The tray felt heavier in her arms than it had the night before. Or maybe it was the weight of her intentions making it seem that way. She had tried to talk herself out of the plan at least a hundred times in the past hour, but Baldric’s life was worth more than her misgivings. Putting her body against Rolfe’s door, she nudged it open with her shoulder. The bowl on the tray wobbled, but she managed to right it before any damage was done. Once inside, she pushed it closed with her toe and waited there in the dark silence, quite certain that someone would come in and know her for the thief that she was.
After a moment, the pounding of her heart in her ears settled enough that she was able to hear the revelry still going on below. The men had finished their supper, but the deep voice of a skald could be heard, regaling them with some adventure in their own language, his words punctuated by cheers and heckles at various times. Elswyth had only picked up a few words of their language, not nearly enough to follow along. Because her own Saxon tongue was important to Lady Gwendolyn it was the one spoken the most; the Norsemen only spoke their own language among themselves or on nights like this when a story must be told.
She hoped the entertainment would keep Rolfe below for now. When she’d left the main hall, he’d been deep in discussion with the lord and lady and some warrior she thought was named Aevir. Wyborn had been busy chewing a bone under the table. She only had a few moments to herself before they would both come up to retire for the evening.
Placing the tray on the small table, she set a taper to the single candle burning low on the table and lit several more so that she could study his room. Her gaze immediately went to his bed where she had last seen the stone, but of course it wasn’t there anymore. Her steps were slow and shaky as she walked over to run her hand over the furs just in case. Rolfe’s scent rose from them and she couldn’t help but think of him lying beneath them. The flutter in her belly at that thought was so visceral that she jerked her hand back.
She had to get on with this or he would surely find her. A chest was set against the wall near the end of the bed, but she recognised it as the one he’d pulled his under-tunic out of the night before. Probably not that one. There was a smaller one next to it, so she made quick work of tossing open the lid. A cloth-wrapped bundle lay on top. She unwrapped it gently so that he wouldn’t know she’d disturbed it to find that it was a child’s doll. It seemed rather old and worn, but it clearly meant something to him if he had kept it with him these years. Bringing it to her nose, she confirmed that it, too, bore his scent. She imagined him taking it out from time to time and the image did not match the ruthless warrior that Galan had described. It did match the man who had smiled at her with his kind blue eyes and a single dimple.
Suddenly she felt worse than a thief. Who was she to have access to this man’s memories? She had no right to set her eyes upon something so personal to him, yet she wanted to climb into the chest and stay there. She wanted to savour any knowledge she could find about this man who was so mysterious and fascinating to her.
Wrapping the doll back up very carefully, she set it aside. No matter how she chastised herself, she couldn’t help her curiosity when it came to him. The things in this chest were little pieces of him and she found that she wanted to know more about him—not for Father’s sake, but for her own reasons. Underneath the doll, she found several things that she imagined he’d brought home from his travels over the years: a wooden coin with the crude carving of a nude lady on it, a volume of strange writing wrapped in leather, a piece of amber. At the very bottom was a bottle of wine laid on its side, but no jewel. Something gleamed at her from the darkened corner, the flicker of candlelight picking up the trace of metal. Cool iron met her fingertips and she lifted the slight weight. It was a key. Her heart gave a slight leap of joy. Reverently, she placed everything back inside except for the key and closed the lid.
Her gaze made a search through the rest of his room, looking for the lock that it matched. His shelves proved fruitless as did another large chest which was unlocked in which she discovered some of his chainmail and leathers. She was beginning to despair, having almost decided that he kept his valuables locked in the armoury, when she fell to her knees beside his bed and put her cheek to the floor. The light barely reached there, but it was enough to reveal the latches of two small chests, the metal of the clasps winking at her.
Stifling a hoot of triumph, she pulled the first one out. It was heavy and what sounded suspiciously like coins tinkling against each other met her ears. The key slid in easily and turned. The lock released and the lid popped open. There was a small fortune of sacks filled with coin inside. Along with the coin she suspected to be in the other chest, there was enough to buy an entire army of mercenaries if he needed them.
She couldn’t stifle the shiver that ran through her body as she reverently touched the sacks, the coins hard and cold beneath the coarse fabric. This was only Rolfe’s personal stash. It didn’t include the larger chests in the armoury and whatever else might be hidden. The Danes were never leaving. This confirmed it, but she knew even with this knowledge Father wouldn’t reconcile himself to their staying. She knew that with a certainty that was a physical pain through her body.
