The Viking's Defiant Bride

by Joanna Fulford

‘If they were true, you could not have protected him. You could not have betrayed me.’ He paused, his face white with anger. ‘By rights I should kill you now, you faithless whore!’

  ‘Do it, then!’ Before he was aware of her intent, Elgiva had seized the dagger from his belt and held the point to her breast. ‘If you really believe I have cuckolded you with Aylwin, then it is your right. All you have to do is lean upon the point.’

  Her gaze met his, unflinching. In it she read anger and pain, a hurt far deeper than she could ever have guessed. His hand closed round hers and the blade touched her throat. He would kill her, then. Suddenly she didn’t care. She had lost his love and the look in his eyes was more than she could bear. Unheeded, the tears flowed down her face as the silence stretched between them. Then, without warning, his grip changed, sliding to her wrist before tightening with brutal force. Elgiva gasped. The dagger fell to the floor. He flung away from her and retrieved it.

  Elgiva lifted a hand towards him. ‘Forgive me.’

  Wulfrum made no answer. Casting her a last contemptuous look, he grabbed his cloak and strode to the door. He threw it open with a crash and marched out. In sick horror she heard his receding footsteps and then only silence. Gradually, from outside, the sound of horses’ hooves impinged on her consciousness and she ran to the window. Through her tears she watched in hopeless longing as Wulfrum mounted and moved to the head of the column. Elgiva willed him to look her way as her hands clenched over the wooden sill. Almost as if he sensed the intensity of her gaze, he glanced up once and their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat. Let him smile, she thought, let him give some sign that he forgave her. His expression was forbidding as he held her gaze for a moment, and then he looked away, touching his heels to his horse’s sides. Elgiva felt her throat tighten. She watched until he was out of sight and then she wept.

  Wulfrum rode fast and his men, seeing that flinty expression, left him alone with his thoughts. In truth he had only one: Elgiva. Their conversation had shaken him to the core and the knowledge of her deception turned like a knife in his guts. For a moment back there he had wanted to kill her. He had no idea what had stayed his hand or how he had governed his ire. It burned still and for some considerable time after until eventually fresh air and exercise tempered it a little. Even so, the memory of the scene was bitter. Her look as he left haunted him. His last words to her had been spoken in anger, anger born of pain the like of which he had known only twice before. He wanted to believe it was all baseless, but he had the evidence of her words. Why had she kept silent so long, only to tell him now? Who could understand the workings of a woman’s mind? What traps did subtle beauty lay for the unwary? How could he have been so naïve as to fall for melting looks and tender words of love? And yet she had seemed so sincere. Had she meant any of the things she had said? Once he had thought so, but now…

  For a long while he rode thus, his brain a ferment of tormented thought. Then, as his rage cooled and he grew calmer, his mind began to clear. In truth, he had been much to blame for allowing himself to grow too fond, to let beauty blind him. He had known from past experience that loving made a man vulnerable and in so doing he had broken a cardinal rule. His marriage to Elgiva had been made for political reasons by and large, something he had forgotten. Only a fool would think a woman could take an enemy to her bed and love him.

  In the days that followed Wulfrum’s departure, Elgiva kept herself busy about her household tasks, but she found herself thinking about him all the time, wondering what he was doing just at that moment. She had no doubt that he would receive a warm welcome from Halfdan and his mind would be filled with men’s business, leaving no time to think of anything else. While their days would be filled with council matters, the nights would be left to carousing. There would be women too, young and attractive and only too pleased to be the object of attention to a handsome earl. And he was handsome, dangerously so. Elgiva bit her lip. So many times she had relived that last quarrel and seen again the hurt in his eyes. He had trusted her and she had betrayed that trust. It mattered not that her motives had been of the best. It was betrayal. Now he had gone with his heart full of anger. Would he seek his pleasure elsewhere? Out of sight, out of mind, the proverb said. For her part it had proven manifestly untrue. Now each day passed much the same as the one before it with nothing to break the monotony. Sometimes she would hear a footfall behind her and turn round, half-expecting to see him there, but it would be Ida or one of the other men. Most acutely she was aware of how big their bedchamber seemed without him. She could not but recall the scenes that had taken place there. Now all that remained was echoing emptiness.

