Ellan had spent the next day with Elswyth ensconced inside their home, sewing the new tunic that her sister was trying to get completed before Rolfe arrived. They had received word from a messenger only that morning that he and his men were on their way back and would arrive within the next couple of days. Elswyth had been excited the whole day, chatting about her husband as they had worked to get the silver embroidery along the hem and sleeve completed in time. It was supposed to be a surprise for him. Ellan mused that she had never thought to see her sister so besotted with a man and had humoured her ramblings all day.
Perhaps she should have been paying closer attention to the rumblings in Banford instead. There had been increased activity since morning. More cookfires had sprung up and the women were hurrying to prepare for an arrival. Ellan had assumed the commotion was for Rolfe and his men. It wasn’t until the evening meal that she realised it was far worse than she had imagined.
Barking dogs and children shouting drew her attention as Ellan walked towards the hall. A group of men rode into the village as the sun dipped down below the treeline. She recognised the five in front of the group as Lord Vidar’s own men as they made their way towards the hall. They had undoubtedly been sent ahead to greet the caravan. There were at least a score of Saxon men behind them with horses and pack animals. Bringing up the rear were eight Danes she didn’t recognise. Their dirty attire probably meant they had accompanied the Saxons on their journey. The silver bands on their arms proclaimed them to be Lord Vidar’s men.
No one had to tell her that this was the Saxon come to claim her. It would have been obvious even if she had not heard the mumbling among the Danes nearby or even Desmond’s own deep voice as he walked over to greet his cousin.
‘Welcome to Banford.’ The old man’s voice was loud as he hurried towards the group, arms raised as if to welcome an old friend. ‘Tolan! ’tis good to see you.’
Several men slid down from the backs of their horses and several more already stood on the ground. Each of them held up a hand in greeting so that Ellan could not determine which of them was Tolan. The last thing she wanted to do was draw Desmond’s attention and be forced to meet Tolan outside. She would meet him only if she absolutely had to. Hurrying towards the hall, she pushed her way through the crowd gathered outside the door and dashed inside.
‘Elswyth!’ She ran to her sister who had come over a bit earlier to help with meal preparations. She had kept her seat near the fire instead of spilling outside with the others to explore the commotion.
Elswyth rose in reaction to the alarm in Ellan’s voice. Her hand impulsively went to the short-handled axe that was always affixed to her belt. ‘What is it?’
‘Tolan. He’s come.’
Elswyth shook her head. ‘That’s impossible. They said Saxons were coming, but not all the way from Stapleham. How would he get here so fast?’
‘I don’t know, but I tell you he’s come. I heard Desmond say his name.’
As acceptance replaced disbelief on her face, her sister put a supportive arm around Ellan’s shoulders and pulled her close. ‘Don’t worry. If Lord Vidar makes you go through with it, then you have your arrangement with Henrik.’
Ellan nodded, but as relieved as she was to have Henrik’s vow, she wasn’t eager for a marriage with him either. Why had Father made this ill-advised betrothal? The heaviness of foreboding settled inside her. She couldn’t imagine that Tolan had come all this way only to give up his claim to her easily.
Elswyth must have understood her expression, because she squeezed her tight. ‘If only Rolfe were here. With Father and Galan gone, I’m sure his opinion would hold some influence with the Jarl.’
Ellan shook her head. ‘Lord Vidar is my guardian. I was left in his care by Father. I’m afraid Rolfe’s opinion wouldn’t matter very much.’
Her sister’s answer was to place a kiss to her temple. ‘Stay strong. We managed Father for years. We can manage this Tolan and even Lord Vidar if we have to.’
Ellan wasn’t nearly as certain as Elswyth seemed to be as the men began to filter into the hall. Ellan held herself to her full height, refusing to let them see how truly afraid she was. When Lord Vidar stepped in, he gave her a nod and walked to his place at the long table. Desmond and the elders came in behind him. Behind them came the Saxons and Danes who had arrived.
Taking Elswyth’s hand, Ellan led them to their usual table in the far back corner. She would hide away for as long as possible, but she could not take her eyes from what was happening. There were several men with white and greying hair in the group, but she could not tell which of them was her betrothed. All the other Saxons in their group were warriors. Their shields and axes were sheathed, but their eyes shifted around the hall as if suspecting an attack.
The Danes came in behind them in groups of two, filling the hall to nearly bursting. Aevir was in one of those groups, walking beside a large man she recognised as one of his men. Someone had procured a stick for him that was the thickness of her wrist and as tall as his shoulder. He used this to keep pressure off his injured thigh as he walked to take his place near Lord Vidar. It was where Rolfe would have sat had he been present. She tried repeatedly to pull her gaze away from him, but it always seemed to slide back, checking his colour, looking for signs of pain or strain on his face. He held himself very stoically, though, so she couldn’t tell how he felt.
Since he had left her home the day before, she only saw him at meals, and even then it was across a distance. She missed him. She wanted him to look her way and give her that smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. The one she had only seen him give to her. It was a foolish wish and she was disappointed in herself immediately for even having it.
