Viking: Legends of the North: A Limited Edition Boxed Set

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “How else could it have ended, Bjorn?” Alarik shook his head morosely. “I cannot decide this now,” he announced before Bjorn could reply. He didn’t wish to hear bloody excuses—could think only of Elienor. There was nothing left to be done for Olav. “Stay for the time,” he allowed with a weary sigh, and then he turned abruptly, again making his way to the kirken.

  Chapter 35

  Mercy, she’d done this before, had she not?

  Elienor groaned as pain erupted through her head. She rolled and endeavored to open her eyes, but the light was too strong, and she closed them once more.

  And sweet Jesu, but her body felt so tender... her legs... it was as though her ribs and chest were bruised. Nevertheless, she welcomed the pain, for it bespoke life—precious life!

  Taking in a long draught of air, she knew an instant of serenity she’d never experienced before—despite her soreness, despite her confusion—for she sensed the nightmare was ended at last.

  “Elienor,” a voice called softly.

  Still disoriented, Elienor’s eyes opened, focusing after an interminable moment upon Nissa’s face hovering just above her own. With a startled gasp, she tried to rise.

  Nissa was quick to aid her. “Allow me!” she exclaimed, placing her arms behind Elienor for support. Her expression seemed genuinely troubled, but Elienor could only think that Nissa had been the one to lure her to the kirken. She stiffened at the touch.

  “W-where... where is Alarik?” Elienor asked, swallowing for fear that she would hear what she wished not to... that he had perished at sea. If such was the case, her heart would perish along with him.

  Nissa released Elienor at once, sensing her mistrust. Her lashes fell. “Only now has he gone from your bedside,” she revealed softly. “He worried much,” she disclosed, her gaze returning to Elienor, and it seemed to Elienor her eyes were filled with worry as well as regret. “Does your head pain you overmuch?”

  “A little,” Elienor confessed. Her lips twisted wryly. “Though ’tis a wonder I’ve any head at all with the abuse it has received.”

  Nissa smiled uncertainly. She shook her head. “I... I am sorry,” she said again.

  “Where has Alarik gone?” Elienor asked quietly.

  “I’m certain he’ll return soon,” Nissa announced. “I-I hoped you would hear me before then—I’m so sorry!” she rushed on when Elienor did not at once refuse her. “I meant to cause you no harm. ’Tis simply that mine father... well, he wanted so much that I should wed Alarik. Oh, Elienor—can you forgive me?”

  Elienor’s emotions reverted from giddy relief at knowing that Alarik was close by to her former wariness. “Why should you suddenly wish my forgiveness?” she asked skeptically.

  Only silence answered her question.

  “Nissa?”

  “Because I wish to remain at Gryting!” Nissa revealed in desperation. “With mine sister! And... and with Bjorn,” she said more softly, her lashes lowering. “I... I believe I’ve loved him from the first,” she admitted brokenly, and there was a wistful note in her voice. Once again her sky-blue eyes returned to Elienor and they shimmered with unshed tears. “I’ve given myself to him, Elienor... and now I carry his babe. He wants so much that our child be born here as Gryting is his home!”

  “And what of your father?” Elienor asked.

  Nissa shook her head in sorrow, suppressing a sob. “By our laws... I am free to choose whomever I should wed. ’Tis only that... I wanted so desperately to gain mine father’s favor as well.”

  “And now?” Elienor prodded.

  “And now... now I know I must follow mine heart. I cannot allow mine babe to be born and never know his sire. Mine father—” Tears pooled at her eyes and spilled over her lashes. “Mine father must understand,” she said sadly, as though she doubted he would.

  “And if he will not?”

  “Then there will be naught I can do to remedy it. I know only that I must do what I must,” Nissa contended. And then her expression grew anxious. “Y-You’ve not told him?” she asked apprehensively, and then she rushed on. “You’ve not told Alarik that I was the one to lead you to the kirken?” Her voice was fearful, hopeful.

  Elienor shook her head.

  It seemed to Elienor that Nissa’s expression brightened suddenly. “Will... will you tell him?” she asked hesitantly.

