The Viking Warrior's Bride Page 9

  ‘Gwendolyn, what in God’s name are you doing?’ Annis asked when she burst through the open door. Eadward followed on her heels, the deep frown on his face conveying his displeasure.

  ‘Blasphemy, Annis? I’m disappointed in you,’ Gwendolyn teased her sister as she lifted her crossbow down from its shelf.

  ‘Do not quibble with me.’ The raised tone of her voice made Gwendolyn realise just how upset her sister was.

  Sighing, Gwendolyn turned her full attention on her sister and Eadward. The crossbow hung loosely at her side as she said, ‘I’m going to find the criminals burning our farms.’

  ‘But your husband just took men to do exactly that.’

  ‘Aye, he did. Only he’s taken men to find the large encampment. I’m going to find the small group terrorising our farms. Vidar can have the larger battle. I’ll be quite content rooting out the others,’ Gwendolyn explained.

  ‘Your husband told you to stay home,’ Eadward said, surprising her by stepping forward. His voice was deep, but quiet and reserved. ‘You should do as he’s told you.’ When Annis nodded her head in agreement, Gwendolyn rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’ll not stay here when I could better serve my people by going out with my men.’

  ‘Did you not promise to obey your husband only yesterday?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye, but I promised to defend my people long before I made that vow.’ She was getting tired of people behaving as if she’d given up her right to defend Alvey just because of her marriage. ‘The whole point of this marriage was to make Alvey stronger.’

  Eadward’s gaze wavered and she knew that her argument made sense to him. ‘It doesn’t seem right,’ he said, though his voice had lost some of its firmness.

  Stepping forward, she put her hand on his arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m only trying to do what’s right for our people. If I can find the small group terrorising the farms, then I can potentially stop another farm from being destroyed. Please stay here until I return. Help to defend the gates if it comes to it.’ She turned to Annis. ‘Please watch the hall. Do what you’re best at and keep everyone calm and occupied in one activity or another so they won’t worry. You’re better at that than I. If I stay, I’ll only make everyone anxious with my pacing. I need to do something. I need to do this.’ She raised her crossbow up to show them.

  Much to her relief Annis nodded and Eadward stepped back out of the way. Giving them both a hug, she ran out the door and went to collect her horse and her men. The thrill of the hunt already zinging through her veins, she felt useful again.

  Chapter Nine

  Vidar paced the walkway that had been built near the top of the wall, waiting for some sign that his wife would make it home that day. He’d left on the morning two days ago with implicit orders for her to keep herself at home, but when he’d returned just hours ago, he’d found out that she’d defied him almost immediately after he’d left. The anger he’d felt at being so blatantly defied was indescribable. He’d never felt such a rage. No one under his command had ever outright defied a direct order. It wasn’t done, because it could be dangerous. He’d tried to reason with her before leaving. Had even promised her that they would come to an equitable agreement, but she’d thrown that in his face. It was time the woman learned her place.

  The sun was setting in the west, casting long shadows across the open terrain that the wall looked out on. The Saxons left behind had told him that she’d ridden out to the east with her men. She hadn’t followed Vidar; it seemed she’d been in pursuit of that small band of men who’d been burning farms. Despite himself, now that he’d had time to consider that detail, he had to admit that he was worried for her as much as he was angry. She infuriated him as no woman ever had, but he didn’t wish her harmed.

  On the evening of their first day out hunting the rebel Danes, a rainstorm had come. It had been so swiftly upon them and had come down so hard, they’d been forced to shelter in the trees. Though the trees hadn’t done much to keep them dry and warm once night had fallen. They’d pressed on with the morning light, but by the time they’d reached the camp, it had been cleared and any trail had been lost with the continuing rain. Nevertheless, Vidar and the men had searched for signs, but it had become apparent that the rebels had headed off in smaller groups to cover their tracks and the rain had aided them.

  Fearful that the continuing rain would cause the streams and rivers to swell so much that they’d be rendered too dangerous to traverse, they’d returned home so that Eirik could take his men and leave on their ships. Now Vidar stood upon the wall, afraid that his bride had been swept away in one of those streams, or perhaps even killed by the rebels. Or, even worse, taken captive by the rebels who could even now be using her harshly for their own pleasure.

  He wiped a hand over his brow to smite out the thought. The air was still heavy with the damp left over from the rain and the smell of wet earth. The wind had turned cold now that the clouds had passed. He’d debated having men ride out to look for her at least a dozen times, but her tracks would be long gone. Yet he felt helpless waiting here for some sign of her and he didn’t like the feeling. Behind that sentiment was the nagging sense that he’d failed to keep her safe. She’d been his wife for less than a sennight and he’d already failed her.

  He stared out at the emptiness of the forest across the field. By the gods, if she came through the gates right now he’d relish her punishment. He’d flog her in the sparring field for all to see. But as soon as he thought it, he realised that was simply the anger talking. He’d meant it when he’d said that their disputes should be handled in their chamber away from the warriors.

