The Viking's Defiant Bride (12 page)

‘You will lie with me tonight and every night.' He drew closer, pausing only when he was within arm's reach. ‘Now, take off that kirtle.'

Elgiva's eyes flashed and he saw her chin come up. He raised an eyebrow.

‘Must I do it for you?'

She bit back defiant words. He would do as he threatened and she had no way to stop him. Her eyes sought for some means of escape, but the window was shuttered fast and the door barred. Worse, she would have to pass him to reach it.

‘I'm waiting, Elgiva.'

‘How I hate you!'

‘It will make our marriage the more interesting. Take off the kirtle.'

‘I will not.'

Wulfrum bent on her such a look that she quaked. As she retreated, her leg brushed the edge of the chair where her gown and girdle lay discarded. She remembered the knife and, turning, grabbed it, drawing it from the sheath and bringing it up in front of her. Wulfrum saw the glint of the blade and grabbed her wrist, arresting the progress of the point. For a few moments it wavered between them. He increased his grip and heard her gasp. The blade clattered to the floor.

‘For you or for me?' he demanded.

‘For me.'

‘You will not escape me so, Elgiva. You belong to me now and I will keep safe what is mine.'

‘I am not yours, Viking!'

‘Not yet,' he agreed.

Before she guessed his intent, he lifted her bodily off the floor and strode to the bed, tossing her on to the furs. Elgiva scrambled away, retreating until her back was to the wall, watching in horrified fascination as he unfastened his leggings and let them fall. Then he came on. She drew in a sharp breath. Having had a brother, she was no stranger to the male body, but every inch of that lithe and muscled form spoke of a warrior's strength. Struggling to her feet, she launched herself off the end of the bed and then uttered a shriek of despair as Wulfrum's arm locked fast about her waist. With insulting ease he tossed her down on to the fur coverlet. Strong hands grabbed the hem of her kirtle, ripping it upwards in one fluid movement. The thin fabric parted to the neck. Elgiva twisted away and struggled to her knees. For a moment they faced each other and her cheeks flamed as the Viking's insolent gaze raked her from head to toe. Then he grinned and the glint in those blue eyes became dangerous.

Again she backed away and again her back met the wall. Wulfrum came on, seizing her arms, drawing her towards him.
Somehow she got a hand free and hit him hard across the cheek twice. He laughed, catching her wrist before she could get in a third blow, and flung her backwards. Elgiva turned her head and bit him, the nails of her free hand raking his shoulder, raising scarlet welts on his flesh. It was a brief victory; in seconds he had hold of both her wrists and imprisoned them above her head. Cursing him, Elgiva writhed and kicked out, but he held her easily now, forcing her down into the furs with the weight of his body. With a sense of panic she felt the hardness of his manhood against her.

‘You bastard! You cur! Let
go
of me!'

‘No, my lady, I shall not do that.' His hand travelled down to her waist, over the curve of her hip, down her thigh in a long lingering caress. He felt her kick out again, try to raise her knee, and laughed softly.

‘None of your tricks will work, Elgiva.'

‘Give me a sword and I'll geld you like a steer!'

‘Then I should fail in my duty as a husband, and I do not mean to fail.'

Before she could reply his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that was burning and insistent while his hand continued its exploration of her body. Elgiva tasted the sweet mead on his breath, breathed in the musky scent of his skin as he took the kiss at leisure. Then he drew back a little, letting his gaze travel the length of her, taking in every curve of breast and waist and thigh, the long slim legs and dainty feet. In the lamplight her flesh seemed golden.

‘Truly, lady, you are beautiful.'

Elgiva's angry reply was lost in a thunderous banging that shook the chamber door and her heart leapt in terror to hear Halfdan's voice.

‘Come, Wulfrum! Have you done your duty to your wife?'

‘Odin's sacred ravens,' bellowed Ironfist, ‘he's had long enough to do it half a dozen times!'
A roar of agreement followed from those without the door. Wulfrum grinned as he looked into Elgiva's bewildered face.

‘They seek proof of our union, my lady.'

