The Viking's Defiant Bride

Wulfrum turned away from the prisoners and met the keen gaze of his sword brother. Halfdan lowered his voice.

‘Hold this place well, brother. Lying as it does on the road to the north, it is of strategic importance to us.’

‘You may depend on it.’

‘I know it.’ Halfdan clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I could think of no better hands to leave it in. Even so, it will keep you busy. The place seems to be strangely neglected.’

Wulfrum glanced around. ‘It looks to have seen more prosperous days, but they will come again, I promise you.’

‘Why would any man worthy of the name allow his holdings to fall into such disrepair?’

‘I know not.’

‘Unless of course there was no man in view,’ said Halfdan, his tone thoughtful.

‘Perhaps, yet the Saxons were organised and fought valiantly. It suggests a leader, does it not?’

‘Belike he fell in the fighting, then.’

‘Most likely. The Saxon losses were heavy. I shall make enquiries.’

Before further conjecture was possible they were interrupted by the approach of two of their fellow Danes, dragging a captive with them. The man’s hands were bound before him and his face beneath a layer of grime was ashen. From the shaven crown and long robe Wulfrum recognised one of the Christian priests. He glanced once at Halfdan and then watched in silence as the trio came to a halt before them.

‘Look what we found, my lord.’ The guard’s lip curled as he glanced at the prisoner. ‘The craven swine was hiding in the barn.’

‘Hiding, eh?’ Halfdan’s expression mirrored the guard’s as he looked the priest over. ‘Scarcely surprising, I suppose. He’s a poor specimen by the look of him. Must be fifty if he’s a day.’ He turned to Wulfrum. ‘What do you want to do with him? Shall we have him spitted and roasted like an ox? Or shall we flay him and nail his hide to the door of his accursed church?’

‘Beg pardon, my lord,’ said the guard, ‘but we burnt the church down.’

Halfdan followed his gaze towards a distant plume of thick dark smoke. ‘Ah, yes, so we did. Pity. We’ll spit him, then.’

Grinning, the men moved to obey.

Wulfrum held up a hand. ‘No, not yet. He may prove to be of use.’ He fixed his gaze on the trembling form. ‘How are you called, priest?’

‘Father Willibald, my lord.’

Halfdan stared at the earl in disbelief. ‘You want this shaven ass?’

‘Aye, I do.’

‘Very well, as you will. Put him with the others, then.’

With ill-concealed disappointment the guards dragged the priest away.

Halfdan watched them a moment before turning back to his companion.

‘Have some of your men search the forest hereabouts. ’Tis likely some of the serfs have taken refuge there. We should not lose valuable slaves thus. Besides, if left on the loose, they may foment trouble later.’

Wulfrum nodded for it had been his thought also. ‘It shall be done, my lord. If any are hiding, they will be found and brought back.’

‘Meantime, let the injured be carried into the hall and treated. There must be those among the Saxon women versed in the knowledge of healing. They must be identified and put to work.’

‘It should be easy enough. I’ll wager that priest will know.’

Wulfrum was right. Two minutes was all he needed to elicit the relevant information. Hearing the names, he hid a smile. It seemed that his beautiful future bride had other talents to her credit. He strode back to the hall and collared one of his men.

‘Have the guards bring the Lady Elgiva down here,’ he ordered. ‘And the woman called Osgifu.’

Wulfrum seated himself casually on the edge of the long table and waited. A few minutes later the guards reappeared, ushering the two women in front of them. They came to a halt a few feet away, eyeing him warily.

‘I’m told you have skill in healing,’ he said without preamble. ‘You will help to tend the injured.’

He saw the flash of defiance in Elgiva’s eyes, but he was not alone; her companion put a gentle hand on her arm and the two exchanged looks. Then the older woman spoke.

‘We will do so, lord.’ She paused. ‘I will need my things.’

‘Fetch them.’ Wulfrum turned to one of the guards. ‘Go with her.’ Then he turned his attention back to Elgiva, who was regarding him with a distinctly hostile gaze. He let his glance travel the length of her and saw her bridle in an instant. ‘Do not think of trying any tricks, Elgiva.’

‘Do you think I would harm injured men? I have a greater regard for human life.’

