled back at her, enjoying the camaraderie they’d found on this journey. Rising up on an elbow, he leaned forward to get a better look at her. Thoughts of the kiss he’d given her last night were in the f
orefront of his mind. It probably couldn’t even be considered a kiss. It had been a mere brushing of lips and she hadn’t responded. But he wanted her to respond to him as she had that night of the spanking. She’d been uninhibited as she’d wrapped her arms around him and opened her mouth to him. Her submission, even given for just a short time, had been sweet.
‘Will you kiss me again?’ he asked. She surprised him by giving a nod, her head moving only just enough to convey her consent. He leaned forward, hearing her take in a sharp breath. When his lips brushed hers, his hand went to her hip, clenching the soft, firm flesh. The contrasting needs to comfort and claim soared through him. He didn’t understand them and swiftly drew back before he could press for more. She stared up at him, dazed, her lips still parted and moist.
Before he could think better of it, he kissed her again. This time his tongue dipped inside to taste her sweetness. Her fingertips touched his jaw, holding him close, and it was the most rewarding touch she’d given him. It was her submission, freely given. And she kissed him, too. Her tongue brushing against his, sending a shiver of pleasure down to the base of his spine. He pulled back as he felt that need drawing tight within him, making him swell with desire for her.
As he laid on his side facing her, she looked just as stunned as he felt. Something was changing between them and, though he was a hardened warrior, it scared him.
* * *
They spent the days and nights of the next sennight visiting the farms and villages of Alvey. Vidar learned many things during that trip and not only about his wife. He learned that the people of Alvey were very similar to the people back home across the sea. They wanted to be treated fairly and their main concern was having a secure future. He also learned that he wasn’t nearly as opposed to the idea of Alvey as home as he’d initially been. He smiled at the thought, marvelling at how his perception had changed since arriving such a short time ago. Alvey was certainly coming to feel like home—whether he ended up staying here for any great stretches of time was another matter altogether. He wasn’t quite ready to hang up his sword and abandon his search for adventure.
A rush of pride filled his chest as they rode through the gates of their home. The lookout had undoubtedly called out their arrival ahead of time, because the servants of the hall had come out to line up to wait for her—he held no illusions that the reception was for him. Not with the way they were smiling. The Saxon warriors who’d been left behind with Rodor came forward as well.
As had happened every day on their trip, Saxons nearly tripped over each other trying to help her when she brought her horse to a stop in the yard. These were the ones left behind, led by Wulf, a warrior that Vidar had noticed she favoured. She gave them all a smile, but drew Wulf into a discussion with Rodor. Vidar could hear snatches of their conversation as he dismounted. They were discussing what had happened in their absence.
The warriors gathered around them, surrounding her and Rodor and Wulf. A twinge of annoyance tightened Vidar’s shoulders. He made his way to them and two of the warriors reluctantly moved over to give him access to his own wife. Yet when she saw him, the corners of her mouth tipped up in a smile that was becoming more familiar and it soothed the unfamiliar jealousy he was feeling just a bit. His instinct was to put his arm around her waist and pull her close to him to claim her in some way in front of them, but he restrained himself. He wasn’t a man given to jealousy. She was his and they all knew it. Going out of his way to prove that wasn’t necessary.
‘Have there been any sightings while we were away?’ he asked Rodor. Ever since the large group of rebels had been found, they’d had small patrols of men going out to look for any signs of their return.
Rodor shook his head. ‘Nay, we think they’ve gone south to give the Jarl a bit of trouble. They’ll probably head back this way nearer the end of summer.’
Vidar hoped that his brother hadn’t come across the rebels on his way home. Not that he doubted his ability to defeat them, but the men would have been weary after their travel. There’d be a higher chance of casualties. ‘Is that when you’ve seen them before? The start and end of winter?’
‘Aye, for the past few years they’ve been consistent. It’s how Cedric was able to surprise them. Of course, their numbers surprised us in that battle. They’d grown in size over the course of the winter,’ Rodor said, launching into a retelling of that battle.
From the corner of his eye, Vidar noticed Gwendolyn fall off into conversation with Wulf. Wulf had been one of the men who’d ridden with her when she’d disobeyed Vidar and taken out the small band of rebels, making Vidar particularly suspicious of him. Vidar had seen the man wield his sword in practice with skill and efficiency. He was tall with wavy dark hair and a white smile. Vidar supposed he was rather good looking if one were attracted to wavy hair and smiling men. His wife laughed at something Wulf said and the man beamed as if she had just handed him the stars on a platter.
