Longing For Her Forbidden Viking

‘Nay.’ An image of the only wife of his heart flashed through Aevir’s mind. She was laughing at him after he’d slipped on the frozen lake helping to carry a swine to her home. It was the first time he had met her and still how he imagined her during the very rare times he allowed his thoughts to drift that way. He refused to think of her now and forcefully returned her memory to the confines of his heart. His first marriage had been for love; his next would be for status and nothing more. ‘Thank you, Jarl, but waiting isn’t necessary. Who is to be my...?’ He couldn’t say wife. He wouldn’t. ‘Who am I to marry?’

‘Her name is Annis. She is a Saxon relation of my brother Eirik. Her father was a powerful Saxon, he still is, though he operates under Eirik’s rule. The family is a relation of the Northumbrian King Ecgberht, so the marriage will come with a small portion of land.’

‘Not in Alvey?’

The Jarl shook his head. ‘Nay, south, but not as far as Eirik’s land. You’ll essentially oversee the territory between. I had thought to offer the position to Rolfe, but it wasn’t a good fit because he prefers to stay in Alvey.’ He grinned and added, ‘He also seems to prefer Elswyth. The arrangement is much more suitable to a man of your ambition.’

The match was a good one. Aevir would hold a strong position and have access to those who governed. He could marry this unknown woman and keep her at a distance, consummate their marriage and allow her to lead a separate life from him. He could continue wielding his sword while she stayed at home. Depending on her view of the Danes, she might even prefer to live with her family over him. That arrangement was the type he had imagined when he decided that another marriage was necessary for him to achieve his goals.

‘It is a good match. What do you know of this Annis?’

Jarl Vidar smiled. ‘Last time I saw her she was a child, but that was years ago and she’s bound to have grown a bit.’

A bitter taste rose in the back of his throat. He had no liking for child-brides, or women who were forced to marry. ‘Then the girl is an innocent?’

‘Nay, she’s a widow. Her husband, a Saxon, died recently and there were no children.’

Somehow that seemed better. Perhaps she mourned her husband still and wouldn’t expect much from her new one. Still, having the reality of it before him made dread settle like a lead weight in his belly. His gaze found Ellan, her smile bright in the sea of cheers and clapping around her. Just looking upon her warmed something long grown cold within him. He hadn’t realised until this moment that the promise of more with her had started to bud inside his chest. He was forced to rip it out by the roots, for it was a ridiculous notion. Aside from the fact that he suspected she was in Alvey for duplicitous reasons, the truth was that she was a simple farm girl who could not give him the status he craved.

‘When do you think a wedding can be arranged?’ he asked.

Jarl Vidar grinned, apparently convinced of Aevir’s enthusiasm. ‘You’ll meet her after the spring thaw. You can be married soon after. We’ll travel down together, assuming this mess with the Scots allows it.’

Aevir forced himself to smile, but it felt wooden and awkward. It was hardly more than a twitch of his lips. The Jarl seemed content with the outcome, however, and leaned forward to clasp his arm. Aevir stayed a moment to accept the good wishes of the men around him before excusing himself for the evening.

Sensing that it was now or never, he intended to persuade Ellan to spend the rest of the night with him. He was leaving to patrol the northern border in the morning and could spare one night to know what it was like to lose himself inside her. From the way she had proclaimed it her right to kiss whomever she wanted, he imagined she wasn’t quite as innocent as the Jarl believed. Because Rolfe had married her sister, Aevir had begun to suspect the proclamation was simply to ensure her safety. She wasn’t actually a blood relative to the man, so any punishment for touching her would likely be in the form of a fine. It was a price he was willing to pay to be with her.

He immediately looked for Ellan again and his heart stuttered when he couldn’t find her dancing. Lady Gwendolyn and the other women laughed and held hands as they turned in a circle, but there was no Ellan.