‘Then give them all tending.’

‘Does that include Saxon, as well as Dane?’

‘Of course. Slaves are of value to me too.’

‘A pity, then, that you have slain so many.’

‘The fortunes of war.’ He paused, smiling faintly. ‘They could always have surrendered.’

‘To a life of slavery? You cannot seriously think so.’

‘I don’t. I merely offer it as a possibility.’

The amber eyes blazed, but her anger appeared to leave him unmoved. A few moments later Osgifu returned with the box that held her herbs and potions. She eyed Wulfrum and hesitated.

‘Well?’ he asked.

‘I will need hot water and clean cloths too,’ she said, ‘and some help to bring pallets for the injured.’

He glanced at the guard standing nearby. ‘Arrange it.’

The man nodded and went with Osgifu to do his bidding. Wulfrum turned back to Elgiva, who had made no move to obey. He raised an eyebrow and saw her chin come up. She lingered a moment more and then, in her own good time, turned away. Had she seen the glint in his eyes she might have made more haste for an instant later the flat of Wulfrum’s sword caught her hard across the buttocks. With a gasp of indignation, she spun round.

‘Defy me again, wench, and you go across my knee.’

The words were quietly spoken, but, looking at that imperturbable expression, Elgiva was left in no doubt he meant it. She was also aware of several grinning faces around them from those who had witnessed the little scene, no doubt hoping for further entertainment at her expense. For a moment she hesitated, caught between anger and indecision. Then Wulfrum stood up and took a pace towards her. Elgiva fled.

The afternoon was wearing on when the Viking hunters returned with some dozen bound captives, those who had fled when defeat became inevitable. Some were wounded, all dirty and dishevelled. Wulfrum surveyed them for a moment and then turned to Ceolnoth, who had formed one of the hunting party.

‘These were all you found?’

‘Aye, my lord.’

‘Very well. Keep them apart from the rest. I’ll deal with them later. Meanwhile, take some of the women to the kitchens. They can start preparing the food. Lord Halfdan and his earls will be hungry tonight. See to it.’

‘Yes, lord.’

Ceolnoth swung down off his horse and moved towards the captive women, who eyed him with fear. Enlisting the aid of a warrior companion, he cut half a dozen free, including the girl, Hilda. Wulfrum noted the young man’s gaze lingered far longer on her than on the rest, and he smiled to himself. It seemed he was not the only one to have an eye for a comely Saxon wench. He watched as the women were taken off towards the hall. Then his gaze went to the upper storey of the building and in his mind’s eye he saw again the chamber where he had first met Elgiva. It was a fine room. Henceforth it would be his, as would she. Their union would set the seal of his ownership on these lands and these people. Whether they liked it or not, the Danes were here to stay.

He had no doubt as to Elgiva’s mind on the matter. In truth, she was a spirited piece as Lord Halfdan had said, and brave too. Her defiance of Sweyn demonstrated that beyond doubt. Not that he blamed the man for wanting her. She was a rare beauty and it must have cost him a pang to lose her so soon. Wulfrum had not forgotten the look in his eyes when the girl had spurned him, nor again when Wulfrum claimed her for his own. If Ironfist and the others had not been there, Sweyn might have disputed the matter further. Even if he had, Wulfrum knew he would have fought to keep her for, from the moment he set eyes on the wench, he knew he wanted her for himself. Wanted her and intended to have her. Halfdan had seen it too. It was why he had urged Wulfrum to take her to wife and settle the matter once and for all. Wulfrum knew that a week ago he would have dismissed the suggestion out of hand. Today he had embraced it. After all, he was five and twenty and should have taken a bride long since. He would have if he’d ever found one he wanted. It had seemed a hopeless quest. That situation had just changed. Besides, he could think of many a worse fate to befall a man. Recalling the kiss he had stolen from Elgiva earlier, he grinned. If looks could kill, he knew he’d be a dead man now. Too bad—he was determined that kiss would be the first of many. Let her fight him tooth and nail; it would avail her naught. She would yield in the end. He would strip away her defences as he intended to strip away her clothes.

‘My lord?’

Jolted back to the present, Wulfrum focused his attention on the man before him.

‘Well?’

‘Lord Halfdan requests your presence in the hall.’

