turn to laugh. ‘The only pleasure that woman has in mind is the pleasure she’ll have when my ballocks are served to her at her table.’
‘You could change your approach,’ his brother countered. ‘She may want to be a warrior, but she’s not. You can’t win her over by defeating her.’
Vidar snorted and shook his head, walking towards his warriors on the sparring field.
‘Try it, Brother,’ Eirik called after him. ‘A warm wife is better than a cold one.’
Vidar only shook his head again. That woman wanted to be married to him about as much as he wanted to be married to her. He’d wed her, bed her and then figure out a way to leave her behind as he went on his next adventure. They’d both be happier with that arrangement.
Gwendolyn stared at the people awaiting her. They all watched her, searching her face for some reaction. A tug of humour seemed to hover around the lips of the Danes, while the Saxon faces all showed pity combined with resigned acceptance. She and Rodor had spoken to them all back in the autumn after her father had passed to explain what he’d done. They’d all had the winter to come to terms with the potential for the Danes to be invited into Alvey. And on the morning after the Danes had arrived, Rodor had gone to each and every one of the families to reassure them and reaffirm her father’s word on the matter. While she was certain many of them resented the Danes, they all respected her father enough to abide by his word.
His word was still law now that he was gone. Her people would accept these Danes as allies. Gwendolyn was aware of her pivotal role in ensuring that. It was up to her to lead by example and accept her place as the wife of Vidar. Except for that morning on the sparring field, she had kept her head about her. In public she had behaved with grace and tolerance that had been acquired by never once addressing her betrothed. In private she still railed against her fate, even though she knew there was nothing to be done for it. Finally she had come to a solemn acceptance. She would marry him, but she would not submit to him.
Holding her head high, she held Annis’s hand and walked across the sparring field in the light of the late afternoon. She found it ironic that they would wed on the very field of battle where they’d exchanged words just days before. Though Annis and even their parents had been married in the hall, it made more sense for Gwendolyn’s wedding to take place outside so that more of their people could view their joining in marriage. Rodor had thought that having it witnessed by more people would help to ensure those same people would never have question to doubt or resent the Danes.
Gwendolyn had agreed, so she forced a smile as she made her way down the path created by the parting crowd to the centre of the group. The women had outdone themselves with the decorations. Torches were placed at intervals around the perimeter of the field to give off more light. It was early yet in the spring for flowers, so they’d hung strings of boughs and wreaths high above their heads to run between the torches. Most of the women wore crowns of ivy in their hair and Annis had even placed one over Gwendolyn’s head.
Once they reached the friar Annis dropped her hand and went to stand with her husband and their two young children. Gwendolyn smiled at Rodor, but couldn’t manage to keep the smile in place when she looked over at Vidar and Jarl Eirik standing beside him.
They were both handsome. Vidar’s golden hair had been pulled back into a knot at the crown of his head, while his hair in the back fell in loose waves to his shoulders. Those broad shoulders were encased in a midnight-velvet tunic adorned with gold braiding and embroidery along the seams. She had to admit he had the look of a nobleman more than that of a barbarian. He also had the look of a hardened warrior, one who was accustomed to getting his way in things. It appeared allowing his wife to continue her responsibilities as they’d been before he came along wasn’t part of his plan.
He was nothing like Cam. Cam had been carefree and content to allow her to do as she wanted. Vidar was the complete opposite. Intense and powerful. With Cam her life would have been calm and predictable. Nothing was predictable with this man.
His strong jaw tightened and, when he turned to look at her, his strong brow line was furrowed. She couldn’t understand why he tolerated the idea of this marriage. Annis had helped her to realise that it didn’t matter if he wanted it or not. If he’d called off, Jarl Eirik would have called some other man in to take his place, so it was a moot point.
His eyes widened when he took in her gown, making her realise this was the first time he’d seen her clothed in such feminine attire. Her father had brought back the velvet fabric on his last trip years ago to barter with the Scots. The sapphire colour had matched her eyes, so she’d had it made into a gown with the intention of wearing it on her wedding day, but that had been when she’d imagined Cam to be the groom. She’d almost decided against it in some sort of silent protest against the man she was forced to marry, but Annis had pointed out it would be a shame to let the gown go to waste. Gwendolyn had agreed. If she were being forced into this marriage, then at least she’d have one thing that she wanted. Well, two. She also wore her mother’s favourite fox pelt stole around her shoulders to block out the chill. The amethyst necklace that Annis had gifted her completed her wedding attire.
His gaze made a sweep of her body, taking a moment to linger on her hips and the swell of her breasts. When it met hers again, she was struck by the humour shining out at her. He didn’t mumble a compliment that she’d probably have seen as a pale attempt at flattery. Instead, he said, ‘You honour me with your presence, my lady.’
She couldn’t help it. Her lips twitched in a smile at his jest. He was baiting her, she was certain of it, but she took his bait and asked, ‘Did you think I might not come?’
‘I had already planned my speech to win you over.’
She did laugh then, a small giggle that she managed to stifle before it had truly escaped. The image of him pleading for her hand was so funny, she was almost sorry she hadn’t made him do it. ‘A pity I missed that. What did it entail? Would you have extolled my many virtues and sang a song about your many successful exploits?’
His smile widened and he took her hand. The touch was so unexpected that it wiped the smile from her lips. His fingers were strong and warm as they closed around hers, making her hand feel tiny by comparison when she had never felt tiny in her life. His skin was lightly calloused and rough against hers, but somehow the sensation wasn’t repugnant. Not as it should have been.
‘Not at all. I’d have promised you a say in the training of your warriors, but I must say that I’m very glad it didn’t come to that.’ His hand tightened around hers and he turned to face the friar, a smile still on his lips.
She followed his lead and faced the friar as well, but she ground her molars as she did so. She was almost certain he was lying, teasing her simply to make her feel that she might have got the concession from him had she only tried harder. This entire thing was a game to him and one in which only he seemed to know the rules. The friar began to speak, droning on in Latin, and she was too incensed with her groom to pay attention. She did try to jerk her hand away from him, but he only smiled wider and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, holding it there with his other hand. Rodor gave her a disapproving look, reminding her that her people were watching and she had to put on a serene face.
So that’s what she did. When it came time for her to repeat her vows, she said them loud and clear for all to hear, but she did it without once looking at her groom. Only the ceremony didn’t end with the reciting of vows as it had for Annis. This one had to incorporate the Danes’ own heathen tradition. Rodor had
