He drew closer. Elgiva took a step back and then could have kicked herself for it, seeing the mocking expression reassert itself. His gaze swept her from head to foot and he frowned.
‘I would see you in something more festive for our wedding.’
She had donned her plainest gown in token of mourning and the sober brown shade was unadorned save for the girdle that rode her waist. Evidently it found little favour with him. Bridling under that keen scrutiny, Elgiva wondered if he thought she would don her finery in his honour. If so, he was sorely mistaken. She would not make herself attractive for him. Then she became aware that Wulfrum was looking beyond her to the chest by the far wall. Without further ado he crossed the room and threw back the lid, revealing the garments within. Seething, she watched as he lifted them out one by one, surveying them critically before tossing each one aside on the bed. Blue, green and mauve followed in swift succession until he came to the gold gown with the embroidered neck and sleeves.
‘You will wear this on the morrow.’
‘I am in mourning and therefore cannot.’
‘Tomorrow you become the wife of an earl and you should be dressed as befits your rank.’
‘I cannot forget the slain so soon.’
‘I do not expect it,’ he replied, ‘but I shall expect you to wear this gown.’
‘I won’t.’
The blue gaze never left her but there was no shade of humour in it now.
‘You will wear it, Elgiva, if I have to dress you myself.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that he wouldn’t dare, but a second’s reflection stopped the words there. She knew with certainty that he would make good the threat. Forcing back her fury, she returned his gaze.
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Aye, there is.’
Wulfrum drew her close. Elgiva stiffened. Amusement returned as he looked down into her face.
‘You can fight me all you like, lady, but you will kiss me.’
‘Why, you arrogant, conceited—’
The words were lost as his mouth closed over hers. Elgiva struggled, but there was no chance of escape and he took the kiss in his own good time.
‘Let go of me! How dare you treat me like this?’
‘I shall not let you go. As to what I dare…’
Elgiva’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink for the warmth and the nearness of the man, the faint scent of leather and musk. Out of the corner of her eye she was more than ever aware of the bed, now strewn with her gowns. If he chose to force the issue she would never be able to hold him off, being well aware he was using only minimal effort to restrain her now.
He kissed her again, the pressure of his mouth forcing hers open. Thereafter the kiss grew gentle and lingering. Elgiva shivered, but her hands ceased to push him away. The thought returned: no man had ever kissed her like this. No man had ever caused that unsettling flicker of warmth deep inside her, either. When he eventually drew back, she saw him smile; all at once her response appalled her. This man was an enemy. That she should have yielded to his kiss made her sick with self-loathing. Worse, what had left her shattered was clearly a source of amusement to him.
‘Please…’
‘What would you have of me, lady?’ His lips brushed her hair, her ear, her cheek.
In desperation Elgiva tore away from him. ‘Nothing! I want nothing from you! I want no part of you. I loathe you.’
Wulfrum regarded her steadily but made no attempt to hold her. ‘Now I had a very different impression a moment ago.’
‘You imagined it, then.’
‘You deceive yourself, Elgiva.’
‘I do not.’
‘Shall I prove it to you?’
‘No! Get out!’
He laughed out loud. Dry mouthed and with beating heart, she watched him cross to the door.
‘Until tomorrow, then, lady. I feel sure you will understand when I say you will remain confined until then.’
Incensed, Elgiva watched him go, looking round for something to throw. There was nothing immediately to hand. The nearest item was a wooden stool some feet away. By the time she had grabbed it he was gone, but she flung it anyway and with all the force she could muster. It hit the door with a crash that reverberated through the bower, but as the noise faded she could hear the unmistakable sound of his laughter.
Seeing Wulfrum enter the hall, Ironfist looked up quizzically. Halfdan followed his gaze and grinned.
‘And how is the fair Saxon?’ he demanded. ‘Burning with impatience for her wedding day?’
Wulfrum returned him a wry smile. ‘Burning with impatience to stick a sword in my guts.’
‘Aye, she has spirit, that one,’ said Ironfist.
‘Spirit and beauty,’ replied Halfdan. ‘It will take some taming but you will bend her to your will—in time.’