‘I will come.’

When he returned, he made his report and then looked about him with curiosity. He could see that the Saxon healers had not been idle. They had organised matters so that those men who had been badly injured had been lifted onto makeshift pallets and, having been tended, were watched over now by some of the serfs. Elgiva and her companion continued on to see to the walking wounded, of whom there was a goodly number.

‘Those women know what they are about,’ observed Halfdan, noting the direction of Wulfrum’s gaze. ‘It is useful to have experienced healers to call on. They will serve you well.’

He turned aside then to speak to one of his men, leaving Wulfrum free to observe. Across the hall he could see Elgiva with her latest patient, bandaging his arm. It seemed that Halfdan was right—she worked with assurance, her hands moving swiftly and competently about their task. From her hands he let his gaze travel on across the graceful curves of her figure, from the swelling bosom and narrow waist to the gently flaring hips. A thick golden braid hung down her back, though several tendrils of hair had escaped to curl about her neck and cheek. Just then her profile was towards him and he missed nothing of the delicate bone structure beneath that flawless skin. She was lovely, a prize indeed. As if sensing herself watched, she turned her head and looked round, perceiving him immediately. He saw the dainty chin tilt upwards before she looked away, and smiled to himself. She was safe enough for now; there were many more wounds to stanch and bind and he had still many matters to attend to, including a trip to the Danish encampment.

‘After that, my lady,’ he murmured, ‘we shall see.’

Elgiva and Osgifu worked on. It was late in the day when the last of the wounded were carried in. Among them was Aylwin, his face waxen beneath the dirt and gore. He had taken a deep sword thrust in the side and his tunic was dark with blood, yet a faint pulse testified that he lived. Swiftly they cut away the tunic and the shirt beneath. The wound gaped, wide and ugly, but it looked clean. Several superficial cuts marked his arms and livid bruises attested to the ferocity of the fighting. Elgiva set to work to stanch the bleeding. As she did so a shadow fell across them and she glanced up. Her heart skipped a beat to see Halfdan standing there. He surveyed the injured man a moment and then the pile of discarded clothing. Even soiled, it could never pass for the garb of a peasant.

‘Who is he?’

Elgiva felt her throat dry. Then she heard Osgifu speak.

‘This is Lord Aylwin.’

‘A Saxon lord.’ Halfdan looked from her to Elgiva. ‘Your father, perhaps?’

‘No. My father is dead.’

‘Ah, your husband, then?’ His hand moved to his sword hilt.

Elgiva bit back a cry of alarm, her mind racing. If Halfdan’s earl intended to marry her as he had said, then she could not have a husband living. If he thought that the case, he would rectify the matter.

‘He is not my husband, but I am betrothed to him.’

The Viking relaxed his grip on the sword and he laughed. ‘Not any more.’

As she watched him walk away Elgiva let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Exchanging a brief glance with Osgifu, she set to work again with trembling hands to stanch the wound and bind it. She wondered if Aylwin would last the night and thought it unlikely. It might be better if he did die. The alternative was a life of slavery beneath the Viking yoke, something he would never submit to. Nor would he suffer another man to take his betrothed without a fight. Elgiva swallowed hard. Aylwin had been allowed to live for now, but for how much longer?

She and Osgifu worked until all had been attended to. The sun was going down before they finished and both women were exceedingly weary. Elgiva wondered if she would ever get the stink of blood and death from her nostrils. Every part of her ached from the effort of bending or stretching and her gown was soiled with blood and dirt. She retired with Osgifu to the women’s bower and, having assured herself that the children were safe in the hands of one of the older women, she turned her attention to herself, bathing her hands and face in an attempt to cleanse away the memory of the past hours.

‘Oh, Gifu, so many good men slain.’

The battle today had been a rout in the end despite all the Saxons had been able to do. No one could have withstood the invaders for long. Now they were the masters here and every last Saxon soul who survived was in their power. One taste of it was enough to strike terror into the heart.

‘Aye, yet not all our warriors fell in the battle. The Vikings have already sent men out to search for fugitives, but they will not find them all.’