For a moment her mind was blank. Then, as she recalled the earlier banter, her cheeks flamed. The banging continued and the voices without became more insistent. The door shook on its hinges. A little more and the entire Viking war host would be witness to their wedding night. Elgiva swallowed hard and closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt Wulfrum's weight shift and the hold slackened on her wrists. When she looked again, it was to see him retrieve the fallen knife. In horrified fascination she saw him draw the blade across his arm and then the welling beads of blood as he gathered up the torn kirtle and opened it out before wiping the cloth across the wound.

Throwing a speaking look at his wife, he crossed the room and unbarred the door, opening it sufficiently to thrust the garment out to the waiting hands. For a moment there was silence, then a rousing cheer. Without waiting for more, Wulfrum slammed and barred the door again, letting out a long breath. Then he looked at Elgiva, who was kneeling on the bed, golden hair spilling wildly round her shoulders and over the pelt she was using to shield her nakedness. Her amber eyes were wide, her face ashen. Presently the noise outside diminished and retreating footsteps announced the departure of the intruders. Elgiva drew a ragged breath. They were going. Once again she became aware of Wulfrum. For a long moment their eyes met and she saw him smile. Then he became aware of the blood trickling down his arm and crossed to the basin to retrieve a cloth. She took a deep breath.

‘You'd better let me bind that.'

‘It's a scratch, no more.'

Elgiva tucked the fur around her and quit the bed to join him at the basin. She poured a little water and, taking the cloth from
him, wiped away the blood. As he had said, the cut was not deep, but it bled profusely nevertheless.

Wulfrum watched with quiet amusement, but stood quite still while she bathed the wound and stanched the bleeding enough for her to bind it. He said nothing while she worked, but his eyes never left her. Elgiva kept her eyes on the improvised bandage, hoping he would not notice how her hands shook. When she had finished, he glanced at her handiwork and nodded.

‘It is well.' He turned her to face him. ‘Now, where were we?'

Elgiva shivered as his fingers brushed her shoulders and strayed across the tops of her breast, ill concealed by the fur pelt. Then his hand closed about her arm and he drew her back to the bed. This time she did not struggle, knowing there was little point. She knew his strength and hers could never match it. She lay beside him, felt him undo the pelt and then his weight as he leaned across her. He would take her now. It was his right. Elgiva closed her eyes and turned her head away. It would soon be over.

Wulfrum's lips seeking hers brushed her cheek instead. He could feel the tension in her body, even though she no longer fought him. Her face was turned away from his, but there was no mistaking the expression of fear and reluctance. He frowned.

‘Look at me, Elgiva.'

Slowly she turned towards him and he could see tears welling in her eyes. It was the first time he had ever seen her afraid. Even when Sweyn wanted to kill her she had radiated courage. Now it seemed her store was exhausted. He was not altogether surprised, given the events of the past few days. She had shown greater resilience and determination than any woman he had ever known. With a gentle hand he smoothed the hair from her face.

‘You need not be afraid of me, Elgiva. I will not hurt you.'

She remained silent, but the amber eyes registered confusion. He thought ruefully that, had it not been for Lord Halfdan's untimely interruption, he would have taken her. Ironic that his men had prevented the very deed they applauded. It was a good thing they were drunk enough to accept the proof he gave them. Even if they had been sober, it would have been inconceivable to them that he could be in bed with a beautiful naked woman and not possess her immediately and by any necessary means. Looking at the body lying next to his, he thought they had a point.

Seeing Wulfrum's smile Elgiva felt her confusion grow for she could not fathom his thought. Was he trying to lull her into a sense of false security, only to pounce when her defences were down? It would be just like him. He had no shame. Like all his vile race, he took what he wanted without regard to others. He had married her because he willed it, because she was as much a prize as these lands and this hall. As a captive her views had not been considered. The only choice had been to wed him or take Sweyn. Thinking of her likely treatment at those hands, Elgiva shuddered. She might not have survived the revenge he would have exacted. This marriage to Wulfrum had saved her from that fate. In his arms lay her safety. His men would not touch her and Halfdan's were leaving on the morrow, Sweyn with them. She would not be sorry to see them go. They would find other lands to conquer, other plunder to seize, other captives to take, but Wulfrum would not be with them. He was here and here to stay and nothing now could ever be the same.

