The Warrior's Runaway Wife

To her surprise, he did. She stepped back, putting a little space between them. ‘I am not a whore.’

His lazy, bored glance from the sky back down to her did not endear him to her in the slightest. In fact, his silent display of derision only made her want to fly into a rage. Instead, she fisted her hands at her side and repeated, ‘I am not a whore.’

‘I wouldn’t expect Lord Brandr’s daughter to be one. Although, finding you as I did would have made it easy for another to have come to that conclusion.’

The arrogant half-smile on his face was her undoing. Everything she had suffered these last weeks—the hunger and thirst, the fear, the cold dampness—all roiled to the fore serving to ignite her rage. Avelyn raised her arm to strike the smug expression from his face.

His arm shot out as fast as a loosened arrow and he grasped her forearm, warning, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ He pulled her against his chest. ‘I am not beholden to your father, nor to you. I will not meekly endure your abuse no matter how angry you become.’

Avelyn lowered her head, wishing she could simply disappear as quickly as her rage had at the deep tone of his voice. What was wrong with her to make her act like such a simpleton, such a fool?

At her lingering silence, he said, ‘Your anger is misplaced. I have done you no harm, nor have I wronged you.’

‘I know. I am sorry and apologise. It’s just that...’

She stopped speaking and closed her eyes, unable to find the words she sought and not wanting to say anything more to a man not known to her.

He released her and with a finger beneath her chin lifted her head. ‘What? It’s just that what?’

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He didn’t appear angry or out of sorts. Just curious, as if what she’d been about to say mattered. ‘It’s just that I don’t wish to wed Sir Bolk.’

He laughed softly and lowered his hand. ‘I can understand that. I wouldn’t want to marry him either.’

How could she not laugh at his ridiculous comment? However, knowing he was taking her back to do just that—marry Sir Bolk—tempered her humour.

Avelyn sighed and stepped away from the comfort she’d found pressed against his chest. ‘Yes, well, while neither of us wishes to marry my great-grandfather’s warlord, I will soon be forced to do so.’ She shivered at the thought of sharing a life and a bed with the man.

‘Then you have two or three days to find a reason that will convince King David to intervene on your behalf.’

‘I am nothing more than a piece of property. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.’

‘Ah, perhaps you have forgotten, property has value.’

That was true. Property did have value. But that value was determined by men who had little, if any, concern for her or for anything she might want for her future. A future she hadn’t thought about in what seemed ages.

Her wants were no different than any other woman’s. She wanted a husband, home and children. But she had little faith in the love that troubadours sang about—it seemed a rather fleeting and useless emotion. Something more solid seemed a better choice—caring, friendship, sharing, a partnership of sorts were all things she would prefer over some elusive feeling that served only to leave one suffering the relentless pain of loss.

Her mother had pined for her love every day until the last. Even on her death bed, she’d wanted nothing more than the touch of his lips against hers one more time. At fourteen years old Avelyn had come to the harsh realisation that this love her mother craved was never going to come to her bedside—at least not while she lived. After her mother had died, she’d vowed never to allow herself to be trapped so neatly by a man’s pretty words.

No matter how sweetly spoken, they were false and meaningless.

But that didn’t mean she did not want a husband. She simply wanted one who would honestly care for her and her alone. One who was nearer her own age, so they could grow old together. One strong enough to protect her if need be and lustful enough to give her children.

One not unlike the man before her.

Avelyn gasped softly. What devil had put that notion in her head?

She took another step backwards, wanting to put more than an arm’s length of distance between them.

‘Avelyn? Lady Avelyn?’

From the sharper tone of his voice and the quizzical way his brows were drawn closer together, he had asked her a question. One she’d missed while her unruly mind was off wandering places it shouldn’t go.

‘What?’

‘I asked why Sir Bolk had been chosen.’

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. It isn’t as if they included me in making their decision.’

‘You have a brain, otherwise you would not have got this far on your own. So, think about it. Why would they have chosen such an elderly man and why would he have agreed?’