‘I fear it will be too late to be of help here.’ Elgiva met her gaze, unaware of the desperation in her own eyes as, unbidden, the memory of a man’s face intruded into her thoughts, a strong, chiselled face and disconcerting blue eyes. She forced it down and strove against rising panic. She would not wed the Viking.

Osgifu broke into her thoughts. ‘The forest is large and there are many places of concealment.’

‘Aye, there are for those who know its secrets.’

Elgiva moved away as, through the haze of fear and desperation, the germ of an idea formed in her mind. She knew the forest paths well for, with Osgifu, she was used to spending time there, gathering the plants she needed for her medicines. She could not wait to see if Aylwin survived, if there would ever be a Saxon uprising. All that would take time, and time was the one thing she didn’t have. Elgiva found suddenly that she was shivering with delayed reaction and the atmosphere seemed stifling. She moved to the doorway.

The place seemed quieter now—the evening meal was preparing in the hall and beyond the palisade the majority of the Viking host had encamped for the duration. The smoke from their cooking fires was already rising into the evening air. The women’s bower was situated behind the hall where over the years various rooms had been added according to need. Looking around now, Elgiva could see the bodies of the slain lying where they had fallen and beyond them a few of Halfdan’s men moving around outside stables and barn. However, there seemed to be no one at the gate just then and the broken timbers hung wide. Not far away the forest beckoned. Elgiva bit her lip. If she could somehow reach the gate without being spotted, there might be a chance of reaching the trees. The Viking encampment lay in the opposite direction and, while it would mean skirting the edge of the village, she could be fairly certain no Saxon would give her away. Once in the forest she would stand a reasonable chance of eluding pursuit. What she would do then she had no clear idea, but it seemed to her that there must be Saxons who had escaped the Viking host. If there were enough of them, they might return by stealth and put the invaders to the sword in their turn. Failing that, she might be able to find help elsewhere in those lands where the Danes held no sway. Anything was better than remaining here to become the bride of a conqueror.

Looking round the room, she saw the empty bucket and with it the idea. A trip to the well would serve as a plausible excuse for leaving the bower. She made for the door.

‘What are you doing?’ Osgifu looked at her in concern.

‘I can’t stay here, Gifu.’

‘Elgiva, think.’

‘I have thought. I will not do what they want.’

‘If you run, they will find you and bring you back. These men are ruthless. Who knows what punishment they may inflict?’

‘It cannot be worse than what they’re already planning.’

‘Don’t do it, I beg you.’

‘I will not stay here to be married off to a Viking warlord. I must get help. You said yourself that some of our men have fled into the forest. I will find them.’

‘Elgiva, wait!’

The words fell on empty air for Elgiva was already heading for the well. Picking her way among the bodies all around, she tried to ignore the rising stench and darted covert glances all about her, fearing at every moment to hear someone raise the alarm. However, no one did challenge her and she reached the well a short time later. Putting down the bucket, she took another furtive look around but could still see no one at the gate. Summoning all her courage, Elgiva made towards it at a steady pace, not wishing to draw eyes her way by careless haste. At every step her heart hammered; she expected at each moment to hear the shouted challenge and the sound of pursuit. It never came and she reached the shattered entry. Cautiously she walked through the gateway and looked about her. The way was clear. Picking up her skirts, she ran, sprinting across the open ground betwixt her and the edge of the trees, ignoring everything but the need to escape and put as much distance as possible between herself and Ravenswood. Focused on her goal, she did not see the horseman approaching fast at an oblique angle to cut off her route.

By the time she heard the thudding hoofbeats, he was much closer. One horrified glance over her shoulder revealed the approaching danger in a brief impression of a great black horse and the warrior who rode it. Elgiva summoned every remaining vestige of energy and put on a last desperate spurt. The trees were no more than a hundred yards away now. If she could but reach them, she would have a chance of escape. Behind her the hoofbeats sounded louder, thudding in her ears like the sound of her own heartbeat as she willed herself on. It was a vain effort. The rider leaned down and a strong arm reached out and swept her off her feet. Elgiva shrieked as she was thrown face down over the front of the saddle, held firmly across the rider’s knees. For some further distance every bone in her body was jarred before the horseman reined to a halt. Fury and fright vied for supremacy as she fought to recover her breath. Then she heard a familiar voice.

