sense. But, in the end, he gave her a final, reluctant nod and turned, leaving her in the larder alone.
It was madness because she didn’t know him at all, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d lost out on something very special.
Bernicia, northern Northumbria—winter AD 872
It had been nearly a fortnight since he had come to Alvey and first laid eyes on Ellan. In that time Aevir had failed to completely banish the girl from his thoughts. The days were easy enough. They were filled with almost constant sparring and travel that had taken him to the northern corners of Alvey’s border with the Scots. It was the nights, quiet and often fraught with boredom, that made him ache for her. The strong pull between them was attraction in its most raw and unbridled form. It was so rare that he’d never quite experienced it with another woman. Desire, aye, and love, once, but not this nearly overwhelming need to possess another.
Had she been more experienced—and not under Lord Vidar’s protection—he’d have spent his every night in Alvey buried within her. As it was, he’d been forced to look for substitutes, but none of the women who had offered had the completely contradictory charms of sincerity and insolence that she had. None of them had that particular look in their eyes that said to him, ‘Teach me everything you know and I’ll find a way to break you with pleasure.’
The thought made the corners of his mouth turn up in a mocking grin. Ellan could have him in knots over her if she only knew how to wield the power she held. It was an unfortunate situation to find himself in given that the girl in question could very well be a spy planted by her father who was known for his hatred for the Danes. His only consolation was that she did not know how unreasonably besotted he was with her. Though she was bound to figure it out if he kept staring at her.
Her sister had married Aevir’s friend Rolfe after a whirlwind courtship earlier in the day, leaving the evening to be taken up with feasting, stories and music. There was a distinct lack of women within Alvey’s walls, so Ellan danced around the room along with Lady Gwendolyn and a few other wives and serving girls, taking the hand of a man in the large circle and twirling once before moving to the next. Her smile was breathtaking and the way she moved had him wondering if she’d be that uninhibited beneath him.
That thought forced him to look away and stare down into his mead, but the honeyed notes in the liquid only reminded him of the way the firelight played over the gold tones in her hair. Cursing under his breath, he wondered how much more of this celebration he’d be forced to endure.
The couple had long since retired to their bedchamber upstairs for the evening. Given the thin walls and flooring, there was no question that the marriage had been well and truly consummated. The usual ribald comments had begun and Ellan had sat across from him, blushing with each one. More telling was how she would glance over to him, letting him know her thoughts followed his own. Lady Gwendolyn had been indulgent and let the suggestive remarks pass until she had finally proposed more dancing. Aevir had been a fool to think the music would provide any sort of relief from wanting Ellan. In fact, as the evening wore on and his gaze kept finding her dancing form, he was beginning to think that the only way to rid himself of his obsession would be to have her once and get it over with. Jarl Vidar might disapprove, but whatever the punishment was it would be worth it.
Pushing his tankard back, he went to rise and go to her, but Jarl Vidar’s voice stayed him.
‘Aevir, stay a moment,’ Jarl Vidar called.
He sat back down, wondering if his intention had been so clearly written on his face. Frequently the Jarl wore a forbidding expression, but tonight he was relaxed and smiling. His own gaze was drawn to the movements of his lady wife as she danced.
Aevir breathed a sigh of relief that his intentions towards Ellan hadn’t been revealed. ‘Aye, Jarl.’
‘I want you to know that I appreciate you giving me your loyalty. You and your men have already proven to be invaluable assets to Alvey.’
Aevir grinned. ‘We don’t come cheaply, but we’re worth it.’
The Jarl was probably a couple of winters younger than Aevir, which was young for a jarl. It was a testament to how ripe this land was for opportunity to quickly gain status, which was what had tempted Aevir to come fight for Vidar. He’d roamed his homeland, raided the Franks and worked as a mercenary as far away as Constantinople for a handful of years, filling his coffers. His men respected him and he was known as an honest and effective warrior. However, the status he craved had eluded him. To become a jarl in his own right he needed land and lots of it, along with a small army to rule.
Jarl Vidar laughed. ‘Indeed. When you gave me your loyalty, I told you that you’d be well rewarded for it. Well, I’ve finally decided on a marriage that will help you secure the status you desire.’
On her deathbed, his mother had praised his strength, but had bade him not to flaunt it. The son of a slave was not meant to rise high in the world and strength would make him a target for men who wanted to keep him in his place. He’d vowed in that moment that one day he would rise to the same level of the men she feared. Though she wouldn’t be there to see him, he’d walk proudly among them, deserving of every bit of respect that they commanded for themselves. While he had travelled far and wide, the stain of being a bastard son of a slave had followed him. It had become clear to him that marriage to a high-born woman was the only way to rid himself of it.
Vidar’s proclamation shouldn’t have come as a shock, but it did. When he’d first arrived in Alvey and sworn his oath, the Jarl had spoken privately to him about arranging a marriage. At the time, Aevir had accepted it as the next necessary phase of his life. He’d never expected it to happen so soon.
‘Aevir?’ Jarl Vidar’s voice broke through his hesitation. ‘You don’t seem pleased.’
Aevir shook his head. ‘I’m very pleased, merely surprised. Who is the woman?’
He knew that he had failed to appear happy when two identical creases formed between the Jarl’s brows. Leaning forward and lowering his voice, Jarl Vidar said, ‘I know that you were married once before. I understand if you want to wait—’
‘Nay.’ An image of the only wife of his heart flashed through Aevir’s mind. She was laughing at him after he’d slipped on the frozen lake helping to carry a swine to her home. It was the first time he had met her and still how he imagined her during the very rare times he allowed his thoughts to drift that way. He refused to think of her now and forcefully returned her memory to the confines of his heart. His first marriage had been for love; his next would be for status and nothing more. ‘Thank you, Jarl, but waiting isn’t necessary. Who is to be my...?’ He couldn’t say wife. He wouldn’t. ‘Who am I to marry?’
‘Her name is Annis. She is a Saxon relation of my brother Eirik. Her father was a powerful Saxon, he still is, though he operates under Eirik’s rule. The family is a relation of the Northumbrian King Ecgberht, so the marriage will come with a small portion of land.’
‘Not in Alvey?’
The Jarl shook his head. ‘Nay, south, but not as far as Eirik’s land. You’ll essentially oversee the territory between. I had thought to offer the position to Rolfe, but it wasn’t a good fit because he prefers to stay in Alvey.’ He grinned and added, ‘He also seems to prefer Elswyth. The arrangement is much more suitable to a
