Longing for Her Forbidden Viking

by Harper St. George

  ‘He was kind to me. I’d simply like to repay the favour.’

  Lord Vidar nodded, but his gaze searched her face as if trying to uncover her true intention. ‘While you’re here I ask that you stay close to your home. No going into the wood or the village without an escort. I’ll have a man stationed at your door at all times for your safety.’

  For her safety, or because there was suspicion hovering over her family? Her stomach churned in uncertainty.

  ‘I’ll see to the watch, Jarl, if it pleases you.’ Henrik surprised her by speaking over her shoulder. She hadn’t realised that he’d followed her across the room. ‘I’ll have a man there at all times.’

  She glanced over at him in gratitude, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he anticipated more than friendship growing between them.

  ‘I assume you’ve heard that your father and brothers are missing?’ Lord Vidar’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘Aye, and I assure you that I have no idea where they have gone.’

  ‘Many of us suspect that Godric has gone to join the Scots. A few insist that he’s loyal to Alvey.’ He inclined his head in the direction of the village elders, who all watched her with the same disapproving expression her father so often wore. ‘The fact is that we cannot know until we find them. The only thing we do know is that aside from Elswyth, and Rolfe who spoke with them the morning of their disappearance at Alvey, you were the last to speak with them. What did you talk about?’

  She took in a deep breath as all the air in the room seemed to be centred around her. She tried not to flinch under the pressure and made certain that her shoulders were straight as she stood tall. Making her voice strong and clear, she gave an abbreviated account of their conversation. At the last moment, she decided not to mention the potential betrothal in the hopes that it wouldn’t come to pass. She wasn’t even entirely certain Father hadn’t been bluffing. She ended with Father’s insistence that she leave with him the next morning. ‘I feared that he wouldn’t allow me to return to Alvey, so I told him that Lady Gwendolyn had gifted me with a golden bracelet that I needed to retrieve. It was only then that he let me go with the promise that we would leave in the morning. The next day he was gone.’

  Lord Vidar stared at her without speaking, giving her the sinking feeling that he knew there was a part she’d left out. ‘He mentioned nothing to you about the Scots?’

  ‘Nay, my lord. I’m afraid he’s never held me in high regard, so I’m certain he would never tell me anything that might incriminate him.’ It was true. Father had ever only spoken to her to issue orders.

  The elders shifted on their benches. Having them here was like being interrogated in front of her father. Most of them were friends of his. There was no doubt that they knew more about his communication with the Scots than she knew.

  ‘Wait a moment if you will, my lord.’ Desmond, Banford’s leader, rose to his feet and walked towards her. He was older, with thin white hair, and he walked as if one leg was a smidge shorter than the other.

  She couldn’t help but shift from foot to foot as he gave her the same disapproving look he’d given her when he’d found her playing dice with his son. She and the boy had each only been ten winters of age, but Desmond had looked upon her as if she’d been determined to lead his son down the path of debauchery. The stain of her mother’s actions had painted her as objectionable even as a child. She had to force herself to hold his gaze, but the action only made his scowl deepen as his bloodshot eyes looked into hers.

  ‘This woman is withholding information.’

  How did he know? Her gaze darted to Lord Vidar whose expression had gone from acceptance to suspicion. ‘What do you mean, Desmond?’

  The older man looked very pleased with himself when he said, ‘Her father told her—’

  Afraid that she might lose all credibility if she wasn’t completely honest, she hurried to intervene. ‘Father told me that he had arranged my betrothal with a Saxon. He didn’t give me a name and I didn’t think my potential betrothal was pertinent to the issue at hand.’

  ‘Everything is pertinent.’ Lord Vidar’s words were clipped and sharp.

  Unable to meet his gaze, she stared at the floor. ‘Of course, Lord. Forgive me.’ Her heart beat in her chest like the wings of a crazed butterfly.

  Turning his astute gaze to Desmond, he asked the one question she was burning to know the answer to. ‘How do you know her father spoke to her about this?’

