‘I’m not certain how you Danes spar, but here it’s considered unsportsmanlike to gloat over a victory in front of the loser.’ She kept her gaze on the table, nodding at a servant who offered her a pitcher of ale.
Vidar laughed. ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would a victor not be allowed to celebrate his win?’ Then he grabbed her empty goblet just as the servant woman was about to fill it with ale.
That earned him a glare from his wife. ‘Because everyone knows he won. There’s no need to rub it in the fallen opponent’s face.’ She made a grab for the goblet, but Vidar held it back out of her reach. ‘It only leads to bad feelings.’
‘Ah, you mean it only leads to bad feelings for the fallen. If that’s the case, then that’s a weakness for the fallen one to overcome, wouldn’t you say? It’s no fault of the victorious winner.’
She grabbed for the goblet again, nearly coming to her feet to reach across him for it. Vidar inhaled, filling his nose with that sweet scent, and the soft swell of her breasts brushed against his chest. All the blood in his body rushed to his groin. By the gods, he looked forward to claiming her later that night.
‘Of course you’d see it that way,’ she said and sat back down. Giving up on trying to reclaim her goblet, she asked for the servant to bring another.
To her credit, the woman looked to him for confirmation. He shook his head and the woman stood immobile, uncertain whose displeasure she should incur. Vidar took pity on her and explained his intention. ‘We have no need of ale this night or any night for the next month.’ The woman’s brow furrowed in confusion but she nodded and said, ‘Aye, my lord’, before moving down the table.
When his bride raised a questioning brow, Vidar also decided to put her out of her misery. Apparently weddings made him feel generous, he mused. ‘Tradition calls for us to share a cask of specially made mead on our wedding night and every night after until it’s gone.’
‘Ah, well, unfortunately we didn’t know and haven’t prepared such a cask for the occasion.’
‘Doesn’t matter. My brother brought one for us.’
She frowned and he bit back a smile. Raising his hand, he signalled for Rolfe. Rolfe let out a cheer and the men around him followed suit as he made his way to the corner where the cask had been left earlier in the day. Hefting it over his shoulder, he brought it over to a stool that someone rushed to put next to Vidar.
Vidar rose and took the hammer and chisel someone shoved into his hands. In a moment he broke the seal on the cask and lifted the lid. Rolfe handed him the large tankard made of gold and encrusted with a row of tiny rubies along the bottom edge. It had come from Eirik’s home and was the same one he and Merewyn had used after their marriage. Filling the cup, he raised it high in the air. ‘I drink to my new bride and the success of our marriage. May our union prove fruitful with many sons and daughters.’ He repeated the words in his own language so that even the ones who didn’t fully comprehend the Saxon tongue could understand. Then he stared at Gwendolyn as he brought the cup to his lips to drink.
She stared back, clearly rattled by his words. Had she truly thought that she’d be allowed to participate in the marriage without the prospect of children? If nothing else, they needed to have children to ensure the survival of the Alvey line, not to mention his own lineage.
Swallowing, he lowered the cup and offered her a sip, bringing the cup to her lips. Her eyes flashed with defiance, but he’d already seen her display of loyalty to her people at the wedding. She wouldn’t give them reason to dispute the marriage by denying him now. She brought her hands to the goblet, but he didn’t relinquish it to her. He held it and tipped it gently so that she could drink from him.
Again, the power of his control over her nearly overwhelmed him with pleasure. She was strong and wilful, but he found the small glimpses of obedience he had from her were very satisfying. So satisfying that he decided to press his advantage. The men cheered this ceremonial display of their joining, but he couldn’t resist pushing it further. Dropping down to sit beside her, he placed the goblet on the table and then turned to her. Her eyes widened as she speculated his intent, but he didn’t make her wait long as he put one hand behind her, burying his fingers in her thick hair, and his other hand on her hip to draw her close. Without waiting for her compliance, he tilted her head back and covered her mouth with his.
