Marrying Her Viking Enemy

Why her? Pulling the arrow back, she let it fly to land in the sack, but still outside the target. Evidence of how he unsettled her.

Dropping her arm, she finally turned to look at him. He was dressed casually today in trousers with a simple tunic, leaving his muscled arms revealed even though the morning air was quite brisk. His dark blond hair was pulled up again in the barbaric style he’d worn yesterday with ropes of it pulled back from his face and secured at the crown of his head. The dimple in his cheek shone when he smiled at her and it nearly hurt to look at it. How could a man so potentially dangerous to her family appear so attractively virile? The ever-present knot of unease tightened in her belly. ‘I’ve been practising archery only since Ellan and I arrived in Alvey.’

He raised his chin a notch and gave her an approving nod. ‘You’re a quick learner.’

He said it as if the trait met with his approval and that approval filled her with pride. Instead of commenting on his statement and facing that emotion, she asked, ‘How is your shoulder?’

Part of her had wondered in anticipation if Lady Gwendolyn would direct her to tend to him again that morning, while another part of her had been busy coming up with a bevy of excuses that would get her out of the task. In the end it hadn’t mattered, she’d left the little alcove she shared with Ellan at the same time a serving girl had emerged from his chamber. The white hot flair of jealousy she’d experienced had been quickly extinguished and tucked out of sight. What did it matter to her if someone else tended him? It particularly did not matter that the girl had emerged with mussed hair, making Elswyth wonder exactly how long she’d stayed in Rolfe’s chamber and to which part of him she had attended.

‘It’s sore but improved.’ His honesty impressed her. Most men she knew would not admit to any ailment. Her older brother Galan had once walked on a broken foot for three whole days before it had swollen so large that his shoe had to be cut off. Only then had he admitted he ‘might have twisted it a bit’.

‘Is there any inflammation? Heat?’

He gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Not any more than there was, but I’m nearly out of the salve you left. Can you can bring more tonight?’

She stared at him, weighing the risks of agreeing to help him again. There was no denying the fact that helping him would give her a chance to gather information for Father, but her sense of self-preservation warned her away from him. He unsettled her, making her feel interest when she shouldn’t. Yet, she understood that to refuse would rouse suspicion, so she nodded and said, ‘I’ll prepare more for you.’

‘Do you wield the axe as well as you do the bow?’ The abrupt change in topic startled her, prompting him to nod towards her hip where her axe was secured.

‘Better. I’ve been using it for years.’

‘Would you show me?’ He gestured towards the piles of wood a bit farther down the field past where Ellan and Lady Gwendolyn were practising.

‘Do you not know how to use one, Dane?’

Through his close-cropped beard she could see the dimple in his cheek when he smiled and shook his head. ‘The sword is my weapon. I can swing an axe in battle, but I can see how a smaller one for throwing could be useful.’

No man had ever asked her to show him how to do anything before. At the farm, she and Ellan ran the household and helped with the animals when it was needed. No one asked them for advice or sought them out, though that hardly deterred her from offering her opinion on matters when she saw that it would be beneficial. Still, she couldn’t stop the pleasure that welled in her chest that this warrior would ask her for a demonstration. Unable to find her voice, she nodded and set down her bow before unstrapping the quiver of arrows from her back. When she was finished, he stepped back to let her lead him farther afield.

Finding a nice, round stump, she rolled it to a clearing farther away from the practising warriors and set it in place upright. Satisfied with its position, she walked back to him and withdrew the axe from her belt. ‘As with your sword, I imagine, the trick is to keep your blade well tended. It need not be so sharp that it nicks your clothing, but it shouldn’t be dull.’

‘Do you sharpen your own blades?’ He took the axe from her and held it up, running the pad of his thumb across the edge of the blade.

‘Aye, it was necessary at home. Father didn’t approve of my use of it so forbade anyone to help me. Of course, here the blacksmith has been kind enough to see to the task.’

Grinning, he handed it back to her handle first. ‘But you didn’t let your father’s disapproval stop you.’

‘Nay, of course not.’ In some ways his censure had spurned her onwards. Her father was a difficult man, equal parts kind and stubborn. After her mother’s abandonment, he had seemed to look upon both her and Ellan with suspicion, as if they were somehow waiting to betray the family as well. That suspicion drove her now to prove to him that she could be relied upon. Growing up, it had meant that she had been forced to grab at her every freedom. Fortunately, he’d allowed her to keep them once she’d wrested them away.

‘I can tell you’re related to Lady Gwendolyn. Independence must run in your line.’ He said it with pleasure, as if it was something to be celebrated instead of criticised. An opinion in direct opposition to her father’s...and most of the men in her life, now that she thought about it. Lord Vidar was the only man she’d known to tolerate his wife’s eccentricities as he had.

Still, for all the delight it gave her, it made her feel rather like a horse. Her attributes weighed and measured against the line of her ancestors. ‘Does independence run in your line as well, Dane?’

He laughed, a deep and rich sound that was entirely more pleasing than it should have been. ‘You could say that. I have four older sisters, each one more independent than the next.’

She tried to imagine a young Rolfe with four older sisters badgering him about, but she couldn’t do it even though she liked the idea of it. She could only see him as the powerful man that he was. Every man in a position of power over women needed at least one woman in his life to answer to.