‘Well, of course he agreed. What man in their right mind would naysay their King?’

‘You obviously don’t know Sir Bolk. Not even the King could sway him if he wasn’t agreeable to the arrangement.’

‘No, I don’t know him. Nor do I wish to.’

‘He must have seen some advantage to the wedding.’

‘Other than trying to outlive a third wife?’

‘I doubt if that would happen. However, he would go to his death bed as son-in-law to Brandr and great-grandson-in-law to King Óláfr. Everything of value he possessed at that moment would go to—’

‘My father!’ she interjected, cutting off his words. ‘Including me.’ She staggered a couple of steps back, shocked by the realisation that her father and great-grandfather were even more underhanded than she could have imagined.

‘Then they would have the opportunity to marry you off once again.’

Even though Bolk’s possessions were meagre, they would all pass to her father. Avelyn wanted to scream. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and asked, ‘Do you think King David would go against my family?’

‘If given a good enough reason to do so.’

‘You said I have two or three days to devise one?’

‘That is about how long it will take to reach Carlisle.’

She stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on his arm. ‘Then, my good sir...’ she pulled her hand back ‘...what is your name?’

‘Roul. Lord Elrik of Roul.’

Avelyn burst out laughing. When she was able to gain control of herself, she wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head. ‘Of course you are. It only makes perfect sense that King David sent his Wolf to sniff out and retrieve King Óláfr’s lowly prey.’

He frowned down at her. ‘I fail to see the humour.’

‘That is because you are not in my place. I am nothing but a defenceless dove. You are a wolf. It seems out of place that they would send such a skilled hunter to track down so meek a prey.’

He offered her his arm and then turned to escort her to the men and horses waiting near the well. ‘It is impossible to know ahead of time how dangerous a prey might prove to be.’

‘Yes, that is true. You had no way of knowing if this dove hid fangs inside her beak.’

He nodded in agreement. ‘Or perhaps talons worthy of any eagle.’

Once they reached the others, Elrik paused to ask, ‘Can you ride?’

Avelyn could count the times she’d been on the back of a horse on one hand—two fingers in truth. But the alternative was obvious—she’d be forced to share his mount and that would place her too close to him for comfort. She shrugged. ‘Not well, but I’ll manage.’

He lifted a brow, but said nothing. Instead, he removed his long mantle and slung it over her shoulders. While securing the pin to hold the cloak in place and tucking her hair inside the hood, he said, ‘This will keep you from getting any wetter than you already are.’

‘What about you? It will do little good for you to catch a chill.’

‘I won’t get sick from a little rain.’

She looked up at the animal next to her and, even though it was the smallest of the lot, she wondered how she was going to scramble up on something that tall. Before she could ask, Elrik wrapped both hands round her waist and lifted her up on to the saddle.

Avelyn swung a leg over to the other side and tucked the long edges of his cloak beneath her legs. She took a deep breath before taking the offered reins in her hands, then stated, ‘I am ready.’

She could only hope her words sounded more confident to him than they had to her own ears.

‘You will be fine.’ He patted her knee before mounting his own horse.

* * *

By the time they stopped a few hours later, the rain had ceased and now the clouds had begun to part allowing the stars to twinkle against the darkening sky.

Avelyn shivered on her log seat before the fire and barely tasted the food in her mouth. She was tired and stiff from riding. Her hands ached from holding on to the reins so tightly the entire time and her thighs burned from clamping them against the saddle in an attempt not to fall.

Her rescuer, Lord Elrik, had said nothing, but she’d felt him watching her the entire time and had feared that at any moment he was going to pluck her from her horse and plop her in front of him on his. She had to admit that there had been a couple of times when she’d not have argued with that arrangement. Times when they’d ridden too fast, or when the road beneath the horse’s hooves seemed to rise too steeply as they’d climbed a hill.

To her amazement, she’d managed. But right now, she was most thankful to be planted firmly on solid ground. Her only desire was to curl into a ball and give over to the beckoning sleep teasing at her sluggish mind.