  Faced with the optimistic look in Nissa’s eyes, Elienor knew she could not refuse the request. She shook her head. “I’ll not tell him,” she yielded.

  Crying out in relief, Nissa buried her face into her hands and wept. Elienor watched a moment, feeling awkward with the unexpected show of emotion, and then reached out to touch Nissa’s arm. Nissa lifted her face, her brows drawing together.

  “Why?” she asked in bewilderment. “Why would you not tell him? After all I’ve done to harm you, Elienor?”

  Elienor shrugged and shook her head. “For Alarik,” she revealed softly. “Because Bjorn is his brother... for the nephew he might not know otherwise... and because it seems to mean so much to you,” she proffered.

  “And to Bjorn!” Nissa assured, her lips quivering. “He wishes so much to make things right betwixt himself and Alarik!”

  Elienor nodded. “And where is Alarik now?” she asked once more. “I... I need to see him.” She did, desperately. More than aught else, she needed to behold him with her own eyes, needed proof that he yet lived—that this was not part of some cruel dream, that by some twist of fate, she would awaken and find herself alone. The last she recalled was her flight through the air as she’d hurled herself against him.

  “Oh, but Elienor! Do you think you should seek him out so soon? You’ve only just awakened. Mayhap... mayhap it would be best if you waited until he returned.”

  “Nay!” Elienor whispered fervently, and it was her turn to be despairing. “Nay, Nissa... I must see him! I must!”

  In that instant, a look of profound understanding passed between the two, and Nissa nodded. “Then I shall lead you to him,” she relented, and with a tentative smile, she proceeded at once to help Elienor rise from the bed.

  Alarik had slept not at all throughout the night.

  Dark shadows rimmed his steely eyes, a silent testimony to his inner turmoil. In his heart there was an emptiness that made him feel more vulnerable then he’d ever thought conceivable—all these years he’d mistakenly assumed love, itself, rendered a man impotent. Now he knew better... it was not love, at all, but fear of loving that was the true weakness, for by it he’d lost everything.

  Kneeling at the altar, he thought of Elienor lying so still within his bed and his gut twisted. He’d never done such a thing as pray ere now, for the old gods were not invoked in such a manner. Nevertheless... he felt the need to attempt the strange ritual... for Elienor’s sake...

  The door had been left ajar.

  During Elienor’s absence, the roof had been re-erected, and the little building was now shadowy within. Still... she could see well enough to make out the figure kneeling before the altar.

  With Nissa supporting her, Elienor halted silently in the portal of the kirken. Her heart pounded within her breast at the sight before her. Stunned, she broke free of Nissa and leaned upon the door frame for support. She turned and motioned for Nissa to leave her, and then her gaze was drawn again, like metal to a lodestone, to the curious sight within.

  Never had she seen Alarik pray... and though he did so awkwardly, his sincerity was evident in his every gesture. Still, to her surprise, she found it changed nothing. Nothing, at all. She shook her head, bewildered, for in truth she felt the same for him now as she had moments before.

  She loved him recklessly.

  Alarik sensed the presence well before he heard the footsteps enter the kirken, but didn’t bother to pause, nor did he conceal his prayers. He cared not who spied him now. Mayhap, had he been more convincing, Olav might have changed his tactics. Mayhap he would have softened? And mayhap not, he acknowledged ruefully.

  Onl
y when he’d concluded did he turn, his brows drawn together in displeasure, expecting to find either Bjorn or Brother Vernay observing him, and was stunned to find neither. His shadowed eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. Elienor, in all her tattered glory.

  His heart quickened.

  “Elienor?” he croaked. He surged clumsily to his feet, lack of sleep making his body unwieldy.

  For the longest moment neither spoke.

  Elienor’s eyes filled with tears. “You are,” she asked, swallowing, “truly here?” She touched her own face, as though to touch his, assuring herself that the moment was real.

  “Aye,” he replied hoarsely. His arms ached to hold her, but he dared not move lest she prove to be naught more than an illusion. He was afeared to blink lest she vanish before his eyes. He tried to read her in the dim light but couldn’t; her emotions were hidden to him by the glare of the sun in his eyes. Even as he determined she was real, he stood rooted to the spot, loathing himself for all that had befallen her since taking her from Francia, certain that she despised him for it.

