The Viking's Defiant Bride (20 page)

‘What is it, Elgiva? What's wrong?'

‘Nothing. I…'

‘There is. Tell me.'

His lips nuzzled her hair, her neck, her throat. Elgiva closed her eyes, every part of her alive to his touch, every part of her wanting it to go on and knowing it must not. It took every ounce of her will to step away.

‘Please, Wulfrum. Let me go.'

He wanted to deny her, to test her resistance, to carry her to their chamber and continue where they had left off, but he underestimated the power of the amber eyes that spoke more eloquently than words of some inner distress.

‘Why, Elgiva? What are you afraid of?'

She shook her head, unable to frame the words to explain. He saw only her reluctance and his heart sank. In any other woman he would have suspected caprice, some game to whet his appetite, but he sensed this was something more. How he wished she would tell him, but he would not force her confidence any more than he would force her compliance. He let his hands fall from her waist.

‘Go, then, if you must.'

The look of relief on her face was quite apparent and once he might have found it amusing. His hand tightened over the rein as he watched her walk away. Then he led the stallion into the stable. He unsaddled the horse and brushed it down himself, for in truth he required some space from his men and the public life of the hall. The mechanical task of grooming was soothing and busied his hands, though his mind was elsewhere. The early morning encounter with his wife had unsettled him more than he would ever have thought possible. When he had married Elgiva, he had taken a bride of good family and much wealth. That he had found her most desirable was an added
bonus. The advantages of the match were obvious, at least for himself. He had never considered her feelings in the matter. He had forced her compliance in almost every way. It had never occurred to him then that he might find himself in the position he was in now, that what had begun as physical desire would turn into something much stronger and infinitely more disturbing. He did not deceive himself as to the feelings Elgiva had for him; she was physically attracted to him, but she continued to fight it—he was still the enemy. Once he had desired only her physical surrender. Now he wanted far more than that. The irony was not lost on him.

 

Having seen to the needs of his horse, Wulfrum left the stable, thinking to make his way back to the hall. However, a glimpse of blue gown caught his eye and he saw Elgiva standing by the gate to the paddock where Mara was turned out to graze. Since the coming of the war band she had not been permitted to ride, but still lost no opportunity to spend a few moments with the horse. Evidently the feeling was reciprocated for the mare had walked across to greet her, standing close to the fence while Elgiva stroked her nose. He heard her speak to the animal, but did not catch the words because the distance was too great. She remained there for several minutes more before moving with evident reluctance towards the women's bower. The mare watched her go and whinnied softly. Elgiva gave her a fleeting smile and turned to look over her shoulder once before continuing on her way. She did not see Wulfrum, being evidently preoccupied with her own thoughts, but he could see her clearly. The mask of poise and serenity that she wore in public had slipped for the moment and all he could see now was the deep unhappiness that lay beneath. It hit him with the force of a blow.

E
lgiva was rudely awakened the following morning by a lusty whack delivered by a strong hand across her bare buttocks. With a yelp of protest, she started up to see Wulfrum standing over her. He was already dressed in leather leggings and tunic, belted at the waist where a wicked-looking knife was sheathed.

‘Get up, wench. 'Tis broad daylight already and I would hunt.'

‘Your pardon, my lord. I had not realised it was so late.'

Elgiva scrambled from bed under his appraising gaze. Then she pulled on a kirtle and raked her nails through her hair, trying to bring about some semblance of order. Wulfrum grinned and strolled to the door.

‘Make ready, Elgiva. I am not intending to wait.'

Abandoning the failed attempt to tame her hair into a braid, she slid her feet into shoes and reached for her gown.

‘Shall I fetch you some food, my lord?'

‘One of the servants can do that. Ready yourself.'

‘My lord?'

‘For the hunt. You are coming with me.'

Elgiva stared at him in stunned amazement and then her face was lit by a dazzling smile. ‘Do you mean it?'

‘I have said. Besides, that puny mare in the stable needs exercise and she is not up to a man's weight. Make haste now.'

Elgiva needed no second bidding. Summoning Osgifu, she went to the chest where her clothes were stored and drew out leggings, shirt and leather tunic, the clothes she had worn when she hunted with her father. She had not thought to wear them again and her heart beat faster at the thought of a long ride in the fresh air. It was with difficulty that she could sit still long enough for Osgifu to comb and braid her hair. When it was done, she hurried down to the courtyard where Wulfrum waited with his men. Her mare was saddled and ready. Seeing his wife, Wulfrum smiled faintly, running his eye over her costume, but he made no comment, swinging himself into Firedrake's saddle. The black tossed its head and sidled, eager to be off, but Wulfrum held him in while Elgiva mounted. The little mare seemed tiny among the larger mounts of the men, but she knew the horse would hold her own. Sensing her rider's excitement, Mara gave a half-rear for she too scented open country and freedom. Elgiva laughed and patted the glossy neck.