  For once, Desmond did not look smug. ‘I didn’t, but I suspected as I had helped him arrange the betrothal. Her father may not be here to see to it that the contract is carried out, so I must step in and see it done.’

  Ellan opened and closed her mouth several times as her racing thoughts tried to make sense of what was happening. ‘I’m not certain it was an official betrothal.’

  Desmond scoffed, ‘It was an official betrothal. Ask Tolan of Stapleham. I’m certain he’ll remember speaking with Godric.’

  The village sounded familiar. If she wasn’t mistaken it was in Alvey’s southern lands. ‘Tolan? Is that the man Father wanted me to marry?’

  He nodded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. ‘He’s a prominent man in Stapleham and a distant relation.’

  A vision of Tolan as some version of Desmond passed through her mind, same thinning white hair and yellow teeth, and she had to work hard to suppress a shudder. She turned to Lord Vidar with what had to be sheer desperation on her face. ‘I never agreed to a betrothal. In fact, I’m interested in marrying someone else. A Dane.’ She said this in her sternest voice and smiled in satisfaction when Desmond’s eyes bulged. While marriages between Saxons and Danes were encouraged by Lord Vidar and Lady Gwendolyn, many of the village elders were having difficulty accepting that a Saxon woman might choose a Dane.

  ‘You will marry a Saxon as your father intended, girl,’ Desmond said.

  He stepped forward threateningly, but Lord Vidar intervened. ‘Enough. Who is this Dane, Ellan?’

  Her lips trembled as she searched for a suitable reply. She hadn’t meant any Dane in particular, except perhaps Aevir, but he himself had already told her that he wouldn’t marry her. Giving his name now would get her nowhere. Lord Vidar’s mouth drew into a straight line as he tired of waiting for her reply and his brow furrowed.

  Desmond’s voice rose. ‘The girl has already been betrothed to Tolan. She cannot move forward with any sort of involvement with any Dane, regardless of who he is.’

  Lord Vidar raised his hand for quiet and addressed the elder. ‘Do you know if any monies exchanged hands? Was there a bride price paid to her father or a dowry of some sort?’

  Desmond shrugged. ‘I have no knowledge of the particulars, Lord.’

  ‘Without Godric, we cannot simply assume the betrothal is legitimate. This Tolan will have to speak for himself.’

  Panic compelled her to say, ‘But... Lord...please, I would marry a Dane, not this Saxon man I’ve never met. Wouldn’t marriage to a Dane be better for peace?’ Elswyth had married Rolfe for that very reason. ‘Don’t you want marriages between Saxons and Danes?’ She only barely managed to keep from throwing herself at Lord Vidar’s feet as she pleaded.

  Lord Vidar gave her a nod and his expression softened. ‘If there is indeed a Dane you favour, bring him to me. Let him plead his side and we will proceed from there.’

  Desmond sniffed in rebuke. Ignoring him, she nodded her thanks, her hand moving to press against her heart to keep it from jumping out of her chest. Turning on her heels, she fled the hall with Henrik behind her. The only thing that mattered at the moment was getting Aevir well. She would have time enough in the coming days to figure out a way to avoid this marriage.

  Chapter Seven

  Aevir opened his eyes to one of the loveliest visions he’d ever seen in his life. Ellan sat before the hearth with her hair unbound. The thick,
dark mass fell down to her waist where it curled slightly at the ends. Firelight picked up gold and red in the silky strands. This was obviously supposed to be a private moment. She only wore her linen underdress, a coarse and unbleached garment, with lacing at the neckline. Those laces were undone so that it dropped down off her shoulders, revealing the creamy expanse of her chest. The peaks of her breasts were dangerously close to being exposed.

