The Viking Warrior's Bride

‘Young and virile,’ he quipped, somehow putting extra emphasis on the word virile. ‘Isn’t that what was called for in the agreement?’

She felt heat rise on her cheeks. An image of his nude body flashed through her mind and there was no place in this discussion for that.

Jarl Eirik cleared his throat, clearly uneasy with the direction the conversation had taken. ‘I can have Rodor, or someone else of your choosing, taken down to the ships and shown the bride price to reassure you.’

Gwendolyn nodded, having trouble getting that virile thought to stay out of her head. ‘In the morning will be soon enough.’

Jarl Eirik inclined his head. ‘Then we should speak of the actual ceremony. I must apologise, but I’d have it take place sooner rather than later. I’m needed at home.’

Her mind raced with a hundred excuses. If she could put it off for years, then she would. But much to her surprise, Annis spoke first. ‘The ceremony should take place with the new moon.’

Gwendolyn stared at her sister, certain that she had imagined the interruption from the meek woman. But then her sister spoke again, her gaze on the Jarl. ‘I know my sister doesn’t put much faith in the stars, but I believe they tell us more than most of us ever realise. Our parents’ marriage and even my own marriage began with a new moon, and I believe hers will be most fortuitous if allowed to follow the tradition.’

Gwendolyn looked at her sister, confused by what amounted to a betrayal. Annis knew how she felt about this marriage. The new moon was in three days. Three days to prepare to become that Dane’s wife. Three years wouldn’t be long enough to prepare for that. Before she could utter an objection, Jarl Eirik’s smile broadened. ‘Perfect. If your family has a tradition, then I most certainly do not want to be the one to break it.’

Annis smiled and blinked as if she was a little stunned that her suggestion had been accepted. ‘Wonderful. That gives us three days to plan and prepare a feast.’

Gwendolyn opened her mouth to protest, but Rodor kicked her leg underneath the table and she ended up swallowing a yelp of pain. Her gaze again found Vidar’s across the table and she was surprised to find that he frowned, his brows pulled together as his gaze narrowed on hers. In the light of the candles flickering overhead, she realised that his eyes were the clearest shade of blue she’d ever seen. Not grey, or flecked with green, but clear like the bluest sky. And at that moment there wasn’t a speck of kindness in them. She didn’t understand what a life with him would mean for her and that sent a wave of anxiety tumbling through her. Would he be cruel? Would he expect her to be a wife like Annis? Someone sweet and biddable and unconcerned with things outside her own home? Would he try to take away the only life she’d ever known?

‘In three days, then,’ he agreed, sending her heart plummeting to her stomach.

Perhaps it was possible that he didn’t want this marriage either. His attitude made her think he wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. If she talked to him, perhaps he’d agree that the marriage should be in name only.

It was her last hope, but something about him...something about the way he looked at her made her think she wouldn’t be successful.

* * *

The preparations for the wedding feast began the next morning. Annis had sent a messenger off to her farm to fetch Eadward who would bring goats for the celebration. The hunters had been sent to bring venison and the fishermen were at the river to bring fish to the table. The servants began preparing the pork over the roasting fires.

Gwendolyn had barely slept the night before. She’d spent part of the night tossing and turning in her bed and the rest of the night pacing around her chamber. There was nothing for it. She was well and truly obliged to marry this Dane. Vidar and Jarl Eirik had already been at her table when she’d emerged from her chamber the next morning. She’d barely been able to bring herself to look at either one of them. After a quick breakfast, Jarl Eirik took her to the ships so that she could verify that the payment he’d brought was sufficient.

He didn’t call it payment. He called it mundr. It was the bride price her father had demanded from him. Whatever its proper name, it was the gold, jewels and horses that Jarl Eirik had paid for the privilege of having his man marry her. Apparently the barrels and chests were her worth. She wasn’t worth a coin more or a jewel less. Her stomach churned as she looked it over.

