The Viking's Defiant Bride (23 page)

‘Stay here and rest,' he said. ‘I will send Osgifu to you.'

‘There is no need. I am sure a little sleep will serve.'

Wulfrum frowned, but did not press the point. ‘As you wish.'

He bent over her and brushed her cheek with his lips, a caress that was both gentle and caring. Elgiva wanted to put her arms around his neck, wanted to feel his arms around her, but she was afraid that he would suspect something. Unhappily she watched him move to the door, saw him pause and look back with concern in his eyes. Then he smiled.

‘Rest, my lady.'

With that he was gone. Elgiva felt tears pricking her eyelids and forced them back, feeling both relief that he had suspected nothing and guilt that she had lied to him, if only by omission. If Wulfrum ever found out about her meetings with Aylwin, his anger would know no bounds. As for Sweyn, she could only pray he would not attach any real significance to what he had seen. Aylwin had been garbed as a peasant and from a distance the disguise protected him well. Her story was credible. Elgiva sighed. She felt as though she were caught in a web of deceit. Yet what else could she do? To speak would betray Aylwin—not to speak betrayed Wulfrum. For that was how he would interpret her silence. Once she would not have cared, but now she knew his good opinion of her was important. More than that, he was important. He never spoke of his innermost feelings, but his behaviour towards her spoke of regard and warmth. She
wanted to think that she had his heart as he had hers. It was the reason she had not wanted to see him fight Sweyn. Though she knew well his prowess in battle, what if, in defeating his enemy, he were to be fatally injured? Or what if, through some evil trick, Sweyn were to emerge the victor? The idea was chilling. She would rather be dead than fall into his clutches again. Better to remain silent and let the matter rest. Sweyn would be gone on the morrow.

Elgiva unfastened her gown and slipped out of it, laying it aside over a chair. Then she bathed her face and hands and unfastened her hair to comb it out. The familiar rituals were soothing and some of her former mood began to lift. From the hall below she could hear the muted sounds of men's voices, their laughter. Wulfrum would play the host well. In her mind's eye she could see him there among his men and for the first time was thankful for their presence. The thought of Olaf Ironfist was a distinct comfort tonight. With him at his back Wulfrum would be safe from treachery. Elgiva smiled to herself and, finishing her grooming, slipped off her kirtle and returned to bed drawing the coverlet over her.

 

She did not hear Wulfrum return or see him bend over her. Her face was peaceful, untroubled, and he noted with relief that some of the healthy colour had returned. Golden hair spilled across her shoulders, taking on a soft, resinous sheen in the lamplight. He lifted a stray tress and his fingers brushed her naked shoulder. His eyes followed it along the curve of her arm to her wrists. There they stopped. Wulfrum frowned, looking closer. His frown deepened as he looked at the dark bruises encircling its slenderness. Five prints left on her skin, the prints of a man's fingers.

He straightened, looking at the sleeping figure of his wife, tempted to rouse her now and demand to know how they came there. He controlled himself. It was late. There would be time
enough to speak to her on the morrow. He undressed and blew out the lamp before climbing into bed beside her. Elgiva stirred in her sleep, but did not wake; for a long time he lay there in the darkness pondering what he had seen. Someone had left those marks on her, someone with a strong hand. Grim faced, he turned over the possibilities. His men wouldn't touch her. He had seen their growing respect for her; besides, he trusted them. They would not lay hands on his woman. He thought of the Saxon serfs and knew it wasn't one of them. Elgiva was their lady. In any case, it was more than their lives were worth and they knew it. Well, come what may, he would know the truth on the morrow.

 

Elgiva woke with the light and stretched lazily, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She felt Wulfrum's warmth beside her and smiled. She had not heard him come to bed. It wasn't until she turned her head that she saw he too was awake, propped on one elbow and regarding her intently. His expression was grim and her heart beat just a little faster as she tried to remember what day it was. Had he wished to rise early to hunt? Should she have risen and brought food? She started up in concern.

