The Reluctant Princess

by Christine Rimmer

  Hauk made a full circle until once again he faced the royal box. He lowered his weapon, his shield—and his head. The chant from the people died, the clapping stopped.

  And a stream of young barefooted women dressed in gauzy white gowns ran onto the field. Each knelt by a fallen warrior and helped him to his feet.

  “To Valhalla,” shouted the spectators. “To Valhalla and the glorious feast!”

  The young women, Elli knew, represented the Valkyries, the battle maidens who took the honored dead from the battlefield and led them to Odin’s great hall, there to feast and fight for eternity.

  The white-gowned girls led the slain warriors away. Hauk was left alone on the field, sword and shield lowered, head bowed.

  Elli knew what to do. Kaarin had drilled her the night before. She slid a hand into her pocket and her fingers closed around the king’s token—a silver charm of Thor’s hammer on a heavy silver chain. She watched her father and stood when he did.

  Her heart was rising, too. Oh, it really did feel as if it had lodged in her throat.

  The crowd fell silent.

  Her father called out in sonorous tones, “Come forward, my warrior!”

  In long, proud strides, Hauk came toward them. When he reached the royal box, he dropped to one knee.

  “Rise, warrior,” her father said, as Kaarin had told Elli he would.

  Hauk stood. For a split second, his eyes met hers. Elli felt the contact like a blow to her soul. But then instantly, his gaze shifted. He faced her father.

  She felt bereft, empty. It was just like the other night, in the tack room at the back of the stable. She wanted to burst into tears.

  Of course, she did no such thing. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

  Her father spoke again. “You bring our daughter home to us. And here, today, you bring honor to our name in the game of battle. It is your right to claim a prize. What will you have?”

  Hauk was to say what Kaarin had told her the victor in the games always said at that moment, Whatever my king will grant me. And then her father would name the prize and Elli would present the token.

  But Hauk didn’t say what the victor always said. He faced his king proudly and he said out loud and clear, “I would have Princess Elli to be my wife.”

  You could have heard an aspen leaf whisper its way to the ground. Every man, woman and child in the stands and in the boxes sat stock-still, gaping. No one believed the warrior could possibly have said what they had all heard him say.

  Elli was aware of the huge hole of silence. But only vaguely.

  Hauk was looking right at her now. His eyes asked the question. Would she stand by her own words of the other night?

  Had she really meant what she’d told him?

  If you dare to reach for me, I’ll be reaching back….

  Elli knew what to do then—and it had nothing to do with Kaarin’s instructions. She stepped to the railing of the box. And she reached down her hand.

  Hauk’s strong fingers closed over hers.

  “Yes,” Elli said. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  For a brief and shining moment, Elli reached down and Hauk reached up and there were only the two of them, hands clasped tight, her answer echoing between them.

  But her father must have signaled for his men. They came running.

  “Elli. Let go,” her father commanded low and furiously.

  The hell she would. She held on tight, and she scrambled to get over the too-high railing and into the strong arms that waited for her.

  It was Hauk who stopped her. “No,” he said. “He’s right. Let go.”

  “No way.” She held on tighter, craning down frantically toward him. “I told you. I’ll never—”

  He cut her off. “Let them take me. Stand firm. So will I.”

  “But I—” She got no chance to finish. The red-and-black coats were all around him. They dragged him back. She lost her hold.

  He didn’t struggle. He let them march him from the field.

  The crowd had watched all this in total silence.

  But as they saw the champion led away, the silence ended.

  It started with a whisper that shivered through the stands. A whisper that built to a shout. The people rose from their seats and flooded the field. Someone threw a punch and someone hit back. And all of a sudden, there was a riot going on.

  Elli couldn’t tell whose side who was on. She couldn’t tell if most of them were thrilled at what Hauk had done—or outraged.

  Maybe, she decided, the people didn’t know, either. The mock battle had laid the fire. And the sight of the champion being led off by the guard had struck the match. The blaze had gone instantly out of control.

