Longing for Her Forbidden Viking

by Harper St. George

  He’d been younger than Henrik when he’d wed Sefa. ‘I was a fisherman then, not a warrior.’

  Jarl Vidar stared at him, appearing to not believe his reasoning. Finally, he said, ‘You may not have a say, but your resistance to the idea has been heard.’

  Aevir couldn’t even begin to comprehend the rush of emotions moving through him. The very idea of Henrik with Ellan set his teeth on edge. In fact, it was the idea of her with anyone else who wasn’t him. Instead of commenting, he changed the subject completely. ‘I’ll be in the hall for the evening meal.’

  ‘Nay, not tonight. You’re improved, but I need your arm for the potential battle next week. Your orders are to rest. I’ll send a hearty meal over for you. No more pottage and stews. You can join the men in the hall in a few days.’

  ‘Nay! I must leave here.’ The words were out before he’d even thought about what he was saying. He had to get away from Ellan before she took away even more of his sanity.

  Jarl Vidar turned and fixed him with a speculative stare. No doubt he was trying to determine the source of Aevir’s desperation. He didn’t have to wonder long, because Ellan walked right into the alcove, summoned by his raised voice.

  She stopped, seeming startled at the quiet that had descended. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Jarl Vidar raised a knowing brow, but he seemed to be waiting for Aevir to explain.

  ‘I was telling the Jarl that I need to leave, to be moved back to my own bed,’ Aevir said.

  Her face seemed to pale and when she smiled it was forced and didn’t reach her eyes. ‘You’re not well enough to move. You can’t abandon me yet.’

  The way she said those words—that word—tore at him. Despite the fact that he had only stolen a kiss and rudely propositioned her, she found some comfort from him. He had known it the night of Elswyth’s departure in Alvey and he had felt it earlier when she had tended his wound. He didn’t understand it, but that same feeling tugged at him, which is why he was so desperate to flee her. He didn’t want to feel that close to anyone again and hadn’t thought himself capable of it until now. Until her.

  But as he stared into the fathomless depths of her green eyes, he found that he could not leave her. He could not abandon her when something as minor as his presence could bring her comfort. So against his better judgement and, indeed, his sanity, he said, ‘Nay, not yet.’

  A smile lit her eyes and she nodded before turning on her heel to leave him with the Jarl, who smiled his own knowing grin. ‘She will remain untouched or you will answer to me. We will discuss your punishment after you’re well.’

  Aevir gave a curt nod and the man left.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellan awoke that night to a sound that caused fear to bloom in her chest. Aevir was groaning in pain. The noise was so reminiscent of the nights he’d battled the fever that she was certain it had returned. Heart in her throat, she rushed from her pallet to the alcove. He sat up in bed, clutching at his leg as he breathed through his teeth in a harsh rhythm. The blanket had been tossed back and there was enough firelight licking through the shadows for her to see that his calf muscle had seized up, forming a painful-looking knot beneath his skin. Galan had once had a similar thing happen when he’d broken his foot and had been off it for days.

  ‘Let me help you.’ She hurried to his side and fell to her knees. He didn’t release the calf or even look at her, his eyes were scrunched tight as he battled the pain. ‘The muscle has seized. From disuse, I think. I saw it once with Galan. I can knead it to make it ease.’

  Without waiting for him to respond, she joined him in squeezing the solid muscle. It was as hard as the root of a tree and just as inflexible. She searched her memory for what they had done for Galan and remembered rotating his foot around, so she switched positions and sat on the bed, bringing his foot into her lap. With one hand on his toes and the other at his ankle, she pushed back, putting pressure on the calf muscle which helped it to elongate. He sighed in relief and used his thumbs to ease along each side of his calf. As she completed the rotation, the muscle started to seize again until the repeated pressure made it ease off a bit. For the next several moments she continued the movement and each time the muscle seemed to calm a little bit more until he finally laid back. Sweat beaded on his brow as if he’d been sparring.