Once beyond the gate the riders set off a steady pace, holding their horses in, not wishing to tire them before the chase. The mare pranced and bucked to feel turf under her hooves. Wulfrum said nothing, but watched as Elgiva brought her under control, her hand gentle on the rein. He knew the animal was fresh for she had not been ridden these last weeks, but her antics seemed not to worry her rider in the least. He heard Elgiva speak softly and saw the spirited little horse drop her head and settle into her stride. He smiled to himself. His wife could ride, no question.

They rode further into the forest, following a well-worn path wide enough for two horses to walk abreast. Beside them walked serfs with Wulfrum's boarhounds, huge and powerful beasts hungry for the chase. It was early yet, but the sunlight dappled the ground with shade and the grassy verges were
bright with wild flowers. All around them the trees were full of birdsong and every branch alive with new green leaves. Elgiva breathed deeply and smiled, feeling the tension flow from her, enjoying the clean air and the movement of the horse beneath her. Beside her Wulfrum rode in silence, seemingly wrapped in private thought, but Elgiva did not mind. From time to time she cast a covert glance at him, noting well how easily he controlled the powerful horse, how his body moved with the animal's rhythm as though he were part of it. She wondered where he had learned to ride, who had taught him. It occurred to her there were still many things she did not know about the man who was her husband.

Presently they came to a place where the spoor was clear and the hounds were loosed. The riders followed, turning into the trees. It was ancient woodland, where the branches of oaks and beech met overhead in a green vault that shut out most of the sun save for occasional dappled patches of light. Then the hounds found the scent and the hunters were away. Elgiva touched Mara with her heels and felt the mare shift from a standing start to a canter. Leaning forwards, she guided their course through the trees, ducking low boughs and weaving to avoid the branches that slashed at them. The horse stayed for nothing, leaping the fallen logs in her path, the flying hooves thudding over the carpet of leaf mould beneath the great trees. Once Elgiva thought she glimpsed the hounds, running swift and silent ahead of her. Around her she could hear the voices of the men calling, urging their horses on to greater speed.

The boar had been following a direct line, but now veered away down a steep, open slope. This last was largely covered by dense blackthorn. The pig plunged into the thicket where it was much harder for the riders to follow. Elgiva drew rein, thinking fast. If they followed into the thicket, she and Mara would be scratched to ribbons, for she knew the place of old. Her father's men had once brought down a boar nearby. The
slope ended in a stream with more woodland beyond, and she guessed the quarry would make for it, trying to throw the hounds off the scent. She knew a path that skirted the slope and came out by the stream further on. Turning Mara's head, she touched the horse with her heels once more, cantering off on a tangent. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wulfrum's stallion and grinned. Thus far he had not let her out of his sight. They would see now whether his mount was the equal of hers for speed and stamina. Elgiva held to her course, hoping her guess had been right. Off to her right she could hear the men shouting and picked up curses on the wind. It seemed they had found the blackthorn. As the path curved, she glimpsed the stream and then the dogs. She was right. Her grin widened triumphantly. As she neared the place she saw other riders breaking from the thicket, urging their mounts across the stream. Elgiva slowed Mara a little and splashed through after them. The hounds were milling round, trying to pick up the scent again. A few moments later Wulfrum drew up beside her, grinning broadly.

‘You know the land well, my lady.'

‘I have ridden over it many times. My father hunted here very often and I with him.'

‘So I see.' Wulfrum couched the great boar spear and sat back in his saddle, observing her. ‘You follow your own path.'

‘Where it is a better path, lord.'

He glanced at his men and the scratches they sported on face and hand, even on the tough leather hunting clothes, and he laughed.

‘In this case it was a better path. I have no love for blackthorn.'

‘Nor I.'

Just then the hounds picked up the trail again and the hunters pressed on. Elgiva urged the mare on and felt the little horse leap forwards to a gallop, hurtling down the narrow path,
twisting and turning through the trees. Elgiva bent low over her neck to avoid the branches that clawed at her, thankful for the protection of her stout clothing. As they raced through the green gloom beneath the tree canopy, she thought she could see a pool of light up ahead and headed towards it. Before her lay a clearing, a grassy glade, edged by great trees and, between, dense thickets. Somewhere to her right she could hear the sounds of the other horses but she could no longer see them. Glancing left, she could see nothing there, either. That look was a mistake for she failed to see the low bough until she was almost on it. Swift reflexes saved her and she ducked, throwing herself low along the near side of her mount, and the branch that would otherwise have smashed into her body caught her right knee instead. It lifted her out of the saddle, pitching her clear off the horse. She landed hard and for a few dazed seconds lay still, fighting to regain her breath while the branches spun crazily overhead. Eventually, when her breathing steadied, she sat up cautiously to ascertain that there was no serious damage. All seemed well enough. However, when she managed to get back on her feet, she was immediately aware of the protest from her knee. She glanced at it ruefully. No doubt it would sport a magnificent bruise on the morrow. Still, it could have been much worse and there was naught to do but thank fortune for a lucky escape.