  Her father grabbed her arm. “This way. Now.”

  She supposed it would prove nothing to shake him off. She went where he took her, through an opening at the back of the box—along with Medwyn Greyfell, a couple of doddering old princes, Kaarin and two other ladies who’d been with them in the royal seats. They ran under the stands and came out on the grass about twenty yards from the trees. Her father’s men materialized around them and led them on to safety.

  They entered the palace through a service entrance similar to the one Elli had used the other night. The guards in the lead, they thundered up the narrow stairs and emerged into a wide hallway.

  There, her father took charge. He sent the ladies and the elderly princes on their way. They fled eagerly, all too happy to escape a distinctly sticky situation. Within seconds, only Elli, her father, the Grand Counselor and the soldiers remained.

  Her father turned a thunderous look on her. He spoke coldly to the guards. “Escort my daughter to her rooms. And see that she stays there.”

  Talk about medieval. What did he think? That she’d meekly allow them to lead her away? He should have asked Hauk about how well she took being held prisoner. The first guard dared to touch her sleeve.

  “Get your hands off me.”

  The guard ignored her. He took one arm. A second guard moved in and took the other.

  Before they could haul her off, Elli shouted, “Wait!” It worked. For a second, everyone froze. Elli spoke directly to her father. “Send them away. Give me a minute. Let me say what I have to say. Please.”

  The guards waited, still holding her.

  At last, when she felt certain her father would bark out a curt order that would have the soldiers dragging her off, he raised a hand. “Release her.”

  The guards let her go.

  “Leave us.”

  The guards—every one of them—tromped out through the door that led to the back stairs.

  Finally, it was just Elli and her father and the Grand Counselor.

  Elli didn’t waste her chance. “Father, you’re making a mistake,” she said quietly. “There’s no way you can make a prisoner of me—not if you imagine I’ll ever speak willingly to you again. Not and have a prayer my mother might someday forgive you for whatever happened between you two all those years ago. This is the truth. I love Hauk. I want to marry him, and he’s finally seen the light and admitted he wants to marry me. Give up whatever big plans you had for me. Let me go to the man that I love.”

  Her father’s face now revealed nothing beyond a terrible composure that reminded her of Hauk. The wide hallway seemed to echo with her words—and with his tightly leashed fury.

  She waited for him to shout for the guards again. But in the end, he only said softly, “Go to your rooms. Allow me a little time to…consider this situation.”

  She turned without another word and left him there.

  “Admit it, old friend.” Medwyn stood near the bust of Odin in Osrik’s private audience room. “Your warrior has outfoxed us.”

  Osrik was still fuming. “My warrior. My bastard warrior.”

  “He is a fine man,” said Medwyn, “bastard or not.”

  Osrik grunted. “Never in my wildest, most impossible imaginings would I have thought him
a threat to our plan. Always, Hauk has known his place.”

  Medwyn chuckled. “That was before he met your daughter.”

  Osrik was pacing. He stopped and whirled on his friend. “You find this whole damnable mess amusing?”

  “Wiser to laugh about it.”

  “My people are rioting.”

  “A good brawl, nothing more. It’s probably over by now.”

  “There has to be a way to—”

  “No.”

  “Medwyn, try to remember no one tells the king no.”

  “No one but his bloodbound, lifelong friend.”

  “And his own daughter.” Osrik loosed a string of oaths.

  When he fell silent, Medwyn said, “We are beaten, admit it. You saw the look that passed between them. Inn makti murr.” Medwyn said the words from the old language solemnly. “‘The mighty passion.’ No use in fighting inn makti murr. And Eric would never be a party to such a thing, anyway. We both know how he is. He’ll never accept a wife who pines for another.”

  Osrik peered at his friend more closely. And then he stepped back. “I recognize that look. You knew. You knew all along.”

  Medwyn shrugged. “I suspected.”

  “Since when?”