Pushing his way through the crowd, he opened the door and hurried out into the cold night, genuinely concerned that a man might have taken her. The mead had flowed easily tonight and the wedding had made many of the men more eager than usual, himself included. The yard was deserted as almost everyone was packed inside the hall. Some had already sought their beds for the night, but it was too cold to linger outside. A light rustling of fabric had him walking around the corner of the hall to see her leaning back against the side, her face raised to the night air. Several strands of hair had fallen from her braid and the crown of ivy she wore tilted to the side, but somehow the dishevelment only made her more beautiful. There was a tightening deep in his belly as he watched her and that more than his conversation with Jarl Vidar made his voice harsh when he asked, ‘What are you doing out here?’

Her eyes widened as she opened them. ‘Aevir! You frightened me.’

He almost despised how much he wanted her. The sentiment did nothing to soften the tone of his voice. ‘It’s not safe for you out here alone.’

His tone seemed to startle her for a moment, but she quickly, gathered her wits and gave him a hesitant smile. ‘But I’m not alone...you’re here now.’

Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with exertion. A fine mist of sweat shimmered on her face, making him ache to taste the salt of her skin. ‘And why do you think that makes you any safer?’ Somehow, he had drifted closer so that he stood directly in front of her. The mead seemed to dull everything around them while bringing her into sharp clarity before him.

She looked up at him and said with perfect innocence, ‘Because I know that you wouldn’t harm me.’

Her bottom lip was plump and moist, causing him to remember how she had kissed him back in the larder. ‘You’re right. Pleasure is so much better.’

His palms pressed into the coarse wood at her back on either side of her. He felt like a moth must feel being drawn to the flame that would surely destroy it, but being powerless to resist its beauty.

She gasped as if only now grasping the particular danger she was in and her hands came up to rest on his chest. She didn’t push him away, however. ‘You know that Lord Vidar wouldn’t allow...’ She swallowed audibly and seemed unable to finish her thought.

All instinct now, he leaned down so that his mouth nearly brushed her ear. Her scent overwhelmed his senses, causing his body to clench with arousal that made him feel drunk as it swept through him. ‘Come to bed with me, Ellan.’

‘Aevir,’ she whispered her outrage, but when her gaze met his he could see the answer to his arousal in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips.

The promise of gratification pulsed through him. He could take her here against the wall if he wanted, but it wouldn’t do. She deserved a bed and he deserved an entire night to purge her from his mind.

‘Ellan!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s slightly breathless and alarmed voice filled the night. ‘Are you out here?’ Sounds of merriment came through the open doorway of the hall.

Ellan’s wide eyes met his and she gave a regretful shake of her head before ducking underneath his arm to flee. ‘I’m here. It was stuffy inside, so I came out to get some cool air,’ she said as she rounded the corner.

Lady Gwendolyn’s reply was lost as they walked inside and closed the door behind them. He let his forehead drop against the rough wooden wall and released a breath of frustration. Half of him thanked the gods for intervening before he made his obsession with her worse, while the other half wanted to sling her over his shoulder and take her off to his bed where he would spend the rest of the night with her legs wrapped around his waist.

Finally, he took in a deep breath and straightened. The cool air into his lungs brought the return of clarity and rational thought. It was good that they had been interrupted. He shouldn’t have been willing to risk the Jarl’s ire to be with her for a night. Tomorrow he would return to the northern border as planned to help quell the threat from the Scots and he vowed to forget the girl who had bewitched him.

Chapter Two

Ellan’s father arrived a sennight later to collect her. His arrival wasn’t unexpected, but Ellan hadn’t realised how much she had hoped that he had simply forgotten her until word arrived that he was there. Pulling her shoulders back, she forced a courage she didn’t feel and stepped through the front gate to greet him, leaving the safety of Alvey’s walls behind her. Temporarily.

She would confront her father, tell him in no uncertain terms that she was staying in Alvey and return to the tiny alcove above the hall that had been her home for the last several months. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to fathom the conversation having any other ending. If she dared to think it might, then she might succumb to despair and that wouldn’t do. Returning to Banford was akin to death as far as she was concerned. There was no life for her there.