‘Wulfrum, I…'

A strong hand pushed her back on to the bed and held her there.

‘There is no matter pressing, Elgiva. Save one.'

She looked at him in confusion. ‘What is it?'

‘These.' He slid his hand down her arm to her wrist.

Elgiva stared in dismay at the dark bruises there and the memory of their creator returned.

‘I…I must have hit my wrist yesterday, though I cannot say I recall doing it.'

Wulfrum's blue gaze burned. ‘You play me for a fool, Elgiva. Do you think I don't know the difference between an ordinary bruise and those left by fingers? A man left those marks and I would know his name.'

Elgiva swallowed and tied to rise, but his hand forbade it.

‘You are mistaken—'

‘Don't lie to me, Elgiva.' His voice was harsh now. ‘Who was it?'

‘Wulfrum, it is of no consequence.'

‘I will decide that.'

‘It was a foolish matter, not worth the mentioning.'

Her reluctance to speak caused Wulfrum's frown to deepen as another thought occurred to him.

‘Whom do you protect, Elgiva? A lover?'

‘What!' Elgiva's heart thumped unpleasantly hard. Did he really think she would be capable of it? Did he trust her so little after all? ‘You cannot seriously think so, for you have had me well guarded, my lord. Would I carry on an illicit affair for the amusement of your men? Were it so, you would know of it by now, I think.'

Wulfrum saw the anger in her eyes and knew she spoke the truth. However, it still did not explain those marks and he was determined to discover their cause.

‘Then tell me truth, or, by all the gods, I will beat it out of you.'

Elgiva pushed his hand away and struggled to her knees, eyes blazing.

‘I will not be cowed by a Viking bully! You are no better than Sweyn, for I see you learned your manners in the same sty!'

‘Sweyn! Was it he who did this?'

‘Aye. It seems he has not forgotten how you kept me from him.'

Wulfrum's brow darkened further. ‘Did he force himself on you?'

‘No, he only grabbed hold of me for a moment.' It was a partial truth only, but Elgiva knew it could not be helped.

‘Why didn't you tell me, Elgiva?'

‘Because I didn't want you to fight him.'

‘Have you so little faith in my prowess as a swordsman?'

‘No, but Sweyn is treacherous, and I was afraid you
would—' Her voice quavered and she broke off, turning away. Wulfrum took her shoulders and turned her back.

‘Afraid I would what?' he demanded.

Tears started in her eyes. ‘That you would be hurt or killed, even.'

‘Not likely. Sweyn isn't that good.' He paused as the import of her words sank in. ‘Would it matter to you then if I had been?'

‘Of course it would.'

‘Why?'

When she remained silent, he took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. ‘Look at me, Elgiva.' Reluctantly, she met his gaze, but he persisted. ‘Why?'

Elgiva felt herself blushing. Wulfrum grinned.

‘Come, my lady, I await your answer.'

‘Because you are my husband and I owe my loyalty to you.'

‘Don't prevaricate.'

She saw his grin widen and grew hotter. ‘Because if you were dead, I might fall into Sweyn's clutches.'

He chuckled. ‘He would get more than he bargained for, then. However, our guests left early, at first light. Sweyn is gone.'

‘Gone?'

‘Aye, but he will pay for his insults in good time. Meanwhile, you have nothing to fear from him.'

The tone was mild and threw Elgiva off her guard. A powerful arm tipped her backwards and she found herself pinned beneath him.

‘Wulfrum?'

‘You still haven't answered my question, Elgiva.'

‘I have. At least all the answer you're going to get.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Wulfrum, let me go.'

‘No.'

She tried to push him away, but her efforts left him unmoved, except perhaps to deepen his amusement. Then he took a kiss.

‘Answer the question.'

‘I will not.'

He kissed her again and for longer this time and there was a dangerous glint in his eye.

