The Viking's Defiant Bride

by Joanna Fulford

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘He saved your life?’ Osgifu stared at her. ‘How so?’

  The two women had taken their sewing outside and were enjoying the sunshine by the door of the bower. It was peaceful there and private too; a place conducive to confidential conversation. As Elgiva summarised the events that had taken place on the hunt, the older woman listened with rapt attention.

  ‘It would seem we owe him much,’ she observed when the tale was concluded.

  ‘He took the matter so lightly, Gifu, as though it was a perfectly normal thing to do, and yet he risked his life for me.’

  Osgifu smiled. ‘Men always make light of such things.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Of course. They prefer to say little and hide their feelings for fear of showing too much.’

  Before Elgiva had time to ponder the words, she heard a footstep and looked round, thinking to see Hilda or one of the other servants. Her heart missed a beat to discover Wulfrum in the doorway. For a moment he said nothing, taking in the quiet domestic scene. Then he smiled.

  ‘I thought I might find you here.’

  Elgiva laid aside her sewing and rose from her stool. ‘Was there something you needed, my lord?’

  ‘Will you bear me company awhile?’ He glanced at her companion. ‘I’m sure Osgifu can spare you.’

  The servant inclined her head and hid a smile. Elgiva, knowing her well, was not deceived, though she could not see the occasion for this hidden amusement. She had no chance to dwell on it, though, with Wulfrum so close by. He offered her his good arm and, rather diffidently, she took it.

  For a little while they walked in silence. Elgiva glanced up at him, wondering why he had sought her out. They seemed to be heading for the stables.

  ‘I thought you might like to check on Mara,’ he said.

  Elgiva looked up in surprise. Any opportunity to visit her horse was welcome. How had he known? He did not enlighten her on the point, but stood aside to let her enter the building. Then together they made their way along the stalls until they came to Mara’s. The horse turned her head and whinnied as Elgiva approached.

  ‘Here. She might appreciate this.’ Wulfrum produced a withered apple from inside his tunic. ‘It is from last year’s store, but I don’t suppose she’ll mind too much.’

  He was right. The mare crunched the fruit with obvious enjoyment. As she stroked the glossy neck, Elgiva regarded her husband out of the corner of her eye. This was the hidden side of him once more, the one she had glimpsed when he was with Ulric. He liked children and he liked horses too. Glancing across the stable, she could see his stallion tethered nearby. At seventeen hands, the powerful horse took some riding, but with Wulfrum’s hand on the rein the black was meek enough. She wondered at their partnership, for it was clear he had trained the animal himself.

  ‘How long have you had Firedrake?’

  ‘Two years.’ He grinned. ‘He was a handful at first, wild and mighty contrary.’ He glanced down at Elgiva, thinking that, in some ways, the two were perhaps not so very different except, of course, that the stallion now obeyed his every command.

  ‘He’s a beautiful animal,’ she acknowledged.

  ‘So is the mare. Your father chose well.’

  For a moment Elgiva remained silent, her eyes on the horse, stroking the velvety muzzle. Recalling the last time they had been in the stables and had spoken thus, Wulfrum could only wince. He seemed to recall his words then had been more than a little tactless.

  ‘Do you still intend to breed her?’ she asked at length.

  ‘Not without your consent. After all, she is your horse.’

  Her surprise was evident, for he saw warm colour rise in her cheeks, but the look in her eyes said more. It was a moment or two before she could speak.

  ‘Thank you, Wulfrum. She means a great deal to me.’

  ‘I know.’

  Elgiva’s heart was suddenly beating much faster, but her pleasure at his words was great. More, he had shown a true regard for her feelings. She laid a hand on his sleeve.

  ‘Mara means a great deal, but it means even more to me to hear you say that.’

  Wulfrum knew a deep inner glow, but, not knowing quite what to say, he smiled and remained silent.

