were at least twenty men on each one, while the two in back held a few horses. She allowed herself the tiny sliver of hope that she had saved herself. But then he spoke. ‘The agreement called for my most trusted warrior. Magnus was named verbally, but his name was not recorded in the document. Just as your name was not recorded. The text only states that my most trusted warrior is to marry the daughter of Alvey. I have the scroll if you’ll allow me to show you.’
She opened her mouth to refuse him, but Rodor stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. She met his shrewd gaze and noted the displeasure there. He’d been her father’s man from long before her birth—if anyone knew what her father’s wishes had been, it was he. He’d probably even seen the document her father had signed.
‘Do not do this thing you’re planning, Gwendolyn. If you antagonise your husband now, think of the consequences to yourself later. Think of the consequences to our people. A true leader must put everyone else before himself...or herself.’
Her heart plummeted to land with a thud in her stomach. All this time she had been so certain that something would change, but she realised now that she’d only been fooling herself. It hadn’t been certainty at all, but a childish indulgence. Nothing would save her from her fate. Her father had made sure of that before he’d passed by making his wishes known to all the men. They followed her now because she’d earned their respect, but she knew how tenuous that respect was. If she openly thwarted her beloved father’s wishes, they’d turn on her. If Jarl Eirik had chosen not to honour the agreement, then that would be one thing; but, if she were the cause of him baulking, that would be another altogether.
The men thought they needed these Danes for protection. Personally, she didn’t agree. Aye, the northern tribes were becoming bolder. That was compounded by the rebellious Northmen who’d fled the Danes pushing northward to take Alvey land. They were being squeezed from both sides, yet Gwendolyn was confident that her men could handle things alone. But Jarl Eirik had promised them gold and warriors in exchange for her hand and her father had thought the exchange necessary.
Swallowing her pride, she realised that she’d have to handle this diplomatically, so she nodded to Jarl Eirik. ‘You may come on land. Bring your proof and whatever you may need to rest for the evening. We’ll see if everything is as you say.’
From the corner of her eye, she saw Rodor nod as he stepped back to his place with the men. The one named Vidar had ceased his laughing, but only to stare at her. She ignored him, training her gaze on Jarl Eirik as he directed his men to disembark. He followed them, his boots splashing in the shallow water at the bank of the river as he jumped out of the boat and walked to shore. He was a tall man, taller than Rodor. His shoulders were broad and his wheat-coloured hair swept down past his shoulders. He was handsome and had a solemn air about him. If he hadn’t been her adversary, she saw immediately that she would have liked him.
His younger brother Vidar followed—she wouldn’t think of him as her betrothed until it was absolutely unavoidable. When he splashed down from his boat and walked towards shore, she noted that he walked with a swagger that was missing from his older brother’s walk. He was of the same height as Jarl Eirik and his hair was a similar shade of blond. It was obvious they were brothers. But the younger one’s eyes were insolent and fierce. Gwendolyn very much doubted she would have liked him at all under other circumstances.
‘Come,’ she said and turned to follow the trail home. She forced down the ache in her throat and blinked back the sting of tears. She had not cried since the day her father had died. She wouldn’t allow this Dane to reduce her to shame herself in front of him.
Somehow between now and the night ahead, she’d figure a way out of this marriage. She wouldn’t have a man dictate her future to her, especially an enemy stranger.
The trail was so narrow that they’d been forced to walk in pairs, and Vidar had fallen into step beside his brother. They’d left half of the men behind to guard the boats and the treasure contained within them—the fortune his brother had been forced to part with to secure this marriage. The girl walked before them with a man he’d heard her call by the name Wulf at her side, while the rest of her men followed behind.
‘Have you considered that this might be a trap?’ Vidar asked, keeping his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel to the others. Not that he believed any of the Saxons knew the Danish tongue, but he’d rather his own men not hear. The evergreen forest towered high above them, nearly blocking what little light there was, leaving it almost too dark to see the trail in front of them. She could be leading them anywhere.
‘Aye, but it’s not,’ Eirik said, his gaze on the trail.
Vidar had to agree that a trap was probably unlikely. As of now, they had the Saxon men outnumbered, but there could be more hiding anywhere along the trail. And their knowledge of the Alveys was nearly non-existent. They could have hundreds of warriors. Yet his brother spoke with such confidence that Vidar was compelled to ask, ‘How are you so certain?’
‘When I leave, I’m taking nearly half the warriors with me and leaving the gold behind.’ Eirik smiled, the white of it breaking through the shadows. ‘If she wanted to kill you, she’d do it then when she’d have fewer men to contend with and it would be autumn before I knew about it. Spring before I’d be able to come back to avenge you. It’s in her best interest to wait.’
Vidar scoffed and glanced through the tops of the trees, trying to find the sun. ‘Many thanks, Brother. I’ll look forward to that when you’re gone.’
Eirik laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I doubt it’ll happen.’
Somehow his brother’s ‘doubt’ wasn’t the least bit reassuring. Vidar clenched his jaw and stared at the back of the girl who walked before them. Vidar still had trouble thinking of her as his bride. None of this felt like it was really happening. By tomorrow evening the land they were walking on could very well be his, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it. He wasn’t a farmer or a shepherd, or whatever they did up here in this remote place. His destiny was to brave new lands to find new resources and secure his fortune.
No matter what happened on this night or any other, he’d make sure to fulfil that destiny. These people had survived well enough without him. He’d leave as soon as he was able and continue his life as before. Eirik couldn’t stop him and, unless he missed his guess, his bride would rather see him go.
Though he’d probably have to get her with child first.
The thought brought his attention back to her. They had been steadily walking up an incline, traversing up the side of the hill, so the girl’s backside was at eye level. Her tunic was low enough that it covered the plump flesh, but he could still see it bouncing beneath the fabric, the swells of each cheek working with each step she took. And he remembered vividly how her tunic had been pulled up as she’d come out of the tree, allowing him a view of those rounded curves in her trousers. It could be worse, he reminded himself. Bedding her wouldn’t be unpleasant, he decided, and began to anticipate it as the only bright spot in this arrangement. It had been weeks since he’d last lain with a woman.
The flickering of fire up ahead caught his eye and he realised they were coming out of the forest. The trail ended and they walked out into a flat grassland that backed up to a fortress larger than he’d been expecting. The entire settlement was set back into the side of a hill. The river made up the west and north side, blocked off by both a stone wall and sheer drop of several yards. The stone wall continued around the south and east sides of the property, but it was far