  ‘Thank you.’ His voice was little more than a deep breath of air.

  She nodded and continued to rotate his foot and apply pressure. When it seemed as if the muscle had stopped seizing, she moved her hands up each side of his ankle to gently knead the tired calf muscle. He groaned in appreciation. Satisfied the muscle would stay lax, she ran her palms up to his thigh and then back down again, giving his entire leg much-needed attention. One of his men had delivered clothing earlier in the day, so he wore an undershirt made of thin wool that dropped to his thighs. Because of his leg wound and bandage, he still wasn’t able to wear trousers without altering them, so her skin touched his and the hairs on his leg teased her palms.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that she was touching a finely formed leg, with ropes of muscle and golden skin. She didn’t dwell on that, however. He didn’t need her ogling him now or ever, really. He had more than made his feelings clear to her.

  After a time, she became aware of the growing silence in the room. Elswyth had slept through the drama and Aevir’s breathing had returned to normal. She spared him a glance, only to find that his intense stare was on her face. His eyes were heavy-lidded, but not because he was tired. Her gaze darted back down to his thigh, suddenly unable to forget that she touched him.

  ‘What answer have you given Henrik?’ he asked.

  Her hands faltered in their kneading. She hadn’t been entirely certain he had heard that part of their conversation since he hadn’t commented on it. Why did he care? Curiosity gnawed at her, but pride made her stiffen her shoulders. ‘How is that any of your concern?’

  He was silent, but only so he could draw in a breath through his teeth. ‘He is my warrior.’

  Of course. His interest had nothing to do with her. ‘Then you can ask him.’ Her fingers made temporary white streaks in his skin as she pressed inward, trailing her fingertips into his tight muscle.

  ‘I’m asking you.’ His voice was full of authority and it rankled her.

  ‘And I’m not answering you. You have no authority over me.’

  He let out what she was certain was a curse in his language. She had heard men use that particular phrase after banging a finger or losing a particularly rousing sparring session. No one had translated it for her, but it was generally said with such force that it didn’t need explanation.

  ‘Ellan...’ He said her name as if she were the most infuriating creature he’d ever come across. It made her smile to think that, because he was rather infuriating to her, too.

  First, he tried to pretend there was nothing between them, but then he so sweetly asked her things about herself that no one ever had before. She still couldn’t believe that she had spoken so much about Mother to him and he had listened as if he genuinely cared and was interested.

  ‘Answer me. Do you intend to marry Henrik?’

  ‘Why does it matter to you?’ her vanity made her ask. Deep in some unexplored corner of her heart she wanted him to be jealous. She wanted to hear him say that he had made a mistake, that he would marry her, that he was sorry for ever refusing her. Oh, why was she still so foolish when it came to him? Her frustration made her dig her fingertips into his flesh just a little bit too hard, but he didn’t flinch which only made her more frustrated.

  ‘I want to see you happy.’ His face was disgruntled, as if he wanted to see her anything but happy.

  ‘Then you’re asking so you can give me your blessing to marry Henrik?’

  ‘Nay, I didn’t say that.’

  She paused in her kneading to meet his gaze. �
��Why ever not? You want me to be happy. Henrik has promised to make me happy.’

  He snorted. ‘Henrik is a baby. He’s too young for you.’

  ‘He is not too young, but it hardly matters. I’m certain he’ll be a better choice than Tolan.’

  He visibly bristled. His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. If it was possible, the hair on his head prickled like a mongrel sensing danger. ‘Tolan is the Saxon?’

  ‘Aye, have you heard of him?’

  He shook his head and silence fell between them again. As she worked, her agitation with him became more insistent. How dare he ask her such personal questions when he hadn’t bothered to give her anything of himself?

  ‘Do you care for Henrik?’ His voice was lower than before, giving her the impression that he hadn’t wanted to ask her, but perhaps he hadn’t been able to hold himself back.

  ‘He has become a friend.’

