The wait was interminable, but eventually the door of the hall swung open, letting in a blast of cold air and a handful of Danes she recognised, but not one of them was Rolfe or Aevir.
‘Henrik!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s voice filled the space. ‘You have word?’
The man nodded and rushed over to where she stood with Ellan by the fire. He was younger than the men he was with, perhaps her age or only slightly older, but he seemed to be the one in charge. His hair was reddish in colour. ‘Aye. We came across the Scots and there was a skirmish. A few were killed, the rest fled back to Alba.’
‘Injuries on our side?’
He shook his head. ‘Minimal. The Jarl is at the border ensuring its security, while Rolfe and Aevir head to Banford to question the villagers. He suspects that someone there knows something.’
Unable to keep quiet any longer, Ellan asked, ‘What of Elswyth? Was she found?’
The man’s eyes gentled slightly as his gaze shifted to her. ‘She was found with the Scots, but she is safe. Rolfe took her to Banford.’
‘What do you mean she was found with the Scots?’ She placed her hand over her heart lest it beat its way out of her chest.
‘The bastards came across her as she fled. We were able to get her back. She suffered from the cold, but she was alive and uninjured.’
‘What did they do to her?’ she demanded to know more, but Lady Gwendolyn’s gentle hand on her arm silenced her.
Henrik appeared regretful as he said, ‘I do not know more. I was sent here when Rolfe took her north.’
His knowledge was woefully inadequate. He continued to talk to Lady Gwendolyn with details of the skirmish, but Ellan didn’t hear them. What precisely had happened during Elswyth’s time with the Scots? Had she been ravished by the beasts? Ellan’s mind raced with so many awful possibilities that she nearly fell to her knees.
‘I have to go to her.’ Realising that she had addressed the messenger, she turned to Lady Gwendolyn. ‘I must go to her. She needs me.’
To her surprise the messenger stepped forward. ‘Actually, Lord Vidar requested your presence in Banford.’
‘That’s madness.’ Lady Gwendolyn intervened. ‘Ellan can’t leave with the Scots about.’
‘I’m sorry, Lady, but it’s his order. There should be no Scots now. It seems that Godric and Galan have disappeared.’ He fell silent and didn’t say what they all were thinking—that her father and brother must have had something to do with the Scots’ presence on Alvey lands. Their disappearance was suspicious.
Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘Ellan knows nothing of their disappearance.’
Henrik shrugged, looking sheepish. ‘Nevertheless—’
‘It’s fine, Lady Gwendolyn,’ Ellan said. ‘I’ll go and answer his questions. I need to see Elswyth for myself anyway to make certain she is...’ She had meant to say well, but how could one be well after a kidnapping?
Lady Gwendolyn nodded in understanding and put her arm around her. ‘Of course.’
* * *
Ellan left with the contingent of warriors for Banford early the next morning. They took one of the smaller boats that she learned was called a karvi. She was surprised that it was smaller than the other ships the Danes owned. It seemed plenty large to her with around a dozen benches. However, she had never even been on a fishing boat before, so she distrusted the thing.
Henrik held her arm to help her to board. Her knees knocked together after she stepped aboard and felt the sway of the water beneath her.
‘You’ll be fine.’ He smiled in reassurance and she was happy to see that it was a genuine smile and not one born of contempt at her inexperience. ‘Sit here near the middle.’
She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the middle of the ship where she took a seat as the other men practically vaulted over the sides as if they had been born to the vessel. The dozen men took their places both on the benches in front of her and behind her. Two of Lady Gwendolyn’s warriors walked out into the water behind the longship, using their great strength to push them off. The boat glided on the surface of the river and then took off with a jolt as the men took hold of their oars and plunged the paddled ends into the murky water. Her stomach tumbled at the unfamiliar sensation of floating. Tilting her face up to the morning sun, she closed her eyes and imagined this was what a bird must feel when she flew. It was very freeing to have the cool air caressing her cheeks as she floated along with the rhythmic sounds of the oars cutting through the water, taking them closer to Banford with each stroke.