He glanced across the hall to where Sweyn sat with a group of men and his tone grew more serious.
‘Keep her close, Wulfrum. Sweyn is still smarting from losing her.’
‘Then he should have taken more care. She is mine and I will guard her well.’
‘See you do.’ Halfdan threw another glance across the hall. ‘There is no point in inviting trouble. When I leave, I will take Sweyn with me. We shall see if the lure of land and gold will turn his mind to other things.’
‘It is a good plan,’ said Ironfist.
Halfdan grinned. ‘He will find Saxon maids aplenty to keep him occupied and turn his thoughts from this one.’
‘Let us hope so.’
‘You doubt it?’
‘Some women are not easily forgotten.’
‘Never tell me you’re soft on the wench too?’
Ironfist threw him a speaking look. ‘I am long past such foolishness, but I can see straight. The girl is fair. She draws men’s eyes as a flame draws moths.’
‘It is no crime to look, eh, Wulfrum?’
‘No, my lord. They may look their fill.’
‘But no touching?’
‘Ordinarily I am not one to quarrel over a wench or two,’ said Wulfrum, ‘but this one I share with no man.’
Elgiva looked with loathing at the gold gown and every fibre of her being rebelled.
‘How can I do this, Gifu? How can I wed that barbarian?’
‘I think you have no choice.’
‘There must be some way out of this.’
Elgiva paced the floor, cudgelling her brains for some means to prevent the disaster looming on the morrow. Osgifu’s grey eyes were resigned.
‘There is none.’
Something in the tone gave Elgiva pause and she stopped pacing, regarding her keenly. Her heart began to beat a little harder and she remembered an earlier conversation.
‘Was this what you saw in the runes?’ Seeing Osgifu remain silent, Elgiva swallowed hard. ‘Was it? Answer me.’
‘Yes.’
‘It cannot be true. It cannot be.’ Elgiva’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I will not wed the Viking. He will not take me as he has taken these lands. I must get away somehow, tonight, and go somewhere he will not find me.’
‘There is nowhere to run, child. The Danish marauders are everywhere, and renegade Saxons too,’ Osgifu replied. ‘It is too perilous for a woman to be abroad unprotected. Even if you did escape, Wulfrum would send out men and dogs and he would find you. I think you would discover then the full weight of his wrath.’
Elgiva swallowed hard. It was the truth. She dreaded to think what Wulfrum might do if she tried it and yet the alternative seemed every way as bad.
‘I cannot just submit! Shall I wed an enemy of my people? A pirate?’
‘You have no choice but to submit. If you do not, he will use force.’
It was so precisely an echo of what Wulfrum had said that Elgiva shivered.
‘Yes, and not against me, against those I should protect.’
‘He said so?’
‘As good as. He let it be known any disobedience on my part w
ould result in others bearing the brunt of his anger.’
‘He is clever and devious.’
‘You said it.’
‘I think they truly mean to stay this time,’ Osgifu continued, ‘not just to plunder and kill. They want the land.’
‘Our land. Land they have no right to, that they slew Saxon people to get.’
‘Aye, and will slay more to keep if they have to.’
Elgiva felt a sudden pang of guilt. Aylwin had been prepared to lay down his life for her and hers, but she had held him lightly. He had deserved better. In all likelihood he was dead of his wounds and lying in an unmarked woodland grave. Hot tears pricked her eyelids as the memories returned unbidden. She would have married Aylwin and tried to make him a good wife as her duty dictated. Now he was a fugitive and she was the prize of a conqueror.
In her mind’s eye she could see Wulfrum’s face again, with those piercing blue eyes and the mocking smile. The very thought was enough to stoke the fires of her anger. Did he really have the arrogance to think she would give herself to him? Then she remembered how big he was and how strong. He could take her whenever he wished. It occurred to her that he could already have done so, yet he had stayed his hand. Did he think that by making her his wife he would earn her gratitude? That she would submit meekly and tamely in his bed? Elgiva clenched her fists. She would see him in hell first, along with his entire accursed race.