Footsteps walked briskly past the door outside, making her remember how tenuous her current position was. She made quick work of searching the chest, feeling the contents of each bag through the fabric. Finally, one of the sacks on the bottom seemed to hold something other than coin. It was heavy and there was a bulge larger than a coin, so she dumped the contents into her hand. She could hardly believe her eyes when the bloodstone sat in her palm, winking at her in the candlelight. It was set in gold filigree and attached to a golden chain which hung down through her fingers. It had to be the jewel Galan had told her about. It was about the right size and she was almost certain that it was the one she’d seen on Rolfe’s bed.
Deciding it would have to do and that she didn’t have the time to search through the other chest, she put everything else back inside and dropped the key into the corner of the chest where she’d found it. Then she pushed the entire chest back under the bed before tucking the stone between her breasts. Briefly, she considered staying and applying the poultice to his shoulder again so as not to rouse suspicion, but she knew that there was no way she would be able to keep her composure with his blue eyes staring her down. If she didn’t crack under the strain and admit everything, she’d make a fool of herself as her fear got the better of her. She honestly didn’t know if she’d be able to look the man in the eyes, knowing the stone rested against her skin.
It was best to leave and let him make of that what he would. It was better than her giving herself away. She wasn’t made for thievery and deceptions. Opening the door, she glanced out to make certain that no one noticed her and then made her way to the alcove she shared with Ellan. Once inside she let the curtain fall down, hiding her away from the world.
The next morning a harsh shake woke her. She opened her eyes to see Rolfe staring down at her. He was a shadow above her, the only light coming from the fire below in the hall, but there was no mistaking his powerful form. She gasped. Her first thought was that he had found his bloodstone missing and come directly to her. It had to be obvious that she had stolen it. Her hand immediately went to her waist where the bloodstone rested against her stomach. She had tied a purse there beneath her clothes and around her waist where she kept the stone hidden.
‘Please understand that it was necessary.’ Her voice was husky with sleep.
He knelt down, balancing on his heels and leaned close, presumably so that he wouldn’t wake Ellan who was snoring lightly next to her against the wall. ‘Wake up, fair lady. It’s time for your sword lesson.’ There was laughter in his voice.
He didn’t know. The relief that overcame her was so powerful that it left her muscles weak, her body sagging into the straw mattress. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
‘You don’t wake easily.’ The smile stayed in his voice.
‘I never have,’ she said, though it was in no way an explanation for what she had almost confessed, and it came out rather garbled. Pushing herself up, he moved back to give her space.
‘Come, I’ll be waiting outside for you with the horses. I have food you can eat on the way.’
She nodded, too surprised for speech as he turned and left, his broad shoulders nearly filling up the opening of their little alcove. She was caught off guard that he would see to those things for her. She was essentially a servant. She had served the lord and lady last night and he had sat next to them, politely taking the food and drink she’d brought. Before he and his men had arrived, she had often sat to take her own meal with them after serving them, but there had seemed no place for her and Ellan at the crowded table after they had arrived—not to mention the fact that she didn’t particularly want to sit with the Danes.
Yet he’d arranged for food for her this morning as if she were his equal. Or as if she were someone with whom he was attempting to court favour. Her throat went dry at that thought. What would he stand to gain from her favour? She might have the advantage of sharing Lady Gwendolyn’s bloodline, but she didn’t have a dowry to speak of, not one that a warrior such as Rolfe could command. He could take a wife who would bring an estate to the marriage, or at least a hefty amount of silver. Why would he want her? And why did the idea of him pursuing her in that way send pleasure spiralling through her?
It was too early to figure out those things, so she shook her head and looked for her shoes. He was a puzzle she wasn’t quite able to work her way through just yet. She had slept in her clothes precisely so that she wouldn’t have to dress this morning and risk exposing the jewel, so at least there was no need for her to dress. Shoes found, she ran a comb through her hair and quickly plaited the length of it in the near darkness. Grabbing her thickest cloak, she made her way downstairs.
The entire hall seemed to be asleep, so she trod carefully lest she wake one of them. Now that it was colder at night, more of the warriors had begun to sleep inside so she wound her way around them as she walked to the front door. When she opened the door, Wyborn approached, tail wagging, to sniff her palm. She gave the fur on his head a quick pet and he walked back to stand beside his master. Rolfe held the reins of two great horses. Their hooves pawed the ground anxiously. Twin puffs of steam floated up from their nostrils to dissipate in the morning darkness.
‘This is Sleipnir.’ He stroked a hand down the neck of the stallion that he’d ridden into Alvey. His coat was a deep grey that darkened to midnight around his legs. ‘You’ll ride Gyllir. She’s very gentle. I wasn’t certain if you were an experienced rider.’