  Having left the horses, they walked a while and came to the orchard. It was a fine day and enjoyable to stroll in the dappled shade beneath the trees. For some time they did not speak, being content to share the quiet and the moment. Presently Wulfrum stopped and spread his cloak on the grass.

  ‘Sit and rest a while, Elgiva. It is most pleasant out here.’

  She sat down to join him, very aware of his nearness, of the lithe strength of the man. Her eyes drank in the powerful line of his jaw, the blades of his cheekbones, the sensual curve of his mouth, remembering its pressure against her own. Shocked by the direction of her thoughts, Elgiva looked away.

  If he was aware of her confusion, he gave no sign. Indeed, Wulfrum’s thoughts were on the scene around him, on the land, his land. Here in this rich earth was wealth indeed, a place where a man could set down roots and belong. He thought back to the country of his birth, of the farm where he had been a boy. Back then it had seemed very fine, but he had had nothing like this to compare it with. It seemed to him that in England a man could put a stick in the ground and it would grow and thrive. Back there the land yielded a living far more grudgingly. He thought of it as back there rather than home. This was his home now, the place he intended to stay, and the place where his sons would be raised—one day. He glanced at Elgiva. It was a strange fate that had brought him to this place, to her. The two were inextricably bound up. In some ways she was this place for him and always would be.

  Unable to follow his thought, she surveyed him closely. ‘Is there something on your mind, Wulfrum?’

  ‘I was thinking of the strangeness of destiny and how it brought me here.’

  Elgiva remembered the evening in the bower when she had asked Osgifu to cast the runes. It was but a few months since, but already it seemed a long time ago. In her mind she heard the voice saying, The runes never lie.

  Wulfrum stretched out beside her, hands behind his head, looking up through the leafy branches to the sky beyond. Watching him, Elgiva felt the truth of his words: it was a strange destiny that brought him here, a destiny with its beginnings in an ancient feud. So many lives, yet all were strangely linked. Osgifu had long ago told her of the Nornir, the three old women who spun the threads of fate. It had seemed then like just another fabulous tale. Now she wasn’t so sure. Wulfrum had told her something of his past. It was as if a corner of that mysterious web had been lifted, allowing her a tantalising glimpse of the man she had married. He had learned early to conceal his thoughts, to use his head and not his heart. Though he had not said so, she knew his life must have been hard, but he had survived and become strong, a man whom other men would follow. They trusted him, respected him, and obeyed him. It made her want to know more.

  ‘Was it in Lord Ragnar’s hall that you met Olaf Ironfist?’

  ‘Aye. He and I go back a long way. He saved my life.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  There was a note in her voice he had not heard before, curiosity and something else that was harder to define. Withal there was an earnestness in those amber eyes that would not be resisted.

  ‘We were hunting wolves and had a beast at bay. It was a fearsome creature, weighing full as much as a man, and savage with hunger. I came upon it first and, being young and foolish, thought to take it on armed merely with a belt knife.’

  Elgiva laughed out loud. ‘Never! What happened?’

  ‘The beast attacked and I gashed it with the knife, which only made it madder. It went for my throat. I managed to hold it off for a little while, but my strength was waning and I knew I was going to die. Fortunately for me, Olaf appeared and grappled with the creature. He throttled it with his bare hands.’

  ‘How old were you then?’

  �
��Three and ten.’

  ‘It is surprising you lived to manhood.’

  ‘But for Olaf I might not have. He was five and twenty back then, and already well known for his feats of strength. I have seen him kill a bull with his bare hands. I can see him now, standing over the body of the dead wolf; how he laughed when he saw that belt knife. Then Ragnar arrived on the scene and of course he had to be let in on the joke. I swear, I thought the two of them would die laughing.’ Wulfrum smiled, remembering it. ‘It took me a while to live that one down.’

  ‘And you and Olaf became friends.’

