Wulfrum’s lips brushed her hair as he whispered, ‘You will kiss me, Elgiva. I shall hold you thus until you do.’
She knew it was no idle threat and had perforce to yield to a much longer and more intimate embrace. The roar of approval from the gathered crowd echoed through the forest and flocks of birds rose startled into the air. Wulfrum drew back a little and looked into her face, now a deeper shade of pink, and he smiled. Elgiva laid a hand on his breast.
‘My lord, there is something I would ask.’
‘Ask, my lady. I will refuse you nothing if it be reasonable and within my power to grant it.’
‘It is that the graves of the Saxon slain should be blessed by the priest.’
He regarded her in silence and then nodded. ‘Very well, it shall be done.’
Elgiva let out the breath she had been holding. It was a conciliatory gesture that would please her people and she suspected he knew it. It was part of the role he played, for all he was a Viking warlord and their conqueror still. She had no time for further reflection because Wulfrum’s men pulled him away from her and she saw him raised shoulder high. Then strong arms swung her off her feet.
‘By the breath of Odin, ’tis a woodland fairy after all!’ exclaimed Halfdan.
‘How so?’ demanded Olaf Ironfist.
‘See for yourself.’
He tossed her lightly to Ironfist, who caught her with ease.
‘By the breath of Odin, you’re right.’
Ironfist laughed and threw her up to sit on his shoulder, an arm about her knees, supporting her feet in one huge hand. Then, surrounded by the cheering throng, he carried her along beside her lord, back towards the hall for the feast. Elgiva was set on her feet before the door with Wulfrum beside her. He took her hand and led her across the stepped threshold to another rousing cheer. The bride had not stumbled and the auspices were good.
The feasting lasted all day and into the night, with songs and jests and tests of strength while the mead horns overflowed. Many a health was drunk to the newly-wed couple, along with toasts to the gods. Elgiva watched it all with a growing sense of detachment, aided in part by the amount she had drunk. It was little enough in comparison to the men all around her, but, taken on a stomach almost empty, it went to her head quickly and added to a growing sense of unreality. From time to time she felt herself being watched and would look up to see Wulfrum’s gaze resting on her. From the number of times his horn was replenished she had hopes he might drink himself insensible before the night was out, but to her growing dismay the mead seemed not to touch him. To be sure he laughed and joked with his men, but the blue eyes remained watchful for all that.
Elgiva felt only increasing panic and a desire to slip away and run. It was impossible. She would be caught very quickly and returned to her husband. Her husband! It was inconceivable that she wore his ring, symbol of the eternal bond between them, a bond that would be sealed this night when he took her to his bed. Her jaw tightened. If he thought she would yield up her body, as well, Wulfrum was much mistaken. A decidedly militant light appeared for a moment in the amber eyes before being swiftly veiled. When she looked up again it was to see Sweyn watching her from across the hall, a fleering smile on his lips. Elgiva returned the stare for a moment or two and then looked away. He was the least of her worries now. Besides, in a day or two he would be gone and she would never see him more. With any luck he would perish in the fighting to come.
These thoughts were interrupted by Osgifu, who now approached her chair. Behind her were Hilda and some of the other women.
‘Come, my lady. It is time.’
Elgiva’s stomach lurched and she closed her eyes to steady herself. The women would lead her to the bedchamber and prepare her for the arrival of her husband. That’s what I’ll never stand, she thought. I’ll never give myself to him. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her belt knife and its touch reassured her. There was another way. She opened her eyes to see Wulfrum watching her and the sight of his mocking smile stiffened her spine like nothing else could. With every bit of self-possession remaining, she rose from the table, following her women to the stairs, accompanied by a loud cheer from the assembled throng.
When they reached the chamber the silence was almost deafening; the usual laughter and jesting that should have accompanied the bridal preparations were absent. The women said nothing and their demeanour was anything but joyful. Elgiva stood like a rock while they removed her girdle and unlaced her gown, drawing it off, and leaving her in her kirtle. Someone poured water into a basin so that she could bathe her hands and face. Then Osgifu removed the flowers from her hair and combed it out across her shoulders. Finally she was ready. At the side of the room the great bed waited. The women looked from it to her. Elgiva remained where she was.