  ‘You miss him, don’t you?’ said Osgifu. They were sitting outside the women’s bower, spinning. Elgiva’s attention never left the yarn, but a telltale blush crept into her face.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, ’tis only a week he’ll be gone and the time will pass swiftly enough. Then you might regret that it was not longer.’

  Elgiva burst into tears. In a moment Osgifu was beside her.

  ‘What is it, child? What’s wrong?’

  Between sobs she managed to glean an account of the events that had preceded Wulfrum’s departure.

  ‘I wanted things to be right between us, for there to be no more lies. Now I’ve made it a hundred times worse. I have never seen him so angry. He looked at me at though he hated me.’

  ‘His pride has been hurt and he’s jealous. It’s a dangerous combination, but he’ll get over it.’

  ‘But he had no cause to be jealous. I love him, not Aylwin. I thought he knew that.’ Elgiva sobbed harder. ‘Now he has gone away. What if he never comes back?’

  ‘He’ll come back. He’s too bloody minded not to.’

  Sick with fear and doubt, Elgiva endured the long days of Wulfrum’s absence with a heavy heart. She performed all that was required of her with regard to the household affairs, but could take no pleasure in any of it. When her duties were done she sought solace out of doors, for the chamber she had shared with Wulfrum was too full of bitter memories to allow of its being a sanctuary now. The quiet burying ground offered most tranquillity and the prospect of being undisturbed. Having told Osgifu of her intent, it was thither she bent her steps.

  However, she found that she was not alone. A man was already standing there in the shade beneath one of the trees on the far side. With a start, she recognised Brekka. For a moment she regarded him with resentment. What did he want? Why couldn’t he leave her alone? Did he not know the peril he put them both in if he were seen? She looked around, but there was no sign of anyone else. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself, ashamed of such uncharitable thoughts. Then she made her way towards him.

  ‘My lady.’ He bowed. ‘I have been waiting here in the hope of meeting you.’

  ‘What is it, Brekka?’

  ‘I bring word from Lord Aylwin.’

  ‘From Aylwin?’

  ‘Aye, my lady. He bade me say that he has reconsidered your advice. He said you would understand what that meant.’

  Elgiva’s heartbeat grew a little faster. Aylwin was going to leave after all. Wulfrum was safe. Her spirits lifted as they had not for days. Before she could question further, Brekka continued.

  ‘He asks that he be permitted to see you once more.’ He paused. ‘If you refuse, he will understand.’

  Elgiva looked over her shoulder. There were still no Danes in evidence. Of late, the watch on her person had been relaxed, proof of Wulfrum’s growing regard and trust. Guilt stabbed. Then she thought of Aylwin, of his long and lonely exile in the forest, hunted by his enemies, never knowing if each day would be his last. He had been her betrothed. He had fought for Ravenswood, for her, and been wounded in their cause. Surely it was not too much to ask that he should be allowed to say farewell.

  ‘Where is he, Brekka?’

  ‘At the clearing where stand the old woodsmen’s huts.’

  She nodded. It wasn’t far. She could be there and
back before she was missed.

  ‘Very well. I will come.’

  As she had anticipated, it was but a short distance they had to walk and twenty minutes later they reached the clearing. As they did so, Elgiva could see the men and horses gathered there, perhaps twenty in all. Evidently they were on the point of departure. Elgiva stopped, looking around, relieved to think that sense had prevailed.

  ‘He is within, my lady,’ said Brekka, nodding towards the foremost of the huts.

  Even as he spoke three men emerged and she saw the familiar figure of Aylwin. The others she did not know. They had been deep in conversation, but, seeing her and Brekka, they stopped. For a moment there was silence, then Aylwin hurried forwards to greet her. He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  ‘I knew you would come.’

  Elgiva glanced at the mounted men. ‘I think my arrival is opportune.’

  ‘Indeed, there is little time. We must be gone.’

