dead, Annis married to a lowly farmer with no lofty aspirations and her other sister comfortably ensconced in the abbey and devoted to a life of prayer, there was no one left to be master except for the man Gwendolyn eventually married. She only hoped it wouldn’t be this Dane.
Grabbing the small chest from the shelf, she sat it on the table and opened the lid to pull out the scroll her father had hidden away. It was the one that had given her to that heathen. ‘They are that terrible, Annis,’ she said. ‘His name is Vidar and you can’t even imagine how he looks at me. It’s not the same way Eadward looks at you.’ Eadward fairly worshipped her sister. He’d looked at her as if he could see no one else since they were children. ‘It’s as if he already owns me and is taking measure of my worth.’
She shook her head as she unrolled the scroll, nearly ripping it in her haste to find the name Magnus. If Magnus was the one named in the document, and not Vidar, then she wouldn’t have to honour this ridiculous agreement that her father had made in haste and desperation. This was nothing more than her father’s misplaced fear. He’d been afraid to die without seeing her cared for, not realising that she didn’t need to be cared for. She could care for herself, the estate and all the land between the north and Northumbria without a man at her side.
‘Damn and blast,’ she murmured as her gaze ate up the words on the page.
‘Gwendolyn! We can get through this without blasphemy,’ Annis admonished her before turning her attention back to the scroll, squinting at the words. She’d never taken to learning the written word as her other siblings had. Her lips moved silently as she struggled to make sense of the markings. Finally, she gave up. ‘Oh, just tell me what it says.’
‘They’ve brought a man named Vidar to marry me, but Father explicitly said that the man’s name was Magnus. The Jarl Dane says that the agreement only called for his best man and a specific man had not been named. Therefore, he could substitute whomever he wanted.’ Gwendolyn dropped into the chair behind her as nausea rolled in her stomach, the scroll forgotten on the table. ‘It appears he’s correct. There is no Magnus named in the agreement.’
Annis grabbed her hand in silent support. Gwendolyn squeezed her fingers, but the gesture that was so familiar did nothing to bring her peace this time. She was well and truly bound to that barbarian. An image of his smirking face rose up in her mind and she shook her head to clear it. This was not the future she had planned for herself.
She felt like throwing a tantrum that would have left her five-year-old self in complete and utter awe. However, she realised that would get her absolutely nowhere.
Instead of giving in to the impulse, she rolled up the scroll again and put her arm around Annis. Vidar—even thinking his name was distasteful. She shook her head and said, ‘If legalities won’t save me, then I’ll have to make him cry off.’
‘How on earth will you do that, Gwendolyn? What man would say no to Alvey?’
Gwendolyn closed her eyes as dread settled like a lump in her belly. She knew she was getting desperate if she thought she could make him turn around and leave. ‘I don’t know. Your Eadward said no. Father would’ve given it to him after Cedric’s death.’
Annis laughed. ‘You know as well as I that Eadward is happiest on his farm. He goes whole days without so much as a word to anyone. He would not be happy as a ruler.’ Then she sobered and took Gwendolyn’s hand. ‘Perhaps I should’ve said what man who’s travelled weeks and weeks to find you and claim Alvey as his own would turn away now?’
And that was the crux of it. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have come all this way to simply turn around now. Even worse was her strong suspicion that even if he did, Jarl Eirik would only find someone to replace him. Despite what Vidar might want for himself, she knew that Jarl Eirik wanted this land as a barrier between himself and the tribes to the north. And he needed that to happen before the Saxons to the south claimed it for their own. Or that’s how her father had explained it to her from his deathbed.
Gwendolyn just wanted to be left alone and for Alvey to be secluded from the kings to the south and the tribes to the north.
‘You could very well be right, Annis, but I have to try something. How would you feel if Eadward had been taken from you and a strange barbarian forced upon you?’
Annis nodded and her eyes filled with so much sadness and pity that it hurt Gwendolyn to look at them. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘It should be me, not you. I’m the oldest and this should be my burden.’
‘Oh, Annis.’ Gwendolyn pulled her into a hug, suddenly ashamed that she’d allowed her own fears to make her sister feel guilty. ‘It’s not your fault. I suppose it’s not anyone’s fault.’ As much as she wanted to find someone to blame, it was simply the way things were. ‘I’ll have to figure things out.’
Annis nodded and drew back, wiping at her nose with a kerchief she’d drawn from her sleeve. ‘You will, Gwendolyn. I have great faith in you. You always figure out a way.’
Gwendolyn had not figured out a way. Despite her best efforts, she was stuck in this marriage arrangement. Rodor and Jarl Eirik stood at the table where their tankards of ale had been pushed to the side and the two scrolls stretched out before them. One of them was from the chest in her chamber, and the other had been produced by Jarl Eirik. She could tell from her seat at the head of the table that they were identical even before Rodor stood back and gave her a solemn nod.
Tightening her grip on her tankard, she tossed back the rest of the ale and contemplated how many cups she could drink that night. If she finished off an entire pitcher, would it be enough to make her forget that this was her life now? That these men who sat at her table would be here to stay? That that man...Vidar...would be her husband? Nay, she sincerely doubted there was enough ale in Alvey to make her forget.
‘Well, Lady Gwendolyn, as you can see the documents support my earlier statement. I’m within my rights to replace Magnus with Vidar.’ Jarl Eirik pushed back from where he’d been leaning over the documents to stand beside Rodor.
For all his bluster earlier, Rodor kept his hand resting lightly on the sword at his hip. It was a casual pose, but she realised it for the support it was. If she commanded it, he’d turn on the Danes. He’d hate every moment of it, but he’d do it.
Her gaze went down the length of the table and then further around the large chamber. The candles flickered overhead and a large fire burned in the hearth, illuminating the room while keeping the corners in shadow. All eyes had turned to her and there was a tension in the room that had rarely been present in a home that was so well cared for. She counted roughly three score of the Danes. Her own men numbered nearly that many, but there were more lingering outside. Their women were suspiciously absent from the great chamber on this night, leaving only herself and Annis.
If Gwendolyn called for a fight, then her men would eventually overpower the Danes, though not without some loss of life. If they moved fast enough, they’d even be able to attack the Danes still left in their ships. Though it was anyone’s guess if the Danes would move fast enough to escape on their ships. If they did escape, then they’d return to avenge their Jarl. It might be weeks or months, but they’d come back with hellfire. She was confident in Alvey’s ability to withstand a siege, but she had no real idea of how many Danes they’d come back with. It would be a risk.
If she went through with the marriage and allowed