Fatigue washed over her, along with the soporific effects of the mead, and Elgiva felt her eyelids grow heavy. She fought it. She must not relax her guard. However, pressed close to Wulfrum, the warmth of his flesh beneath the coverlets added to her drowsiness and her tired body relaxed of its own volition. Her eyelids drooped again, fluttered once and then closed.

Wulfrum glanced down, stroking back wisps of golden hair from her cheek. She stirred slightly, but did not wake, unaware of the gaze that drank in every line of her face. Truly, he thought, she was beautiful. And she was his, nominally anyway. The rest would come. She would yield as he knew she must. A body like that was made for love-making. Lightly he stroked the warm skin of her breasts, tracing a path down the curve of her waist and the gentle flare of her hip, breathing in her scent. It was powerfully erotic. However, he resisted the temptation to wake her. After all, he had time enough now.

E
lgiva awoke to broad daylight. For a few confused seconds she could not remember where she was. Then memory flooded back and with it shame. Beside her lay the man who was her husband now. Wulfrum slept on and for a moment or two she watched. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown behind his head in an attitude that seemed both abandoned and vulnerable. Her gaze travelled from the dark tousled hair to his face, exploring its chiselled lines, then moving on to the lips and chin and thence to his naked torso where the marks of her nails showed a harsh red. The welts looked painful, but she felt no remorse. It occurred to her as she watched him sleep that anyone with a blade could kill him where he lay, driving the point between his ribs and thrusting it in to the hilt. It would be no more than he deserved. Even as the thought formed itself, she rejected it—she could never kill a man in cold blood. Besides, had he not spared her from dire humiliation last night? Aye, and rape too. Why had he? It was his right to take her and yet he had waived that right. Truly the man was an enigma: on the one hand, a fearsome warrior, and, on the other, capable of tenderness and compassion. He intrigued even while he repelled.

Throwing the coverlet aside, she eased herself to the edge
of the bed but was stopped short. Her hair was partly trapped beneath the weight of his body. With great care she eased it away. Wulfrum stirred, but did not wake. Elgiva drew in a deep breath as the strands came free. Cautiously she climbed out of bed, glancing around for her kirtle. Then she remembered what had become of it and her cheeks grew hot. Seizing a pelt from the bed, she wrapped it around herself and tiptoed to the window, peeping through a crack in the shutter. Nothing stirred, either in the courtyard or the meadow beyond the palisade where the majority of Halfdan's force was encamped. No doubt many would feel like death this morning after the vast quantities of mead and ale they had consumed. She turned back into the room, thinking to retrieve her gown. It would not be so comfortable without the kirtle beneath, but there was no alternative unless she wished to leave the chamber clad only in a wolf pelt. The rest of her garments were in the chest in her bower.

Looking round the room, she saw the clothing that Wulfrum had discarded the previous night and with it his sword. Elgiva moved towards it, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. With care she lifted the heavy blade from its resting place and studied the hilt in curiosity. It was made of iron, gilded, and bound with copper wire, the pommel set with red jasper. Closing her hand round the hilt, she drew the blade part way from its scabbard. It was a fine weapon and beautifully wrought—a true melding of iron and steel. Where the hammer had fallen on the metal, it had left wondrous patterns like wreaths of frozen breath, fantastic shapes that seemed to change with the light. Down the centre were hammered grooves to channel the blood. She had no need to try the edge of the blade to know it was keen. She would have wagered too, that it was finely balanced. In truth, it was a warrior's weapon.

‘Were you planning to use that, Elgiva?'

She spun round to see Wulfrum watching her from the
bed. Recovering her self-possession, she slid the blade back into the scabbard.

‘No. You are more use to me alive. All the same, it is a beautiful sword.'

‘It is called Dragon Tooth.'

‘An apt name.' Elgiva laid the weapon back where she had found it.

‘So it is,' he agreed. ‘It was wrought by a smith of great renown among my people. He made it for Lord Ragnar, and he gave it to me.'

‘A handsome gift. He must have favoured you highly.'

‘He was like a father to me.'