The sweet taste of the honeyed mead greeted his lips. When she gasped in shock, he took advantage and dipped the tip of his tongue inside, greedy for more of her sweetness. But he was no fool. She was too fierce to allow him such liberties, so he drew back from her before she could push him away.
His gaze met hers and he was right that she was angry, but her eyes shone with curiosity, as well. Her gaze focused on his mouth and the tip of her tongue ran across her own bottom lip before she put a hand to her mouth. She looked away and the cheers from his men became louder. A few of them made crude remarks about the night to come and her face reddened.
He gave the perpetrators a sharp glare that effectively silenced them. Aye, he was the victor in this battle, but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe he wouldn’t face an uphill battle with her. He hadn’t intended to humiliate her in front of his men. He’d intended to stake his claim to her publicly.
She was his wife. She would be his wife in all ways before the night was over.
Chapter Six
Gwendolyn struggled to keep her eyes open as she waited for the storyteller to finish his tale. She’d have left for her chamber while everyone was captivated by his story of her husband’s bravery across the sea, but she knew that would have offended the man and reflected badly on his craft. It wasn’t his fault she wasn’t particularly impressed with his obviously embellished story. When he claimed that Vidar had defeated a sea monster the size of two ships, she rolled her eyes. When he went on to declare that Vidar had taken on twenty men with only his sword, she snorted her disbelief, drawing the gaze of her offended husband.
Propping an elbow on the bench’s high back, he leaned over and kept his voice low to ask, ‘You don’t believe I fought twenty men?’
His breath caressed her ear in a way that left her skin tingling, so she shifted away from him a little. It seemed that she had spent the entire night shifting away from him to no avail. The bench wasn’t wide enough to leave much space between them. She couldn’t help but think that the bench’s maker had somehow conspired against her. ‘Not by yourself.’
He grinned down at her and his gaze narrowed in on her mouth as if remembering how he’d kissed her hours before. ‘But you’ve never seen me fight.’
‘Don’t have to. You forget, I know about swords.’
He didn’t speak for a moment and their attention moved back to the storyteller. Vidar’s hand rested on her shoulder and his thumb began to stroke a small circle on the velvet of her gown. Every now and then the rough tip would graze her neck, making her skin prickle in pleasure. ‘But you’ve never seen my sword,’ he finally said.
Something about that gave her pause. She dared to shift her gaze to his and he was looking at her again, his eyes rather predatory this time as he teased her. She was almost entirely certain that they weren’t talking about swords any more. ‘I believe all swords work the same.’
He shrugged. ‘Some are smaller than others. Some broader and heavier. Would you like to know what mine is like?’
She swallowed as her mouth went dry. She was entirely certain now that he was not speaking of swords. She was even more certain that she was as curious as she was terrified about his...um, sword.
‘It’s longer than most and a bit thicker, I’m told—’
She stood up, knocking his hand off her shoulder and probably interrupting those around her who seemed interested in the lies the storyteller was telling, but she refused to sit and listen to Vidar prattle on about his s
word any longer. He was smiling as she nudged past him and slowly got to his feet to allow her to pass.
‘Are you retiring for the evening, my lady?’ Jarl Eirik rose to his feet.
‘Aye, it’s been a long day and I’m very tired.’
He gave Vidar a questioning look, as if he suspected he was the cause of her leaving early, but her husband merely shrugged. ‘I’ll give you some time alone,’ Vidar generously offered.
She resisted the urge to remind him that they wouldn’t be consummating the marriage, but decided that it was best to save that conversation for when they had privacy. Instead, she ignored him and made her way to the stone stairway at the back of the hall. Annis, who’d been seated at the table next to Jarl Eirik, followed her. The stairs made a turn, creating a short hallway lit by a torch that revealed the single door at the top. The master’s chamber was secluded here and much safer for it. Gwendolyn didn’t much like having to share the room with him, but she understood that everyone expected it. She’d decided that she’d be cordial and allow him to share it with her as long as he didn’t touch her.