‘I’ve ridden some.’ Only while travelling occasionally to neighbouring villages or to Alvey. At home there was hardly a need for it.
The mare gave a soft whinny and Elswyth couldn’t resist touching her velvet nose. Her coat was golden and seemed to glow in the pale moonlight of early morning. She rooted in Elswyth’s hand for a treat, prompting a soft laugh from Rolfe. ‘She’s a greedy one.’
Despite the massive beauty of the horses, it was Rolfe who held her in his thrall. Silver moonlight painted him in her generous light, touching his chiselled features with a soft hand so that she was struck anew by his masculine beauty. There was no room in her life for how her stomach fluttered in his presence or the way her gaze was reluctant to leave him. She refused to become what her mother had been.
‘Come, I’ll help you.’ His low voice moved right down inside her to settle deep in her chest. When he moved around his horse to stand beside Gyllir, he held out his hand to her. She took in a deep, wavering breath as she touched his palm with hers. His long fingers closed around hers and he tugged slightly, bringing her to stand before him. There was no explanation for how protected he made her feel. In one easy movement he put his hands to her waist and lifted her to sit astride the horse. She tugged her tunic upward, leaving her leggings exposed from the knee down.
‘I thought you might need this.’ He tossed a thick fur up and around her shoulders before she could say anything. It smelled like him and she had to close her eyes for a moment to savour it. She should push it away and give it back to him, but it was deliciously warm in the morning’s bitter cold. Her own cloak was no match for the frigid air without sun.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered, tying the thick folds closed around her body.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said and pulled a small sack from Sleipnir’s back, pulling out a honeyed cake. Her mouth watered at the sight. How had he known they were her favourite? Lady Gwendolyn always made certain that they were filled with the most deliciously gooey mixture of honey and walnuts. ‘To break your fast.’ He smiled as he held it up to her.
She took it, hardly able to find the words to thank him, but he didn’t wait for her to say anything. He turned and pulled his powerful frame easily atop his horse, the perfect balance of power and grace.
He offered her a nod as he set his heels to the horse and led the way out of Alvey. She followed with Wyborn trotting along at her side and they rode in silence for a while as they both nibbled their honey cakes.
Finally they moved past the small city of tents and made their way into the forest. The silence was broken by the happy calls of the migrating thrushes beginning their day. Their songs were filled with a cheeriness that Elswyth was far from feeling. That blasted stone burned against her belly like an ember that only roused her guilt.
She needed to know something about him, something that would make her feel better about what she’d done. Something that would remind her that he was a ruthless Dane. Of course she wouldn’t go back and not take the stone—Baldric needed to be saved from the Scots—but if Rolfe was really a ruthless warrior, then the knowledge would help to soothe her conscience.
‘Why are you taking up so much time with me? Why teach me the sword and bring me honey cakes and be so nice to me?’ That wasn’t precisely what she’d meant to say when she’d opened her mouth, but that’s what had come out and she couldn’t take it back now.
The path was wider here, so when he looked over at her he slowed his pace to allow her horse to come abreast of his. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were soft. ‘Why shouldn’t I do these things for you?’
Infuriating man. ‘You know very well why. You are the commander of one of the most powerful armies in the north.’ It nearly choked her to say those words, but they were true. ‘I am the daughter of a farmer.’
He was quiet, so after a few moments passed she dared to glance over at him to see that he was studying her. His eyes were intense, but she couldn’t begin to fathom what he was thinking. ‘You sell yourself short, Elswyth. You are far more than that. Besides, your father’s farm is the largest in Alvey. He produces enough food and wool to feed and clothe an army. Without that farm, Alvey is weak.’
She had never considered their farm that important to Alvey, but she knew that he was right in his assessment. She’d simply never viewed it in such mercenary terms before. It had always simply been her home. Slightly mollified, she said, ‘Is that it, then? You want to align our farm and village more closely with Alvey?’ It made sense. It was no secret that her father didn’t care for the Danes.
‘It’s what Lord Vidar wants. He and Lady Gwendolyn both want to align all the villages with Alvey. They can see the potential risk in losing your farm.’
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘You’ve spoken to Lord Vidar about me...about us?’ They must have spoken of marriage. Had anything been decided? Did she even have a say in the matter? Her mind whirled with a hundred questions, only stopping when Rolfe reached over and touched her shoulder through the fur.
‘Only for a moment. He plans for me to wed this winter and he mentioned several names for consideration. Yours was merely one of many.’