Turning her attention to the Danes still coming in, she was startled to see Henrik staring at her. His face was impassive, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes from her as he made his way to Lord Vidar’s table, though he sat further down towards the other end. She tried to give him a smile of encouragement and gratitude, but was afraid her face was too stiff to do more than a slight upturn of her lips. When he sat, he was lost in the throng of men who had gathered around. There were so many of them that a lot of them had to stand along the perimeter of the room and behind the tables. She could understand the wary looks the Saxon warriors were giving them all. Had she been in their place, she would be suspicious and ready for violence, too.
‘Welcome to Banford,’ Lord Vidar was saying. ‘Come share a meal and let us talk.’
Several men took places across the table from Aevir and his men. Desmond was one of them, along with two other elders and a man with dark hair that was greying at the temples. One of them must be Tolan. She craned her neck to get a look at their faces, but they sat too far away. She could only content herself with watching Aevir’s expression, which didn’t change as he spoke to the group. As everyone settled down to eat, the multiple conversations going on in the hall made it impossible to hear what they said. She assumed the discussion was benign when Lord Vidar threw his head back and laughed. The real talk would start after the meal.
A serving girl came over and offered them food from a platter laden with fragrant meat, but Ellan was too anxious to eat. Her stomach was tied in knots. Elswyth thanked her and chose a few pieces of mutton for them to share. Another girl came by and set down a platter of roasted root vegetables. Try as she might, Ellan could not eat, so she sat with her mead instead, her gaze on the main table as Elswyth tried and failed to distract her with conversation.
The wait was interminable. Finally, the women serving the food began to carry fewer platters and more pitchers of mead. Men settled back to enjoy their tankards and all eyes began to turn to the main table. The platters had been cleared away and the conversation had clearly changed to the reason for the Saxons’ arrival. Other voices hushed and little by little Ellan was able to hear.
‘How can you prove you’re not in league with the Scots?’ Aevir tried to keep the temper from his words, but he feared it showed in the frayed edges of his voice. Jarl Vidar raised an eyebrow in warning, but kept his silence as he waited for Tolan’s answer.
‘How dare you imply that—?’ Desmond’s voice rose slightly, but Tolan, who sat at the Jarl’s left, raised his hand.
‘Nay, Cousin, I’ll answer the man,’ said Tolan.
Desmond’s mouth screwed up in displeasure, but Tolan appeared calm. Too calm for Aevir’s liking. The entire meal had seen Tolan unfazed by his presence in a roomful of Dane warriors. All the others at least appeared a little concerned. But not Tolan. He parried questions like a man unafraid because he had nothing to hide. Or—and far more probable—like a man too used to telling lies. Aevir wanted to ruffle him. A man’s true character came through when he was frustrated and angry.
‘I admit that I came here unprepared to be accused of something so vile. How does one prove himself innocent of something he has never done? Would you like me to find a Scot for you so that you can ask him if I’ve plotted with him?’ He chuckled at his own jest and Aevir’s dislike of him grew deeper.
‘Aye. Good idea. Go find the Scots and bring one back.’
Tolan’s laughter faded in the face of Aevir’s solemnity. Not quite certain if that was an actual challenge or not, Tolan sniffed and turned his attention to Jarl Vidar. He brushed a strand of brown hair from his face and gave a tug on his beard which was shot through with patches of grey.
‘I have not met with the Scots, Lord, but I would very much like to meet my bride.’
The Jarl nodded. ‘Soon. I admit that we are all a bit preoccupied with the Scots at the moment. Since Godric is...not available, I find myself in the position of being Ellan’s guardian. I could not in good conscience allow her to leave with you without making certain that you are what you seem.’
Tolan inclined his head. ‘I understand, but we must be clear that I did not come here under the impression that I was a prisoner or a suspected traitor.’
‘There is a difference between accusation and inquiry. With Godric missing, suspicion has clouded around him. We have questioned all who associate with him, including his family.’
Tolan looked to Desmond for confirmation and the man inclined his head in agreement. ‘Aye, everyone in Banford has been questioned.’
Jarl Vidar continued. ‘You also had contact with him in the time leading up to his suspected treason. It is only natural that you are questioned as well. Why have you chosen to enter into an agreement with Godric in regards to his daughter?’
The tension drained from Tolan’s face and he picked up his mead. He took a long swallow before he answered. ‘I approached him last year. My family is well known for producing quality textile. He owns the largest sheep farm in Alvey and has been our main supplier of wool for decades. It seemed only natural to pursue a match.’
The answer seemed prepared and not authentic, though Aevir couldn’t understand why he felt this way. ‘Why now? You’re older than the usual groom.’ If he had to guess, Aevir would put his age at a decade or more older than himself.