Elrik leaned against a tree and watched Avelyn sway and then quickly jerk upright as she stopped herself from falling asleep right there on the log. It was obvious the woman was exhausted. It’d been more obvious that riding a horse was not something she’d been taught.

They’d lost a few hours due to her inexperience and that was something he couldn’t afford to let happen tomorrow. She wasn’t going to be pleased, but they needed to make up some time and would only be able to do so if she rode with him.

The thought of holding her before him, his arms around her, his chest a platform for her back, didn’t seem as unappealing as he might have expected. Granted, she would argue and put up a fuss at first, but she would soon become accustomed to the feel of his body against hers. After all, it wasn’t as if they would be doing anything unseemly.

He groaned softly at the image that thought had conjured.

Elrik shook the vision from his mind. What was wrong with him? Had a comely body and pretty face made him suddenly lose the ability to reason? She was Brandr’s daughter. Hadn’t that family already caused him enough trouble?

Besides, a woman was the last thing he needed in his life—no matter how attractive he’d found her. Experience had taught him that women were not worth the time, expense or heartache they brought along with them.

Hadn’t Muriel given him enough grief to last two lifetimes?

No. Holding her in front of him would not do. He needed to come up with some other way of keeping her securely on the horse.

Avelyn swayed on her seat again, but caught herself with a jerk that brought her upright once again.

When she once again swayed on the log, she’d been slower to jerk herself awake.

Elrik pushed away from the tree, knowing that this next sway would not be stopped as successfully. He caught her in his arms a heartbeat before she hit the ground.

Cradling her against his chest, he carried her to the makeshift pallet spread out not too far from the warmth of the fire and placed her on the blanket. Without waking, she instantly rolled on to her side, curling into a relaxed ball with a hand beneath her cheek.

He grabbed his mantle, which, after it had been dried by the fire, had been laid alongside the pallet, and covered her with the fur-lined garment. After tucking the edges tightly around her, he rose and stared at a wayward ebony lock of hair resting against the paleness of her cheek.

He had to give Brandr credit for one thing at least. The man could be a traitorous viper at the best of times, but he had produced a very lovely daughter.

Elrik joined his men near the fire.

Just as he stretched his legs out to get comfortable, Fulke asked, ‘How are you going to deliver her to King David if she falls from her horse and breaks her neck first?’

Not one to let a question go without comment, Samuel said, ‘It isn’t her neck we should be worried about. At the rate we are travelling, it’ll be our own necks in danger.’

Sometimes, like now when complaining seemed the current activity of choice, Elrik had to remind himself that these were more than just childhood friends, they were his two best men—they could both sleep in the saddle while still retaining control of their horses, both were handy with a blade be it a sword or a dagger and both men would always protect his back if the need arose. So, enduring their complaints was usually bearable.

This was not one of those nights. ‘The pace will pick up tomorrow and she’ll not break her neck.’

When Samuel opened his mouth, Elrik glared at him. The dark look gained him the result he’d desired—the man closed his mouth without saying another word.

Chapter Three

To Avelyn’s relief, she’d slept well on the hardness of the ground. It was more like her old pallet at her mother’s than the over-soft, lumpy mattress in her shared chamber at her father’s keep. For the first time in what seemed ages, she’d awakened feeling rested, although a bit stiff, and ready to continue their journey.

She did wish, however, they could do so on foot instead of on the back of a horse.

Well aware that her wish would not be considered, she studied the horse being led in her direction. It was the one she’d ridden yesterday, the smallest of the four, but as far as she was concerned the only difference size made was in the distance to the ground—the fall would still hurt as much.

What did catch her attention was the saddle. The one she’d used yesterday—with the shorter pommel and cantle—had been placed on Roul’s animal, while his saddle, with the high front and back meant to help keep him seated during a battle, was on her horse. Lashed to the inside of both the pommel and the cantle was a rolled-up blanket.

That wasn’t the only difference. The stirrups had been cinched higher so that she’d be riding with her knees slightly bent, instead of hanging straight down, and a lead string had been secured to the reins.

