By the end of the first day Elswyth had made her decision. By the end of the second day she had admitted that decision to herself. It hadn’t come as a certainty, but as a creeping and crawling suspicion that choosing not to marry Rolfe was unthinkable. Both he and Ellan seemed to think things were simple, so she had resolved to follow the advice he’d given her. Make one decision at a time.
Her first decision would be to marry him. Her second one would be how to tell her father about it. He would disapprove. Nay, he would despise her choice. She knew it as well as she knew that Rolfe would do everything in his power to make her a happy wife. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told him that she’d watched how he interacted with those he cared about. He might be a Dane, but he had a kind soul and he would make her a good husband.
If only her father would see it that way. She’d need help to tell him, which is what had brought her to Lady Gwendolyn’s chamber. An afternoon snow had driven many people inside, and Lady Gwendolyn had disappeared to her chamber a little while ago with Tova. Elswyth could hear the baby squealing in delight from behind the door as she knocked.
‘Come in,’ Lady Gwendolyn’s voice called out.
Elswyth stepped inside to see the lady seated at the table in the chamber, smoothing out a gown she was attempting to embroider for her daughter. Everyone knew that Lady Gwendolyn was the best archer in Alvey, but her skills with the needle were lacking. Elswyth found it admirable that it was a deficiency she was trying to rectify.
Lord Vidar had been lying on the large bed across the room, tossing his daughter into the air which was the source of her squeals of delight. He stopped when he noticed Elswyth and sat up with Tova in his arms. He held the infant with a tenderness that brought an ache to her heart.
She thought with a start that if she followed through with her plan to marry Rolfe, she might have her own child by this time next year. Happiness warmed a spot in her chest and she knew that she was making the right decision in her choice of husband.
‘Apologies for disturbing you, my lady, my lord, but I wondered if I might talk to you? Alone.’ The last she directed at Lady Gwendolyn.
‘You’re not disturbing us.’ Lady Gwendolyn smiled and seemed very happy to toss her embroidery to the side.
‘Not at all,’ Lord Vidar added as he rose. ‘I suspect my wife is happy to be distracted from her needlework.’
Lady Gwendolyn laughed and said with mock tenacity, ‘I’ll conquer that needle if it’s the last thing I do.’
Lord Vidar gave her an indulgent smile and held Tova against his chest as he bent over to press a kiss to his wife’s forehead. ‘Leave it. You don’t have to learn embroidery if you don’t want to.’
‘But I do want to. It just won’t co-operate.’
He laughed and shook his head as he left with the baby, closing the door behind him.
‘Might I see, my lady?’ Elswyth asked as she came to stand beside the table.
Lady Gwendolyn nodded and handed her the gown with the partially embroidered hem.
‘It’s much improved. I can see you’ve started taking note of the pacing we discussed.’ The lines were straight, but the stitching itself was of irregular lengths, but it was better.
‘Aye, it’s coming along. I think the trouble is that I’m not accustomed to sitting still for this long. It takes patience that I’m afraid I don’t have.’
‘Nonsense, my lady. You have plenty of patience. Look how you taught me to shoot an arrow.’
Lady Gwendolyn inclined her head. ‘I’m afraid that’s an entirely different kind of patience. Besides, it’s action. Working with thread is simply too tedious for me to enjoy, but I will conquer it before I set it aside. Now...’ she took the gown back and set it along with the thread back into the basket she kept on the table ‘sit down and tell me what you need.’
Elswyth took the bench on the opposite side of the small table. ‘I’ve come to a decision.’
‘Oh?’
‘I’m going to marry Rolfe.’
The woman brought a hand to her mouth, but a smile lurked behind it. ‘Truly?’
Elswyth nodded and gave her an abbreviated version of the events leading up to her decision. ‘The truth is that I can imagine no one else that I would want to be my husband. I think of returning home when my father comes and there is no one there that makes me feel the way Rolfe makes me feel. Perhaps it’s unfair of me, but I don’t want to be a simple farmer’s wife.’ Rolfe had seen so many things, been so many places, she wanted to spend the years of her life talking and learning about those places. But more than that, she wanted more of how he made her feel.
‘I don’t think it’s unfair of you at all. You’ve found someone who is special to you. That is rare and I’m glad you’ve decided to try to hold on to him. I’m even happier that it will mean you will stay here. I’ve become quite fond of you while you’ve been here.’
Elswyth felt her cheeks turn pink. ‘Thank you, my lady. I’ve come to like it here as well. However, I am concerned with how to proceed. I’m certain you’re aware of the potential issue with my father. I can’t imagine that he’ll agree to this match.’ Would he perhaps even turn his back on her? The very idea made her heart stutter. It wasn’t out of the question, however, because her own mother had done just that. She didn’t know if she could stand losing both of her parents, so she focused on the fact that she was doing this to further peace and save lives.