  ‘A friend like me?’

  She met his gaze again and this time she could not look away. Why was he playing this game? He pushed her away and then said things that made her think he wanted her. She was inexperienced in the ways of men, but she thought he wanted more than her favours for an evening. The way he looked at her made her feel—

  Unable to take it any more, she asked, ‘Why are you doing this? Why ask me these questions about my family and Henrik?’ Aware that her voice could wake Elswyth, she lowered it. ‘You’ve made your wishes about marrying me known and I cannot be your concubine. What else is there?’

  A look of pain might have crossed his face, but it was too dark to tell.

  When he didn’t seem inclined to answer, she said, ‘I think you like me more than you want to admit.’ Her heart pounding in her ears, she added, ‘I think you want—’

  ‘I’m to be married, Ellan.’ A dead silence followed that announcement. Even her heartbeat seemed to pause.

  An ache rose in her chest and a distinct pressure built behind her eyes. It was ridiculous and unwarranted, but there it was. ‘Who is she?’

  Did he love her? Had he shared a kiss with her?

  ‘Actually, I’m uncertain. A woman from south of Alvey.’

  A Saxon, then.

  ‘You don’t know her name?’

  ‘Jarl Vidar mentioned it, but I’ve forgotten.’

  Ellan swallowed over the growing lump in her throat. He was refusing her, but accepting this Saxon. A hot flare of pain threatened to engulf her. She clenched her teeth to tamp it down. When she had finally got control, she said, ‘Why?’ The single word was all she could muster. To say more would reveal far too much.

  ‘Why does anyone marry? For power. Wealth. Status.’

  Love. She wanted to scream that at him, but she had her pride. It had been sorely missing where he was concerned, but she had found it now and wore it like armour. ‘I didn’t realise those things were so important to you. I thought you already had wealth.’

  ‘Aye. It’s the status that intrigues me.’

  ‘Because you were born to a slave and were denied your father’s acknowledgement.’

  He stared at her with almost the exact same expression she was giving him. ‘Aye, that’s part of it,’ he whispered. ‘But it’s more than that. When you are lowborn, it’s as if people can see the tinge of that when they look at you. There is no respect, no honour given or acknowledged. My mother wore that burden every day. Even when my father came to her at night and shamed her, she held her head high. Do you think it mattered to everyone else? Nay. They still looked at her with contempt. As if she were to blame for her own shame. As if her very birth had tainted her in some way. She was beautiful, but that beauty was only fodder for their disdain.

  ‘There was a time when...’ He looked away, his face hidden in the shadows. His pain rolled off him in waves so strong that she was compelled to reach for him. Her hand fell on his arm and it was as if the touch jolted him back to her. ‘I feel shame for this every day of my life, but there was a time in my youth when I looked down on her, too. I thought if she would only fight more, or negotiate, or have done something to show them how wise and good I knew her to be that things would change. I was the fool. There was nothing she could do to change her station. Her own birth had made her a slave, just as mine had. It didn’t matter that she was the wisest person I’ve ever known.’

  He shook his head at some bitter memory. Needing to take some of his pain away, Ellan said, ‘I believe it is normal to question such things in our youth. There is no need to carry guilt about that.’

  ‘She was patient with me and never held it against me. I swore to her that some day I would have all the things that she deserved. Status, honour. That men would listen when I spoke.’

  ‘You have all of those already, Aevir. Even wealth. The men here respect you and I’ve seen them in the hall at Alvey. They do listen when you speak.’

  Shaking his head, he said, ‘You haven’t seen the men who refused to fight with me, beneath my command, because of who I am.’

  ‘Now they refuse you?’

  ‘Nay, in the beginning.’

  ‘That’s in the past. You have everything you want.’

  He still shook his head. ‘I have the illusion of status now. It could still be taken away. I command an army of mercenaries...they have sworn no permanent allegiance to me. Only with land and by becoming a jarl in my own right can I ever have that. I swore that one day I would have it and I cannot rest until I do.’