Seeing it made the betrothal suddenly seem real and it made her think of her first betrothal. Cam had asked her father for her hand on the eve of her seventeenth year. As Rodor’s son, he had nothing but the wealth his family had earned working for her family. He had his sword arm, his strong mind and his friendship with her brother that he’d use to support them and their eventual children. There’d been no talk of gold exchanging hands. She’d always known Cam and her father had approved of him. That was the way it was meant to be. These strangers were not supposed to be here.

Closing her eyes, she turned away from the treasure. It would do no good to think of the past. A quick glance at Rodor found him looking at her, the sober expression on his face seeming to repeat his warning of the previous day.

‘Think of the consequences to our people. A true leader must put everyone else before himself...or herself.’

‘Everything appears to be in order,’ she said.

Rodor nodded. ‘It does. You honour us with your mundr. I accept in place of her father.’

Gwendolyn bit her tongue lest she dispute him. As if they had any choice in accepting the payment. As if the Jarl had any intention of ‘honouring’ her with the payment. He wanted to expand his holdings and this marriage was the only way to do that. For generations the Alveys had existed comfortably in the north with no need for such arrangements.

But that era had come to an end and it was time to accept that.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she forced herself to nod in acknowledgement of the gift and Rodor’s acceptance. ‘Thank you, Jarl Eirik.’ The words tasted bitter on her tongue and nearly choked her on their way out, but she said them because that was her role here as Lady of Alvey. She would not allow these Danes to take that away from her.

Rodor continued speaking with the Jarl to make arrangements for unloading it as well as where the rest of the Danes could make camp. She waited as long as she could before making her excuses about needing to see to feast preparations and leaving. She stalked up the hill, her breath coming in short huffs as she made it to the front gate of her home.

Annis had the preparations well underway so there was no need for Gwendolyn’s help. Instead, she stormed directly to the practice yard. The warriors spent every morning sparring and she was in need of her sword to work off her anger and frustration. She practically ran to the yard, which was on the back side of the granary. Yet when she turned the corner, she skidded to a halt because Vidar was standing there with his sword strapped to his back, calling out orders to the men. Her men.

He had two score of them lined up in rows of two facing each other. Each of them stood in squares drawn off on the ground with sticks or lines of small stones. At his command, they began sparring with their swords and struggling not to step out of the box. His own men, the Danes, lazed around the edges of the sparring field, watching with amusement.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked before she could think to stop herself, rushing towards them. As she ran, some of the men had already started tripping over the walls of their boxes, hitting the ground with groans as they fell outside their designated spaces.

Vidar spared her a glance over his shoulder before he went back to instructing the men. ‘Good warriors never lose ground. You must learn to fight without backing away from your enemy. Get up and try again.’

‘What are you doing to them?’ she asked. ‘You’ll have them injuring themselves.’

The corner of his mouth tipped up in that smirk that was becoming all too familiar, but he didn’t look at her as he watched the two warriors nearest him battling each other. ‘Then it will help them to learn.’ When the smaller of the two engaged in the sparring contest stepped backwards, Vidar sharply rebuked him. ‘Never step backwards from an armed opponent.’ The man responded by holding his ground with his feet, but he bent backwards as he locked swords with his opponent who was clearly stronger. The smaller man wasn’t able to push the stronger man back.

‘What good is a warrior who is injured?’

‘He’ll be smarter for it,’ Vidar answered. Without looking at her again, he walked away from her and between the groups of men, offering critique where he thought it necessary.

Despite the obvious fact that Vidar was younger than half of them, he commanded them with the authority of a seasoned leader. He wore a leather tunic that left his arms bare so that his shoulder and arm muscles bulged as he gestured. He was definitely stronger than most of them, despite his youth.

Rage prickled her skin, washing over her in a sweep that left her skin hot and tight. It wasn’t only because he’d taken over their training without consulting with her or Rodor. It was that he did it so effortlessly, as if he was accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. As if it was already his right to have command of the warriors when they weren’t even married yet. What made it even worse was that her warriors were listening to him as if he was right in all of those assumptions.

‘Halt!’ Her voice rang out over the sparring field with authority.