  ‘Where do you go, my lord?’

  ‘To Wessex, to throw in our lot with Alfred and the free Saxons.’

  Elgiva felt a surge of relief. He would be safe and now so would Wulfrum. ‘I am glad. After our last conversation, I did not think you would leave.’

  ‘Indeed, there is nothing now to stay for.’ He smiled. ‘Your arrival makes everything complete.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You are coming with me, Elgiva.’

  Apprehension prickled as she glanced around her. All the men on the far side of the clearing had mounted and were waiting. The two who had been with Aylwin before were now just a few yards off, flanking her. Brekka stood a pace behind.

  ‘I apologise for the ruse used to get you here,’ Aylwin went on, ‘but it seemed the safest way, all things considered. Besides, according to my intelligence, Earl Wulfrum is in York and not due back for days. By the time you are missed this evening, we shall be long gone.’

  ‘I cannot go with you, you know that.’

  ‘Did you think I would leave you behind, Elgiva?’

  ‘You must. Wulfrum will follow. He’ll kill every last one of you.’

  ‘No. The noble earl will not follow.’

  Apprehension turned to real alarm now. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Our Saxon allies have undertaken to prevent it. An ambush has been laid for him on his return from York.’

  ‘What?’ She was aghast. ‘You can’t mean it.’

  ‘I was never more serious in my life,’ he returned. ‘And with your husband dead, I take back what is mine.’

  Elgiva shook her head, feeling sick with dread. ‘I cannot let you do this, Aylwin.’

  ‘You cannot prevent it,’ he replied. He nodded to his companions. ‘Take the lady to her horse.’

  ‘No!’ Elgiva confronted him in anger. ‘I will not go with you.’

  ‘You’re coming with me, Elgiva, whether you will or not.’

  Aylwin nodded to his companions. In a moment she was held and her wrists bound securely in front of her. Then, despite all protest, she was carried to the horses and lifted into the saddle. Someone took hold of her reins and the whole cavalcade set off.

  Frightened and shocked, Elgiva concentrated first and foremost of staying in the saddle, for the pace was swift. With every stride all she could think of was Wulfrum riding into an ambush. And if by some miracle he survived it and returned to Ravenswood to find her gone, he would think her complicit, that she had gone with the Saxon rebels of her own free will. It would be for him the ultimate proof of her guilt. Heartsick, Elgiva saw in her mind her husband’s face and the hurt in his eyes, the silent accusation and the killing rage. He would never forgive her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The council had been a notable success so far as Wulfrum was concerned; it had finished ahead of time and Halfdan had acceded to his request for reinforcements to crush the Saxon rebels in Ravenswood, offering twenty-five men. It wasn’t as many as Wulfrum had initially hoped, but Halfdan had his own problems with local uprisings and could spare no more. Even so Wulfrum knew it would give him the advantage. With skilful deployment he could achieve his goal. The only negative was that Sweyn was among their number, but Wulfrum would not let personal matters cloud his judgement here. For all his faults Sweyn was a good man in a fight, being both experienced and ruthless. Once the rebels had been crushed, then there would be time to consider past grievances, but not until.

  Having turned their backs on York, they made good progress with Wulfrum calling a halt at noon to rest the horses and let the men refresh themselves. Then they rode on. The mood was buoyant; as they reached the edge of the forest, they knew they were within ten miles of Ravenswood. Wulfrum breathed in the subtle evocative scent of the woodland and smiled, for he associated it with home and with Elgiva.

  Elgiva! Despite all his efforts not to, he had missed her more than he had ever dreamed possible. Yet their last words had been filled with anger. How much he had regretted it since. While his days had been busy enough, the nights had afforded leisure to think; it had occurred to him then that she could have kept silent and he would never have known of those meetings with Aylwin. She could have kept silent and let him ride unsuspecting into possible danger. That way she would have been free of him, free to join her Saxon lover—if, indeed, he was her lover. She had told him long ago that she respected Aylwin, but had denied ever loving him. A marriage of convenience, she said. It had sounded like the truth, but was it? If not, why had she chosen to speak at last, to risk his wrath and worse? He had been so close to killing her. The truth hurt, as she had known it must but, as she said, what was the alternative—to build a future on secrets and lies? He knew it was not a future he wanted. She had begged for his forgiveness and he had spurned her, too angry to realise that she was asking for a completely different relationship with him. A prize of war, forced to marry the victor, she had had no say in the events that would shape the future. Her world had been turned upside down. Torn between two loyalties and put, by him, into an impossible position, Elgiva had only done what she thought she must. Should he blame her after?

