never make it back inside. And her only real chance of not leaving with him was to go back inside now.
She had made a grave error in coming out to speak with her family. Her father could take her now and disappear into the night with her if he chose. She instinctively took a step backward towards Alvey. The Danes chatted and roughhoused in the distance at their campfires, but they wouldn’t help her. No man would step between a father and his rightful claim on his daughter. No man but Lord Vidar. She hoped.
‘If we’re to leave at daybreak, then I should go back inside and collect our things,’ Ellan said.
‘There’s nothing you need from Alvey,’ Father said.
Her thoughts collided as she sensed his intention was to not allow her to go back inside. What a stupid mistake. She’d come out here because of her terrible need to win some sort of approval from her father. She realised now that she had wanted to see him and have him open his arms to her as Galan had done, but it had been a ridiculous fantasy. He didn’t care for her and he never would.
‘There’s not much, but Lady Gwendolyn gifted us each with a fine golden bracelet. They have a small value that might prove useful,’ she said.
There were no bracelets, but she could feel the weight of the prison Father carried around with him closing in on her and she would have said anything to escape. When his eyes glimmered with interest, she knew that she had won. If the talk of his joining with the Scots was true—and she was almost certain that it was, based on his reaction—then he’d need the gold to buy weapons.
He gave a curt nod and she turned blindly, nearly overcome with relief as she made her way back to the walls. Restored to her, her heart beat furiously, pushing blood through her body almost faster than her limbs could accept it. She felt light-headed while her knees were heavy, as if she were walking through ankle-deep mud. The open gate loomed before her like a beacon of hope, guiding her steps in a path that seemed to take for ever.
She only breathed again when she stepped through. None of the Saxons or Danes on guard seemed to notice her. The yard was still filled with men at this late hour. The usual excitement of Alvey crackled through the air, but instead of invigorating her, it drained her. Her shoulders shook from the effort of keeping her posture and her legs had now turned to water. She groped at the wall for support, the cold stone biting into the bare skin of her palm, and she welcomed the discomfort.
She would never leave Alvey again if she could help it. The question was: would she have a choice? If Lord Vidar decided that giving her over to her father would be justified, then she would have to go. Disobeying could mean punishment, or—more probable—he’d simply deliver her to her father bound if necessary.
‘Ellan.’ A smooth, deep voice called to her.
Aevir walked through the crowd, emerging into the light cast by a nearby torch. He walked like a man in charge, confident that no one would stand between him and his goal, and indeed the warriors moved out of the way for him. He was dressed as he usually was in rich fabrics that showed little wear, which somehow made her overly mindful of the fraying edges of her own tunic. A strange sense of relief moved through her even as a fluttering began in her belly.
‘Aevir?’ She grimaced at the breathless tone of her voice. She wasn’t quite certain what to make of their last encounter. Because he hadn’t bothered to acknowledge her since his return, she half-believed that he might not even remember it.
He looked out the open gates as he passed them, as if sensing the danger to her out there before he came to a stop in front of her. He carried with him the scents of the outdoors: evergreens, the crisp freshness of new snow and the faint hint of woodsmoke, while underneath was layered a richer spice she couldn’t name. It never failed to make her long to bury her face in his neck until she breathed in her fill.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked with a neutral expression. The thick, blonde strands of hair around his face were secured back at the crown of his head, but the rest hung to his shoulders.
‘I spoke with my father.’ She gave a shrug towards the gates and pulled her cloak tighter around her, disliking the way she responded to him, but unable to stop the reaction. When he was near it was as if she forgot how to think. She’d tripped over her own feet and misjudged the distance between a pitcher and tankard on more than one occasion in his presence. He probably thought she was a dolt. It was his eyes, she’d decided. A blue so light they might pass for grey, they seemed to look directly into her soul and see far more than she wanted them to.
His gaze roamed over her face in a slow glide that did strange and wonderful things to her belly. ‘What did Godric say to you?’ His voice seemed tinged with a suspicion she didn’t understand.
‘The usual. Saxons are good, Danes are bad.’ His lips twitched in the beginning of a smile. ‘He wants us to go home to Banford in the morning,’ she added.
He sighed and the warmth of his breath ruffled her hair across the small distance between them. ‘Then this is goodbye?’
Something was odd about him tonight. ‘I hope not,’ she answered with a bit more honesty than she had intended.
As he let out a soft breath, his gaze met hers. His eyes had deepened, becoming intense, and his stare lingered on her mouth. Almost as heated as how he had looked at her outside the hall. ‘What do you want, Ellan?’
His well-formed lips curved upwards, revealing even, white teeth and creases at the corners of his eyes. It made him look more human than godlike with an earthy attractiveness. Not once in her entire life had she ever felt this mindless infatuation for anyone else.
The memory of their kiss tried to take over, but she shook it off to say, ‘I want to stay here.’
‘Really?’ He seemed surprised as his head tilted to the side a little. His gaze had turned discerning. ‘How will you thwart him?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll speak with Lady Gwendolyn. I’m certain she’ll allow me to stay.’ If only she were as confident as she sounded.
‘She might want you to stay,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but don’t you think your father will insist? Will she go against his wishes and risk angering even more Saxons?’
It was the same question she asked herself. Swallowing down her panic, she said, ‘I don’t know. I do know that she frowns upon women being forced to wed. Her own forced marriage turned out well for her, but she doesn’t approve of the practice. She’ll at least speak with him on my behalf.’
‘Forced marriage? Has Godric arranged a marriage for you?’ Lines formed between his brows. She wanted to believe that his interest in her prospective marriage was personal, but she didn’t think whatever was between them would inspire such concern.
‘Aye, but he wouldn’t tell me the man’s name.’
‘Why would he not tell you? Are you not close to your father, Ellan?
Perhaps it was the stress of the evening, or simply the way she felt safe in Aevir’s presence, but something made her tell him more than she should. ‘To say that I am not his favourite daughter would be a great understatement. He simply wants to be rid of the burden I bring him.’
‘He doesn’t like daughters?’
‘He likes Elswyth well enough...or he did before she married a Dane. It’s only me that he despises.’ She shook her head,
