of men and he’d see what she had done. Then Alvey would still need to contend with the hellfire he’d rain down upon them. And she’d have to face the fact that she’d killed her own husband in cold blood.
Neither option was very appealing. Both of them would lead to the deaths of at least a few of her men. What Rodor had said earlier rang true. A true leader must put everyone else first.
Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she said, ‘Aye, Jarl Eirik, I can see that you are within your rights.’ She studiously avoided looking at Vidar, who was still seated near his brother’s side. He’d yet to weigh in with his opinion and she couldn’t take the smirk she was sure to find on his face. ‘I’d like to know why the substitution was necessary.’ Would Magnus have been any better than Vidar?
The Jarl inclined his head as if he’d expected the enquiry, but his grimace made her think he wasn’t completely pleased with having to relay the information. ‘Magnus is the leader of Thornby, our most powerful settlement. He was injured in battle and a Saxon woman took him in and healed him. After his stay in her village, he was able to quell a rebellion by the Saxons and decided to marry the woman. I felt his influence there was necessary for peace in the area.’
Gwendolyn wondered if the woman had agreed to the marriage, or if she’d had it thrust upon her, but she kept silent.
Jarl Eirik continued, ‘I chose Vidar to replace him because I trust him to see to Alvey’s protection. He’s learned everything he knows at my side.’
Finally, Gwendolyn allowed her gaze to move to Vidar, who was sitting at the table. He leaned back in his chair with an ankle propped on one knee, almost indolent in his regard of the situation. There was nothing for Gwendolyn to do but nod her acceptance of the Jarl’s explanation.
Jarl Eirik smiled. It crinkled the sun-bronzed skin around his eyes and made him seem genuinely good natured rather than smug. ‘Good, then let’s move ahead to talk about the ceremony.’ He took his seat and reached for the ale he’d pushed to the side. Rodor walked around the table and sat down across from him, taking the vacant seat next to Annis. ‘Unless you’d prefer a substitution of your own?’ he asked after Rodor had seated himself.
‘What do you mean?’ Gwendolyn asked.
‘Your father calls for his daughter to wed my best man. He doesn’t specify which one.’ Jarl Eirik’s gaze wandered across the table to where Annis sat with her back ramrod straight. Her fingers were laced together in front of her, but her knuckles had turned white because she’d clasped them together so hard. The colour had drained from her face as soon as she’d sat down at the table with the men. She was obviously afraid. Gwendolyn was suddenly very glad that she was the one who had to deal with this. If it were Annis, she feared her sister wouldn’t survive it.
Forcing a smile, Gwendolyn said, ‘I’m afraid that I’m the only daughter available for the task.’
‘Then I’m a lucky man.’ Vidar spoke for the first time since they’d started this meeting. His voice was deep but smooth and pleasing to the ear. It matched his appearance. He was well groomed with fine features and she suspected that he left a trail of admirers wherever he went. But it would take more than surface charm to win him any favours here.
Gwendolyn met his gaze and found that he was indeed as amused as she’d thought he might be. Though he wasn’t smirking, his eyes were lit with some inner light that told her he found the situation amusing. Of course he found her discomfort amusing. He was clearly a barbarian.
‘You’re more beautiful than I expected,’ Vidar explained, raising a brow. She recognised it for the challenge that it was rather than a compliment to her appearance.
‘You’re younger than I expected,’ she countered. He was younger than she’d thought he would be, she realised as she saw him clearly for the first time. She’d prepared herself for an older man, someone like Rodor. Jarls were supposed to be older men. But Jarl Eirik didn’t appear to be that old and his brother was obviously quite a few years younger. He was probably only scarcely older than her own twenty winters. Although there was nothing about him that said anything other than full-grown man. His chest was broad and she could tell from the way the fabric of his tunic hugged his shoulders that his muscles were well developed.
‘Young and virile,’ he quipped, somehow putting extra emphasis on the word virile. ‘Isn’t that what was called for in the agreement?’
She felt heat rise on her cheeks. An image of his nude body flashed through her mind and there was no place in this discussion for that.
Jarl Eirik cleared his throat, clearly uneasy with the direction the conversation had taken. ‘I can have Rodor, or someone else of your choosing, taken down to the ships and shown the bride price to reassure you.’
Gwendolyn nodded, having trouble getting that virile thought to stay out of her head. ‘In the morning will be soon enough.’
Jarl Eirik inclined his head. ‘Then we should speak of the actual ceremony. I must apologise, but I’d have it take place sooner rather than later. I’m needed at home.’
Her mind raced with a hundred excuses. If she could put it off for years, then she would. But much to her surprise, Annis spoke first. ‘The ceremony should take place with the new moon.’
Gwendolyn stared at her sister, certain that she had imagined the interruption from the meek woman. But then her sister spoke again, her gaze on the Jarl. ‘I know my sister doesn’t put much faith in the stars, but I believe they tell us more than most of us ever realise. Our parents’ marriage and even my own marriage began with a new moon, and I believe hers will be most fortuitous if allowed to follow the tradition.’
Gwendolyn looked at her sister, confused by what amounted to a betrayal. Annis knew how she felt about this marriage. The new moon was in three days. Three days to prepare to become that Dane’s wife. Three years wouldn’t be long enough to prepare for that. Before she could utter an objection, Jarl Eirik’s smile broadened. ‘Perfect. If your family has a tradition, then I most certainly do not want to be the one to break it.’
Annis smiled and blinked as if she was a little stunned that her suggestion had been accepted. ‘Wonderful. That gives us three days to plan and prepare a feast.’
Gwendolyn opened her mouth to protest, but Rodor kicked her leg underneath the table and she ended up swallowing a yelp of pain. Her gaze again found Vidar’s across the table and she was surprised to find that he frowned, his brows pulled together as his gaze narrowed on hers. In the light of the candles flickering overhead, she realised that his eyes were the clearest shade of blue she’d ever seen. Not grey, or flecked with green, but clear like the bluest sky. And at that moment there wasn’t a speck of kindness in them. She didn’t understand what a life with him would mean for her and that sent a wave of anxiety tumbling through her. Would he be cruel? Would he expect her to be a wife like Annis? Someone sweet and biddable and unconcerned with things outside her own home? Would he try to take away the only life she’d ever known?
‘In three days, then,’ he agreed, sending her heart plummeting to her stomach.
Perhaps it was possible that he didn’t want this marriage either. His attitude made her think he wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. If she talked to him, perhaps he’d agree that the marriage should be in name only.
It was her last hope, but something about him...something about the way he looked at her made her think she wouldn’t be successful.
*