  ‘Yes. He mistook my stupidity for courage, you see. But, like Ragnar, he taught me much, and we have stood together in the shield wall many times. He is a brave warrior and a good friend. There is no man I’d rather have at my back in a fight.’

  ‘I believe it. Truly Olaf Ironfist is well named.’

  ‘Indeed he is.’

  They lapsed into companionable silence, Elgiva pondering the things he had told her and keen to hear more. Even so, she would not press him. Confidence could not be forced. If he wanted to tell her about the past, he would do it in his own time. Once, not so long ago, such a conversation would have been unthinkable. She could never have envisaged then that she would discover so much—or that she would wish to.

  For a long time they stayed together beneath the tree, soaking up the afternoon warmth, neither one in any hurry to move, both knowing that something important had changed and fearing to do anything that might break the fragile balance that had been established. The sun was setting before they eventually started back to the hall.

  Preparations for the evening meal were well underway and the hall already lively with talk and laughter when they entered. Many eyes turned in their direction and several knowing smiles appeared on the faces of the observers. Elgiva knew what they were thinking: two lovers returning from a cosy tryst. It wasn’t altogether wide of the mark either. Somewhat embarrassed, she glanced up at her husband. However, he seemed not in the least discomposed and paused to exchange greetings with some of his men. She would have slipped away but his hand on her arm forbade it.

  ‘Stay, Elgiva.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Wulfrum.’ The tone was demure enough, but he was undeceived. She saw him laugh.

  ‘I’d like to think so, but I’m not so naïve.’

  Later that evening, when they retired to their chamber, he made love to her again. Again he was gentle and patient, wanting her to enjoy the experience as much as he did. He found her willing, even eager now, responding to his passion with warmth and he lost himself in her, forgetting the past and all the brutality of the world. Nothing existed for him then but her. And afterwards, when they lay in drowsy slumber, he dreamed of the future they would carve out together. He had heard it said that behind every successful man was a strong woman. He had not believed it until now. With Elgiva at his side he felt invincible, that anything was possible. No other woman had ever made him feel that way, think that way. He couldn’t even remember what those women looked like now, but it didn’t matter. He knew he had found the one he sought, a woman to cherish and to trust.

  As Wulfrum continued to familiarise himself with the land and its people, he found increasing pride in this rich and fertile domain with its warm, dark soil and fields of growing crops. Under his hand, Ravenswood had begun to resemble its former self. Elgiva watched too, and knew her husband a capable ruler of men. The Norsemen might be warriors and of fearsome appearance, but they also worked hard, and gradually the Saxons began to view their presence, if not with gladness, at least with a grudging acceptance.

  From time to time they received news from further afield. Halfdan had established his rule in York and his war bands had roamed far and wide through Northumbria. Much more of the kingdom was now within their hold. It was not welcome news to Saxon ears, but there was naught to be done about it. They heard that the southern kingdom of Wessex stood out against the Danes, and some secretly hoped that the resistance would spread. Others prayed it would not, being tired of slaughter and destruction. From time to time pockets of rebellion flared up across Northumbria, but these were dealt with ruthlessly. The Danes would not tolerate any such infraction and the perpetrators were hunted down and killed.

  Elgiva shivered when she heard these tales, praying that as she had heard nothing of Aylwin for a while he had abandoned his former plans and gone to safety. It seemed to her that she had seen enough bloodshed and killing to last a lifetime. War meant waste and destruction, a ravaged land that could not support the people. Peace meant a future for all. It came at a price, but there was nothing to be done about that, either. It was futile to try to live in the past. They must make the best of now. Accordingly she set her shoulder to the wheel and, when not accompanying Wulfrum, turned her skilled attention to the household affairs.