Vidar forced himself to turn his attention back to Rodor, but he couldn’t help but hear her laugh again. She had never laughed with him. Not even once over the past few days when things between them had gone smoother. She’d smiled and she’d shared with him the rare story from her childhood, but there was nothing deeper between them yet. Nothing like what she apparently had with Wulf.
Vidar glanced towards them again as they made their way towards the hall, their heads close together as they walked. Jealousy tasted bitter in the back of his throat. He’d never once been jealous over a woman. Not one time in his entire life. But he was so jealous of their relationship that he had to fight to keep from running over there and tearing them apart.
What was happening to him? She was his wife. He had her and had no reason to question her fidelity or his ability to keep her.
But he didn’t have her. Not really. Not as he wanted her. His gaze dipped downward to her backside, its perfection obscured beneath the fabric of her dress.
‘Simply bed her and get it over with.’ Rolfe’s voice jerked him out of his study of his wife’s bottom.
Vidar turned to see his friend standing beside him. Then he searched left and right for where Rodor had taken himself off to. He hadn’t heard the man take his leave and he hadn’t even realised they’d finished their conversation.
‘He left. It’s clear you’re distracted by your wife and that poor Wulf is in danger of losing his ballocks,’ Rolfe said.
Vidar let out a breath and ran his hand over the back of his neck. He needed to do something before he lost his focus and became even more obsessed with Gwendolyn. The past week with her had changed him somehow. He thought of her all day, even when she was right there with him, and he laid beside her every night as hard as a bloody rock. Rolfe was exactly right in his assessment. ‘What makes you think I haven’t bedded her yet?’
Rolfe grinned and it was so smug that Vidar longed to rid him of it. Another testament to how far gone he was. ‘It’s obvious. The men have a bet going.’
‘A bet?’
‘Most have the end of the month.’ His friend nodded. ‘Seems they doubt you. I’ve given you until the end of the week.’
Even his men knew the woman hadn’t allowed him to bed her yet. This was madness. He turned and stalked off towards the gates.
‘Where are you going?’ Rolfe called.
‘To the river.’ He needed the water to cool him off before he stormed the hall and did something he’d likely regret.
* * *
Twilight had fallen by the time he and the men had returned from their bath in the river. His hair was still damp from the swim, but the cold water had felt good to his tired muscles. All he wanted now was a good night of rest in the bed that was becoming familiar to him. It was much better than sleeping on the ground. Perhaps that was a sign he was getting old and it was time to settle down.
He was smiling to himself as he walked into the hall.
It looked as if most of the men had finished their meals. Some of them were gathered around the tables playing dice, while a few had already sought benches pushed to the far edges of the room for sleep. His smile faded when he noticed that his wife was sitting at her usual spot at the table with Wulf sitting in Rodor’s place. Rodor was nowhere to be seen. Gwendolyn smiled at something the Saxon said and the man had the gall to laugh. Had they been talking the entire time he’d been gone?
He wanted to go tear the man from his wife’s side and growl at him to leave her alone. Apparently, the cold water hadn’t calmed his unreasonable jealousy. But a man should know not to spend so much time with another man’s wife. Giving Wulf one last long look—not that the man had looked away from Gwendolyn long enough to notice—Vidar strode past the hearth to the cask with their special wedding mead. The tankard Eirik had had made for them wasn’t on top as it usually was.
Vidar cursed under his breath, thinking that perhaps it had got lost on the trip. He turned to call for someone to look for it when someone presented it to him.
‘Welcome home, my lord. I saw you come in and filled it for you.’ A servant girl who looked faintly familiar stood before him, holding the tankard brimming with mead out to him. She was a tiny, fine-boned thing, with wispy curls peeking out from under her cap. But her mouth was wide, with full lips that he found very attractive. He recognised her now as a kitchen servant, though she had never served them at the table. If the warm look she was giving him now was any indication, she would be eager to serve him in other ways.
‘Thank you,’ he said and wrapped his hand around the cup. She didn’t let go, though, and his hand covered hers.
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