‘Do not torment yourself, child.’ Osgifu’s voice broke into her train of thought. ‘It will serve no purpose.’
‘I could not offer Aylwin my heart, Gifu. Yet he defended Ravenswood with his life.’
‘He was a good man. Whether Wulfrum is another only time will tell.’
Elgiva stopped in her tracks. ‘Wulfrum is a Viking, a pirate, a marauder. How can he be a good man?’
‘I know not, but it seems to me that he is not like that other, Sweyn.’
Elgiva knew it was true. There was a streak of cruelty in the man that she had not found in Wulfrum or in his giant companion.
‘Sweyn is evil,’ she replied. ‘Evil and brutal.’
‘He desires you, it is plain.’
‘I’d slit my own throat first.’
‘As the wife of Wulfrum you will be beyond his reach. That one has the ear of Halfdan. Aye, and his favour too, as he has granted him the gift of land.’
‘Stolen land.’
‘But who is there now to make them give it back?’
Elgiva sighed, knowing the answer. For years Northumbria’s rulers had been involved in petty disputes, Osbert north of the Tees and Ella in the south, each vying for the crown. The kingdom was ill prepared to withstand invasion, a situation the Vikings had exploited to the full. Now Osbert and Ella were dead and, since Mercia and East Anglia had fallen, there was nothing to stop the invading army. Northumbria was as good as theirs. They would never yield it up, nor would they return to their cold northern shores. Halfdan and his brothers would take what they wanted and reward their faithful earls with lands and serfs to work it. The Viking horde was there to stay.
‘There is no escape, is there?’ she said at last.
‘No.’
‘I’d rather be dead.’
‘Then who would protect your people from the vengeance of the Vikings?’ demanded Osgifu.
‘It will make no difference to them whether I live or die.’
‘It will make all the difference. As Wulfrum’s wife you will have great influence.’
‘I will have no influence.’
‘Then you are not the woman I took you for.’
Elgiva stared at her, but Osgifu’s gaze remained steadfast.
‘The man is clearly besotted. You must use your power over him.’
‘Besotted?’ Elgiva gave a hollow laugh. ‘Hardly.’
‘I have seen the way he looks at you.’
‘He looks at me with lust, that is all.’
‘Then why does he take you to wife? He could have had you the day the Vikings took this place and then kept you as a concubine or handed you over to his men for a plaything. Instead he offers you a place of honour at his side.’
‘Honour? You call it an honour?’
‘In his view, aye. By doing so, he puts you beyond reach of all others, beyond danger. Consider the alternative.’
Elgiva lapsed into a confused and angry silence. Seeing it, the older woman pressed her point.
‘This situation is not of your choosing or of your making, but you can turn it to advantage. You have beauty and wit. Use them.’
‘You overestimate my powers, Gifu. Wulfrum will do as he wills.’
‘A beautiful woman can make a man do as she wills. A clever one can make him think it was his idea.’
In spite of herself, Elgiva smiled. ‘Truly you are cunning.’
‘A woman must be cunning to survive. You will survive because you are strong. Aye, and brave too. You will do what must be done.’
Elgiva knew she was right. Now that Osric was dead and Aylwin a fugitive, it was her place to protect her people in so far as it lay within her power to do so. Just then she did not believe that amounted to much.
‘And by that you mean I must marry Wulfrum on the morrow?’
‘There is no other choice,’ replied Osgifu.
Chapter Six
The ceremony was held outdoors in a forest glade hard by, the better to accommodate the number who would attend. Even if the church had been intact it could not have held so many. In the midst Father Willibald waited in resigned reluctance, surrounded by the warrior host. Unaware of the priest’s discomfiture, the warriors talked and jested among themselves until the arrival of Wulfrum with Olaf Ironfist and Lord Halfdan. A cheer went up and the jesting increased. Wulfrum smiled, letting it wash over him, and cast a swift glance around. The priest, looking up at the three of them, swallowed hard and tried to conceal his nervousness. His gaze moved past them to the assembled Saxons whose presence the earl had likewise commanded, seeing in their expressions his own doubt and fear. Of the Lady Elgiva there was no sign.