‘He seems much nicer than you let on,’ Annis said as she closed the door behind them, her brow creased.
Gwendolyn snorted and reached for the ties on her garment. ‘He’s not nice at all.’ Annis hurried over and helped her out of the gown, taking it over to the corner of the room where she draped it over a chest to be brushed in the morning before it was put away.
‘Well he’s certainly not cruel, nor is he offensive. He’s actually very handsome.’
Gwendolyn gave another snort as she tossed the linen nightrail over her head.
‘You can’t say he doesn’t cut a fine figure,’ Annis argued.
No, she couldn’t say that. Despite her best effort to hate the man, Gwendolyn could admit to herself that she found him attractive. Putting her hands through the arms of the nightrail, she smoothed the bleached linen down her body. ‘I never said that I didn’t find him attractive. But it takes more than a fine face to be a good leader and warrior.’ It was true. ‘Cam wasn’t particularly attractive, as those things go, but I respected him far more than this man.’
It bothered her that she hadn’t thought of Cam very much over the past few days. Particularly not today. He’d been the man she’d been set on marrying since she’d been a girl, yet he had barely crossed her thoughts as she’d been pledging herself to that barbarian.
‘Cam was a good man.’ Annis took her hand and led her over to the stool set before the round of polished silver where she kept her comb. Pushing her down to sit, Annis picked up the comb and worked through Gwendolyn’s hair, her brow still furrowed in concern. ‘Gwendolyn, I feel I’ve been remiss in my duty to you. I’ve never properly explained what you should expect tonight and I should’ve told you much earlier so you could prepare.’
Her stomach twisted and she swallowed against the lump of guilt that had wedged in her throat. ‘Annis...it’s not necessary, believe me.’
‘Nay, it is necessary. I should’ve told you.’
Turning on the stool, Gwendolyn took her sister’s hand to stop her from combing her hair. ‘It’s not. You see, I know what will happen.’
Annis’s brow furrowed, but then as realisation dawned, her eyes widened in shock. ‘Gwendolyn! How do you know? What’s happened?’
Gwendolyn closed her eyes against the censure on her sister’s face. ‘It was the night before Cam was leaving for battle. I went to him to tell him goodbye and it just happened. I didn’t think much of it at the time, because I thought that he’d be coming home and we’d be married soon after.’ Though she’d cared for Cam very much, the actual act hadn’t left her feeling particularly thrilled about repeating it. She’d been happy that he seemed to have found so much pleasure in the act. Had Cam returned home, she’d have lain with him again and again to give him that happiness.
It was not something that she wanted to share with Vidar.
‘But you weren’t wed, Gwendolyn.’
‘I know, but it doesn’t matter. It was nigh on two years ago. And I thought we would be married soon or I wouldn’t have done it.’
Annis let out a disappointed breath. ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. At least you know what to expect.’
‘Oh, I won’t be lying with that barbarian.’
Her sister sucked in a harsh breath. ‘Your husband? You won’t lie with your husband?’ she whispered, as if the idea was wicked.
Gwendolyn shook her head. ‘He married me for Alvey. He’ll have Alvey, but that doesn’t mean he’ll have my body.’
Annis didn’t say anything as she resumed brushing Gwendolyn’s hair, but Gwendolyn could tell that her sister had been scandalised. For some reason, unwelcome guilt began to eat at her and that was swiftly followed by anger. It wasn’t her fault she’d been forced into this.
‘You disapprove,’ she said quietly.
‘Nay, I don’t disapprove.’ Annis combed through a particularly bad tangle and Gwendolyn winced. ‘You did not ask for this marriage, and I can’t even begin to imagine how it must feel to be expected to lie with a man you don’t even know. I’d known Eadward for my whole life before we wed.’ She sat the comb down on the table and worked the knot with her fingers. ‘However, I do feel that you’re not even giving this marriage a chance. I want you to have what Eadward and I share and I know that might sound naïve...you might never have that with Vidar. We don’t even know him. But I do feel that you can have a cordial relationship. One that is based on mutual respect and a belief in doing what is best for Alvey and our people.’
