The Viking's Defiant Bride (6 page)

‘Trust me,' replied Wulfrum. He turned her to face him. ‘Come, Elgiva. Let us seal our betrothal.'

Before she could anticipate him she found herself being forcibly kissed, drawn hard against him, held in strong arms and kept there at his pleasure in an embrace that left her breathless. No man had ever kissed her like that, a kiss that was both knowing and disturbingly assured. When he released her, the warmth of his mouth lingered on her lips. Her eyes blazed as she hit him, the crack ringing loud. There was a sharp intake
of breath from others nearby and heads turned to watch the developments with keen interest. Not a man there but expected to see the mutinous wench laid at Wulfrum's feet with one blow of his fist. To their surprise he merely grinned.

‘I suppose I deserved that.'

‘You said it,' replied Ironfist.

Elgiva launched a second blow, but Wulfrum caught her wrist and held it. ‘Now that's no way to behave towards your future husband.'

‘I will never take you as my husband.'

‘You will, Elgiva, believe me, and that soon enough.'

Before she could reply Lord Halfdan drew near.

‘Come, that's enough romantic dalliance, Wulfrum. You can deal with the wench later. There is work to be done.'

‘As you say, my lord.'

‘Take her back to the upper chamber and put a guard on the door. Then join me outside.'

Wulfrum nodded and turned to Elgiva, ignoring her attempts to pull free.

‘Don't you dare touch me!'

He raised an eyebrow and threw Olaf a speaking look. The hand round her wrist tightened and he strode to the stairs, drawing her after. Resistance was futile for his grip was like a vice. When they reached the upper chamber, he pushed her inside.

‘Until later, Elgiva.'

Then he left her, pausing only to issue instructions to the guards outside the door. Breathless and shaking, she watched him go.

When she was satisfied that he really had gone, she turned and looked fearfully at the scene before her. The two children were still there, apparently unharmed and being comforted by frightened servants. With enormous relief Elgiva saw one of the latter help Osgifu to her feet. The older woman was still dazed. Her lip was cut and a dark bruise was already showing down her cheek. Hastening forwards Elgiva guided her to a chair be
fore pouring a little water into a basin and gently bathing the cut lip. Osgifu sat very still throughout, though her hands trembled slightly in her lap. As she had no access to her medicine chest, there was relatively little that Elgiva could do for she had no arnica or salve to hand. The best she could manage was a cool compress on the bruised area of the face.

For some time neither woman spoke, each trying to come to terms with the terrible events that had shattered the peaceful course of their lives and changed it for ever. Eventually it was Osgifu who spoke first.

‘Are you all right, child? They did not hurt you?'

‘No, I am quite well.'

‘Thank God for it. And the children?'

‘Both well too.' Elgiva cast a glance at the open window and shuddered. If Sweyn had had his will, both her nephews would be dead, impaled on the spears of the horde beneath. It had been prevented. Remembering Wulfrum's ringing command, she could only be thankful he had appeared on the scene when he did. Seemingly he had no taste for the slaughter of babes, either. He had kept her out of Sweyn's clutches too. She knew that if he had not, the other would have exacted a terrible revenge for she had bested him and caused him to lose face before his comrades. It was not a thing he was likely to forgive. There could be no forgetting the expression in the cruel grey eyes.

Unable to read her mind, Osgifu guessed accurately enough the thoughts passing through it. She had been stunned for a short time, then disorientated, lying still until she could be sure of her bearings. None of the invaders had paid any further attention to her and she had heard much of the conversation in the room, listening with mounting concern for Elgiva. The girl turned to her now.

‘Did you hear?'

‘Aye, enough.'

Before they could speak further, Ulric broke free of the woman who had been holding him and came to them. Elgiva scooped him up and sat him on her knee, holding him close, speaking words of reassurance. The tears that had risen in her eyes unbidden were swiftly quelled. A show of weakness would not help anyone, least of all herself. If she hoped to survive the ordeals that lay ahead, she would need every ounce of courage she possessed. The trouble was that she had never felt so afraid in her life.