  Wulfrum sighed, calling himself all kinds of fool. He had regarded his marriage with complacency and then, at the first real test, he had allowed rage and jealousy to impair his judgement. While he was familiar with the former, he had never known jealousy before. No woman had ever mattered enough—until now. He had told Elgiva he loved her, but he had not taken her part or even given her the benefit of the doubt. Could she ever forgive him? Could they make a life together after this? He prayed it might be so for the idea of any future without her was meaningless. When he had taken her to wife he had little thought he would come to love her to the point where only she could do him hurt.

  Wulfrum was given little more leisure to indulge these thoughts for the road narrowed among the trees, forcing the party to slow the pace. The forest around them grew denser and the landscape more rugged. Presently the way passed between two steep banks, compelling the horsemen to ride in single file. Firedrake slowed and snorted. Wulfrum frowned, snapping out of his reverie instantly, reining in while he scanned the path ahead and the trees around.

  ‘What is it?’ Ironfist drew rein behind him.

  ‘I don’t know. Listen.’

  At his signal the men ceased all conversation. Apart from the occasional stamp of a hoof and the creak of saddle leather, there was silence.

  ‘I don’t hear anything,’ said Ironfist at length.

  ‘Exactly.’

  The giant’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the defile ahead. ‘A good place for an ambush.’

  ‘Aye, but our way lies through it all the same. Have the men keep their wits about them.’

  Wulfrum heard the word passed back, heard swords loosened in scabbards. Then he urged his mount forwards. The stallion’s ears flicked back and forth and he snorted anew, placing his hooves with neat precision on the path, his steps more reluctant. It confirmed Wulfrum’s suspicions, but still he could det
ect no sign of life. The skin prickled on the back of his neck. He guessed if there was an attack, it would be when his men were deep in the defile. Closing his legs around the horse’s sides, he urged him on. From out of nowhere an arrow hissed past and a man behind him cried out. More arrows followed, thudding into shields amid warning shouts from his escort. He saw a man fall, pierced through the throat. Then came whoops and yells and suddenly the trees were alive with armed men hurtling down the steep banks towards their quarry. He had an impression of woodsmen’s garb and rough bearded faces, but the attackers were not without courage or skill and laid on right willingly.

  Wulfrum drew Dragon Tooth from the scabbard. Moments later the sword became a deadly arc of light, cutting down the first two attackers before they knew what had hit them. Then the third was upon him. Wulfrum parried the blow aimed at his head, but the blade slid off his own and left a bloody gash along his arm. Gritting his teeth, he fought grimly on, knowing there could be no quarter. He dispatched his opponent with a wicked slash to the throat. The man dropped where he stood, his life blood gushing from the wound. As he fell, another took his place. The outlaws were violent men, who preyed on travellers and would sell their lives dear. Wulfrum knew it was unusual for them to attack such a large group, but desperate fugitives would do whatever they had to. His men gave a good account of themselves, but, hampered by the cramped conditions and milling horses and the bodies of the slain, their situation was precarious indeed. From the corner of his eye he saw Ironfist swing his war axe and take off a man’s head before slicing for another. He heard the foe scream and fall as the blade severed an arm. Wulfrum fought on, a cold anger burning in his gut and a fierce determination not to meet his end here on this forest trail. He accounted for three more of the attackers before their leader, seeing the tide of battle turn against them, shouted the command to retreat. The outlaws fought their way free and began to back off before turning and scrambling up the banking towards the safety of the trees. There was no order about their going, just a desire to escape. Soon the last of them vanished among the trees.