Roul held his hand out. ‘Come, we need to make up for lost time.’

She hesitantly took a step forward and grasped his hand.

The fingers closing around hers were warm and a smile curved up the corners of his mouth, lending Avelyn a small amount of courage as she joined him alongside the horse.

He stroked his free hand the length of the animal’s nose. ‘I didn’t properly introduce you yesterday as I should have. Avelyn, this is Little Lady and she’s helped train more guards than I can count.’

‘You brought her along to train a guard?’

With his fingers still woven between hers, he raised their hands to the horse’s head. ‘No. I was uncertain if the runaway I sought could ride or not.’

He stroked the animal’s neck with their entwined hands. ‘And since I’ve discovered that she cannot, I am giving Little Lady here a task she is well suited to perform.’

From the way the animal eyed her, Avelyn got the impression she was not exactly a welcome task.

Roul nudged her shoulder with his. ‘Relax. She’s never bitten or thrown anyone.’

Under her breath, Avelyn muttered, ‘Yet.’

His laugh let her know that her comment had been heard.

It wasn’t until he grasped the lead string with one hand and rested the other hand on her shoulder that she noticed she was stroking the horse alone—his hand no longer covered hers. Avelyn frowned.

How had he managed that without her knowledge?

From the solid wall of warmth at her back she knew that while he might have released her hand and moved behind her while she’d remained unaware, he’d stayed close enough to prevent anything from happening. She stiffened her spine.

He lightly squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ll be this close for the entire journey. Nothing is going to harm you.’

She wasn’t certain what bothered her more—the heated breath rushing against her ear, his nearness that made her feel protected yet threatened at the same time, his words promising her she’d come to no harm, or the sudden realisation that he wasn’t going to give her any chance to escape.

‘Ready?’

As much as she wanted to tell him no, she knew they weren’t going to stand here for ever. ‘I suppose.’

‘Up with you.’ He lifted her on to the saddle before she could change her mind and handed her the reins. ‘Lady will follow my horse’s lead. You need do nothing to guide her.’

He adjusted the roll of blankets behind her, wedging it tighter between her body and the cantle, then did the same with the roll in front. ‘These should keep you from sliding around on the saddle. If you feel unsteady, hang on to the pommel.’

After checking the length of the stirrups, he rested a hand on her knee and looked up, assuring her, ‘You will be fine. Just try to relax.’

Through the layers of her tunic and chemise, she felt the warmth of his touch. And he wanted her to relax? She nodded. ‘I shall try.’

Elrik mounted his horse and tucked the end of the lead string behind his belt. Since Little Lady would follow along without baulking, he knew he didn’t need to keep a tight hold on her lead.

Once they were on the road, his men split up, Fulke in front and Samuel behind. With them guarding the road, Elrik was better able to keep his attention on Avelyn.

Even though they were moving faster than they had yesterday, her rigid back and near-white knuckles from gripping the reins so tightly made him wonder how long she’d be able to keep up this pace.

Elrik rarely remained at King David’s court longer than absolutely necessary. The times he had tarried overlong, he’d discovered that few, if any, of the men and women in attendance wanted anything to do with David’s Wolf.

However, he had been called to court often enough to notice the actions and manners of the people there and he’d seen enough women of substance on horseback to realise that learning to ride was normal for them. So, Lady Avelyn’s lack of skill confused him.

‘How is it that you never learned to ride a horse?’

Without taking her stare from the spot between her horse’s ears, she asked in return, ‘Even if I’d have had a need to learn, where would I have found a suitable horse?’

‘In your father’s stable?’

The laugh that escaped her lips was more bitter than pleasant. ‘My father did not acknowledge my existence until after my mother died.’

‘I thought—’

‘The same thing everyone else thinks,’ she interrupted whatever he’d been about to say. ‘That I was born and raised in my father’s keep. An assumption that couldn’t be more wrong.’