W
ulfrum rejoined Halfdan and Olaf Ironfist outside. His men were already moving among the bodies of the slain, collecting weapons and armour along with any valuables they might find. The fighting had been fierce while it lasted—the Saxons had put up a brave defence even though they were heavily outnumbered. He admired courage and it had been shown here this day. Their leaders had fallen and many besides, but a goodly number had been taken prisoner. They stood roped together under heavy guard. From their sullen expressions he knew them unbowed, though they feared for their lives even now. It was well. It meant they would do nothing foolish. He had no intention of shedding any more blood for he would need able hands to work these lands in future. However, it would not hurt his cause to leave them in doubt a while longer.

Wulfrum turned away from the prisoners and met the keen gaze of his sword brother. Halfdan lowered his voice.

‘Hold this place well, brother. Lying as it does on the road to the north, it is of strategic importance to us.'

‘You may depend on it.'

‘I know it.' Halfdan clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I could
think of no better hands to leave it in. Even so, it will keep you busy. The place seems to be strangely neglected.'

Wulfrum glanced around. ‘It looks to have seen more prosperous days, but they will come again, I promise you.'

‘Why would any man worthy of the name allow his holdings to fall into such disrepair?'

‘I know not.'

‘Unless of course there was no man in view,' said Halfdan, his tone thoughtful.

‘Perhaps, yet the Saxons were organised and fought valiantly. It suggests a leader, does it not?'

‘Belike he fell in the fighting, then.'

‘Most likely. The Saxon losses were heavy. I shall make enquiries.'

Before further conjecture was possible they were interrupted by the approach of two of their fellow Danes, dragging a captive with them. The man's hands were bound before him and his face beneath a layer of grime was ashen. From the shaven crown and long robe Wulfrum recognised one of the Christian priests. He glanced once at Halfdan and then watched in silence as the trio came to a halt before them.

‘Look what we found, my lord.' The guard's lip curled as he glanced at the prisoner. ‘The craven swine was hiding in the barn.'

‘Hiding, eh?' Halfdan's expression mirrored the guard's as he looked the priest over. ‘Scarcely surprising, I suppose. He's a poor specimen by the look of him. Must be fifty if he's a day.' He turned to Wulfrum. ‘What do you want to do with him? Shall we have him spitted and roasted like an ox? Or shall we flay him and nail his hide to the door of his accursed church?'

‘Beg pardon, my lord,' said the guard, ‘but we burnt the church down.'

Halfdan followed his gaze towards a distant plume of thick dark smoke. ‘Ah, yes, so we did. Pity. We'll spit him, then.'

Grinning, the men moved to obey.

Wulfrum held up a hand. ‘No, not yet. He may prove to be of use.' He fixed his gaze on the trembling form. ‘How are you called, priest?'

‘Father Willibald, my lord.'

Halfdan stared at the earl in disbelief. ‘You want this shaven ass?'

‘Aye, I do.'

‘Very well, as you will. Put him with the others, then.'

With ill-concealed disappointment the guards dragged the priest away.

Halfdan watched them a moment before turning back to his companion.

‘Have some of your men search the forest hereabouts. 'Tis likely some of the serfs have taken refuge there. We should not lose valuable slaves thus. Besides, if left on the loose, they may foment trouble later.'

Wulfrum nodded for it had been his thought also. ‘It shall be done, my lord. If any are hiding, they will be found and brought back.'

‘Meantime, let the injured be carried into the hall and treated. There must be those among the Saxon women versed in the knowledge of healing. They must be identified and put to work.'

‘It should be easy enough. I'll wager that priest will know.'

Wulfrum was right. Two minutes was all he needed to elicit the relevant information. Hearing the names, he hid a smile. It seemed that his beautiful future bride had other talents to her credit. He strode back to the hall and collared one of his men.