Her horse was grazing some yards away and Elgiva began to hobble in that direction. She was only feet away when Mara suddenly threw up her head and snorted. Elgiva spoke quietly to calm her, but the mare did not respond, staring instead across the clearing to the edge of the thicket. Following the horse's gaze, Elgiva looked to see what was spooking her. Then she froze. There, part shadowed by undergrowth, stood a huge boar. The red eyes glinted with menace and its tusks gouged out great chunks of turf as it tossed its head this way and that. With trembling hand she reached for the trailing reins, but
Mara bolted, shouldering her violently aside. Elgiva lost her balance and fell backwards. Attracted by the movement of the fleeing horse, the boar made a short charge in that direction. Elgiva screamed. The boar stopped short, sensing another quarry. Then it turned towards her, sniffing the air. She screamed again, edging away, an icy knot of fear in her gut. If it reached her, the creature would rend her limb from limb. She had no spear, no weapon save one small belt knife, worse than useless against such a foe. She was dry-throated with terror as her eyes scanned the nearest tree, but even if she could have got that far the branches were too high to reach. The boar moved forwards a few paces and pawed the ground, sending dirt flying. Elgiva swallowed hard.

Then there came another sound, the thud of galloping hooves, and a great black horse hurtled into her line of vision. It came to a sliding stop on its haunches just a few yards away. Then she heard a familiar voice.

‘Don't move, Elgiva. As you value your life.'

With leaping heart she saw Wulfrum dismount, the great spear already in his hand. Then he moved across the clearing, all his attention on the animal in front of him. The boar discovered a new enemy and turned in his direction. Without warning it charged. Elgiva's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a cry of terror as in slow motion she saw Wulfrum drop into a crouch to brace the end of the spear in the turf, but the pig was upon him. She saw him throw himself to one side and watched in horror as the animal hurtled past, one of its tusks tearing a great rent in the sleeve of his hunting tunic. He rolled up on to one knee in an instant, bracing the spear fast as the boar spun round like lightning, coming at him again, squealing with rage. Ashen faced, Elgiva watched the great beast hurl itself on to the spear point, hearing its fury and pain as it charged full to the cross piece, burying the barb deep in its breast. Hot blood sprayed over Wulfrum's arms and chest, dyeing his leather
gauntlets and tunic as he wrestled with the enraged creature, vicious and deadly even in its final moments. The squealing and the struggle went on for what seemed a horribly long time until at length the brute rolled over in its death throes. Almost rigid with fright, Elgiva watched the struggle between man and beast, hardly daring to breathe until the great boar lay still. Wulfrum got to his feet, breathing hard.

‘Are you all right?'

Elgiva nodded, fighting faintness, unable to speak. He drew her to her feet and then his arms were around her and he was holding her. He could feel her shaking.

‘It's over. The beast is dead.'

Weak with relief, Elgiva took refuge in that close embrace and closed her eyes, feeling the fierce pounding of her heart and the sickness in her stomach from her brush with death. She was aware that he was speaking to her softly, as he might to a child, quieting her fear. It was his gentleness that brought the water welling into her eyes and then caused it to spill over as all the tension of the past weeks found its outlet. Wulfrum realised then that he had never seen her cry. Through every trial her courage had borne her triumphant, but even courage has its limits. He heard in her sobs the stresses she never spoke of, the fear and the hurt that she kept hidden, and his arms tightened about her. For some moments they remained thus until, gradually, as the terror subsided and the sobbing ceased, some of her colour returned. Wulfrum smiled.

‘It's all right,' he said. ‘You're safe now.'

Elgiva looked into his face. ‘Oh, Wulfrum. If you hadn't come…'

‘I would never let harm come to you.'

He spoke as if it were an everyday occurrence to slay a boar single-handed, but she knew he had put his life on the line for her.

‘Thank you,' she said. It sounded so inadequate to her ears but he heard the sincerity in those simple words.

For a moment neither one moved. Then, very gently, her hands reached up and drew his face down to hers and she kissed him full on the lips. In stunned surprise he stared into the amber eyes, not quite daring to believe what he saw there. Elgiva kissed him again. Then his arms closed around her, crushing her to him, his mouth seeking hers in a lingering passionate embrace that encountered no resistance. Rather he felt her arms around his neck, her soft mouth yielding to his as she pressed closer. He had dreamed of this so often that even now he was unsure whether he woke or slept.

Just then he heard voices and several horsemen appeared through the trees. With a rueful smile Wulfrum slackened his hold on Elgiva. She returned the smile and reluctantly let her hands slide from his shoulders. As they did so they encountered torn leather and the stickiness of blood. She glanced down, frowning.

‘Wulfrum, you're hurt!'

‘It is slight. The beast caught me with his tusk on that first rush.'