  “The night she came to this room to meet you for the first time. She expressed an excess of interest in your warrior, I thought.”

  “You said nothing.” It was an accusation.

  “I wasn’t sure. And besides, I knew that if my suspicions were correct, we’d lost this gamble, anyway.”

  “Not necessarily. If you’d warned me before he declared himself so publicly, we might have—”

  Medwyn waved his pale hand. “Doubtful. FitzWyborn is almost as beloved by the people as your son was. As my son is. Were he to…disappear, there could be questions, investigations we’d never be able to control completely. And then there’d be your daughter to contend with. She’s quite formidable. I doubt she’d simply accept that the man she loves has vanished.”

  “I was thinking a mission, a top-secret assignment…”

  “Old friend, it’s over. You know it. And you know you couldn’t really do it, have FitzWyborn…eliminated. You’re too fond of him.”

  “This is more important than my own petty emotions.”

  “Accept it. We’ve lost this battle. Declare Hauk high jarl, elevate him to legitimacy. Only the king can do it and you are the king. The Wyborns will love it. He does their name proud.”

  “I had hoped—”

  “It is wiser, my dear friend, to put hope in a place where it will do you some good. Let Hauk go to the Wyborns, let him demand of them his marriage sword. Start planning a wedding fit for a treasured daughter.” Medwyn laid a hand on Osrik’s shoulder. “Consider it from this perspective. From what we know, the three sisters are very close. I doubt one of them would miss the wedding of another.”

  Osrik shook his head. He could still see Elli, standing so proudly before him, demanding to be taken to the man that she loved. “What a queen she would have made.”

  “Be of good cheer,” suggested Medwyn. “You still have two other daughters. Both of them are unmarried. And nothing brings a woman running faster than a big wedding.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  In Gullandria, the wise couple marries on Friday as Friday is Frigg’s day and Frigg is the goddess of hearth and home. As it happened, the summer solstice fell on a Friday that year. Osrik and Medwyn decided to combine a royal wedding and the annual celebration of Midsummer’s Eve.

  Thus, Elli married her Viking on June twenty-first, six weeks and four days after she’d first found him in her living room.

  The vows themselves were exchanged in a broad, green field down in the palace parkland. A Lutheran minister presided over the vow-saying—after all, Gullandrians are good Christian folk.

  Though tradition didn’t call for attendants, Elli had two: her sisters. Brit and Liv had flown in from America for the event. Ingrid had ranted and railed at first, but then she’d finally realized that her daughter was in love. She’d ended up giving Elli her blessing and sending lavish gifts and her sincerest regrets that she wouldn’t be at the wedding. Long ago she had vowed never again to set foot on Gullandrian soil.

  Before the vow-saying, there was the presentation of swords, one provided by Osrik, one by the Wyborns to symbolize the traded power of the families. Then came the ceremony of the rings—exchanged, in true Viking style, on the ends of the marriage swords.

  After the exchange of vows, the wedding party raced to the palace. Hauk, as tradition declared, arrived first. He barred the door with his marriage sword until his bride appeared and they could cross the threshold together.

  In the great hall, the ceremonies continued: Hauk proved his strength by driving his sword into the heart of a tree trunk that had been cut and brought inside for the occasion; the new couple shared their first loving cup of ale. And Hauk set Mjollnir, Thor’s hammer, in Elli’s lap, a blessing said to ensure many strong, healthy children.

  After the ceremonies, there was feasting and dancing and tale-telling by the best skalds in the land. Elli’s sisters had a grand time. Many noted that both young women danced often with Finn Danelaw who seemed equally taken with each of the tall, proud American-raised princesses. It was remarked that young Prince Greyfell remained absent from the palace, though his father had contacted him and as good as commanded that he come to see his king’s daughter wed.