A snickering at her side brought her quickly back down to land. Opening her eyes, she glared at the source. Henrik had taken the seat beside her at mid-ship, the morning sun giving his hair a burnished halo.
‘It wasn’t my intention to disturb you.’ He gave her a crooked grin and it appeared to be friendly rather than impudent.
She nodded and decided to humour him. ‘’Tis my first time on a boat,’ she said, pulling the fur cloak Lady Gwendolyn had loaned her tighter about her shoulders.
‘I can tell. Let me help you. Look.’ He slapped his own shoulder and indicated that she should look at his back. ‘You’re sitting too stiffly. You’ll be sore by midday.’ He softened his shoulders a bit and his back bowed very slightly. ‘If you relax, you can allow yourself to drift with the river and its turns instead of fighting them.’
He was probably making too much of her posture, but placating him wouldn’t cost her anything, so she modelled his pose. Her hips immediately seemed to sink down a bit, making it easier to sway with the motion of the water. ‘It does help. Thank you.’
‘My name is Henrik.’ He smiled again.
‘Aye, I know. You’re one of Aevir’s men. Thank you, Henrik.’
The warrior was wide of shoulder with muscular arms, though he was a bit on the thin side, without the filled-out frame Aevir possessed, probably due to his youth. His nose was well formed and his mouth seemed to perpetually curve in a grin. His eyes were blue with specks of brown and perhaps set a smidge too far apart on his face, but he was still handsome. His beard was short and well kept, except it hadn’t filled in well yet. She gave him what she hoped passed for a smile, though she was still too concerned about Elswyth to feel much joy.
A flicker of interest appeared in his eyes, and his chest puffed out the slightest bit. ‘You’ve noticed me.’
She flushed. It was Aevir she had been busy noticing. She had seen Henrik many times sitting with Aevir or on the sparring field at his side. ‘I...I notice all the newcomers—’
He chuckled and said, ‘I’m only teasing you. I shouldn’t when you’re concerned for your sister.’
She nodded, but couldn’t resist her continued study of the man. No other Dane had been so friendly with her. He couldn’t be more than twenty winters. How old was Aevir, for that matter? Much to her consternation, her mind was able to instantly conjure up a perfect image of Aevir...just as it had every night as she lay in bed trying not to think of him. His face spoke of experience and a hint of bitter knowledge, but he wasn’t old. Perhaps twenty and five or so. Did five years make such a difference in a man? In many ways, Henrik was his complete opposite.
Henrik glanced back down at her and she dropped her gaze, lest she give encouragement to him.
‘Aevir has been kind to take me under his command.’
Realising that this might be an excellent opportunity to learn more about the Danes, as well as to keep her thoughts occupied so she didn’t worry constantly about Elswyth, she forced herself to talk to him and found that he was rather pleasant. Unlike some of the rowdier Danes, he seemed mellow and was easy to converse with. He wasn’t arrogant, though he didn’t mind boasting about the occasional battle, and he was quick to ask her questions about her own life. The conversation flowed so smoothly that it was afternoon before she knew it.
The warriors rowed the ship towards the
muddy bank until one of the men in front jumped out to splash through the shallow water near the shore. He held a lead line and pulled them until the bottom of the ship jolted across the sandy bottom.
‘We are to take a break,’ Henrik responded to her questioning look. He blushed charmingly as he stood and gently took hold of her elbow to guide her over to the side of the ship. All of the other men seemed to be looking at her strangely. Henrik jumped over the side and took hold of her waist, turning neatly to place her on the shore so that she didn’t get her clothing wet. When she stood mutely wondering at the strange tinge of colour high on his cheeks, the pink turned to red. ‘You can...’ he gestured towards a copse of trees ‘...see to your needs.’