  He wouldn’t flog her. He’d take her to their chamber and spank her until her buttocks turned red, so that she’d remember the consequences of defiance. The fact that he went rigid in his trousers simply thinking about the punishment didn’t figure into it. It was about keeping her in line for her own safety, not his own pleasure. Even though the thought of exerting his control over her in such a way left his blood simmering in his veins. In his mind, she enjoyed receiving the punishment as much as he’d enjoyed giving it to her. Her cries of outrage turned to moans of pleasure as she squirmed in his lap. The pink imprint of his hand on her pale buttocks branded her as his.

  ‘My lord!’

  The call dragged Vidar from his thoughts and made him realise he’d closed his eyes to better live out the fantasy in his mind. The boy who’d been lookout the day they’d learned about the rebel Danes approached him.

  ‘Look there. We’ve received word that Lady Gwendolyn comes.’ The boy pointed to a break in the trees, but nothing was there. A messenger must have called out to alert them that she was coming, but Vidar had been too deep in his own thoughts to notice.

  Shaking his head and cursing under his breath, he said, ‘Has she been spotted with her men?’

  ‘Aye, she appears unharmed.’

  ‘Send her to me in the hall when she comes. She’s not to go to the armoury or the stable yard.’ He tried to ignore the relief moving through him, but it was nearly palpable. She was well and for the moment that’s all that mattered.

  * * *

  Gwendolyn rode through the gates with her head held high and her quiver of arrows nearly empty. She and her men had picked up the rebels’ tracks and found them despite the heavy downpour. The rain had even helped her to get the upper hand. She and the men had been able to hide in the trees while the rain hid their sounds from the criminals. It had been difficult and excruciatingly slow climbing up the slick, wet bark of the trees, but they’d managed it. Then they’d had to wait for the men to come out of the hastily built cover of limbs they’d made to shelter from the rain. Finally, one by one they had made an appearance to relieve themselves in the woods.

  Arrows from her crossbow had taken out three of them before the trio left inside the shelter had figured out
what was happening. The rebels didn’t have arrows to fight back, so they’d simply made a run for it to get to their horses. But Gwendolyn had anticipated the move and had men who’d circled around the makeshift camp to wait for them at their horses. In the end, her group was able to take out all six of the rebels and obtain their horses and supplies.

  Vidar had only brought horses for himself and his best men, leaving the rest of his small army to travel on foot or by boat. Therefore, Alvey needed all the horses it could get.

  She and her men had even managed to collect the stolen sheep the rebels had taken and had brought them back to be returned to the farmer. The sheep had slowed their progress returning to Alvey, so Gwendolyn had spent the entire trip hoping that Vidar had not already returned home.

  One look at the reactions of the men around the yard when she rode in told her that he had beaten her back. She recognised a few of the Danes as those who’d ridden with him. Even Rodor was at the fire near the outdoor kitchen. He was busy charming the widow in charge of the meals for the hall, but he frowned the moment he saw Gwendolyn ride in. The other Danes glared at her with a contempt that shocked her. From the scowls on their faces, she’d almost think they were angry with her. What reason did they have to be angry?

  Well, this was certain to be an interesting night. One of the boys ran out to help her with her horse, but she waved him off. ‘Get some boys and keep an eye on the sheep. I’ll need to alert their master so that he can see to them properly for the evening.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Rodor, drawing her gaze to him as he made his way towards her. His next words were directed to the boy. ‘Go tell Aethelbert that the mistress has found his sheep.’

  The boy nodded and ran off. Gwendolyn sighed and dismounted there rather than ride the horse to the stable as it appeared Rodor had words for her. He walked up and took the reins from her, his frown even more disapproving than Eadward’s had been before she left to chase the rebels.

  ‘Say what you have to say and be done with it,’ she urged.

  ‘You know what I have to say. You should not have defied your husband.’ Rodor kept his voice low, but everyone was watching them with interest.

  ‘Aye, that’s what I thought you would say. You’ll be happy to know that we found the rebels who burned Aethelbert’s farm. They won’t be bothering us any more.’

  ‘I had no doubt you would.’ He inclined his head with the respect she was accustomed to from him, leaving her wondering exactly what he was so upset about.

  ‘Then why do you look as if I’m about to hang for my crimes?’

  He glanced around to the Danes. ‘Because you are to be punished for disobeying your lord husband.’

  She nearly laughed aloud at that, but stopped herself when she realised that he wasn’t teasing her. The Danes had yet to look away from her and some of them looked absolutely menacing with their scowls. ‘Perhaps I did disobey him, but it was for the greater need of our people.’

  He nodded, but she had the sneaking suspicion that he didn’t believe it changed anything. ‘Aye, I understand. But the greater need of your people, right now, is to see that their master and their mistress are united. The Saxons don’t appreciate what your father did any more than you do. You might bear the greater burden having to share your bed with a Northman, but our men are asked to share their hall with these strangers we once called enemies. They’re asked to share their duties, their meals, their entertainment, and soon...their women.’

  ‘Their women? Rodor, I assure you that I would never allow...’

  He shook his head. ‘Nay, I mean that the Danes didn’t bring women with them. It appears that most of them are unwed. What do you think will happen? They’ll start to compete for the attention of our Saxon women. I’m not sure you’ve noticed, but we haven’t enough to go around.’