‘Have the guards bring the Lady Elgiva down here,' he ordered. ‘And the woman called Osgifu.'

Wulfrum seated himself casually on the edge of the long table and waited. A few minutes later the guards reappeared, ushering the two women in front of them. They came to a halt a few feet away, eyeing him warily.

‘I'm told you have skill in healing,' he said without preamble. ‘You will help to tend the injured.'

He saw the flash of defiance in Elgiva's eyes, but he was not alone; her companion put a gentle hand on her arm and the two exchanged looks. Then the older woman spoke.

‘We will do so, lord.' She paused. ‘I will need my things.'

‘Fetch them.' Wulfrum turned to one of the guards. ‘Go with her.' Then he turned his attention back to Elgiva, who was regarding him with a distinctly hostile gaze. He let his glance travel the length of her and saw her bridle in an instant. ‘Do not think of trying any tricks, Elgiva.'

‘Do you think I would harm injured men? I have a greater regard for human life.'

‘Then give them all tending.'

‘Does that include Saxon, as well as Dane?'

‘Of course. Slaves are of value to me too.'

‘A pity, then, that you have slain so many.'

‘The fortunes of war.' He paused, smiling faintly. ‘They could always have surrendered.'

‘To a life of slavery? You cannot seriously think so.'

‘I don't. I merely offer it as a possibility.'

The amber eyes blazed, but her anger appeared to leave him unmoved. A few moments later Osgifu returned with the box that held her herbs and potions. She eyed Wulfrum and hesitated.

‘Well?' he asked.

‘I will need hot water and clean cloths too,' she said, ‘and some help to bring pallets for the injured.'

He glanced at the guard standing nearby. ‘Arrange it.'

The man nodded and went with Osgifu to do his bidding. Wulfrum turned back to Elgiva, who had made no move to obey. He raised an eyebrow and saw her chin come up. She lingered a moment more and then, in her own good time, turned away. Had she seen the glint in his eyes she might have made more haste for an instant later the flat of Wulfrum's sword
caught her hard across the buttocks. With a gasp of indignation, she spun round.

‘Defy me again, wench, and you go across my knee.'

The words were quietly spoken, but, looking at that imperturbable expression, Elgiva was left in no doubt he meant it. She was also aware of several grinning faces around them from those who had witnessed the little scene, no doubt hoping for further entertainment at her expense. For a moment she hesitated, caught between anger and indecision. Then Wulfrum stood up and took a pace towards her. Elgiva fled.

 

The afternoon was wearing on when the Viking hunters returned with some dozen bound captives, those who had fled when defeat became inevitable. Some were wounded, all dirty and dishevelled. Wulfrum surveyed them for a moment and then turned to Ceolnoth, who had formed one of the hunting party.

‘These were all you found?'

‘Aye, my lord.'

‘Very well. Keep them apart from the rest. I'll deal with them later. Meanwhile, take some of the women to the kitchens. They can start preparing the food. Lord Halfdan and his earls will be hungry tonight. See to it.'

‘Yes, lord.'

Ceolnoth swung down off his horse and moved towards the captive women, who eyed him with fear. Enlisting the aid of a warrior companion, he cut half a dozen free, including the girl, Hilda. Wulfrum noted the young man's gaze lingered far longer on her than on the rest, and he smiled to himself. It seemed he was not the only one to have an eye for a comely Saxon wench. He watched as the women were taken off towards the hall. Then his gaze went to the upper storey of the building and in his mind's eye he saw again the chamber where he had first met Elgiva. It was a fine room. Henceforth it would be his, as would
she. Their union would set the seal of his ownership on these lands and these people. Whether they liked it or not, the Danes were here to stay.