One of many. Somehow she hated that even more than she hated the fact that they had spoken of her. Rolfe would wed this winter and it might not be her. She could only sit for a moment as that thought washed over her.
Unreasonably, that cold fist of jealousy tightened in her chest the same as it had the previous morning when the servant had left his room. Someone else could be the recipient of those breathtaking smiles very soon. Someone else could lie upon those warm furs in his bed alongside him, touching and...she couldn’t let her thoughts go so far. But she did recall very vividly how he had looked when he’d stood from the tub. Nude, his skin golden in the candlelight. In her mind’s eye, she imagined him walking towards his bed, only the woman waiting for him wasn’t her and she hated it.
The bitterness with which she hated it surprised her. This was absolute madness. She would not allow herself to be seduced by a Dane, but somehow she was having these thoughts and they were far from pure.
Realising that it had been some time since she’d spoken, she forced herself to nod, not caring that it was a bit jerky and ungraceful. ‘Did you plan to let me know that I was being considered?’
He shifted at her side, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. ‘I thought it best to allow you to get to know me before approaching the subject. If it turned out that you hated me—’ the smile was evident in his voice as he said it, as if she couldn’t possibly hate him ‘—then there would be no need to talk further about it.’
‘I suppose I should feel grateful that you planned to consider my wishes.’
He laughed. ‘The truth is that you had already lured me in before Lord Vidar mentioned your name.’
With wide eyes she looked over at him and he said, ‘I noticed you on the wall the evening I returned. You looked so fierce and resolute, I took you for a lady warrior like Lady Gwendolyn. Then later when you came to my chamber you spoke to me so boldly as if you had no fear.’
‘That’s hardly—’
‘Nay, it’s true. This may seem insignificant to you, but hardly any woman has spoken so boldly to me since I was a boy.’ The dimple shone in his cheek as he explained. ‘I grew up the younger son of a farmer with no prospects.’
She had to stop her chin from dropping. If what he said was true, he’d grown up much like she had. He was a fierce and respected leader, and she had rather blindly assumed that he always had been.
‘It took dedication and years of relentless training to become the leader I am today. I’m told that many find me intimidating. But not you. You’re honest about your feelings, Elswyth, and I like that about you.’
But she wasn’t honest. She wasn’t honest at all. The bloodstone seemed to warm against her as if it had its own internal heat meant to remind her of her duplicity. ‘Do you miss home?’ she asked, because it was the only thing in that entire speech that she could latch on to without feeling even worse about what she had done. Baldric needed the stone, she had no qualms about saving him. Only she despised that she had to lie to Rolfe to do it.
‘Aye, sometimes. I had a happy childhood...for a time, then I left to join with Jarl Hegard, Lord Vidar’s father,’ he supplied.
‘Why did you leave home?’ she asked, sensing he’d left something out.
‘There was nothing for me there. My older brother was married with children of his own and he stayed to work the farm. There were six of us and my parents needed the silver I could send home to them. I craved adventure, anyway. Leaving suited me.’ A thread of bitterness had entered his voice before he went quiet for a moment. Finally he added, ‘For a while now I’ve found myself remembering my childhood and all the trouble I caused my parents. I once thought it was homesickness, but I have no particular desire to go home. I like Alvey. Now I realise that it’s the desire for my own family that’s calling to me.’
She was struck by two things. The first was that he was being more honest with her than she ever thought he would be. The second was that he was being so honest with her because he wanted her to share the life he had made for himself. She could hardly fathom that they were having this conversation when she hadn’t even known him two days ago. He had been but a faceless warrior who would brutally end her people’s struggle for independence. Now he was real and kind and not at all what she’d expected. She had to put a stop to what he was thinking before things went too far.
‘I cannot wed a Dane.’
The words settled between them with a thud, making the silence seem louder and more obtrusive until he finally said, ‘It’s true, then, that you share your father’s feelings about us?’ His voice was low and even, making it impossible to tell his feelings. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him again.
‘Not precisely...’ She realised that those words at least were true. She didn’t hold the hatred for the Danes as she might have had she not spent months in Alvey. ‘But neither do I welcome you here.’
He was quiet as he mulled that over. Finally the silence became too much and she had to look over to see what he was thinking. She was surprised that he didn’t seem hurt, angry, or even confused by her words. There was a slight heat in his eyes, but it wasn’t fury. ‘Lord Vidar believes that our joining could bring peace. What do you think?’
Would it bring peace? ‘Father would never agree to a marriage, so, nay, there could be no peace from our joining.’