  Gwendolyn grimaced and glanced around. Except for the female servants working at the kitchen, she only saw men. Rodor was probably right. There was one woman for at least every two men, not counting the surrounding farms. She assumed the Danes would eventually want to wed. But she also noticed something else, something that disturbed her even more than that. The Danes all stared at her with anger, but the Saxon men only stared at her with concern. Yet, when they glanced at the Danes, anger flashed in their eyes and she could see that a storm was brewing. If she didn’t tread carefully, it could come down to her Saxons against Vidar’s Danes and she feared for the damage to her people if that battle ever took place.

  All at once the weight of the responsibility she had thought she’d learned to bear long ago suddenly felt ten times heavier. She’d learned to trust her instincts and to carefully consider her situation. Yet in this situation, her instincts were not true. She wanted to fight against Vidar’s imposed dominance, but she couldn’t. At least not in the way that she had been fighting.

  ‘I didn’t expect Vidar or his men to be happy about my disobedience, but the fact that I brought back six horses and recovered the stolen sheep ought to count for something.’

  Rodor shrugged. ‘Perhaps it will, but you’ll have to speak with your husband about that. He’s waiting for you in the hall and I suggest you not keep him any longer.’

  Gwendolyn took in a deep breath and left Rodor to care for her horse as she made her way to the hall. She could feel every eye in the yard on her, so she kept her back straight and her step surefooted. In her heart, she knew that she was in the right here and that she had done exactly what she had needed to do to ensure the safety of her people. Because of her actions, those rebels weren’t out there any more raiding farms. The fact that she was right did nothing to stop her heart from pounding so hard that the blood roared in her ears.

  The door to the hall was open, so she stepped inside, hoping against hope that she’d be able to cross the large room and make it to the stairs in the back without being seen. It was a foolish hope, but the knowledge didn’t stop her from holding her breath as she stepped inside as if that might make her less noticeable. She’d much prefer their confrontation to happen in private.

  Apparently every person in the room had been eagerly anticipating her arrival, because they all stopped to stare at her. She realised then how utterly foolish her little hope had been. Of course the lookout had told everyone she had returned. Even if he hadn’t, one of the angry Danes from outside had surely come in to alert his master.

  As if it were lightning drawn to steel, her gaze found Vidar’s across the distance of the room. He was sitting at the head of the table on the bench made for the both of them. Her spot was empty, but his friend—Rolfe, she thought his name was—sat to his right. In fact, the whole table was nothing but Danes and something about that made her heart stop in her chest and anger flush her cheeks. He could not come into her home and completely take it over. She had come to terms with having to share it with him and his men, but it would not be his alone. Her men had earned their place at her table.

  ‘Good evening, Wife. It’s good to have you home,’ Vidar called out, his voice cutting through the sudden silence. When she didn’t make a move, Vidar stood. ‘Come. Have a drink.’

  He raised the goblet that they had used to drink their honeyed mead from on the night of their wedding. She’d forgotten it, but remembered he’d said that tradition demanded that they drink from it every night for the month. In an effort to keep the peace, she walked over to the table and reached for the goblet. He only smiled and shook his head, preferring to hold it up to her lips himself. She dutifully took a sip and he waited until she was finished before taking a drink himself, making sure to place his lips where hers had been.

  ‘We’ve missed the last few nights. Some would call that a foreboding of ill things to come or bad luck. But I prefer to think of this as a new beginning.’ He raised the goblet up and looked out across the men at the table. ‘From this night forward, we’ll agree to start agai
n. We’ll put aside our differences and begin anew as husband and wife, master and mistress, lord and lady.’ When he ended, his gaze had come back to settle on her. She wasn’t certain if his brief speech had been meant for his men’s favour or if he meant it.

  The weight of his gaze was nearly palpable. Gwendolyn sensed a trap of some kind. Vidar was supposed to be angry. Rodor had indicated as much and the Danes outside had certainly been upset. He didn’t appear overly put out, though. Unless he was one of those men who stifled his anger until it exploded in a storm of thunder and rained down on everyone around him. She hadn’t thought that was the case. Not with the way he’d been so direct with her up until now.

  ‘Aye,’ she replied, glancing out over the Danes who seemed to be awaiting her reaction. ‘I agree that we should start anew. I’d like for our joining to be a true joining of our people.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Vidar said, setting his goblet down without retaking his seat. ‘Are you hungry, my wife? Would you like to sit with us and eat?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m more tired than hungry, my lord.’ She’d thought that she’d have to force the title out, but it actually came very easily. Quite pleased with herself, she smiled. ‘I’d rather retire for the evening.’

  ‘Then we should get to your punishment, so that you can retire. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your travels.’

  Those words settled between them with a dull thud. ‘My punishment?’ Her heart picked up speed.

  ‘Aye. You defied my direct command. The warriors under my command who defy my orders are punished. So you, too, shall be punished.’

  She nearly had to drag her chin off the floor to answer him. ‘As you’ve been so eager to point out, I am not a warrior, I am your wife.’

  He grinned, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a smirk that left her palm tingling to slap it away. ‘Then as my wife you should be punished for defying me.’