‘My lady, you must—’
‘I must nothing. Now leave me.’
The women exchanged uncertain glances, but Osgifu ushered them to the door. As it opened to allow their departure, it also admitted a great wave of noise from the hall below, a mighty cheer from the warrior host as Halfdan and half-a-dozen others hoisted Wulfrum on to their shoulders and carried him to the staircase led by Olaf Ironfist with a lighted torch. When they reached the chamber they set their burden down with much laughter and many a ribald jest. Then their attention moved from Wulfrum to his bride, their eyes burning with lust as they feasted them on the woman before them. The thin kirtle did little to conceal the lines of her body, a form whose hinted curves seemed made for a man’s touch. Mentally each gaze stripped the fabric away, leaving her naked save for the mane of gold hair that flowed down her back. Elgiva forced herself to remain still, to fight down the terror knotting her gut. A sheen of perspiration started on her skin. She knew now how a cornered deer felt before a pack of wolves.
As if he had divined her thought, Halfdan spoke. ‘Oho, beware, my lady! Here’s a wolf will gobble you up!’
‘’Tis a tender morsel,’ agreed Ironfist, grinning.
‘We shall look to see the proof of his feasting.’ Halfdan clapped Wulfrum on the shoulder.
Elgiva felt her heartbeat quicken, but before anyone could say more Wulfrum turned towards them.
‘The wolf feasts tonight, but he will do so at his leisure and in private.’ He nodded to the door.
With mock grumbling and some final crude injunctions the men turned and began to troop out. Those too slow to suit him were forcibly ejected. Weak with relief to see them go, Elgiva watched him bar the door. However, the relief was short lived, for now he turned and all his attention was on her.
‘I am not minded to be disturbed this night,’ he said, ‘no matter what the pretext.’
Elgiva said nothing, her gut knotting further as he divested himself of his cloak and unbuckled his sword belt. Then the tunic joined the cloak. One look at those broad shoulders gave her little hope of holding him off by force. The lamplight gleamed softly on his silver arm rings and revealed the lines of old scars on his flesh, several on his upper arms and a deeper one across his ribs. Seeing that she did not move, Wulfrum smiled.
‘That kirtle becomes you well, my lady, but I am curious to know what lies beneath.’
‘So the wolf can feast?’
‘Something like that.’
‘I am not minded to satisfy your curiosity, Viking.’
‘Say you so?’
‘Do you think I would give myself to one who has slaughtered my kin and enslaved my people?’
‘Slaughtered? It seems to me that the menfolk of this hall put up a strong resistance. They died honourably with swords in their hands as men should. As for the serfs, they will work these lands as they did before, albeit for a new master.’ He paused. ‘And you, my lady, you too will yield.’
Elgiva felt warm colour flood her face but her eyes met and held his. ‘I will never yield.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I will not lie with you.’
‘You will lie with me tonight and every night.’ He drew closer, pausing only when he w
as within arm’s reach. ‘Now, take off that kirtle.’
Elgiva’s eyes flashed and he saw her chin come up. He raised an eyebrow.
‘Must I do it for you?’
She bit back defiant words. He would do as he threatened and she had no way to stop him. Her eyes sought for some means of escape, but the window was shuttered fast and the door barred. Worse, she would have to pass him to reach it.
‘I’m waiting, Elgiva.’
‘How I hate you!’
‘It will make our marriage the more interesting. Take off the kirtle.’
‘I will not.’
Wulfrum bent on her such a look that she quaked. As she retreated, her leg brushed the edge of the chair where her gown and girdle lay discarded. She remembered the knife and, turning, grabbed it, drawing it from the sheath and bringing it up in front of her. Wulfrum saw the glint of the blade and grabbed her wrist, arresting the progress of the point. For a few moments it wavered between them. He increased his grip and heard her gasp. The blade clattered to the floor.
‘For you or for me?’ he demanded.
‘For me.’