‘What did you call me just now? A Viking bully, was it not?'

Elgiva struggled in vain. ‘If the cap fits…'

‘Oh, it does, my lady, as you are going to discover.'

M
indful of what he had been told by Torvald, Wulfrum sent out various patrols to test the truth of the rumours about raiders and outlaws. Having established peace at Ravenswood, he had no intention of having it destroyed by neglect. Therefore, Ironfist and his companions rode out into the forest and made a thorough search of the surrounding area, but found no sign of the rebel band Torvald had spoken of. He reported back to Wulfrum.

‘We found evidence of an old camp, but the rebels were long gone.'

‘All the same, we will increase the patrols on the boundaries and post extra guards until we know more.'

‘You fear a surprise attack?'

‘I fear nothing, but I will not be caught napping. See to it, Olaf.'

Ironfist nodded and went off to deal with the matter.

Elgiva, who had been listening carefully to the exchange, felt both guilt and relief. Aylwin
had
thought better of it and heeded the warning after all. Surely now the rebels would not attack Ravenswood. It was a question she put to Wulfrum.

‘If they do, it will be the last mistake they ever make,' he replied. Then, seeing her worried look, he smiled. ‘Have no fear, Elgiva. No harm shall befall Ravenswood while I have breath.'

‘You guard well what is yours,' she replied.

Wulfrum laughed then. ‘Just so, my lady. Therefore, no harm shall befall you, either.'

Elgiva regarded him quizzically. Was he merely guarding her along with the rest of the property? Somehow she did not think so; his behaviour to her of late had been more markedly gentle, or mostly anyway. Recalling that recent scene in their chamber and the confession he had extracted, she felt her face grow rather warmer.

‘Meanwhile,' he went on, ‘you and Osgifu will not go out to collect herbs again until we know more.'

She did not argue for she could see the reason behind the words. Besides, thanks to their former efforts she and Osgifu had replenished many of the plant supplies they needed. The forest was no longer the sanctuary it had seemed. Once she had thought that, being a Saxon, she would never come to harm at the hands of her fellows. Now she wasn't so sure. Would they consider her to be treacherous, a turncoat? It was not a pleasant thought.

 

Wulfrum was as good as his word and posted men at strategic points around Ravenswood to forestall any attempt to attack his holding. However, as the days passed, there was no sign of the raiders.

‘It is most like they have moved on,' said Ida when a week had gone by with no trace of the enemy.

‘Perhaps,' replied Wulfrum. ‘However, we shall maintain our vigilance until we can be certain.'

 

Elgiva hoped that Ida was right. However, two days later one of the men reported the loss of two sheep from the flock. Tracks were found leading into the forest but a thorough search again revealed nothing. The guards were increased and men took it in turns to patrol the boundaries, but still no trace was found either of the livestock or the thieves. Shortly after that a steer was taken.

‘How are they getting through our defences?' demanded Wulfrum when the news was brought to him. ‘This place is so tightly guarded now that even a mouse would find difficulty in stealing anything.'

‘Maybe they aren't,' said Ironfist.

‘You think someone in Ravenswood is giving them aid?'

‘It is a possibility.'

‘As you say. It is strange how the raiders know the exact moment and place to strike.' Wulfrum's expression grew hard. ‘If you are right and there is a traitor in our midst, we shall discover him soon enough and he will rue the day.'

Elgiva heard the words with misgivings, her mind running through the names of all the people she knew, but she could not think that one of them had been responsible. And yet she had to acknowledge that there were many who only tolerated the new order because they had to. After all, someone had helped Aylwin to escape in the first place. Would they join in secret confederacy with the outlaws to strike back at the Danes? She realised that she did not know the answer. The woodland was large and there were many hiding places in its heart, places hard to find unless you knew them. There were caves too, some big enough to shelter a considerable number of men. However, it was all surmise on her part. She had no real proof.