Elgiva looked at the sheathed blade and thence at Wulfrum. The blue gaze that met hers was implacable. Elgiva shivered. Suddenly a lot of things had become clearer.

‘And when King Ella slew Ragnar, you sought to avenge his death.'

‘Of course. I swore the blood oath along with his sons. With my sword brothers. It was a matter of honour.'

‘A matter of honour to slay King Ella, perhaps,' replied Elgiva, ‘but to slaughter the innocent too?

‘Kings are not as ordinary men. The decisions they make fall on all their subjects for good or ill. When Ella threw Ragnar into the snake pit, he not only murdered a great warrior he added grave injury to that insult—a warrior must die with a sword in his hand or he cannot enter Valhalla. Ella denied him that right and in so doing he sealed his own fate and that of his kingdom.'

Elgiva bit her lip, knowing there was more than a grain of truth in his words. Besides, for years Northumbria's rulers had been involved in petty disputes. Had they only joined forces, the Vikings might have been repelled. As it was, the land was overrun and its people conquered. Guessing the trend of her thoughts, Wulfrum frowned.

‘There is no use repining. What's done is done.'

‘Indeed, but do not expect a conquered people to enjoy their situation.'

‘I do not, but I expect to be obeyed.' Wulfrum's voice was quiet, but every word carried weight. ‘The conquered must bend to the yoke.'

‘Aye, my lord, for who would dare do other?' The tone dripped sarcasm.

‘I think you are not conquered, lady.'

Elgiva glared at him. Undismayed, he let his gaze travel over her appreciatively. The pelt she had wrapped about her left her arms and shoulders bare and stopped short mid-thigh, revealing a shapely pair of legs, and he was reminded of those other more intimate places beneath. He resisted the temptation.

‘Come, do not deny it.'

‘Whatever you say, my lord.'

‘The man who would be your lord, Elgiva. Only I think another stands between.'

Genuinely puzzled, she could only stare at him.

‘Don't pretend you don't understand. I refer to your former betrothed.'

‘Aylwin?'

‘He.'

‘How can he stand between, my lord? He is gone.'

‘And yet you have not forgotten him.'

‘No. How could I?'

‘Then you were fond of him,'

‘He was a good man. I respected him.'

‘More than that, I think.'

Elgiva began to feel uneasy, wondering at the tenor of his questions.

‘He was a friend of my father's. Since his death, Lord Aylwin considered it his duty to help our family.'

‘Indeed. And what of your brother?'

‘He died in a hunting accident two months ago.'

‘And yet the neglect I see around this estate goes back further.'

‘Osric had no interest in anything save his hawks and his hounds.' She hesitated. ‘You have seen how things are at Ravenswood. I could not bear to see it so neglected. The only way to change things was to marry a man who would restore the place to what it was when my father was alive.'

He heard the sadness in her voice and understood. He too knew what it was to lose a father. Yet her brother must have been a wastrel indeed, to let so fair an estate fall into rack and ruin. In that moment he had an insight into her predicament and knew it would have been hard on a woman alone.

‘So after your brother's death you were left alone.'

‘Save for Osric's sons,' she replied. ‘The children whom Sweyn would have murdered.' The contempt was clear, but he could understand it.

‘Did your brother make no attempt to find a husband for you?'

‘No.' She did not qualify it, hoping yet to keep the conversation away from Aylwin. ‘I told you, he had no interest in the matter.'

‘Very remiss of him.'

Elgiva felt her blood race, more than ever aware of that searching blue gaze. Why should he care about her relationship with Aylwin?

‘A woman alone would find herself in an unenviable position,' he went on. ‘Particularly a beautiful woman with wealth and land.'

‘I did not choose the circumstances.'

‘No. What woman would?' He paused. ‘You would seem to have been fortunate in your friends.'

‘As you say, lord.'

‘But this Aylwin was much more than a friend, was he not?' The blue gaze grew warmer. ‘You loved him, didn't you?'

He saw the momentary flicker of surprise on her face and
knew a moment's triumph. His guess had been right, then. Her reluctance for him stemmed from her love for another.