Elrik knew she was the man’s natural-born daughter conceived outside his marriage. Still, she was an important enough possession to have been raised at his keep and taught the ways of nobility. Since Brandr had been more concerned with removing King David’s rule over the land, perhaps he hadn’t been aware of her birth. ‘Did he know about you?’

‘My mother said that he did. She’d been a servant in his keep, but when it was discovered she carried the lord’s child, the steward banished her from the keep.’ She paused, frowning a moment, then said, ‘Mother had been certain the order came from the lord or lady, yet he seemed shocked when he discovered me in our hut after her funeral. Perhaps he hadn’t issued the order.’

Elrik shook his head, wondering what he’d been thinking to have started such a personal conversation about things that were none of his concern, but curiosity prompted him to push forward, asking, ‘What do you mean he discovered you?’

‘I still don’t know why he came that day.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper as if she were talking to herself. ‘She’d pined for him for as long as I can remember. His name was the one on her lips when she took her last breath. But her prayers and wishes had gone unanswered. Not once in the fourteen years since I’d been born had he come to our home. Not until after her body was covered with dirt.’

‘And that’s when he came for you?’

‘Came for me?’ She looked up at him and shook her head. ‘No. I think he came to make certain my mother was truly gone.’

‘And instead, he found you?’

‘Only by accident. I’d been sitting in a corner eating my last crust of bread when he entered with two of his guards. They stopped me when I tried bolting to safety. I thought they were going to kill me from the way they were excitedly shoving me back and forth, daring each other to be the first to take a taste, but after staring at me for a few moments he ordered the guards to release me.’

Elrik doubted if their intent had been to kill her. ‘So, he did recognise you?’

‘He said I looked like his mother, the late Lady Avelyn. That’s when I realised I’d not been named for my mother’s mother, but for his. Which obviously shocked him, because he paled upon learning my name.’

‘No one had ever told you that?’

‘When my mother said I was named for my grandmother, I always thought she’d meant her mother. So, both he and I were rather surprised.’

She laughed at the memory and, this time, her laughter was lighter, not quite as bitter as it had been earlier. Since she seemed a bit more relaxed than she had when they had first started out, Elrik wanted to keep her talking, so he asked, ‘Did he then move you to the keep?’

Again, she shook her head. ‘Not that day. He had one of his men gather some food from the village for me and vowed to return in a day or so.’

It was difficult to imagine Brandr leaving a fourteen-year-old girl to fend for herself even for just a day or two, especially one who he knew was his natural-born daughter. Old enough to take as a wife—or simply use as one—she’d been left unguarded and alone. Perhaps that was what he had hoped would happen—it would have taken away his responsibility for her care.

Elrik glanced at Avelyn and noticed that she’d released her death grip on the reins and had rested one hand atop the pommel.

‘To my surprise, he did return.’

Since Brandr had shown no previous interest in her or her mother, Elrik could understand her surprise.

‘He and his men terrified the whole village when they loaded me and my few possessions into a cart before torching the hut.’

This time, the stiffening of her body and clenching of her hands had nothing to do with fear of the horse, but obvious anger at Brandr’s actions.

Elrik asked, ‘Did he give any reason for setting fire to what could have provided another with shelter?’

‘He’d claimed it was so I had no place to ever return to. But from the way he tore through my mother’s things first, I believed he’d been looking for something and, when he couldn’t find it, burned the hut to ensure no one else would either.’

‘What could your mother have had that was so valuable to him?’

‘While I suspect he was looking for a gold ring, I never cared enough to ask.’ Avelyn shrugged. ‘All I knew was that he’d destroyed the only home I’d ever known.’

He’d always considered Brandr to be heartless, but he’d never imagined the man to be so devious and petty. It would have made more sense to thoroughly search the hut again instead of torching it. Destroying an enemy’s property during battle was one thing, but to destroy what was essentially his own property out of frustration or spite was not only thoughtless and short-sighted, it showed a complete lack of concern for his villagers—the very people whose welfare was his responsibility.

Noticing the sad downturn of her lips, Elrik drew her attention back to her suspicions. ‘A gold ring?’