She would stay here and find the same happiness that Elswyth had found with Rolfe. Their courtship and wedding had been so fast and unexpected that Ellan still had trouble believing it had happened. Of course, some of that might be because she spent her days obsessing over Aevir and her nights reliving the scarce moments they had had together. Even her memories of her sister’s wedding were coloured with visions of how handsome Aevir had looked in his finery.

If only Father hadn’t arrived at night, or if he had at least deigned to camp within the safety of the fortress’s walls instead of outside them, she might feel a little braver. A glance to the night sky revealed not even a single star to light the way. She shivered at the ominous darkness and pulled her cloak even tighter around her shoulders.

The overflow of Dane warriors who now resided in Alvey—their numbers far too large to be contained within the walls—were camped nearby. Their fires made a wide trail of light from the walls to the forest in the distance and their tents flickered pale in shafts of moonlight. In some ways, she would feel safer going in that direction, but she turned towards the small fire set away from the others. Her father was too proud to seek sanctuary with the people he viewed as his enemy.

His wiry frame leaned over a spit roasting what looked to be a rabbit. As she approached, he moved away from it and stood. Even from this distance she could tell that he was glaring at her with disapproval. It was the same expression he always wore when he looked at her. If there had been a time when he’d gazed upon her with love and understanding, she couldn’t remember it. Since Mother had run away years ago, there had been only grave censure and a suspicion that she would betray the family in some way as well. After all, she had the look of her mother and the heart of a woman. Betrayal was all but assured.

He waited for her to step into the meagre light given off by the fire, then he said, ‘You will marry in a sennight.’

Though she had done everything she could to prepare herself for this moment, his first words to her after months of separation still caused a zing of pain to dart through her. There were no tender words of greeting. No declaration of how he’d missed her, only the harsh announcement. She was a burden to be disposed of, not a beloved daughter to be welcomed with open arms.

Again, an image of Aevir came to mind. He had come back to Alvey only hours ago, but he had been too busy conferring with Rolfe and Lord Vidar about a skirmish with the Scots to look her way. If only marrying him were an option.

‘You’ve found someone to take me off your hands at last.’ She tried for irreverent, but her tone fell flat. ‘A Saxon?’

Light from Father’s campfire flickered in the deep shadows of night, casting hollows and jagged lines across the weathered planes of his unforgiving expression.

She shouldn’t have been surprised by his words. Threats of marriage had been hovering over her head like a sickle poised to descend on a fresh patch of wheat for the past year. The only difference this time was that the promise had never been quite so specific. So ripe with certainty and malice. This was real. He’d made a deal with some unknown man and it didn’t particularly matter if she approved of his choice or not. He’d foist her off to become someone else’s responsibility.

His lips twisted in a grin that made him look rather like a growling mongrel. ‘Your lady may have lowered herself to marry a heathen Dane, but you will not.’

Father was a proud Saxon who would rather fight the invading Danes than accept peace with them. When he’d found out that Lady Gwendolyn had married Lord Vidar, he’d said that he’d sooner his daughters be dead than married to the barbarians. It didn’t matter that Lady Gwendolyn had done it to foster peace between her beloved Saxons and the invading Norsemen, he hated her regardless. Rumours even claimed that he’d started meeting with the Scots to plot against Alvey. Whether or not those rumours were true, Ellan didn’t know.

Her gaze instinctively drifted back to the comforting presence of Alvey’s walls looming behind her. A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she said, ‘I would choose my own husband.’

‘You belong to me until you’re married. You’ll do as I say.’

Her lips parted, but there were no words to combat his callousness. The jagged edges of his statement reached inside her, scooping out her heart and leaving a black, gaping hole behind. With nothing to warm it, her blood chilled. A shiver threatened to tear through her and rattle her teeth, but she held it back by clenching her jaw so hard the bone ached. Her composure was her only defence. He couldn’t see how terrified she was or how he’d hurt her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

‘Then who is to be my husband?’ She couldn’t resist a quick glance at her older brother, Galan, who had come to stand beside Father on the other side of the campfire. His face was impassive in the shadows of the night. She wanted to ask him if he approved of this marriage, but she held her tongue and swallowed down the bitter taste of his betrayal.