‘Some marriages are made for love, my lord,' she replied, ‘but precious few.'

The irony was pointed and his jaw tightened in response.

‘True,' he replied. ‘And yet that has never been grounds for a wife to deny her husband.'

‘You think I denied you because I loved Aylwin?' Elgiva wanted to laugh, but it caught in her throat like a sob.

‘Is it not so?'

She shook her head, unable and unwilling to explain. Wulfrum smiled grimly.

‘Then let us put it to the test.'

Without warning, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed, spilling her on to the coverlet and pinning her there with the weight of his body, clamping her wrists in strong hands. For a moment he was silent and Elgiva remained quite still, waiting, praying, striving to keep her breathing even, to ignore the pleasurable warmth along the length of her skin. It seemed as if every part of their bodies touched. If he pressed his advantage now, she could not stop him. For a fleeting second she wasn't even sure she would try. Appalled, she pulled herself up abruptly. He was the enemy. There could be no warmth between them.

Unable to follow the thoughts behind the smooth brow, Wulfrum frowned. For all that they afforded pleasure, women were subtle and devious creatures, not to be trusted like men. Elgiva's golden beauty made her more dangerous than most. He knew that she had told him some of the truth, but he was not naïve enough to think she had told him everything. However, it answered some of the questions that had been puzzling him in the past few days. He would discover the rest by and by. In the meantime he was in a highly desirable position.

Elgiva saw his expression change and tensed beneath him, putting up a token resistance to the kiss he took next. His
mouth on hers was gentle, but it would not be denied, forcing hers open, demanding her response. It seemed to go on for a long time. Then he drew back a little, looking into her face.

‘Give yourself to me, Elgiva.' The tone was more a plea than a demand, his voice husky with desire. Her body tensed further. Seeing her expression, he masked disappointment with mockery. ‘No? I thought not.'

She met his gaze and tried to ignore the dangerous thumping of her heart.

‘I will never give myself to you.'

The blue eyes burned. ‘Did you give yourself to Aylwin?'

For a moment she was thrown. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was jealous. It was tempting to lie, to tell him she had belonged to his enemy, but somehow she couldn't quite bring herself to do it.

‘No.'

‘He was a laggard, then.'

‘He showed restraint out of respect. I cannot expect you to understand.'

‘I understand, all right—you didn't want to bed him.'

Her cheeks grew warm, partly for the accuracy of that shot and partly for the assurance with which it was delivered.

‘Come, admit it.'

‘I admit nothing except that I loathe you,' she retorted.

If she expected him to become enraged, she was mistaken.

‘No, you don't.' He smiled and reached out, taking a lock of her hair between his fingers, testing its softness. ‘And you will come.'

Her jaw tightened. Did this arrogant barbarian think she would fall into his arms just because he willed it?

‘You are thinking you will never do that, isn't it so?'

The blush on her cheeks was sufficient answer and his smile widened.

‘Never is a long time, Elgiva, and time is all on my side.'

Then she felt his weight shift and she was no longer pinned. In trembling relief she massaged her bruised wrists and watched him leave the bed to cross the floor and retrieve her gown. Then he tossed it to her. She caught it awkwardly.

‘Put it on.' He saw the fleeting expression of surprise in the amber eyes. ‘Yes, I'm letting you go—for now.'

Nothing loath, Elgiva rose and struggled into the gown, conscious the while of his watchful gaze, but she could think of nothing to say. Then, having dressed, she moved to the door. It was still closed and the wooden bar heavy and awkward. As she struggled to lift it, Wulfrum moved. Two large hands covered hers. Elgiva froze. Had he changed his mind? She looked up at him to find out. The mocking smile was back, but he lifted the heavy bar. Weak with relief, Elgiva swallowed hard. However, he held the door closed a moment longer.

‘I will give instruction for your things to be moved in here.'

‘I have my own bower.'

‘Henceforth you will share this room with me,' he replied. ‘Love me or loathe me, you will discover how real this marriage is going to be.' The tone was soft enough, but utterly implacable. Unable to withstand his gaze longer, Elgiva looked away. Wulfrum smiled. Then, to her unspeakable relief, he opened the door and let her pass.