Her eyes widened as she finally understood that this stop was for her. Most of the other men had stayed in the boat. It was her turn to blush when she realised that they wouldn’t need to leave it to relieve themselves. She was probably the sole reason they had stopped. Turning blindly in embarrassment, she hurried to the thicket of trees and made certain that she was well hidden before seeing to her personal needs.
When she was nearly finished, a loud shout interrupted her and made her heart practically leap into her throat. It was a man, but the voice sounded too far away to be from one of the warriors accompanying her. A flurry of activity came from the vicinity of the ship as warriors came to their feet, their boots scraping across the wooden bottom. Ellan hurried to arrange her skirt, her breath coming in short gasps as she braced herself for some sort of attack.
Uncertainty churned in her stomach as she peeked around the tree. A second longship was approaching, coming from upstream, the direction their boat had been heading. This one seemed a bit bigger than the karvi. It was filled with Danes and at least a few Saxon warriors sprinkled in the mix. The man who stood in front was dressed in leathers and chainmail, not the everyday tunics and wool of the men who accompanied her. He was dressed for battle.
He called out again in the Norse tongue and Henrik called back. They spoke some sort of greeting, but there was a sense of urgency in the exchange. The men in the longship had paused in their rowing, but no one made as if they were preparing to disembark. Instead, the leader—a man she recognised as one of Lord Vidar’s trusted men now that they were closer—held his hands cupped around his mouth and called out. Her Norse wasn’t yet conversational, but she understood from the exchange that there had been a battle. Banford had been attacked. There had been casualties. A flurry of back and forth followed, but it was too fast and she couldn’t keep up.
She hurried forward, her feet slipping and sliding down the muddy embankment in her hurry to get to Henrik. He glanced her way in acknowledgment, but was intent on listening to the warrior on the ship. He called out one last time as the men picked up their oars and began to row, obviously in a hurry to get to Alvey. She recognised it as the customary send-off the Danes gave one another. Something about having favourable wind.
‘Please, ask him about Elswyth,’ she urged. ‘Is she hurt?’
Henrik shook his head. Had they known each other better, she had the feeling he would have reached out and touched her shoulder, perhaps even embraced her. Instead, he looked at her with calm and understanding eyes. ‘Your sister is well and uninjured. The casualties were warriors and several Banford men.’
Now that she was assured of Elswyth’s safety, her thoughts turned to Aevir. ‘Casualties?’
He nodded. ‘A handful of warriors were killed and there are several injured.’
Henrik held his shoulders stiffly and there was a strange murmuring going on with the warriors in the ship that she’d been too concerned with Elswyth’s fate to notice a moment ago. It was now that she discerned Henrik’s tight jaw.
‘There’s more. What is it?’ she asked, placing her hand on his forearm.
‘It’s Aevir. He’s been gravely injured.’
‘How injured? What happened to him?’
He shook his head. ‘A gouge on his leg, a head wound, possibly more.’
The world could have tipped out from under her and she wouldn’t have noticed. Aevir’s final words came back to her.
‘I vow to you that I will find your sister. I will bring her home.’
Had she done this? Had he been injured because of his promise to her? What if he didn’t survive? The pain of that thought was too much to contemplate.
To Henrik she said, ‘We have to hurry.’ She needed to see for herself the extent of his injuries.
* * *
The rest of the trip passed in a blur of anxiety for Ellan. Henrik pressed food into her hands, but she didn’t taste it. She kept imagining Aevir lying on the ground, in pain and needing help. Of course he was receiving help from the other Danes and he was probably in better hands than she could provide. Her only experience of nursing was in aiding her siblings through common ailments. The worst injury she had faced was the time she and Elswyth had wrapped Galan’s broken foot. She kept telling herself this, but it did nothing to ease her worry or the incomprehensible feeling that he needed her.
They were forced to stop for a few hours of rest that night. Low clouds had completely obliterated the sliver of the moon, making it too dark to see so that Henrik declared it too unsafe to continue. Ellan bedded down in the bottom of the boat, wrapped in the fur cloak Lady Gwendolyn had loaned her. There was some leftover snow on the ground but, thankfully, it wasn’t actively snowing. Henrik produced another fur from a trunk in the back of the ship and gently draped it over her. She murmured her thanks, but when it did little to make her warm, she began to suspect that the chill she felt came from within.