Father gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head. ‘You will meet him soon enough.’

‘So he’s not from Banford?’

He shook his head again and looked away. ‘Nay, I’ve come from his village directly after arranging the agreement.’

If it were left up to him, she probably wouldn’t meet her groom until the wedding. Her father would deliver her in a grain sack, dropping her off like goods if common decency allowed him to get away with it. Thankfully it wasn’t up to him. It was up to her and she wasn’t marrying anyone he bid her to wed. Not if she could help it. She’d already decided that Alvey would be her new home and this only firmed her decision. Her task now was to get back inside before he forced her to disappear into the night with him. Then she would have to convince Lord Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn to take her side in the matter, but she would confront that in the morning.

Making a concerted effort to keep her voice stable, she said, ‘Then I’ll look forward to meeting him.’ It was the wrong thing to say. Father’s gaze narrowed in doubt. She had never once even hinted that she might welcome a marriage he arranged for her, so of course playing along now would rouse suspicion.

‘Good to see you again, Ellan. You’ve been missed.’ Galan stepped around the fire, seeming determined to end the tension between the two of them, and pulled her into a hug. For a brief moment she allowed herself to find comfort in his strong embrace. Galan had been the one she had always run to with a skinned knee or when a splinter needed removing. It was sad to know that he wouldn’t step in to help her now. He’d been poisoned by their father’s hatred.

‘And you as well,’ she said, stepping away lest her defences crumble completely.

‘We’ll be leaving in the morning for Banford,’ Father said.

‘Elswyth as well?’ Elswyth loved her husband too much to leave him.

‘Aye, Elswyth, too.’ Father’s voice was a little too proud, making it sound forced. He wasn’t certain of that at all.

‘Is that what she said?’ Ellan couldn’t help but ask. Elswyth had come out to talk to him earlier.

He sniffed. ‘She’ll do as she’s told. She always does.’ His eyes narrowed and she had to force herself to appear meek. He couldn’t suspect that she intended to rebel and stay in Alvey or she’d never make it back inside. And her only real chance of not leaving with him was to go back inside now.

She had made a grave error in coming out to speak with her family. Her father could take her now and disappear into the night with her if he chose. She instinctively took a step backward towards Alvey. The Danes chatted and roughhoused in the distance at their campfires, but they wouldn’t help her. No man would step between a father and his rightful claim on his daughter. No man but Lord Vidar. She hoped.

‘If we’re to leave at daybreak, then I should go back inside and collect our things,’ Ellan said.

‘There’s nothing you need from Alvey,’ Father said.

Her thoughts collided as she sensed his intention was to not allow her to go back inside. What a stupid mistake. She’d come out here because of her terrible need to win some sort of approval from her father. She realised now that she had wanted to see him and have him open his arms to her as Galan had done, but it had been a ridiculous fantasy. He didn’t care for her and he never would.

‘There’s not much, but Lady Gwendolyn gifted us each with a fine golden bracelet. They have a small value that might prove useful,’ she said.

There were no bracelets, but she could feel the weight of the prison Father carried around with him closing in on her and she would have said anything to escape. When his eyes glimmered with interest, she knew that she had won. If the talk of his joining with the Scots was true—and she was almost certain that it was, based on his reaction—then he’d need the gold to buy weapons.

He gave a curt nod and she turned blindly, nearly overcome with relief as she made her way back to the walls. Restored to her, her heart beat furiously, pushing blood through her body almost faster than her limbs could accept it. She felt light-headed while her knees were heavy, as if she were walking through ankle-deep mud. The open gate loomed before her like a beacon of hope, guiding her steps in a path that seemed to take for ever.

She only breathed again when she stepped through. None of the Saxons or Danes on guard seemed to notice her. The yard was still filled with men at this late hour. The usual excitement of Alvey crackled through the air, but instead of invigorating her, it drained her. Her shoulders shook from the effort of keeping her posture and her legs had now turned to water. She groped at the wall for support, the cold stone biting into the bare skin of her palm, and she welcomed the discomfort.