  Wulfrum observed more than he ever said, but he found no fault with her management of domestic affairs. Food was well prepared and appeared on the table to order; the serfs knew their tasks and obeyed her; the hall was well kept. It was a comfortable place and one that men, hungry and tired, looked forward to returning to. He noticed how his men would greet her now when they returned from work, sometimes with a jest, but always within the bounds of decorum. They knew that if one of them got a cut or a splinter she would tend it, and came to have a respect for her skill with herbs and potions. It occurred to Wulfrum that his marriage to Elgiva had been more than a shrewd move: it was a decision that pleased him more with every passing day. More than ever he looked forward each night to the time when he would be alone with her and she would share his bed. He knew other men envied him his good fortune. He saw them follow her with their eyes. Elgiva never returned such looks or showed she was aware of them, never once gave him cause to doubt her. How should she? In her was only goodness and sincerity. He was proud that she was his wife and he trusted her.

  Towards the end of July the watchman announced the approach of a group of horsemen. It was a warm day and Elgiva was sitting with Osgifu outside her bower, mending one of Wulfrum’s shirts while Ulric played nearby. They heard the sentinel’s warning shout and then, soon after, the arrival of the horses. Leaving Ulric in Osgifu’s care, Elgiva went to see who the newcomers were. When she entered the hall, she saw a dozen men, all Danes, and all with the dust and sweat of travel upon them. They were already being received by Wulfrum. Elgiva, standing apart, listened as he welcomed them and, catching his eye, gave quiet instructions to the serfs to fetch ale and food. When she turned back to the guests, she realised that one of their number was watching her with interest. With a feeling of dismay she found herself looking straight at Sweyn. He smiled and bowed. Elgiva acknowledged him with the barest inclination of the head and then turned her attention back to the rest, for the man called Torvald was speaking to Wulfrum.

  ‘We carry messages from Lord Halfdan to his brothers, and also for you, my lord.’

  Wulfrum nodded. ‘I thank you. But first wash off the dust of travel, and then sit and eat. You’ve had a long ride.’

  The men were only too glad to obey and, having sluiced their faces and necks with cool water, disposed themselves around the table. As they ate they spoke of matters in York and elsewhere. Elgiva listened with close interest. It was as she had suspected. The Danes increased their hold on their new kingdom daily. They put down rebellion with ruthless efficiency and brought Northumbria under their yoke.

  ‘There are still pockets of resistance,’ Torvald continued, ‘and bands of rebels who hide out in the forest. We have reason to believe one of them may be Aylwin.’

  Elgiva froze at the mention of that name, but the men paid no heed.

  ‘Since the forest is hard by, my lord, it might be as well to double your guard around the place until such time as the troublemakers can be flushed out.’

  ‘I shall do so, Torvald, and I thank you for the warning.’

  ‘It is but a matter of time before they are caught and destroyed.’<
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  ‘I think so too. I will have my men search the area immediately. If any rebels are in hiding hereabouts, they will be found.’ Wulfrum exchanged glances with Olaf Ironfist and missed his wife’s expression. ‘Take some men out tomorrow and see what you can discover.’

  ‘I will, my lord. And if we find any renegades?’

  ‘Then you will either kill or capture them.’

  Ironfist nodded and looked at Ida, who grinned in obvious anticipation.

  ‘What news more?’ demanded Wulfrum.

  ‘Lord Halfdan holds a council in the autumn,’ said Torvald. ‘It is his will that all his earls should attend.’

  Wulfrum regarded the speaker and nodded. ‘I will do so.’

  Elgiva caught the look that passed between him and Olaf Ironfist, though the latter said nothing, only listened attentively to the conversation. She noted he also looked once at Sweyn, though it was but a fleeting glance and probably not significant. The man’s presence caused her deep uneasiness and she longed to see him ride on. Having thought never to see him again, it was a disagreeable surprise to find him here in the flesh.

  She said as much to Osgifu a little later.

  ‘Disagreeable indeed,’ replied Osgifu. ‘Worse, he is alive and well. The gods have not heard my prayers on that score.’

  ‘Fortunately they ride on tomorrow.’

  ‘Good riddance.’ Then, ‘What news did the riders bring from York?’