‘But I do want what is best for Alvey. Did you not see me marry Vidar? Did you not see that I didn’t stomp and wail as I wanted to do?’
Finished with the knot, Annis smoothed her palm down Gwendolyn’s back and nodded. ‘Aye, I saw that. You followed Father’s wishes and did what was best for us. Now I’m asking that you do what is best for you. Try to find a way to work with your husband.’ Taking Gwendolyn’s face in her hands, Annis kissed her on each cheek. ‘I have to go. Goodnight, sweet sister. I’ll see you in the morning, but I’m leaving with Eadward and the children after the morning meal.’
Gwendolyn wished her sister a good sleep and watched her leave, feeling very much as if the only person she could count on was abandoning her. With a sigh, Gwendolyn rose to her feet and grabbed her dressing gown from the peg on the wall. Slipping into it, she wrapped the thick garment around her and went to bed, leaving a few candles burning so that Vidar wouldn’t stumble over anything in the dark. And that was as far as she was willing to go with affection on her wedding night.
* * *
Vidar had watched his wife’s departure from the feast with more interest than he would have thought possible when he’d arrived at Alvey three days ago. He’d never wanted this marriage and if he’d had his choice then he’d still be fighting in the south, but now that she was his, he was liking the idea more and more. There was no question that he was attracted to her. The only question now was how long before she’d admit to the mutual attraction he’d seen flickering in her eyes when he’d kissed her. The woman had her pride, so he had no doubt that she’d continue to fight it.
He’d turned his attention back to the storyteller who’d started in on another tale, this one featuring Eirik, when the subtle cheers from the back of the large room drew his attention. Some of the younger warriors had pushed their way back there, perched at the bottom of the steps to wait for either Gwendolyn or her sister to re-emerge from the master’s chamber. Annis had stoked their shouts with her descent down the stairs.
Eirik leaned over and said with a grin, ‘You should go join your wife before they get louder. I believe she already plans to challenge you this evening. You don’t want those dolts making her angrier.’
Vidar nodded and got to his feet. Eirik was right. If thos
e cheers went on for long and reached her ears, then she’d not only be angry but offended. Best to go now while the battle could still be controlled. Unfortunately, the cheers seemed to gain in volume the closer he walked to the steps, even drowning out the storyteller so the man stopped talking altogether. Some of his men had taken offence to her challenging him on the sparring field and he suspected that this was their way of seeing her get her comeuppance.
He was unprepared, however, when Rolfe walked up beside him. ‘Let’s deliver the man to his wife!’ his friend yelled. Before Vidar realised what was happening, Rolfe along with someone else, hoisted him on to their shoulders. A few more men joined in until there seemed to be a wave of warriors delivering him to Gwendolyn’s bed.
‘Release me,’ he yelled, but his voice was drowned out by the cheers and his own laughter. He knew a moment of fear when the drunken horde carried him up the stairs and they wobbled near the top, but someone kicked the door open and the entire group, which had grown to at least a score of men, fell inside. Thankfully, Rolfe and the one who held Vidar’s other leg, kept their feet, but only barely. They stumbled over the fallen men, barely making it to the bed before dropping him next to his very startled wife.
Gwendolyn sat there, her eyes wide in fear and the blanket drawn up to her neck. That fear quickly gave way to anger when she realised no one was there to maul her and she narrowed her eyes at him. He pre-emptively turned back to his warriors. ‘Out!’ he yelled and got to his feet. A few of them heeded his words, but the others still sat around. ‘Out.’
‘Isn’t there some law about needing to verify the union?’ one of them said.
‘Get out of this chamber or, by the Gods, I’ll throw you down the stairs.’ Vidar walked towards the man, but he scrambled to his feet and fled.
The Viking Warrior's Bride Page 6