She would never leave Alvey again if she could help it. The question was: would she have a choice? If Lord Vidar decided that giving her over to her father would be justified, then she would have to go. Disobeying could mean punishment, or—more probable—he’d simply deliver her to her father bound if necessary.

‘Ellan.’ A smooth, deep voice called to her.

Aevir walked through the crowd, emerging into the light cast by a nearby torch. He walked like a man in charge, confident that no one would stand between him and his goal, and indeed the warriors moved out of the way for him. He was dressed as he usually was in rich fabrics that showed little wear, which somehow made her overly mindful of the fraying edges of her own tunic. A strange sense of relief moved through her even as a fluttering began in her belly.

‘Aevir?’ She grimaced at the breathless tone of her voice. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of their last encounter. Because he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge her since his return, she half-believed that he might not even remember it.

He looked out the open gates as he passed them, as if sensing the danger to her out there before he came to a stop in front of her. He carried with him the scents of the outdoors: evergreens, the crisp freshness of new snow and the faint hint of woodsmoke, while underneath was layered a richer spice she couldn’t name. It never failed to make her long to bury her face in his neck until she breathed in her fill.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked with a neutral expression. The thick, blonde strands of hair around his face were secured back at the crown of his head, but the rest hung to his shoulders.

‘I spoke with my father.’ She gave a shrug towards the gates and pulled her cloak tighter around her, disliking the way she responded to him, but unable to stop the reaction. When he was near it was as if she forgot how to think. She’d tripped over her own feet and misjudged the distance between a pitcher and tankard on more than one occasion in his presence. He probably thought she was a dolt. It was his eyes, she’d decided. A blue so light they might pass for grey, they seemed to look directly into her soul and see far more than she wanted them to.

His gaze roamed over her face in a slow glide that did strange and wonderful things to her belly. ‘What did Godric say to you?’ His voice seemed tinged with a suspicion she didn’t understand.

‘The usual. Saxons are good, Danes are bad.’ His lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. ‘He wants us to go home to Banford in the morning,’ she added.

He sighed and the warmth of his breath ruffled her hair across the small distance between them. ‘Then this is goodbye?’

Something was odd about him tonight. ‘I hope not,’ she answered with a bit more honesty than she had intended.

As he let out a soft breath, his gaze met hers. His eyes had deepened, becoming intense, and his stare lingered on her mouth. Almost as heated as how he had looked at her outside the hall. ‘What do you want, Ellan?’

His well-formed lips curved upwards, revealing even, white teeth and creases at the corners of his eyes. It made him look more human than godlike with an earthy attractiveness. Not once in her entire life had she ever felt this mindless infatuation for anyone else.

The memory of their kiss tried to take over, but she shook it off to say, ‘I want to stay here.’

‘Really?’ He seemed surprised as his head tilted to the side a little. His gaze had turned discerning. ‘How will you thwart him?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll speak with Lady Gwendolyn. I’m certain she’ll allow me to stay.’ If only she were as confident as she sounded.

‘She might want you to stay,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but don’t you think your father will insist? Will she go against his wishes and risk angering even more Saxons?’

It was the same question she asked herself. Swallowing down her panic, she said, ‘I don’t know. I do know that she frowns upon women being forced to wed. Her own forced marriage turned out well for her, but she doesn’t approve of the practice. She’ll at least speak with him on my behalf.’

‘Forced marriage? Has Godric arranged a marriage for you?’ Lines formed between his brows. She wanted to believe that his interest in her prospective marriage was personal, but she didn’t think whatever was between them would inspire such concern.

‘Aye, but he wouldn’t tell me the man’s name.’

‘Why would he not tell you? Are you not close to your father, Ellan?

Perhaps it was the stress of the evening, or simply the way she felt safe in Aevir’s presence, but something made her tell him more than she should. ‘To say that I am not his favourite daughter would be a great understatement. He simply wants to be rid of the burden I bring him.’

‘He doesn’t like daughters?’