‘You will not escape me so, Elgiva. You belong to me now and I will keep safe what is mine.’
‘I am not yours, Viking!’
‘Not yet,’ he agreed.
Before she guessed his intent, he lifted her bodily off the floor and strode to the bed, tossing her on to the furs. Elgiva scrambled away, retreating until her back was to the wall, watching in horrified fascination as he unfastened his leggings and let them fall. Then he came on. She drew in a sharp breath. Having had a brother, she was no stranger to the male body, but every inch of that lithe and muscled form spoke of a warrior’s strength. Struggling to her feet, she launched herself off the end of the bed and then uttered a shriek of despair as Wulfrum’s arm locked fast about her waist. With insulting ease he tossed her down on to the fur coverlet. Strong hands grabbed the hem of her kirtle, ripping it upwards in one fluid movement. The thin fabric parted to the neck. Elgiva twisted away and struggled to her knees. For a moment they faced each other and her cheeks flamed as the Viking’s insolent gaze raked her from head to toe. Then he grinned and the glint in those blue eyes became dangerous.
Again she backed away and again her back met the wall. Wulfrum came on, seizing her arms, drawing her towards him. Somehow she got a hand free and hit him hard across the cheek twice. He laughed, catching her wrist before she could get in a third blow, and flung her backwards. Elgiva turned her head and bit him, the nails of her free hand raking his shoulder, raising scarlet welts on his flesh. It was a brief victory; in seconds he had hold of both her wrists and imprisoned them above her head. Cursing him, Elgiva writhed and kicked out, but he held her easily now, forcing her down into the furs with the weight of his body. With a sense of panic she felt the hardness of his manhood against her.
‘You bastard! You cur! Let go of me!’
‘No, my lady, I shall not do that.’ His hand travelled down to her waist, over the curve of her hip, down her thigh in a long lingering caress. He felt her kick out again, try to raise her knee, and laughed softly.
‘None of your tricks will work, Elgiva.’
‘Give me a sword and I’ll geld you like a steer!’
‘Then I should fail in my duty as a husband, and I do not mean to fail.’
Before she could reply his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that was burning and insistent while his hand continued its exploration of her body. Elgiva tasted the sweet mead on his breath, breathed in the musky scent of his skin as he took the kiss at leisure. Then he drew back a little, letting his gaze travel the length of her, taking in every curve of breast and waist and thigh, the long slim legs and dainty feet. In the lamplight her flesh seemed golden.
‘Truly, lady, you are beautiful.’
Elgiva’s angry reply was lost in a thunderous banging that shook the chamber door and her heart leapt in terror to hear Halfdan’s voice.
‘Come, Wulfrum! Have you done your duty to your wife?’
‘Odin’s sacred ravens,’ bellowed Ironfist, ‘he’s had long enough to do it half a dozen times!’ A roar of agreement followed from those without the door. Wulfrum grinned as he looked into Elgiva’s bewildered face.
‘They seek proof of our union, my lady.’
For a moment her mind was blank. Then, as she recalled the earlier banter, her cheeks flamed. The banging continued and the voices without became more insistent. The door shook on its hinges. A little more and the entire Viking war host would be witness to their wedding night. Elgiva swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt Wulfrum’s weight shift and the hold slackened on her wrists. When she looked again, it was to see him retrieve the fallen knife. In horrified fascination she saw him draw the blade across his arm and then the welling beads of blood as he gathered up the torn kirtle and opened it out before wiping the cloth across the wound.
Throwing a speaking look at his wife, he crossed the room and unbarred the door, opening it sufficiently to thrust the garment out to the waiting hands. For a moment there was silence, then a rousing cheer. Without waiting for more, Wulfrum slammed and barred the door again, letting out a long breath. Then he looked at Elgiva, who was kneeling on the bed, golden hair spilling wildly round her shoulders and over the pelt she was using to shield her nakedness. Her amber eyes were wide, her face ashen. Presently the noise outside diminished and retreating footsteps announced the departure of the intruders. Elgiva drew a ragged breath. They were going. Once again she became aware of Wulfrum. For a long moment their eyes met and she saw him smile. Then he became aware of the blood trickling down his arm and crossed to the basin to retrieve a cloth. She took a deep breath.