‘Whither away, Elgiva?’

Her stomach lurched. Wulfrum! Frantically she strove to push herself upright, but a firm hand between her shoulders kept her where she was, his well-trained mount standing like a rock the while.

‘Let go of me, you clod. You Danish oaf.’

‘Clod? Danish oaf? These are grave insults indeed.’ Wulfrum regarded his struggling captive with a keen eye. ‘It seems to me that you need to learn better manners.’

‘You have the nerve to lecture me about manners, barbarian?’

‘I think you were not attending to me earlier, wench, for I warned you what would happen if you defied me again.’

Suddenly she did recall the words and her face grew hotter as she divined his meaning and realised the extreme vulnerability of her present position.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Is that so?’

The flat of his hand came down hard, eliciting a yelp of indignation and further futile struggles.

‘Let me go, you bastard! You swine! Let me go!’

It was an unfortunate choice of words for half a dozen sharp whacks ensued. Elgiva yelled in rage but bit back any further insults, knowing he would avenge himself if she uttered them.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ was the pleasant rejoinder. ‘You belong to me now and I will hold what is mine.’

Fuming, she forgot her former resolve in the face of this breathtaking arrogance. ‘I will never belong to you, you loathsome Viking filth.’

That last was a mistake—the hand descended several times more and much harder. Elgiva gasped.

‘Anything more?’ he asked. ‘I can keep this up indefinitely if you can.’

Indeed there were plenty more things she could have found to say, chiefly concerning his lowly birth, probable ancestry and certain destination in the hereafter, but with a monumental effort she forced them back. Only a very small exhalation of breath escaped, a sound that reminded him of an infuriated kitten. Wulfrum waited a moment, but there was nothing more. His lips curved in a sardonic smile; touching his horse with his heels, he let it move forwards at a walk. Elgiva gritted her teeth in helpless fury as they headed back towards Ravenswood and a dreadful suspicion grew that his retribution wasn’t over yet.

In this she was right. Wulfrum took his time about the return journey, knowing full well the helpless ire of his captive and her present discomfort. He had been visiting the Viking encampment earlier and was returning when he caught sight of the running figure heading for the forest. He had recognised her at once and knew a bid for freedom when he saw it. He also knew she must not be allowed to get away. How she had got so far was a mystery, one for which the guards would get a roasting later. As for Elgiva, she would discover that it did not pay to disobey him. Right now he knew she was smarting, as much from the humiliation as from his hand. It had been most tempting to put all his strength behind it and beat her soundly, but he had resisted the notion and tempered the punishment. As it was, she would think twice before crossing him again. Like all the Saxons she would learn that rebellion came at a price.

In consequence Elgiva was held across the saddle bow all the way back to the outer door of the women’s bower. If she had thought then he would let her slide from the saddle and slink indoors, she was mistaken for Wulfrum dismounted first and dragged her off the horse after. Tucking her under one arm, he carried her inside in another casual and humiliating demonstration of superior strength. When at last he set her down she was hot and breathless and, to Wulfrum’s eyes, most attractively dishevelled, for the golden mane had escaped its braid and fell in tumbled curls about her shoulders.

Furious, Elgiva glared up at him, wishing anew for a sword to cut the arrogant brute down to size. However, he was very big and to her cost she knew his strength. She hated to think what other retribution he might take if she angered him further for she was uncomfortably aware of the bed on the far side of the room and of the dimming light and of his dangerous proximity.

It was not hard to discern some of her thought but, far from being perturbed in any way, Wulfrum smiled, thinking that anger heightened her beauty for those wonderful eyes held a distinctly militant light. He was sorely tempted to take her in his arms and kiss her again, but he suspected that if he did, he would not be able to stop there. Better to let her think about what had happened, to understand the futility of attempting to escape him. She was no fool and the lesson would be well learned. Besides, time was on his side now.

For the space of several heartbeats they faced each other thus. Then, to her inexpressible relief, he moved towards the door, pausing when he reached it.

‘You will remain here until I say otherwise. I should perhaps point out that there will be a guard outside from now on.’

He left her then, closing the door behind him. Weak with relief, Elgiva collapsed against it, listening with thumping heart to the muffled hoof falls as he rode away.