  Finally, well after midnight, the bride was led upstairs to the wedding chamber by her sisters and her ladies. Once she’d been properly prepared and lay beneath the covers in the wedding bed, the men—their way lit by torches—carried Hauk in. They stripped him of his wedding tunic and his fine, ruffled shirt and pulled off his boots and stockings, leaving his feet bare.

  “Enough!” he boomed out once they got him down to only his black wedding breeches.

  No one was going to argue with the king’s warrior when he spoke so forcefully. They dragged him to the bed and pushed him down on it.

  “Out,” said Hauk. “Now.” So at last, with much laughter and an excess of tasteless wedding-night advice, the men and the ladies left the bride and groom alone.

  Hauk got up and locked the door behind them. He turned back to Elli, who looked like something straight out of the myths, her hair falling to her shoulders, her nightgown white as new snow.

  “Wife,” he said softly.

  She threw back the covers and ran to him.

  Their kiss was long and achingly sweet. When he raised his head, he said tenderly, “Tell me this is real and not just some dream I’m having.”

  She beamed up at him. “If it’s a dream, we’re both having it. If it’s a dream, I ask only one thing.”

  “That we never wake up.”

  She laughed and nodded. “That’s it. All I wish for.”

  He asked, “Are you sure you’ll be happy as the wife of a soldier?”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Haven’t we been through this about a hundred times?” She had decided to move to Gullandria. Hauk would finish out his commission. Already her father had offered her a number of positions, most of which included lots of glad-handing and photo-ops. She’d put Osrik off. She wanted a little time to get to know her new country without the added pressure of playing the princess—and to enjoy herself as a bride. “I am proud to be your wife,” she said. “We’ll figure it all out, day by day.”

  He still wore a too-serious expression. “I know you loved your work as a teacher.”

  She reached up and smoothed her fingers lightly over his furrowed brow. “Hauk. Stop it. I never make choices that I don’t want to make. And anyway, I have a feeling I’ll be teaching again someday.”

  “And your mother. I know you wanted your mother at your wedding.”

  “Yes, I did. But she didn’t come. I’m not going to be sad about it. I’m only going to hope that someday she’ll change her mind about returning here.” She stood on tiptoe and p
ressed a kiss on his square chin. “This is no time for sadness, or for regrets. This…right now, is for you and for me.”

  A hot red light glowed from beyond the windows.

  She grabbed his hand. “Come on. They’ve done it. They’ve set the ship on fire. Oh, come on, I have to see it.”

  She dragged him to the window. He stood behind her, his strong arms around her, cradling her close to him, and they gazed down at the parkland behind the palace. Her father had ordered a proud Viking ship hauled into the open field where a month before Hauk had won the day and asked for his bride. The flames from the burning ship leaped high in the twilit sky. The long, graceful hull and the shape of the dragon’s head at the prow could still be seen, gleaming golden, in the heart of the fire. Around it, people danced in joyous celebration.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

  She felt his lips brush her hair.

  And she couldn’t wait a moment longer. She turned in his arms, slid her hands up that massive chest and clasped them around his neck. “Is it time, now, at last? Can we do…what married people do?”

  His answer was a long, deep, soul-shattering kiss.

  When he lifted his head, it was only to scoop her up high against his chest and to carry her back across the room to the bed.

  He laid her down on it and he came down with her, fusing his mouth to hers, drinking her sweetness, stoking the fires between them to a white-hot blaze.

  He kept kissing her, kept his mouth on her mouth, as he pulled away enough to get two handfuls of her gown. He gathered it in his fists and slid it up and up—until their kiss was broken.

  But only for as long as it took him to drag the gown over her head and toss it to the rug beside the bed.

  He claimed her mouth again, in hunger. In the need of a man for the woman he loves, the woman he has sworn to build a life with, the woman who will bear his children.

  The children of a legal, consecrated union.

  She fumbled at the lacings that tied his breeches, got them undone and off. And at last, they were both naked. Naked in their marriage bed, while the red-gold glow from the blazing ship and the soft glimmer of twilight bathed the room in burning light.