Vidar whipped his head around to look at her, the smirk and swagger he wore so easily wiped from his face. She had to fight to keep herself from smiling, but she wouldn’t stoop to his level. The men closest to her stopped their sparring, but the pairs further away continued. She called out halt again just as one of the men fell over his barrier and stumbled to the ground. The others who hadn’t heard her clearly before heard her this time and stood down with their weapons.

‘This is not how we train.’ She spoke to all of them, but her gaze settled on Vidar.

‘Perhaps it’s not how they were trained before, but it’s how they’ll train going forward,’ Vidar said, crossing his arms over his chest. He levelled her with a glare that was as cold as it was hot with anger. She had no idea how the two ideas could exist in the same gaze, but he managed to pull it off.

‘That’s not for you to decide.’

That was met with a murmur of voices that made her realise the Danes were watching the display from the side of the field. Behind him, the men who’d been lounging in the grass rose to their feet to watch. Realising that she was quickly making their spat a spectacle for all to see, she inclined her head in the only conciliatory gesture she could muster. ‘Let us talk privately.’

Vidar glared at her. His blue eyes were fierce as he stared her down as if he’d not be sorry to see her engulfed in flames where she stood. ‘After the sparring session is over.’

She clenched her teeth against the harsh words that threatened to spew out whether she wanted them to or not. Despite that he was in the wrong, she was ever vigilant of her role as peacekeeper amongst her men. It wouldn’t do to antagonise Vidar more than she already had, but neither would it be wise to allow him to disrespect her in front of her men. She’d worked too hard to earn their respect—particularly after Cedric’s death—to risk losing it now.

‘The sparring session is over now.’ She made certain that her voice was loud and clear so that it would carry to the Danes at the edges of the field.

Vidar dropped his arms to his sides, his hands clasped into fists. If it was possible, a near tangible wave of apprehension moved through her warriors as silence descended.

Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, but it wasn’t from fear. For the first time since these Danes had arrived on her land, she saw an end, a release, to the impotent rage that had been building inside her. Her heart beat with anticipation of meeting him head on.

The sound of a bell ringing shattered the silence. Gwendolyn blinked to break the spell of the tension and looked away from Vidar to the source of the sound. The bell was hung from a wooden brace near the hall’s entrance. It rang three times during the day. To signal the beginning of morning chores for the warriors, to signal the start of afternoon chores and to call the men to the evening meal. Morning chores for the warriors began after their training. Gwendolyn had been so lost in the battle of wills with Vidar that she’d lost all track of the time.

But as she looked towards the bell, she saw Rodor standing beside it, leaving her to wonder if he’d rang it to end the confrontation. If the disapproval etched deeply into his features was an indication, that’s exactly what had happened.

Her warriors didn’t move a muscle. They stood in their places, watching her and Vidar until the last strains of the ringing had died out. ‘Go about your work,’ she said in a quiet voice.

For a moment no one moved and then eventually, one by one, they slowly filed away, leaving the sparring field. The last to leave was Wulf. The Danes at the edges of the field hadn’t left, but their postures relaxed and a few even sat on their haunches, though they hadn’t looked away. Vidar hadn’t looked away, either. He stared her down with that cold savagery that only he could manage to pull off.

When all of her men had gone away, he took the few steps that would put him in front of her. In a low voice laced with steel, he said, ‘You will not defy me.’

‘I have not defied you...yet.’

Chapter Four

The woman hadn’t so much as blinked at a tone that made most men tremble. With her shoulders squared and her chin raised, Gwendolyn of Alvey stared him down. Her eyes shimmered like deep blue pools beneath the long fringe of her lashes.

The woman was mad. Everyone had seen how she’d stormed out on to the sparring field and tried to usurp his authority. There was no denying it and the fact that she tried to deny it only made him angrier. ‘You came out here with the implicit goal of interfering in my work.’

She gave a quick nod of her head. ‘Aye, because your work was interfering with the training of my warriors.’

‘Ah, I see your confusion.’ He smiled as it became clear to him where the misunderstanding lay. ‘They are my warriors now. I was training my warriors and you interfered.’