 

Meanwhile the summer days grew sultry with a sticky heat that made every exertion uncomfortable. Elgiva thought longingly of the forest pool, but she would not disobey Wulfrum and venture out there. The brooding air foretold a coming storm, although some rain would be welcome now for the land lay listless beneath a metallic sky. Elgiva laid aside her sewing and rose from her stool, unable to bear the confinement within doors. Her head ached and her clothes stuck to her and every movement seemed to bring beads of perspiration to her face. She walked towards the orchard, thinking to find some respite from the heat.
Indeed, it was a little cooler there and she sank gratefully on the grass beneath the leafy canopy. All around the ripening fruit was swelling on the branches, sure sign that the coming harvest would be plentiful. Soon the corn harvest would begin and the barns and granaries would fill. The first hay crop was already gathered in. In a few more weeks the first leaves would begin to change colour. The year turned and all their lives with it. Who could have foreseen in the previous winter what would befall them in the spring? Already it seemed like a past life.

 

At the evening meal Elgiva found herself watching Wulfrum, listening as he spoke and laughed with his men. He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hand toying with his ale horn. From time to time he glanced her way and smiled and her heart would leap. She knew that later they would retire to their chamber and he would make love to her once more and she would yield.
You'll come
. He had said that long ago. Had his knowledge of other women fuelled his confidence? She knew there had been others; his skill as a lover could only have been born of practice. What had they been like, his other women, the ones before her? Had he loved any of them? Was there one he remembered with more fondness than the others? He never spoke of them. Did it mean he had forgotten? Elgiva forced the thoughts to the back of her mind, angry with herself for even entertaining them. What did it matter? It was in the past. She was his wife now, a relationship made real every night they retired to bed.

On this evening Elgiva excused herself early from the table and went before him to their chamber. She undressed to the thin kirtle and went to stand by the window to find relief from the heat. A breeze had sprung up and in the west the clouds had begun to mass like the vanguard of a great celestial host labouring up. Distant flashes of lightning preceded its arrival and the air was pungent with promised rain. Elgiva leaned back against
the wooden frame, watching the storm approach, feeling the wind lift strands of hair from her neck as it cooled her skin. She had not bothered to light a lamp, for although it grew late some light yet lingered in the sky.

She stood for some time, watching the display in the heavens, fascinated by its power. The storm rolled nearer. Soon it would be overhead, for the thunderclaps followed each other in quick succession. A brilliant flash of light illuminated the whole area around the hall and with it a dark figure running towards the stables. Elgiva frowned, staring into the twilight shadows. Perhaps it had been one of Wulfrum's men hastening to take shelter before the rain came. The man paused and looked round. The next lightning flash lit him plainly for a split second. Drem! Elgiva started. It couldn't have been. He had no business there, wasn't even a groom. Another flash of lightning lit the scene, but this time she saw no one. Even so an uneasy feeling prickled between her shoulder blades like an itch she couldn't reach. She remained by the window a few moments more, her eyes scanning the area, but she could see no sign of the man again. It wouldn't have been Drem, only someone who looked a bit like him. After all, she had only seen him for an instant. Most likely it
had
been one of the guards seeking temporary shelter, for in truth the storm would be fearsome when it really hit them.

She closed her eyes, suddenly aware that her earlier headache had gone as if somehow the release of tension in the skies had found its parallel in her. Just then the breeze brought with it a whiff of smoke and she heard a horse neigh. Elgiva opened her eyes, scanning the ground in her view. Her gaze was arrested by flickering light in the thatch of the stable roof. For a moment she froze before her mind grasped the significance. Suspicion became certainty. Grabbing her mantle from the top of the clothes chest, she threw it about her shoulders and ran from the room, heading for the hall. At the head of the stairs she paused.

‘Fire! The stable is on fire! Make haste!'