  His rejection finally made sense to her. Marrying her would give him nothing but herself. He wanted more. Drawing her hand back from him, she sat up straighter on the bed. She should leave him and return to her bed, but some devil made her ask him. ‘If I could give you status, Aevir...would you marry me?’

  He held her gaze for a long time. Her breath held as she waited for him to say aye. It wasn’t a lot. It certainly wasn’t the man himself, but if she could have that, then it would be enough. It would have to be.

  ‘Nay.’

  Her heart twisted in her chest. ‘Why?’ Her voice came out a whisper. Her hands went limp, falling to the bed to grasp the blanket to anchor herself. Despite all that she had told herself, here she was again, laying herself bare to him and being hurt.

  * * *

  Aevir longed for the callousness necessary to twist the knife deeper and finally cut the invisible tie that bound them together. He could hurt her with a few simple words that would send her away. Elswyth could see to his care from now on. Even one of his men could do it. He was mending. He didn’t need to be tended at all hours any more.

  But he couldn’t do it. The moment was right before him and all he could do was watch the pain cross her face and long to take it away. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and there was the slightest tremor of her bottom lip.

  The warmth of her small hand was beneath his and he looked down to see that his fingers covered hers. He must have put it there for she hadn’t moved while he was leaning forward to reach her. As if his hand was powered by some other force, it squeezed gently, offering her comfort.

  ‘I want to tell you about Sefa.’ Much like his hand, the words came without thought. He never talked about his wife. Never. But it was the only thing he could do to offer her a little bit of peace.

  ‘You said that name in your sleep.’ She paused and took in a wavering breath, her eyes bright with interest.

  ‘Aye, she was my wife.’ He wanted to stop there, but made himself add more. The inclination to talk about Sefa was not instinctual—however, he needed to make Ellan understand. ‘We were married for two winters.’

  ‘You loved her.’ It wasn’t a question. She knew it as she had known the reason behind his need for status. Something deep within her knew him. They knew each other in a way that defied the amount of time they had spent in each other’s presence. More evidence that she could be dangerous to him.

 
‘I loved her,’ he conceded.

  ‘Did you marry her for status?’

  He shook his head as he deliberated over how much to tell her, but there was no real argument. This pull between them demanded that he tell her everything. It was the only way to make her understand why they could never be together. Perhaps if they had met at another time. Before Sefa.

  He stared at their hands next to his thigh. How would it have been if he had never met Sefa? Would his life be better or worse for it? In the months after her death he had cursed the gods for ever allowing her into his life. The pain had been too hard to bear. Why give him love only to take it away?

  ‘I married her because I fell in love with her. I worked on her brother’s fishing boat for a pallet to lay my head on and enough food to fill my belly. I had grand plans to be a warrior, but I had to earn my sword first. Then I met her. She was everything I wanted in a wife. It didn’t take long...a handful of meetings...before I was looking for a way to make her my wife. It took months and months, but I eventually earned enough coin and his respect to ask her father for her hand.’

  Ellan’s attention was on their fingers clasped together. Her fingers were long and graceful, the skin pale and slightly reddened from cold and work, but still fragile-looking next to his. It was odd how she could be so different from Sefa—smaller, darker, more delicate—and yet holding her felt just as good. Just as right. A swell of guilt accompanied that thought and made his chest so tight that it was difficult to draw in a breath. The pad of his thumb traced the fine skin of her wrist. It was like spun silk. How could he have these thoughts of her while talking about his wife?

  Shame and frustration clawed at him, but he could not bring himself to let her go. Holding her was like breathing. Necessary and sometimes painful. Like trying to draw breath after he’d had it knocked out of him the morning of his injury. The Saxon had charged at him on a horse and he’d had little time to react. Before he’d known what was happening, he’d been knocked on his back, his shoulder trampled by the beast and the air forced from his lungs. Without taking in that first breath, he would have certainly died, but it had burned going in.