If he’d have struck her across the face, he couldn’t imagine her becoming any angrier. Her cheeks flushed red and he had to admit that it made her even more attractive. Her eyes flashed with heat and she drew herself up to stand even straighter. It was only then that he realised how tall she was for a woman. The top of her head reached his chin. ‘These men are not your warriors.’ She was so angry that her voice shook.

‘The agreement your father signed makes you mine along with all that comes with you.’

She swallowed, as if only remembering that pesky document. ‘Not yet. There has been no wedding. We haven’t spoken the words.’

‘Recall the words of the Jarl—your Jarl now—from last night. You became mine with the signing. It is binding and legal and the words left to be spoken are only ceremony. I could bed you now and no man would stand in my way.’

‘If you try to bed me now there would be no need for a man to stand in your way, because I would fight you myself.’

She really was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She was full of fire and a wildness that drew him in. He had no doubt that she would fight him at every turn and for some reason he was starting to enjoy it. Some long-hidden part of him admired her strength and a tiny thread of respect wound its way through him. He grinned and felt the tension leave his shoulders as he settled into verbally sparring with her. ‘There’s no need to fight me. I’m content to wait. It’s only three nights.’

Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth. ‘I will never submit to you.’

He had no doubt that she meant the words now, but he had every confidence in being able to overcome her resistance. She’d come to see that he was in command now. Not her. And she’d realise her new place in this world. He’d met warriors like her before. They came under his command and saw his youth as something to be challenged, but they didn’t realise he’d been on a ship with one brother or another from the time of his tenth winter. He had more experience than most of them.

He’d overcome them and he had confidence that he’d change her mind as well. ‘Then I look forward to taming you.’

She wanted to strike him, he could see it in her eyes, but much to her credit she didn’t. Instead, she took a step back and took in a deep breath, running her palms down her tunic to smooth out imaginary wrinkles in a visible attempt to calm herself. Finally, she said, ‘Then you’ll be disappointed. I look forward to fighting you at every attempt.’ Then she walked off across the sparring field from the direction she’d come, her back as straight as the blade of his sword.

Her legs were long and lean, eating up the distance with ease. He’d bet they were just as shapely as the lightly muscled curve of her shoulder that he could make out beneath the lightweight wool covering it. Her entire body seemed firm and strong. Yet, it was the sway of her hips that called his gaze as he watched her go. They were pleasantly rounded, as were her buttocks from what he could tell. He found her body appealing. Firm and soft all at the same time. The wedding night would be interesting.

With a smile on his lips, he walked to the edge of the sparring field to gather his men for their training. Since they’d been travelling the past few weeks, they’d been unable to train. It would be a nice change and work off some frustrations for him. He hadn’t actually meant to take over the training of her warriors. The Saxons had already been on the field when he’d arrived with his own men and they’d been doing it wrong. Was he supposed to simply stand there and watch them train inefficiently?

‘Enough lying around. Get to work,’ he called to his men, sending them grumbling on to the field.

‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you with that one,’ said Rolfe as he slowly got to his feet, his gaze on Gwendolyn’s retreating figure.

Vidar had known Rolfe since they both were boys. They’d been on nearly every adventure together and Vidar counted himself lucky that his friend had agreed to come with him to this remote corner of the world. Vidar had given his men the choice of coming north or staying to the south to battle, and he’d been pleased when all of them had chosen to follow him. Following his friend’s gaze to the woman’s back, Vidar nodded. ‘I think you’re right. I have to admit I’m looking forward to the challenge. I’d assumed she’d be a biddable wife.’

Rolfe threw his head back and laughed. ‘By the gods, man, why would you assume that? Have you ever met a biddable wife?’

Vidar frowned. He wanted to say that of course he had, but the truth was that he wasn’t certain. He’d never had any women in his life to speak of. His mother had died and he couldn’t remember her. His older sisters had all moved away once they’d become wives. Growing up, some of the slaves in his father’s home had been women, but they’d been shadows in the background who worked to make the household run efficiently. He’d met many women in his travels, but they’d all been passing amusements easily left behind with a trinket for their trouble.