Lady Gwendolyn nodded in agreement. ‘Aye, I expect him to put up quite a fuss. However, I know this is the right choice for you, and for Banford, though he’ll be too stubborn to see it at first.’
‘At first? Do you think he’ll eventually come around? I don’t want to lose him.’
‘I do. It will take time and it won’t happen overnight, but it will happen. Your father cares for you, Elswyth. I don’t think you’ll lose him.’
Elswyth smiled, the weight of her choice starting to slip from her shoulders for the first time. ‘How do you think we should proceed? Tell him when he arrives and talk him into agreeing to the marriage?’
Lady Gwendolyn shook her head and for the first time her smile slipped. ‘Nay, I’m afraid that won’t work. I’ve given it some thought—oh, don’t look at me that way,’ she teased. ‘You know how I hoped you’d say aye. I’ve been thinking of how to approach this ever since. I think the only way forward is for you to marry as soon as possible. That way, you won’t have to go against your father’s wishes to marry. He won’t like it, but at least we avoid the situation where he tells you nay and you have to defy him.’
‘I can see the wisdom of that, but what happens when he arrives and I am wed?’
‘Lord Vidar and I will talk to him.’ Reaching across the table, she patted Elswyth’s hand. ‘We can plan for that a little later, don’t worry. Right now we must plan for your wedding. Have you spoken to Rolfe?’
Elswyth shook her head. ‘He’s given me a couple of days to think about it. The last time I saw him was two days ago.’
‘Ah, that’s why he hasn’t been at the table the past two evenings. I thought you both had quarrelled.’
Elswyth could feel her face burning again as she thought of their last moments together. That kiss had been anything but a quarrel. She could hardly fathom what he had meant by using his tongue on her body, but she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said.
‘So we should have the wedding soon then?’ Excitement leaped in her belly at the very thought.
‘Aye, as soon as possible. Ordinarily, we’d plan something, but I’m afraid, with your father due soon, we can’t wait. There’s every chance that he could come early with the snow falling.’
The butterflies in her stomach took flight. Rolfe could be hers sooner than she’d dreamed possible. ‘As soon as possible then.’
Lady Gwendolyn smiled broadly and clapped. ‘How exciting!’
Elswyth left Lady Gwendolyn’s chamber a short while later. It was nearly time for the evening meal and she wanted to talk to Rolfe before then. Since her decision had been made, there was no point in waiting until the morning to tell him. Besides, from the open door in the hall she could see that the snow was beginning to stick. They might not even be able to have their practice as planned. She wanted to tell him now and, if she was honest, she wanted to see his face before Lady Gwendolyn or Lord Vidar mentioned it to him first.
He hadn’t been in his chamber, so she walked through the great hall. Some of the men had started to congregate around the fire, drinking their ale, but he wasn’t among them. Holding her cloak closed, she hurried out into the cold to find him. The wind was strong, promising more cold would be heaped upon them earlier than usual this winter. It had been snowing off and on for days.
Shivering, she hurried to look for him, finally finding his broad form as he spoke with the blacksmith. She was struck by how jovial their conversation was. Rolfe laughed at something the man had said and laid a hand on the man’s thick shoulder. The blacksmith was a Saxon with bristles of white hair on his head and jaw who was nearing the age when he’d hang up his hammer. He could have hated the Danes like her father did, but here he was laughing with one of them in an easy manner. The sight reaffirmed that she was making the right choice. Saxons and Danes could co-exist peacefully in Alvey and she would do her part to make it so.
Pulling the folds of her cloak more firmly around her, she came to a stop at the edge of the wooden overhang shielding the forge. The blacksmith saw her first and his attention drew Rolfe’s gaze. He straightened when he saw her, the smile dropping from his mouth as he searched her face for her answer. The blacksmith murmured a greeting, but Elswyth couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to him. She was too drawn to her future husband. The fur he wore across his shoulders made him appear even more powerful than he was. He quite stole her breath away.
Rolfe’s gaze narrowed in question, so she smiled. ‘Aye,’ she said with a nod.
A large smile curved his mouth and he left the blacksmith to come and stand before her. ‘Aye?’ he asked again, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes only endearing him to her.
‘Aye, I will be your wife.’
His smiled broadened, eventually becoming a laugh that was laced with nerves. ‘You’re certain? Even if your father—’
She cut him off, wanting to enjoy this moment of happiness without bringing dark thoughts between them. ‘As soon as possible. I’ve talked to Lady Gwendolyn. She believes that it’s best for us to marry before my father arrives. She and Lord Vidar will explain things to him.’