  When she turned to the side and dipped the cloth in her hand into a bucket of water hanging over the fire, he realised that she was bathing herself and that he should probably let her know that he was awake. He opened his mouth to do that, but fell silent when he noticed that the skirt of the underdress was pulled up to her thighs. Long shapely legs with slim ankles and delicate feet were revealed to him. He wanted to run his palms along their length and feel her silky skin. He imagined hooking his hands in the soft spot behind her knees to spread her wide. There was a shadowed space between her thighs that he longed to have bared to his gaze. An unexpected tightness spread through his groin in response to the thought.

  The fire hissed as she withdrew the cloth and drops of water sloshed over the side. Her slender hands wrung it out and brought it to her chest. A sound he didn’t recognise escaped him as she tugged the underdress down further, exposing the lovely mounds of her breasts. They were smallish and set high on her chest, the dusky tips taut as she stroked them with the cloth. His mouth watered as he imagined her taking her nipples between her thumb and forefinger and squeezing gently like he wanted to do. Would she cry out? He wanted to be there kneeling before her, one hand on her breast, the other between her thighs. His mouth somewhere in between. The pulsing ache in his manhood made him clench his fists in the bedding.

  He made a strangled sound of longing and closed his eyes against the temptation she presented. Physically he wasn’t able to act on his urges. Each surge of primal heat that coursed through his body brought with it a pulsation of pain. But it was more than his injuries keeping him away from her. Duty and her own rejection each played a significant part.

  ‘Aevir!’ She must have heard him. Her voice was filled with alarm as she shuffled around in the main room.

  He imagined her setting her dress to rights and tossing the cloth into the bucket. There was a scuffling as she put her feet into her shoes before her hurried steps carried her to his side in the alcove. He had awakened to her face countless times. Each time she would press a drink to his parched lips, or draw a cool cloth across his face. Once he’d awakened to see the back of her head as she worked to change the bandage on his leg. The pain had been intense, but all he could think was that the back of her head was nearly as pretty as the front of it.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ She stared down at him with wide eyes.

  He nearly laughed at her question. ‘Everything hurts.’

  His head pounded, his left shoulder ached, his back felt stiff and sore, his bandaged thigh burned like it was on fire, an ankle felt swollen, and somehow amid all that misery his shaft was able to throb with his need for her. And, of course, he was naked beneath the blanket which only worked to encourage the appendage.

  ‘I have more ale for you.’ She reached for the familiar pitcher on the table beside the bed, but he touched her wrist to stop her.

  ‘Nay, no more ale.’ His tongue was swollen and awkward in his mouth as he spoke. ‘I already feel as if I have cobwebs for brains.’

  She gave him a reluctant nod and reached out to touch his forehead with cool fingers. ‘The fever passed early this morning, and so far it doesn’t seem to be coming back. I’ll get you some water.’

  She made to move away, but his question gave her pause. ‘How long have I been here?’

  ‘The battle was three days ago. By the time I arrived, you were burning up and writhing in your sleep. We would’ve tied you down, but I was afraid to injure your shoulder even more.’

  He glanced down at the linen tied over his chest that held his left arm cradled against his torso. It was the one she said had been dislocated. Thankfully he’d been unconscious when it had been reset. ‘Where am I?’ he asked as he tried to push himself up with his uninjured arm.

  She was quick to take her place beside him on the bed and give him support as he moved. The position caused her soft breasts to press against his arm. He closed his eyes as he remembered what they looked like uncovered. Creamy with pink tips. Clearing his throat to snap himself out of the memory, he tried to jerk away from her, but the motion made him sway.

  ‘Steady,’ she urged in a calm voice. ‘You’re not recovered yet.’ She shoved a rolled-up blanket behind him and put a down-stuffed cushion behind his head so that he could relax in this new position.

  ‘Water?’ he asked, trying and failing not to look down the front of her underdress where it gaped open as she leaned over him. She had tied the laces before coming to him, but it still hung open enough to give him a glimpse of her soft flesh.

  She hurried into the main room, giving him just enough time to make certain that what remained of his erection was hidden with a blanket before she came back with a cup of water. He drank the whole thing eagerly and handed it back to her.

  ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t want to enjoy her attention, but he couldn’t deny that as she pushed the hair back that had fallen over his forehead his whole body wanted to stretch towards that touch.

  Daylight streamed in through somewhere in the main room, but it failed to reach his small alcove. Ellan or someone had brought in a candle tree since he’d last awakened, but of the three tapers only one of them was lit. It was enough to allow him a view of her face and to illuminate the green colour of her eyes. She smiled at him and for the first time he noticed that an eye tooth sat slightly out of alignment. Somehow it lent her smile that mischievous look that he loved about her. It gave her a character that made her beauty more warm than cold. More seductive than she already was.

  ‘Why am I here?’ Disgusted by his own inability to stop thinking of her in that way, his voice came out gruffer than he intended. Her eyes widened in surprise, so he added in a more reasonable tone, ‘After the battle, I remember they took me to my mat.’

  ‘I made them move you here. You’re in my home so I can look after you.’

  He stiffened. ‘Godric’s home? You brought me to Godric’s?’

  She shook her head and pressed her fingers to his uninjured shoulder to keep him from getting up. He tried not to acknowledge her touch on his bare skin. ‘My home. Father still hasn’t been found. This is the bed Elswyth and I shared growing up.’ It was little more than a wooden platform slightly raised off the floor with a straw-filled mattress. ‘Now, promise not to move so that I can go and get you some food. You haven’t eaten in days.’

  Despite how long he’d been lying in bed, he was forced to admit that he hadn’t the strength to move anywhere. Even the reluctant nod he gave her made him dizzy. She hurried back to the hearth in the centre of the main room and ladled out some broth from the pot bubbling over the fire, then reached back in with the large spoon to select a few pieces of meat. He wasn’t very hungry, but she was right. He needed to get out of here and to do that he needed food to regain his strength. When she returned and sat beside him again, he realised that she intended to feed him.

  ‘I can feed myself.’ He was beginning to feel like a favoured pet of hers.

  She shook her head, a knowing smirk on her face when she said, ‘While you’re here I get to take care of you.’

  The night before leaving Alvey he had both turned down her marriage proposal and offered to take her as his concubine. An offer she had soundly rejected. He had then proceeded to question her and all but accuse her of spying. Why would she now be so invested in his recovery? ‘Why?’

  She held a spoonful of the broth up to his lips while wearing a mulish expression. Sighing inwardly at this sign of her stubborn nature, he opened his mouth and took the b
ite she offered. His effort was rewarded with a brilliant smile.

  ‘Does it really matter why?’ she asked. ‘You should be glad that I’ve made it my task to see you recovered. When I arrived no one was at your side.’

  He knew what she meant. Before the fever had set in, he had a memory of barking orders to his men to leave him alone. In hindsight it probably wasn’t the best decision. Swallowing his pride, he said, ‘I am thankful. Thank you for helping me, Ellan.’

  To his surprise, she blushed prettily and ducked her head to fish out a piece of lamb with the spoon. He wanted to ask her if she remembered the moments before he had left Alvey when she had pleaded with him to find her sister. Did she remember how she had come into his arms? She probably did not. She had been so distraught he could have been anyone that morning. She would have pleaded with a stranger to return Elswyth to her.

  When she offered the meat, he ate it before asking, ‘Are you helping me because you plan to make a search of my men for a husband? You want my recommendation?’ Some perverse need to drive her away made him ask the question.

  She paused to stare at him. ‘What?’ Her lips curved down in disappointment as she busied herself unnecessarily with sorting the meat in his soup, taking each piece with the spoon and shoving it to the side of the shallow bowl. ‘This has nothing to do with that. I simply felt responsible for your condition.’

  ‘How would you be responsible? Were you secretly among the Scots who attacked?’

  She shook her head at his attempt at levity. ‘I made you promise to find Elswyth and bring her back. I thought that perhaps...’ She wouldn’t meet his eyes.