She didn’t know why Aevir had become so important to her. She only knew that it would be a great tragedy if he was taken from her world.
Chapter Five
Aevir awoke to the morning of his wedding. His heart leapt in joy and anticipation as he recognised the beginning of the familiar dream. It was one of his favourites, but one he rarely had any more. The sky had been grey for the last few days, but on this day Thor had seen fit to grant them blue skies and a warm wind from the south. A good omen. Aevir murmured a vow of thanks and grinned as it echoed across the valley floor and up the snow-covered peak in the distance.
Hands came from nowhere, patting his back, ruffling his hair as his friends teased him about the coming wedding. He’d known them as a boy, so he accepted the taunts as his due as they all set off across the vale to claim his bride. Though the dream was as vivid as if he were there, he found himself marvelling at how real the thigh-high grasses felt tickling his palm. His dream had never been this intense before, or had it? If this was how the grass felt, perhaps he could feel Sefa again, too. He started running, anxious to reach her.
The group arrived in Sefa’s village almost instantly, another indication that he was dreaming. Melancholy threatened to accompany the thought, but he pushed it aside, content to live in his dream. Though his bride had warned him of the superstition in her village that required the bride to hide from the groom until the ceremony, he was unprepared for the wait. He wanted to see her, to reassure himself that she was as happy to see him as he was to see her. Instead, he was thwarted by her family. It was his duty to meet her extended relatives and face the unasked question burning in their eyes.
How was he—the son of a slave and unacknowledged bastard—deserving of a woman as fair and decent as Sefa? It didn’t matter that he had worked tirelessly since being granted his freedom. That he had earned the coin necessary to pay her bride price. Or even that he had enough left over to provide a small home for her. Deep down where it counted, he still felt unworthy of her, the youngest daughter of a farmer.
His anxiety stayed with him until the moment she appeared at dusk. This was a dream, so she floated over the ground, the air streaming out behind her in rivulets as if she were moving through water. Everyone parted for her and when she was close enough that he could read
the joy in her eyes, his unease vanished. The feeling of well-being that was always present between them took its place. His eyes drifted closed as he allowed himself a moment to soak in her presence. He was attuned to her in a way that went beyond vision, beyond words.
Her familiar scent greeted him and he opened his eyes to her smile and her light brown eyes staring into his. ‘Are you ready?’ she whispered.
‘Aye.’ He’d never been as ready for anything as he was ready to become her husband.
Slowly, he reached for her. Dreams of the past had ended at this exact moment, with him never touching her, always denied the feel of her warm skin against his palm. He hoped that this time would be different, that this time she would feel real for him. He decided that if he could touch her and have her be whole, then he would live here with her for ever in his dreams.
The fingertips of each hand brushed her cheeks. Her smile widened and she moved closer to him. Her palm pressed against his chest and he gasped at the cold sensation that jolted through his entire body. Disbelieving that what he felt could be real, he looked down to see that while her hand looked as it should, it was as frigid as a block of ice. Freezing cold followed the path of her hand as it moved over his torso. Tilting her face to the side, she leaned forward for a kiss. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and her skin might as well have been carved from ice. He cried out with the pain of touching something so cold with his bare skin.
Her brow furrowed and she said, ‘Aevir, kiss me. Please?’
He tried. By the gods, he tried, but he couldn’t seem to bridge the short distance between them. He gritted his teeth through the bite of the cold and tried again. Though there was nothing between them, the air itself seemed to defy his efforts, keeping him from her.
‘Sefa!’
She shook her head and laughed softly, blonde hair spilling over her forehead and around his hands. The golden strands should have tickled, but he felt nothing but the cold. ‘Stop teasing me.’ She giggled.
Longing for Her Forbidden Viking Page 5