‘As soon as possible. Tonight?’ he teased.
She couldn’t help but to give in to her nervous laughter. ‘Nay, but as soon as things can be planned.’
‘Tomorrow, then.’ This he said with more certainty and her heart gave a little jump.
She could be married to him by this time tomorrow night. Her future was set on a course and for once, she didn’t want to alter it. Her heart pounded and her stomach churned in a way that was far more fierce than the butterflies from earlier, but somehow it was a good feeling all the same. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.
‘Happy.’ He gave her a tender smile and pulled her in close, though he stopped short of taking her in his arms as people rushed around them going about their evening. ‘There is no one else I want as my wife.’
Though the words were tender, there was a hesitance in his eyes that she couldn’t help but notice. If she was honest, there was some hesitance in her own heart as well, but it didn’t stop the happiness she felt.
The wedding was two days later. Lady Gwendolyn had insisted on preparing a small feast while Elswyth and Ellan had hurried to make her bridal tunic, all of which took time. Although Lady Gwendolyn had offered to lend her something to wear, Elswyth thought that it was important to go to the wedding wearing only her own clothing. It wouldn’t be right to pretend to be grander than she was—Rolfe needed to understand what he was getting: sadly only her and nothing else. So she and her sister had spent the past two days adding embroidery in fine blue and yellow thread to the bodice and hem of her best tunic, which was a pale green that she thought matched her eyes nicely.
They finished just in time for Lady Gwendolyn to help her to a steamy soak in the bathhouse. It was a new building in Alvey, built since Lord Vidar had been in residence, and was an entirely new experience for Elswyth. The only baths she’d had up until that point were hastily taken before the fire at home. This was luxurious. The entire chamber was filled with steam that left her feeling cleansed inside and out. That feeling was only enhanced by the way Lady Gwendolyn and Ellan scraped and polished every part of her body with a sea sponge. It left her skin pink and she felt as though she was glowing. Afterwards they rubbed a sweet-smelling oil into her skin that left her feeling soft and relaxed.
She tried not to think of why they were paying this much attention to her physical appearance, but it was impossible to keep her thoughts from the night ahead. As the warm water slid over her skin, she kept remembering Rolfe’s kisses and his promise to use his tongue on her body. There was no telling what that meant and there was no way she could discuss it with Lady Gwendolyn or even Ellan, but every time she remembered his words and the husk in his voice as he’d said them, her stomach gave a little leap of anticipation. It hardly seemed real. He would be hers tonight. The old guilt that she was turning into her mother was still there, but now she was able to push it to the back of her mind, secure in the fact that she was helping her family. Rolfe had helped her see that and she was forever grateful to him for it.
‘We have to hurry.’ Lady Gwendolyn’s eyes were bright in the shadowed light of the bathhouse. ‘Rolfe will come soon to his own bath.’
Her face went hot at the thought of him preparing for the night ahead—for her—and both Lady Gwendolyn and Ellan laughed. They wrapped a soft woollen blanket around her and Lady Gwendolyn asked in a gentle voice, ‘Do you know what to expect tonight, Elswyth?’
‘I think I know enough. I was raised on a farm.’ She tried to laugh as if she weren’t nervous. However, the closer the time came the more worried she became. It couldn’t possibly be exactly like she’d seen with the sheep, could it?
As if she sensed her unease, Lady Gwendolyn took her hand and brushed her wet hair back from her face. ‘There can and should be pleasure for you in the act. Remember that. I believe that Rolfe will ensure that for you, but if he doesn’t, then talk to him or, if you feel you can’t, then come talk to me. Promise?’
Elswyth nodded and then hurried into her underdress and pulled her cloak tightly around her. There was no snow today, but the wind was biting as they hurried to the great hall and upstairs to the chamber Lady Gwendolyn shared with Lord Vidar. The rest of the time before the wedding was spent with Lady Gwendolyn telling them stories that kept them laughing from when she’d first met Lord Vidar while they combed Elswyth’s hair dry and dressed.
Rolfe paced before the fire in the hall, anxious to see Elswyth and make her his wife. He hadn’t wanted a feast and he couldn’t have cared less what she wore to wed him, but Lady Gwendolyn had seemed to think both of those were important. He’d relented, because he’d had no choice, but as each day had passed it had only made him long for Elswyth more. He told himself that it was only the night ahead that he was anticipating and he almost believed it.
Night was beginning to fall when she finally made her way down the steps to the great hall with Lady Gwendolyn and Ellan trailing behind her. She looked lovely in a pale green tunic that only made her eyes appear deeper. The apples of her cheeks held a bit of colour as she stared at him, barely able to look away as she made her way to him. She was clearly nervous, her palms running anxiously down the side of the overdress. She and her sister had taken great pains with the stitching, but he could hardly notice it. His eyes were only for her face.