  Yet his eyes beckoned her.

  Elienor attempted to take a step forward and swayed weakly. She braced herself upon the door frame, and in that moment, Odin himself couldn’t have kept Alarik from her. He moved forward swiftly to claim her, and Elienor’s breath caught as he swept her into his arms. A low cry was torn from his lips as his mouth brushed her brow, her nose, her mouth...

  Elienor’s heart skipped its normal beat. Looking up into his dark, smoldering eyes, she could only think how glad she was to be within his arms again—how glad she was to see him alive. She wanted him to hold her this way always...

  “Shhhh... don’t cry,” Alarik soothed, his voice husky. “Nei, Elienor...” He placed his forehead to hers, and swore, “I shall make everything aright—everything!” And with that, he withdrew the leather neckband from about his neck and pressed her uncle’s ring into her palm. “’Tis yours,” he revealed grimly. “I...” He swallowed. “I took it from Olav,” he said without censure. The time for petty jealousies was past. Naught mattered now but Elienor’s happiness—not even the accursed reason for which she’d gifted Olav the ring to begin with. He couldn’t care any longer.

  Unclasping her palm, Elienor stared in bewilderment at the ring, recalling the moment she’d given it to Olav, and then in succession... Olav’s face as he’d released the serpent prow and descended into the water. “I...” Her voice faltered. “He was to have returned it to my uncle,” she revealed somberly. Her violet eyes lifted to his. “H-he promised he would speak to you... that you might send me back to Francia... to my uncle...” She shook her head and averted her gaze suddenly. Alarik released her, freeing her from his embrace.

  Elienor felt the separation acutely.

  He lifted her chin with a finger, the shadows in his eyes deepening. His silver eyes pierced her. “And is that still your desire?” he whispered hoarsely. His fingers went to the scar at her temple, tracing the fine line. Though it was long healed now, it was a raw reminder of the suffering she’d endured at his hands.

  Elienor said nothing, could not speak, for her heart lodged in her throat. Tears welled in her eyes.

  In her silence, Alarik heard what he most feared. The lump in his throat thickened. “Then... I shall grant you your freedom,” he told her grimly, bending to kiss her scar. He’d sworn to do so, he reminded himself, and he would comply—no matter what it cost him.

  Tears coursed down Elienor’s cheeks. Life was so unfair! Now, when at last she wished to remain with him, could surrender herself with an open heart and soul, he would discard her so easily? “And will you also restore to me my heart?” she asked him, unable to stifle the note of bitter hysteria that invaded her soul.

  Alarik shook his head, unwilling to mistake her words, unwilling to hope, only to lose her all over again. “Your heart?” he asked softly, his heart hammering. His gaze never wavered, afeared to miss even the slightest shift in her expression.

  “Aye!” Elienor cried in outrage, “My heart! for as surely as you stole me away from Francia, so, too, did you seize it away from me!”

  A muscle ticked in Alarik’s jaw as he drew her back into his arms. “God—Elienor!” Afeared that he was somehow dreaming, he merely held her, unable to end the moment, unable to speak again for fear that he’d misunderstood. More than aught else he wanted her happy, but he wanted her more than life itself! He would give everything he held to see her look at him with adoration in her beautiful violet eyes.

  “I love you!” she cried out, and then stiffened within his embrace, revealing to Alarik that she’d not intended to voice the endearment. Giddy relief unlike any he’d ever known jolted through him at her declaration. How he loved her impetuous tongue! A gratified smile curved his lips, but he said nothing as he savored the truth of the feelings she’d disclosed to him.

  Regretting the foolish love words, Elienor cursed herself a thousand times for a fool.

  When would she ever learn to master her traitorous tongue? Did she think he would simply lay down his heart and vow his love in return? How foolish she was to hope that he would. He was a Viking leader—she nothing more than his French whore! He a noble chieftain—she nothing but a measly—alas, but she could not even claim the church for her own, for she no longer came to them a pure bride of Christ—in their eyes she was soiled! In an attempt to salvage her pride, she told him, “I meant nothing...”