Twin lines of consternation bracketed each side of Tolan’s mouth. ‘My wife died last winter.’ He glanced back at Jarl Vidar. ‘I cared for her deeply, but her babes were small and sickly. All of them perished during their first year. She died while giving birth to the last one. A stillborn.’
He wanted Ellan to be his broodmare! Aevir found himself clenching his hands into fists as he imagined the Saxon glaring down in disapproval as Ellan presented him with their first child. What if the babe was too small or a daughter? What if there was something wrong with the man’s seed rather than his wife’s inability to bear strong children? He could doom Ellan to the same fate as his late wife.
‘Last winter? Then you wasted no time in seeking out a new bride.’ Aevir’s voice was ripe with accusation.
Tolan shrugged. ‘I am not a young man. If I am to have sons then I must wed again—and soon.’
Of their own accord, Aevir’s eyes searched for Ellan across the hall. She wasn’t at the table where she usually sat and he was certain he’d seen her there earlier. His heart nearly leapt into his throat as he thought of her outside. Would she try to run away? Would someone take her? He was about to rise when his gaze caught on the gold tones in her dark hair shining in the firelight. Her eyes were wide as she stood in the crowd of warriors near the wall watching the table. Her sister stood next to her. It seemed wrong that they were discussing her fate without her being there at the table. He would have beckoned her forward, but decided that she hadn’t shied away from voicing her opinions in the past. If she wasn’t present, it was because she wanted it that way. Perhaps she was taking her time and sizing up her adversary.
He looked away so that Tolan wouldn’t catch him staring and turn around to find her. No matter that he wasn’t looking at her, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fear he had seen in her eyes. This man was not right for her. If she went off with him alone, Aevir had a bad feeling that something awful would happen to her. He had to convince the Jarl not to send her.
As the Jarl voiced more questions, drawing Tolan’s attention, Aevir allowed his gaze to drift back to her. She was watching Jarl Vidar and not paying Aevir any attention. He could not help himself but to imagine that same scene as before. Except he stood in Tolan’s place and Ellan presented him with their girl child. His heart tumbled in his chest as he imagined that precious sight. After losing Sefa and their babe, he had never allowed himself to imagine becoming a father, but with Ellan he could imagine it all too easily.
For one wild moment he wondered at the madness that had him sitting while the fate of the woman he cared about was being decided. He wanted to stand up and put a stop to it. Every instinct within him demanded that he stand and raise his sword. The very idea that this Tolan thought he had a right to her was enough to send Aevir into a blind rage. His hands were gripped into fists and only strength of will kept him in his seat. This was not the time or the place to settle this.
‘Enough of this,’ Desmond said, the flat of his hand hitting the table and bringing Aevir’s attention back to the conversation. ‘I can appreciate your caution, Lord, but this man has proven that the girl’s father wanted her to marry him. Who are you to come between a man and his bride, or a father and his daughter? He’s given you no reason to believe him a traitor.’
Several of the other elders from the next table added their voices to the mix. He couldn’t decide if they genuinely thought they were acting in Ellan’s best interest, or if this were another test of wills between Saxons and Danes. It hardly mattered. It was apparent that Jarl Vidar would not be able to intervene, at least not yet. Despite Aevir’s disbelief, there was no proof that Tolan was in league with the Scots. Without proof, the marriage would have to go forward to keep the peace.
Jarl Vidar raised his hands and the group quieted. ‘I have heard the man, and allowed him to present his evidence. However, I must speak to the bride—’
‘Nay!’ Desmond rose along with his voice. ‘The issue has been decided. If you do not allow it to go forward, then every Saxon here will know that you give preference to your Danes.’ Desmond looked straight at Aevir when he spoke. It was apparent the man thought there was more to his relationship with Ellan than that of an injured man and his caregiver.
The Jarl’s jaw clenched in anger, but he glanced at Aevir. In that glance Aevir saw the truth of Desmond’s words. It was why the marriage would have to be allowed to proceed. Aevir ground his teeth together.
‘This is no question of preference,’ Jarl Vidar said, his voice sharp with rebuke that Desmond would speak to him in that way. ‘Ellan should be allowed to speak. She has previously raised the issue of another suitor. I am merely giving her an opportunity to address this.’
The murmurings of dissent continued, but Ellan stepped forward. She looked so delicate and pale that Aevir had to force himself not to go to her and stand between her and the wolves clamouring for her blood.
Jarl Vidar forced a congenial expression when she approached, but it was strained around the edges. He didn’t like the Saxon either. Tolan turned to see her and his eyes were calculating as if he were inspecting his new bride, before they settled into a pleasant expression. Aevir wasn’t surprised that he found her pleasing. Any man would.
‘Ellan,’ Jarl Vidar said. ‘When last we spoke you mentioned your desire to marry a Dane. Is there a man you can bring forward?’
Aevir glanced down the table at Henrik. The boy sat like a stone, looking forward. Henrik’s jaw tightened and his eyes flared. He rose and for an instant Aevir thought the warrior might defy his order and claim her, but instead of speaking he turned and made for the door.