Only then did the man clasp Vidar’s arm in the same grip he’d shared with the Jarl and exchange a greeting. Gwendolyn turned her head away as if she couldn’t bear to see Vidar acknowledged in any way other than that of an enemy or threat. When he let go of the man’s arm, she turned and led them all to the main gate, which had been thrown open in welcome. Although it didn’t feel like much of a welcome when they walked inside.
Vidar had to suppress a shiver of trepidation as he passed through the gates. The men inside had been alerted to their arrival and stood on either side of the entrance. Though they were not holding their weapons, swords, axes, and knives were stowed at the waistbands and across their backs. He had to wonder if the girl commanded them as easily as she did Rodor.
She walked through the warriors and they parted for her as if she were their queen. Vidar realised that his original assessment of her had been hasty. This was no token respect she was given. These men respected her because somehow she had earned it.
Vidar ground his molars together, already anticipating the battle of wills ahead. It wouldn’t be fought with weapons. It would be more subtle, and fought with words and deeds. He’d have to wrest their respect away from her and earn it for himself.
* * *
‘The Danes have come.’ Gwendolyn could barely say the words before she pressed a hand to her mouth, as if they’d cut her lips on their way out.
‘Aye. I’ve heard. The news spread fast once their ships were spotted.’ Her older sister, Annis, closed the door to Gwendolyn’s bedchamber and swept her into her arms.
Gwendolyn allowed herself a moment of weakness and took comfort in the embrace. Her knees had been weak since the moment she’d climbed out of that tree and met the Northmen face to face. Her fear had only got worse as she’d led the men to her home. Now that they were inside, drinking her ale and helping themselves to her meat, she’d barely made it to her chamber before the fear overtook her.
She’d heard talk about the Danes ever since she could remember. They were large and unkempt with the slovenly mannerisms of barbarians. Her only real dealings with them before now were that band of misfit Danes who terrorised the countryside. They didn’t belong to this group of men, though. They were rebels. Rumours were that only a portion of them were Danes with the rest of the group being made up of outcasts from the Picts, Scots, and God knew who else. During that battle, she’d been too grief stricken and intent on avenging her brother’s death to notice much about them.
What frightened her so much about these Danes who’d all but taken over Northumbria was that they weren’t unkempt and slovenly at all. They were dignified and ordered. Jarl Eirik appeared just as aristocratic as her own father had. The men as a group carried themselves with pride and poise. When she looked into Vidar’s eyes, she saw intelligence and cunning, not the look of a barbarian she’d been expecting. She could handle a bloodthirsty animal much easier than a calculating nobleman, particularly one bent on claiming her for marriage and taking her property.
Her bedchamber was the only place she could indulge her emotions, even if only for a moment. And Annis was the only person she trusted enough to allow her to see her as she really was. With Annis she didn’t have to appear strong or brave. She buried her face in the crook of Annis’ shoulder and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. However, nothing could stop her hands from shaking as she put them around her sister’s shoulders.
‘Are they so awful?’ Annis asked, her voice low as if the Danes already had ownership of everything and any words spoken against them were blasphemy.
Gwendolyn nodded. ‘More awful than I had imagined.’
‘What of your...husband?’ She hesitated on the last word as if trying to find another way to say it. But there was no other way. Gwendolyn feared that she was as good as wed to him.
‘Any man who is not Cam is horrible. But that man is worse than horrible.’ Gwendolyn took another deep breath and pulled herself up to her full height, which was a few inches taller than her tiny sister. Though Gwendolyn had two older sisters, she’d always been the tallest and the most active of the three. When her sisters were content to allow their mother to lead them in lessons in embroidery and the proper running of a household, Gwendolyn had followed their older brother Cedric everywhere. Eventually her parents had consented and he’d allowed her to join in with the weaponry and fight training given to the boys her age. It was because of him that she was more accurate with the crossbow than any of the men and could hold her own with the longbow.
In a way, it was because of Cedric that she was in this awful predicament. If he’d not been killed in battle, along with Cam—her betrothed—then she’d not be faced with marriage to a Dane.
‘I understand that you still mourn Cam. We all do.’ Annis tucked a strand of hair behind Gwendolyn’s ear. ‘But the Danes are only men. They can’t possibly be that awful.’
Gwendolyn turned from her sister and hurried across the room to the shelves where she kept the important documents that had belonged to her father. In preparation for the marriage, Gwendolyn had moved into the master’s chamber. With her brother 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