He had no doubt as to Elgiva's mind on the matter. In truth, she was a spirited piece as Lord Halfdan had said, and brave too. Her defiance of Sweyn demonstrated that beyond doubt. Not that he blamed the man for wanting her. She was a rare beauty and it must have cost him a pang to lose her so soon. Wulfrum had not forgotten the look in his eyes when the girl had spurned him, nor again when Wulfrum claimed her for his own. If Ironfist and the others had not been there, Sweyn might have disputed the matter further. Even if he had, Wulfrum knew he would have fought to keep her for, from the moment he set eyes on the wench, he knew he wanted her for himself. Wanted her and intended to have her. Halfdan had seen it too. It was why he had urged Wulfrum to take her to wife and settle the matter once and for all. Wulfrum knew that a week ago he would have dismissed the suggestion out of hand. Today he had embraced it. After all, he was five and twenty and should have taken a bride long since. He would have if he'd ever found one he wanted. It had seemed a hopeless quest. That situation had just changed. Besides, he could think of many a worse fate to befall a man. Recalling the kiss he had stolen from Elgiva earlier, he grinned. If looks could kill, he knew he'd be a dead man now. Too bad—he was determined that kiss would be the first of many. Let her fight him tooth and nail; it would avail her naught. She would yield in the end. He would strip away her defences as he intended to strip away her clothes.

‘My lord?'

Jolted back to the present, Wulfrum focused his attention on the man before him.

‘Well?'

‘Lord Halfdan requests your presence in the hall.'

‘I will come.'

 

When he returned, he made his report and then looked about him with curiosity. He could see that the Saxon healers had not been idle. They had organised matters so that those men who had been badly injured had been lifted onto makeshift pallets and, having been tended, were watched over now by some of the serfs. Elgiva and her companion continued on to see to the walking wounded, of whom there was a goodly number.

‘Those women know what they are about,' observed Halfdan, noting the direction of Wulfrum's gaze. ‘It is useful to have experienced healers to call on. They will serve you well.'

He turned aside then to speak to one of his men, leaving Wulfrum free to observe. Across the hall he could see Elgiva with her latest patient, bandaging his arm. It seemed that Halfdan was right—she worked with assurance, her hands moving swiftly and competently about their task. From her hands he let his gaze travel on across the graceful curves of her figure, from the swelling bosom and narrow waist to the gently flaring hips. A thick golden braid hung down her back, though several tendrils of hair had escaped to curl about her neck and cheek. Just then her profile was towards him and he missed nothing of the delicate bone structure beneath that flawless skin. She was lovely, a prize indeed. As if sensing herself watched, she turned her head and looked round, perceiving him immediately. He saw the dainty chin tilt upwards before she looked away, and smiled to himself. She was safe enough for now; there were many more wounds to stanch and bind and he had still many matters to attend to, including a trip to the Danish encampment.

‘After that, my lady,' he murmured, ‘we shall see.'

 

Elgiva and Osgifu worked on. It was late in the day when the last of the wounded were carried in. Among them was
Aylwin, his face waxen beneath the dirt and gore. He had taken a deep sword thrust in the side and his tunic was dark with blood, yet a faint pulse testified that he lived. Swiftly they cut away the tunic and the shirt beneath. The wound gaped, wide and ugly, but it looked clean. Several superficial cuts marked his arms and livid bruises attested to the ferocity of the fighting. Elgiva set to work to stanch the bleeding. As she did so a shadow fell across them and she glanced up. Her heart skipped a beat to see Halfdan standing there. He surveyed the injured man a moment and then the pile of discarded clothing. Even soiled, it could never pass for the garb of a peasant.

‘Who is he?'

Elgiva felt her throat dry. Then she heard Osgifu speak.

‘This is Lord Aylwin.'

‘A Saxon lord.' Halfdan looked from her to Elgiva. ‘Your father, perhaps?'

‘No. My father is dead.'

‘Ah, your husband, then?' His hand moved to his sword hilt.

Elgiva bit back a cry of alarm, her mind racing. If Halfdan's earl intended to marry her as he had said, then she could not have a husband living. If he thought that the case, he would rectify the matter.