All conversation stopped and fifty pairs of eyes looked up in astonishment to see the apparition on the staircase, a wild-eyed figure with golden hair tumbling across her shoulders and clad loosely in a cloak that revealed only a kirtle beneath. For perhaps the space of a few seconds they stared before the import of her words began to sink in. Elgiva had by then reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to Wulfrum.

‘My lord, quickly! The stable is ablaze!'

Wulfrum leapt to his feet, but she was ahead of him, making for the door. Behind her she could hear shouting and running feet as men sprang into action. Elgiva raced for the stable, ignoring everything save the need to get Mara and the other horses out. She could hear restless hooves and whinnying now and the smell of smoke was stronger. In the darkness beyond the door flickering flames lit the far end where a pile of hay was already ablaze beneath the burning roof. Elgiva darted forwards, feeling smoke sting her eyes, coughing on the thick fumes. Mara's stall was towards the far end and already the little mare was snorting and rolling her eyes in fear. Elgiva went to the horse's head and unfastened the halter rope, speaking gently to try to calm the frightened animal. However, when she tried to back the horse out, it refused to budge. All around the smoke thickened and the sinister crackling of the flames grew louder. Fragments of burning thatch fell about them and she heard Firedrake scream with terror, his hooves drumming on the side of the stall as he fought the rope that held him. Then other horses took up his cry, their panic spreading. Shouting voices sounded from the entrance way and flaring torches showed men freeing the animals nearest the door. In desperation Elgiva pulled on Mara's halter rope, but still the horse wouldn't stir.

‘Elgiva, give me your cloak.'

She heard Wulfrum's voice beside her. She tore off the cloak
and watched him use it to cover the horse's eyes. Then, speaking softly, he coaxed the mare out of the stall and led her to the door with Elgiva stumbling after. Outside a line of men had formed a chain from the well to pass buckets of water in an attempt to douse the fire while the others tried to get the remaining animals out. Fortunately most of the horses had been turned out, the nights being fine and warm.

‘Get the mare away from here.' Wulfrum removed the cloak from Mara's eyes and shoved the halter rope at a serf. Then he soaked the cloak in the trough before turning to Elgiva. ‘Wait here.'

She saw him throw the wet cloak over his head before plunging back into the chaos of the stable. Elgiva watched through stinging eyes the smoke swirl through the thatch on the roof. The fire was louder now, the flames brighter. Smoke billowed from the open doorway as from the gateway to hell, while above them the storm rumbled on. Tight-throated with fear, she looked in horror as the moments passed and Wulfrum did not return. Visualising the stallion's panic and his flying hooves, Elgiva's heart pounded. What if Wulfrum were hurt and couldn't get out? What if he were overcome by smoke? He would die in there, a horrible lingering death. It couldn't happen. It must not happen. She began to run back towards the stable, but a strong arm caught and held her. She heard Ida's voice.

‘You cannot go back in there, lady. It's too late now.'

‘Wulfrum's in there. Let me go.'

Elgiva struggled hard, but the arm did not yield. Tears coursed down her face as she watched the thick smoke and the leaping flames. Surely nothing could live in there now. In her mind's eye she saw Wulfrum overcome by smoke, lying helpless on the floor as the blaze licked closer. Desperate now, she fought to free herself.

‘I must go back. Wulfrum!'

Ida held on for grim death, ignoring her tears and pleas for
he dared not let her go. He knew enough about her now to realise she would run straight back into the flames if he did. His gaze moved beyond her to the burning building, willing Wulfrum to come out. Seconds passed and the roar of the flames grew louder. Ida stared in horror at the smoke billowing through the open doorway.

Then, through the choking fog, came Wulfrum leading Firedrake. He was coughing hard and his clothes were singed and blackened, but he was alive. The horse was frightened, but otherwise seemed none the worse for his brush with death. Elgiva slumped, weak with relief.

‘He's alive! Oh, Wulfrum!'

Freed from Ida's hold, she ran to him, watching anxiously as he struggled for breath.

‘Are you all right?'