Marrying Her Viking Enemy. Harper St. GeorgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
She was certain it was information her father would covet.
Ellan giggled. ‘Because these are new. Why limit myself when there are so many to consider?’
‘You haven’t the faintest idea how to choose a proper husband, Ellan. I fear for your future,’ Elswyth teased and stepped on to the hard-packed ground to make her way to the great hall, careful to stay near the wall and away from the arriving warriors. They were creating such an uproar with their celebratory shouts and bellows that they seemed as wild as the beasts in the forest.
‘You make it sound difficult. You simply pick a man with a pleasing look and a disposition to match and there you have a good husband,’ Ellan explained.
‘Ah, well then, I pity the task ahead of you. None of these wildlings have good dispositions.’ As if to lend weight to her words, a man was thrown free from the crowd to land with a crash against the stone wall before them. He settled on his bottom with a hard thud before standing and shaking the wild mane of dark hair from his face. Muttering something in his harsh language that made his friends howl with laughter, he tackled one of them and the two rolled on the ground in a skirmish. The rest of their group shouted encouragements and circled around them. Elswyth resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. She would never understand the Danes.
Ellan hurried to catch up as Elswyth stepped around the group. ‘Certainly not one of those. But there are some. Lord Vidar is acceptable. I thought I might make a search through the men closest to him.’
It was true. Lord Vidar was acceptable, as Danes went. In the months they had lived in Alvey, Elswyth had come to greatly admire Lady Gwendolyn. Where her family saw Lady Gwendolyn as a traitor to the Saxons, Elswyth had come to see how well she and Lord Vidar got along. He was crude and sometimes boorish, but he treated his wife well and had gained the respect of the people in Alvey, even the Saxons. She’d seen how he could be fair and reasonable. Their marriage had brought two groups of people together while avoiding the bloodshed of battle. Elswyth still pitied Lady Gwendolyn, but perhaps in this one instance marriage to a Dane had been necessary.
Still, the subject hardly bore considering for her and Ellan, but there was no use arguing with her sister. The girl did what she wanted and always had. Elswyth had no doubt that an ill-considered marriage with a Dane would send her running back to the farm within a year. ‘I wish you luck sorting through that madness. As for me, I’ll remain unwed for the time being.’
Ellan snickered, but she took Elswyth’s hand to soften her words. ‘Father won’t like that any more than he’ll like me with a Dane. You know he’d see you wed to Osric.’
‘Osric?’ Elswyth laughed.
‘Aye? Why is that funny?’
‘Osric is... Osric. He’s a dear friend, but I’d never marry him.’ Though she had to admit that it would be the natural choice. He was her father’s trusted man on the farm and they had been friends since she was born, but he wasn’t what she wanted in a husband. She couldn’t name what it was that she wanted from a marriage except that it was to be more than a farmer’s wife.
‘I expect Father will disagree.’ Ellan sniffed and took the lead.
‘Nay, he won’t like it, but he cannot force me to wed.’ Lady Gwendolyn would never stand for it.
* * *
‘I haven’t found proof, but my gut tells me that Godric is in league with the Scots.’ Rolfe tightened his grip on his tankard of mead and tossed back a swallow, savouring the honeyed sweetness. The stench of treachery might have soured his homecoming, but at least there was mead.
Vidar cursed under his breath and shook his head. ‘Godric has that entire village in his grip. Either he knew of Durwin’s treachery or he won’t believe it. The only certainty is that he will demand blood in return for the man’s death.’
Rolfe ground his molars as he remembered the fight with the Scots, anger at the Saxon’s presence there still burning hot within him. ‘They have blood in return. I wanted to take Durwin alive, but he fought, cleaving two of my men before he was felled. He’d gladly have killed us given the chance.’
‘Are they well?’
‘Aye, one will bear a nasty scar, but they’ll both recover.’
Vidar nodded and leaned back, turning his tankard absently between his palms. ‘We’ll keep Durwin’s death quiet for now. I’m certain the news will make its way here in time, but there’s no sense in announcing it.’
Rolfe was in firm agreement. Many of the Saxons within Alvey’s walls had already made peace with the Danes, but there were some holdouts. He wouldn’t have them using this whisper of rebellion as a reason to fight. ‘I’ve already talked to my men. They’ll hold their tongues about him.’
‘Good. How were the talks with Haken?’
‘He has agreed to align with us should the need arise. He has nearly two hundred men on Alba’s west coast. Says there were a few skirmishes, but he rarely sees more than twenty Scots at once. I doubt we’ll have need of his men.’ Rolfe took another long drink.
Aside from the matter of Durwin and his brother, Osric, the summer campaign had been a success. After spending most of it to the south with Jarl Eirik, Vidar’s eldest brother, Rolfe and his men had taken their boats north for the autumn. The meeting with Haken, the Dane Jarl to the north, had gone far in creating an alliance between his camp and Alvey.
Vidar nodded, but his eyes were troubled. ‘We cannot underestimate the Scots. They’ve been a nuisance to Alvey for ages and with our numbers increasing, they’re bound to be agitated. In the morning, after you’ve had time to refresh yourself, we’ll discuss plans for what to do with them. It’s time we meet and end this once and for all.’
‘You think a meeting is necessary?’
Vidar gave a short nod of his head. ‘The rumours of Banford turning to them get stronger and this could very well push Godric into it. I’d like to think they are only rumours, but we can’t take that chance. Godric is difficult. I fear we have no choice but to put an end to any potential alliance before it gets worse.’
‘You two look serious. Is there news?’ Lady Gwendolyn approached with baby Tova in her arms. Wyborn rose from his place at Rolfe’s feet, tail wagging as he greeted them both, giving the baby an enthusiastic sniff that made her babble gleefully.
‘Aye, some,’ Vidar said, shifting on the bench so that she could sit beside him. He indicated the sacks of coin on the table that Rolfe and his men had lifted from the Scots. ‘Rolfe encountered the Scots and this is what we have for the trouble.’ A smile lit his face as he took the baby and sat her on his knee.
Rolfe grinned, always happy to see the woman who had given Vidar his much-needed comeuppance. She, along with Tova’s chubby cheeks, were enough to brighten his mood. Now that Wyborn had moved back to his place at Rolfe’s feet, the baby stared at him, her blue eyes round in curiosity. ‘I see you’ve had a busy summer. She’s grown.’
Lady Gwendolyn settled herself on the bench beside Vidar, a soft expression on her face as she glanced over at her husband and child. ‘Very busy. Not yet a year old and she’s already trying to walk.’
‘Ah, she’s a determined one, like her mother.’ Lady Gwendolyn smiled, so he shifted his gaze to Vidar as he said, ‘I feared the babe would look like her father, but the gods have smiled on her and only given her his wheaten hair. She looks more like you now, Lady. She is beautiful.’ And indeed she was. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, her eyes bright and inquisitive.
Lady Gwendolyn gave him a playful glare while Vidar chuckled and the babe looked away, the sound of her father’s deep laugh drawing her gaze. An unexpected ache swelled in Rolfe’s chest at the scene. There was no doubt that his homecoming was victorious. Despite the traitors in their midst, he should feel pleased and content for a job well done. Instead, watching the little family before him made him aware of what was missing from his own life. It