‘You’d better let me bind that.’
‘It’s a scratch, no more.’
Elgiva tucked the fur around her and quit the bed to join him at the basin. She poured a little water and, taking the cloth from him, wiped away the blood. As he had said, the cut was not deep, but it bled profusely nevertheless.
Wulfrum watched with quiet amusement, but stood quite still while she bathed the wound and stanched the bleeding enough for her to bind it. He said nothing while she worked, but his eyes never left her. Elgiva kept her eyes on the improvised bandage, hoping he would not notice how her hands shook. When she had finished, he glanced at her handiwork and nodded.
‘It is well.’ He turned her to face him. ‘Now, where were we?’
Elgiva shivered as his fingers brushed her shoulders and strayed across the tops of her breast, ill concealed by the fur pelt. Then his hand closed about her arm and he drew her back to the bed. This time she did not struggle, knowing there was little point. She knew his strength and hers could never match it. She lay beside him, felt him undo the pelt and then his weight as he leaned across her. He would take her now. It was his right. Elgiva closed her eyes and turned her head away. It would soon be over.
Wulfrum’s lips seeking hers brushed her cheek instead. He could feel the tension in her body, even though she no longer fought him. Her face was turned away from his, but there was no mistaking the expression of fear and reluctance. He frowned.
‘Look at me, Elgiva.’
Slowly she turned towards him and he could see tears welling in her eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen her afraid. Even when Sweyn wanted to kill her she had radiated courage. Now it seemed her store was exhausted. He was not altogether surprised, given the events of the past few days. She had shown greater resilience and determination than any woman he had ever known. With a gentle hand he smoothed the hair from her face.
‘You need not be afraid of me, Elgiva. I will not hurt you.’
She remained silent, but the amber eyes registered confusion. He thought ruefully that, had it not been for Lord Halfdan’s untimely interruption, he would have taken her. Ironic that his men had prevented the very deed they applauded. It was a good thing they were drunk enough to accept the proof he gave them. Even if they had been
sober, it would have been inconceivable to them that he could be in bed with a beautiful naked woman and not possess her immediately and by any necessary means. Looking at the body lying next to his, he thought they had a point.
Seeing Wulfrum’s smile Elgiva felt her confusion grow for she could not fathom his thought. Was he trying to lull her into a sense of false security, only to pounce when her defences were down? It would be just like him. He had no shame. Like all his vile race, he took what he wanted without regard to others. He had married her because he willed it, because she was as much a prize as these lands and this hall. As a captive her views had not been considered. The only choice had been to wed him or take Sweyn. Thinking of her likely treatment at those hands, Elgiva shuddered. She might not have survived the revenge he would have exacted. This marriage to Wulfrum had saved her from that fate. In his arms lay her safety. His men would not touch her and Halfdan’s were leaving on the morrow, Sweyn with them. She would not be sorry to see them go. They would find other lands to conquer, other plunder to seize, other captives to take, but Wulfrum would not be with them. He was here and here to stay and nothing now could ever be the same.
Fatigue washed over her, along with the soporific effects of the mead, and Elgiva felt her eyelids grow heavy. She fought it. She must not relax her guard. However, pressed close to Wulfrum, the warmth of his flesh beneath the coverlets added to her drowsiness and her tired body relaxed of its own volition. Her eyelids drooped again, fluttered once and then closed.
Wulfrum glanced down, stroking back wisps of golden hair from her cheek. She stirred slightly, but did not wake, unaware of the gaze that drank in every line of her face. Truly, he thought, she was beautiful. And she was his, nominally anyway. The rest would come. She would yield as he knew she must. A body like that was made for love-making. Lightly he stroked the warm skin of her breasts, tracing a path down the curve of her waist and the gentle flare of her hip, breathing in her scent. It was powerfully erotic. However, he resisted the temptation to wake her. After all, he had time enough now.
The Viking's Defiant Bride Page 10