Instead of responding, she gripped the axe by the handle and held it high over her head. Aiming for the centre of the stump, she let it go, hitting her mark dead on with a smooth popping sound as the tip of the blade embedded itself in the wood.

‘That’s good. Do it two more times and we’ll call it skill and not luck.’

He was teasing her, and she couldn’t help but laugh. Twice more would be no trouble at all. She had been throwing axes since she was a child. Retrieving it, she went on to show him two more times how accurate she was. Each throw landed within a finger width of the one before.

‘Now you try.’ She grinned as she walked back to him, holding the axe out. ‘Let’s see how lucky you are.’

‘The difference, Saxon, is that I never claimed to be skilled.’

‘Now you’re retreating? Interesting. I took you for a man of courage.’

He chuckled and took it from her, his fingertips grazing her palm and making goosebumps move up her arm. Only when she stepped back to give him space to throw did she realise that they had drawn a small crowd. Being with him had made her forget everyone else and she would have sworn it was the same with him. He didn’t seem to care that his warriors watched them. In fact, he only seemed to have eyes for her. When she spoke his gaze never strayed from her face and, every time she’d thrown the axe or shot an arrow, she had felt his study of her. Being the centre of his attention was a heady thing, but no matter how important or valued he made her feel, she must remember that he was the man who would be sent to destroy her family if the need arose.

He finally looked away from her to study the stump, bringing the axe up to gauge the distance. She worried that he wouldn’t get leverage without the use of his left arm for balance, but when he threw it the axe sailed through the air, easily reaching the stump. He probably could’ve thrown it much farther. It sliced into the wood deeply, landing roughly a hand’s width below the gouges she had left.

‘Not bad,’ she said as he walked to retrieve the axe, and she couldn’t stop her treacherous gaze from roaming down his backside when he bent over to pull it out of the stump. The sight of his nude body, muscled and unquestionably masculine, was still vivid in her mind. A tiny flicker of awareness joined the tension in her belly. It gave her pause, because she’d never felt that for a Saxon man.

Had she been secretly harbouring a core of wickedness like her mother all this time? Last night she’d been able to assuage her guilt by convincing herself that her feelings had been a natural result of seeing her first nude male body. But that wasn’t precisely true, she realised now. It was him. The Dane clearly made her feel wicked things.

His next throw was a bit wide, barely clipping the stump on its right side. His third attempt was true and hit where her first blade had touched to the cheers of the small group of warriors watching them. He gave a simple nod of acknowledgement to them.

‘You’re very good for someone who doesn’t know how to throw an axe.’ Honestly, she would have been amazed had he been terrible. The man was probably good at everything he tried.

‘Not as good as you,’ he said, bringing the axe back to her.

‘Nothing a little practice won’t cure.’

Holding it out for her, handle side out, he said, ‘You’ve mastered the axe. You’re progressing at archery. How would you like to try learning the sword? Or am I wrong and you mastered the blade as a child?’

She smiled at his question and shook her head, taking the axe to affix it to her belt. ‘I’ve never held a blade. My father forbade it and a sword was too costly for me to acquire on my own.’

‘Do you want to learn?’ He asked it as if it were a simple thing.

‘From you?’ Why did her heart pounce in anticipation?

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re afraid of disobeying your father.’ There was a challenge in his eyes as he said that. ‘But you never let that stop you before, have you?’

Actually, she had let that stop her. Since her mother left, she’d been doing everything she could to prove to her father that she wasn’t like the woman. That meant that, aside from a few indiscretions such as the axe, she had done everything to find his favour. Father would not want her spending time with this man, yet she was very tempted to accept the offer.

Rolfe’s voice had been pitched too low to be overheard, but she still took a look around to make sure. Lady Gwendolyn casually glanced over at them from where she was still instructing Ellan, curiosity burning in her features. The warriors, assuming correctly that the entertainment was over, were slowly going back to their own sparring. That more than anything decided her. She couldn’t bear their audience as she practised. Slowly shaking her head, she said, ‘I cannot. I’m afraid that my pride couldn’t bear the scrutiny of an audience.’

‘There’s a clearing to the south. It’s not far from the walls of Alvey, but far enough for privacy. I could teach you there in the mornings.’

He spoke so earnestly that she almost forgot to be suspicious. Almost. ‘Why would you teach me?’

He took in a breath, his chest expanding with the effort as he thought over his answer. ‘Because you want to learn and I can see that no one else will teach you.’ She didn’t know what she had expected from him, but it wasn’t that.

She did want to learn. Every day at home felt like a threat with the Scots and the Danes on each side. The more she learned the better chance she had of protecting herself and her younger siblings. Of course, she also had purely selfish reasons. She was good at learning how to fight. She liked the training. ‘What would be the point if I’m to leave in a fortnight?’

‘You’re right. It’s not nearly long enough to master the skill, but it’s enough to give you basic knowledge.’ He paused, but she sensed that he wasn’t finished. ‘Although I understand if you’re too afraid.’

‘I’m not afraid,’ she said before she realised that he’d baited her.

Grinning, he said, ‘Then I’ll see you in the morning.’ He walked away and she was curious enough about him and what the morning would bring that she let him go without arguing. One morning with him wouldn’t change anything.

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