  “Elienor,” he broke in, his voice gruff. “Do you wish to know what I’ve prayed for?” He held her possessively, as though to loosen his hold upon her was to lose her.

  For the longest instant, Elienor could not find her voice. As long as he held her thus, she could almost believe he wanted her still. “What... what did you pray for?”

  He answered her question with a question of his own. “Is it not your custom to ask your God to bless a marriage ere its union?”

  Elienor’s eyes misted. She shrugged at his question, fighting tears. Losing the effort to contain them, she closed her eyes. “You have decided to allow Bjorn and Nissa to wed?” she asked him in puzzlement, her tone anguished.

  “That,” he apprised her, swallowing the lump that appeared in his throat, “is not my decision to make. Bjorn and Nissa will wed if ’tis their wish... though I have determined they may indeed remain at Gryting.” Taking Elienor’s free hand into his own, he charged, “Look at me, Elienor!” He waited until her violet eyes opened to meet his once more, and moved by the tears that flowed so freely down her ashen cheeks, he cupped her face within his callused palms, cradling it there, his touch more gentle than a tender babe’s. “Shush,” he hissed. “Don’t cry, love,” he pleaded. “If you wish it, then I will send you back to Francia—if you wish it—but I beg you do not cry!”

  Elienor tried desperately to suppress her sobs, but she could not. She buried her face into his chest, unable to face the possibility that he would make her go!

  Alarik sank to his knees, seeing that her strength wavered. Kneeling before her, he urged her down upon her knees before him, and then bent to kiss her sorrow away. With every salty tear he kissed from her soft face, he felt his own uncertainty ebb.

  “Elienor,” he whispered huskily, “I have asked your God to bless our union—not Bjorn and Nissa’s.”

  Holding her face between his hands, he forced her to look into his eyes, and shook his head. “Tell me ’tis what you wish, as well. Tell me ’tis so!” he commanded, coming as close to pleading as he dared. It was not in his blood to beg. If she refused him... then he would indeed release her. But he felt certain she’d not, for when she lifted her tear-stained face to his, every emotion she held in her heart was unveiled to him. It was the look he’d waited so long to see.

  “Y-you wish... you wish t-to wed... with... with me?”

  Alarik nodded, smiling arrogantly now, knowing that her answer would be aye. But his jaw dropped as she broke away, surging to her feet and going to the altar. She fell to her
knees before it.

  “Elienor?”

  Elienor heard the uncertainty in his voice and turned to look at him with misty eyes, gifting him with her most serene smile. “One more prayer,” she whispered, her voice breaking with joy, “One more... so that I too may ask God to bless our union!” And she lowered her head to pray.

  In mere seconds Alarik was on his feet. Filled with exhilaration, he lifted Elienor into his arms as though she weighed no more than a new born babe. He leaned eagerly to kiss her full upon the lips, thinking that it had been too long since he’d tasted of his little Fransk. And in his need to love her he went to lay her down upon the kirken floor, oblivious with the need to hold her, to love her.

  “Not here!” Elienor said in consternation, laughing, sobbing. “Never here!” she told him.

  Alarik grinned sheepishly and rose to his feet, bearing her toward the door... eager to get her into his bed, even if they did naught more than sleep... his arms embracing her.

  Elienor struggled to free herself. “Release me!” she demanded, and her eyes grew sober. “Let there be no doubts between us this time—allow me to go of my own will!”

  Alarik halted abruptly, his expression suddenly grave. He shuddered as he looked deep into her eyes, and Elienor flushed as he allowed her to slide from his embrace. Her body melded against his, and she nearly ceased to breathe at the wicked sensations it roused within her.

  “Do you feel I’ve forced you?” he asked gravely, as though suddenly unsure of himself.

  The muted sunlight from the doorway bathed them both, and in that instant it was as though they were transported through time... and were again in the kirken in Francia. Only this time, it was he who could not see her face, his expression that was revealed by the light. “Nay,” Elienor whispered, her heart rending at his forlorn appearance. “I only meant that I would go beside you—that all who see us will know I go willingly.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

  Standing in the doorway, haloed by the sun, Elienor looked like an angel to him, but she was neither angel nor Valkyr, he knew. She was flesh and blood.