‘And the bride, my lord?’ he asked diffidently.
‘She is coming,’ replied Wulfrum.
An imposing figure, he was dressed in a scarlet tunic of fine wool over blue leggings. A cloak of dyed red wool, embroidered at front and hem, was thrown over his shoulders and fastened by a silver dragon brooch. His shoes were made of good leather and by his side he wore a fine sword.
Halfdan and Ironfist were also attired in their best to do honour to their friend. They glanced once at Father Willibald and then ignored him, a state of affairs that suited him perfectly.
The minutes passed with still no sign of the bride and Halfdan exchanged glances with Ironfist, though he said nothing. Wulfrum felt a twinge of unease, but forced it down. It was, after all, a woman’s privilege to keep her groom waiting on her wedding day. It occurred to him that Elgiva might consider flight, but, if so, she would soon have found it impossible: Ravenswood was well guarded and by his own men. A cat could not slip out unnoticed. No, this marriage would take place as planned. It was an important symbol, announcing that the Norsemen were there to stay and that they would ally themselves with Saxon blood. He knew too that if he intended to rule these people, it would be far better to show them that their lady was held in a position of respect. To see her demeaned as his whore would have added to existing resentments. In many ways it was a political move, though, if he were honest, not entirely. He did not deceive himself that Elgiva entertained any tender feelings on his account; given the chance, she might well drive a sword into his heart.
‘Where is the wench? What keeps her?’ demanded Halfdan.
Distracted from his thoughts, Wulfrum frowned. The assembled crowd was growing restless. If Elgiva was playing some petulant female trick, he would return to the hall and drag her forth himself. The flicker of doubt grew into a spark of annoyance. Would she dare to humiliate him before his men, before his overlord? By Odin’s beard, if she tried
it—
He never finished the thought, aware suddenly that the conversation around him had stopped and all eyes were drawn to the far edge of the glade. He turned and looked, then looked again, and all anger died in an instant. Elgiva, attended by Hilda and Osgifu, moved across the greensward towards him. For a moment he wondered if she were real or some sprite from the forest. Glancing sunlight caught her in its rays, enfolding her in a halo of light. Clad in the golden gown with her golden hair loose about her shoulders and restrained only by a circlet of flowers, she seemed some ethereal being, so graceful in her movements that she might have floated above the earth rather than walked on it.
‘Thor’s thunderbolts,’ muttered Olaf Ironfist, ‘but she is fair.’
Beside him Halfdan nodded. ‘I’m starting to wonder if I wasn’t too hasty in letting Wulfrum have the wench,’
Wulfrum forgot his anger and his doubt and felt in his heart the first stirring of pride that this Saxon maid was to be his wife, along with the knowledge that every man present wanted to be in his shoes.
Elgiva walked with unhurried step across the glade with head held high, looking neither to left nor right, giving no sign that she was aware of the attention focused on her. When she reached Wulfrum’s side, she made a brief and graceful curtsy, meeting his gaze for a fleeting moment before he took her hand.
‘You shine like the sun, my lady.’
There was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes, but Elgiva returned it with coolness.
‘You are all kindness, lord.’
If he noted the ironic tone he gave no sign and led her forwards to the waiting priest. She concealed her surprise to see Father Willibald there, knowing that many of the Vikings had yet to embrace the Christian faith and worshipped their old gods. She realised she had no idea of Wulfrum’s beliefs. Part of her had expected to endure a pagan ceremony, something that could never have been regarded as binding by the Saxon population. Had Wulfrum known that? One moment’s reflection assured her that he had. This marriage was intended to be binding in every way. Her heart pounded. There was to be no escape.
The ceremony went without the least hitch. Contrary to all her hopes there was no timely interruption, no divine intervention, and no Saxon army to save her at the last moment. The words were spoken, the rings exchanged and the air was split by a rousing cheer from the assembled crowd as Wulfrum took his bride in his arms and sealed the moment with a kiss. Elgiva permitted that embrace but did not respond.
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