Aevir, who had returned from the north to attend the ceremony, said something about the night ahead from his place beside him. Rolfe was too intent on his wife to comprehend the words, but he knew they were crude by the way the other men snickered. Elswyth hesitated and Rolfe growled out, ‘Shut up’, which only made the men laugh harder.
‘Enough!’ Lady Gwendolyn scolded them in a harsh whisper when they were close enough. They quieted, but there were a few snorts among them.
Even though Elswyth’s blush had deepened with obvious embarrassment, she didn’t let that stop her from reaching out to take his hands. Pride swelled in his chest as she took in his form. He wore a well-fitted tunic of midnight blue, embroidered with gold-silk trim at the shoulders and hem. The material stretched tight across his chest in a way that he knew emphasised his broad shoulders. He knew that she liked what she saw by the way her eyes widened a fraction and she couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he whispered. And she was. Her deep chestnut hair had been pulled back from her forehead in an intricate weave of plaits, but the heavy length had been left to fall around her waist. He couldn’t wait to wind the silk of it around his wrists as he took her beneath him later. He was half-hard from watching her come across the room to him, knowing that she was his, knowing that nothing could stand in the way of his finally having her tonight. When he’d first seen her a primitive part of him had wanted to take her in his arms right then to let everyone know that she belonged to him.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, drawing him away from the dark fantasy. She wore a wreath made of wheat and straw with rowan berries set around the crown of her head and she let one of his hands go to touch it as if she were ashamed of it. ‘This is your last chance to make a run for freedom.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘I...’ She trailed off, but then seemed to resolve herself and she finally met his gaze. ‘I’m sorry I can’t come to you with more. I’ve heard some of the stories told around the hall at night. I know that you deserve a woman who can come to you with a crown made of gold.’
She meant the stories about great men and their prize brides. He grinned and gave her a slow shake of his head as he recaptured her hand. ‘Nay, I don’t want that. I wouldn’t miss all the Saxon vengeance you have in store for me.’
The bright smile she gave him settled inside him, warming some deep place he hadn’t even known had needed her sunshine. In the back of his mind lurked the very real danger that their happiness might be short-lived, or that their happiness might blind him.
But right now she looked at him as if she could love him and he felt himself sliding towards that abyss and losing himself in her. He wanted to bathe in it, to drink it all in until he was drunk on that feeling.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to face the future. Tonight was only about him and his Saxon bride.
For the next few moments, the world kept moving around them, but he only saw Elswyth. Alvey’s priest spoke, but she never broke Rolfe’s stare, seeming to be as fascinated with him as he was with her. When it was time he spoke his vows in a clear and deep voice that he hoped conveyed to her how much he meant them. When her turn came, she made him proud by doing no less than he had, speaking in a strong, clear voice.
Finally, he broke the spell to look at Vidar who stood next to him. The man pressed a ring into his palm, the light from the candles glittering off the gold. Rolfe turned back to her and took her small, graceful fingers in his as he spoke the ceremonial words, ‘With this ring, I take you as my wife. I give you my protection and my loyalty, and I pledge to you that I will give my life before allowing any harm to come to yours. We are one...from now until eternity.’
Her lips trembled as she took in a deep breath and her eyes reddened with unshed tears. Yet happiness shone out from her as she smiled at him and something around the vicinity of his heart threatened to break open. It didn’t matter that the words were ceremonial. He meant them and her voice was steadfast when she said, ‘I accept you as my husband.’
Gently, he nudged the band of gold down her finger until it settled into place, claiming her as his. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go to turn to Aevir at his other side. Aevir held up the new sword wrapped carefully in linen. He unwrapped it carefully before handing it off to Rolfe. If they were back home, it would have been his family’s sword, passed down from generation to generation. But they weren’t home, so he’d had the blacksmith working for days—since before Elswyth had told him aye—to make a new one. The hilt was ornate with a scroll pattern on the guard.
Rolfe presented it to her on the flat of his palms. ‘I am entrusting this into your care to be given to our first-born son. May we have many children.’
A nearly overwhelming feeling of pride swept through him as she took it from him and said, ‘I accept.’ Then with reverence—for the sword was symbolic of Rolfe entrusting her to further his bloodline and bear his children—she handed it to Lady Gwendolyn and took Rolfe’s hands in hers. ‘I will be proud to bear your sons and daughters.’
He squeezed her hands and pulled her close, brushing his lips against hers. A cheer went up through the great hall. As his arms slipped around her, he whispered against her ear, ‘You are mine now, Saxon.’
They were officially man and wife.