Now that he thought of it, Eirik’s wife Merewyn was the only wife he knew. Vidar had seen them argue before, but never for long before either Eirik would sweep her up into his arms and take her to their chamber, or their voices would lower at the table and he couldn’t hear them anymore. Either way, they worked out their differences and Vidar had assumed it was because Eirik had reminded her of her place.

He shrugged off his thoughts. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t met a biddable wife. It only mattered that his wife would be biddable, because he had no intention of indulging her in anything else. ‘She’ll be obedient soon enough,’ Vidar said to his friend, shrugging out of his harness and unsheathing his sword.

‘You honestly believe that, don’t you?’ Rolfe eyed him as if he were daft.

Vidar held his sword up to the meagre light, silently cursing the absence of sunlight in this dark land. If the grey light could be believed, the blade was due for a polishing. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

Rolfe only shook his head. ‘I blame this on the fact that you’ve never kept a woman in your bed for more than a few nights at a time. If you keep them around a little longer, you start to learn little things about how to keep them happy.’

Vidar laughed. ‘That’s the difference between you and me, my friend. I don’t have to work so hard to keep them happy.’

Rolfe swung at him, but Vidar was ready for him and ducked out of the way, turning in a full circle to bring his sword around. Rolfe had already jumped back out of the way, as Vidar had expected he would. This wasn’t the first time they’d come to friendly blows.

‘Vidar.’ Eirik called his name, drawing their mock battle to a stop.

When Vidar looked over to see his brother striding across the field, Rolfe laughed again and slapped him on the back. ‘May the gods be with you, Brother.’ Then he trotted out on to the sparring field, leaving Vidar alone to face what appeared to be the wrath of his brother. Eirik’s brows were drawn together in a deep frown.

‘Vidar, what have you done?’

Vidar made a show of looking around the sparring field. His men had already cleared the field of debris and had paired off, sparring with their swords and knives. They had no need of barricades to keep them in tiny boxes, because they’d come of age training to never retreat in a single-opponent battle. It was a feat that required superior upper body strength, which helped them be successful.

‘The men are sparring,’ he answered and sheathed his sword, as it appeared this conversation might take up more of his time.

Eirik grumbled and raked a hand over the back of his neck. ‘What happened with the girl?’

‘The girl? You mean the woman who wanted to rip my head off? She had an issue with the way I was training the men.’

‘The Saxon men?’

‘Aye.’ Vidar inclined his head, irritated that he was being subjected to this questioning. After his talk with his lovely betrothed, he had a lot of aggression that he wanted to work off on the field. ‘What of it?’

‘You cannot come here and simply take over. From what I can gather, their warriors are the girl’s responsibility along with Rodor,’ Eirik explained.

‘Perhaps they were, but they won’t be any longer. I’ll challenge Rodor to see if he’s worthy of the post, but no wife of mine will lead warriors. She’ll be Lady of this land. She’ll do things that a Lady should do.’

Much to Vidar’s surprise, Eirik let out a laugh that rumbled up from deep in his chest. ‘And tell me, Brother, what are the things a Lady should do?’

Again, Vidar was at a loss. What did Merewyn do with herself all day? For the life of him, he didn’t have an answer. She saw to the needs of the children she’d borne his brother and she generally called out orders for meal preparation; but if she did anything else, he hadn’t the slightest notion what it was. He shrugged. ‘Anything she wants as long as she leaves the warriors and the battles to me. I’ll gladly stay out of her way, as long as she stays out of mine.’

Eirik looked at him for a long moment before his lips ticked up in a grin and he shook his head. ‘It strikes me that you are profoundly unsuited to marriage.’

Vidar grinned. ‘It only strikes you now? I’ve been telling you that all winter. I never wanted marriage.’

‘And yet you will do your duty.’ Eirik sobered and fitted him with a level gaze.

‘Aye. I always do my duty to you, Brother. You don’t have to question where my allegiance lies.’