Marrying Her Viking Enemy. Harper George St.

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       Chapter One

      Bernicia, northern Northumbria—winter 872

      ‘The Danes are a fearful sight, are they not?’

      Elswyth could not find the breath to answer her sister’s question. It had lodged in her throat where it held until her lungs burned. The Norsemen came out of the forest on horseback, filtering into the clearing in a stream of warriors that didn’t seem to have an end. There were thirty...forty, but even more followed behind. Several mongrels in various shades of brown and grey ran in their midst. She imagined them as bloodthirsty wolves from the tales she had heard growing up, with teeth dripping the blood of their enemies and snapping jaws clamouring for more.

      The sun hung low behind the trees, a stray beam glinting off their armour and the hilts of their sheathed swords, casting their faces in the shadow of a cold nightfall. The earth rumbled from the beat of the hooves as the horde moved closer. Her heart echoed that beat of distant thunder. It knew that the days of calm were over. These men were why her father had sent her to spy on Alvey.

      It was an objective she meant to carry out, not only to prove her loyalty to her family, but also to bring hope to their small village of Banford. Banford needed hope that a reprieve from the Danes would soon come. She was to bring that hope to them in the form of information about the Danes’ plans for the future.

      ‘Aye,’ she finally whispered when she could draw breath. ‘They are quite fearful.’ The frigid stone of the fortress wall bit into her palms as she stared down at the men approaching. The warriors were merely coming home and not here for battle, but her instinct was to reach for the short-handled axe at her belt as fear pounded through her veins. They were Danes, which meant they were her enemy.

      ‘’Tis good they are attractive, then.’ Ellan grinned, her eyes calculating as she looked them over.

      Elswyth smiled, for once grateful that Ellan was never serious about anything. Though only scarcely more than a year separated their births, Elswyth sometimes felt far older than her often frivolous younger sister. ‘Why do you care if they’re attractive?’

      ‘Because I would not care for an ugly husband.’

      The horde forgotten for the moment, Elswyth swung her head around to stare at her sister in shock. ‘You are not seriously considering marriage to one of them?’ Ellan surely wouldn’t, especially after the way their mother had run off with a Dane, abandoning the whole family to take up with the heathen. But something in her sister’s expression made Elswyth’s breath catch.

      ‘And why wouldn’t I?’ The wind caught the cloak covering Ellan’s hair, forcing her to take it in hand. Her cheeks were pink from the frigid air, while her eyes were fierce with challenge. ‘What husband is there for me once we return home to Banford? Shepherd? Farmer? I’d much prefer a warrior.’ Her gaze returned to the Danes below. ‘You have to admit they’re far more attractive than the men at home.’

      Still in shock at her sister’s blasphemy, Elswyth’s gaze found the man leading the warriors. He sat proudly on his stallion with broad shoulders. His shirtsleeves had fallen back as he rode to reveal the defined muscles of his forearms flexing as he held the reins. His fur cloak hung low behind him, exposing the strong sweep of his cheekbones and his bearded jawline to the light cast by the wall’s torches. She couldn’t make out details, but she could tell—with some regret—that it was a handsome face. Much to her surprise, his gaze was fixed on the two of them. If she wasn’t so accomplished at keeping her thoughts to herself, she might’ve reacted, giving away how her heart pounded against her ribcage. Instead she levelled her gaze and stared back at him, too proud to let him know how afraid she was.

      ‘Rolfe!’ A boy near the gate called out to him and he forgot her, his mouth splitting in a grin as he surged forward, clearly happy to see the caller.

      The warrior was attractive, but she would never admit that to her sister or anyone. It felt deceitful to acknowledge that attribute in her enemy. So instead, she focused on his hair. Ropes of the dark blond mass had been pulled back from his forehead and were secured at the crown of his head and left to fall well past his shoulders. No self-respecting Saxon man wore his hair in such a barbaric fashion. Her father would say that it was proof of their deviltry. She didn’t think it was quite so sinister, but neither was it civilised.

      Pitching her voice low so she wouldn’t be overheard, she said, ‘I would be careful what you say, Ellan. You wouldn’t want word getting back to Father that you’re thinking of aligning yourself with our enemy.’

      The ever-present mischievous spark in her sister’s eye glowed when she said, ‘What will Father do precisely? Come and take me back?’ Her arms widened as she indicated the thriving fortress around them. ‘The great and terrible Godric may rule Banford, but we are in Alvey now and this is where I plan to stay. Besides, the Danes are not our enemies any more. Lady Gwendolyn has made certain of that with her marriage to the Jarl. Father is only bitter because of what Mother did. He lives in years that have long since passed. You can go back home if you want. You always did enjoy work on the farm more than I did.’

      Elswyth refrained from pointing out that she didn’t enjoy it as much as someone needed to care for the family after their mother’s abandonment. Instead the sight of the Danes flooding through the gates, filling the yard of the fortress as friends and loved ones came out to greet them, held her captivated. Lady Gwendolyn had married the Dane Vidar nearly two years ago. Since then the pair had been doing their best to make certain the Saxons and Danes in their corner of Northumbria lived peacefully together. There was no doubt that the Danes only allowed the peace because they had taken lands, silver and women in return.

      Saxon lands, Saxon silver and Saxon women.

      The Saxons were slowly being replaced by the invaders, or so her father claimed. She could understand his fear as she looked down at the powerful warriors below. They were formidable.

      Elswyth and her sister had spent the autumn in Alvey at the request of Lady Gwendolyn, helping with her household. Elswyth had seen first-hand how the people co-existed within these walls. The Danes and Saxons could get along, but only here. Outside in the farms and villages there was still strain. Every week brought more stories of the Danes’ brutality to the south of England. Even in Alvey lands there were stories of men fighting over the women, who numbered too few to meet the demands of every Saxon and Dane warrior. Then there were women like Ellan—women like their mother—who willingly chose the Danes over the Saxons. Many Saxons were bitter about that.

      A fight was likely to happen soon. Lady Gwendolyn might refuse to see it, but Elswyth had heard the discontent with her own ears. Her own family, with the exception of Ellan, it seemed, would champion a fight.

      ‘You speak blasphemy. Father would never agree to you marrying a Dane.’ Elswyth crossed her arms over her chest and met her sister’s eyes which were green like the waters of the lake back home. Sometimes it seemed their eyes were the only thing they had in common. Instead of hair as dark as her own, Ellan’s was striped with honeyed tones. Her sister had always been happy and free from the worries that plagued the rest of the family, while Elswyth had assumed the mantle of responsibility. Ellan was like their wayward mother in many ways and it was worrisome.

      ‘As СКАЧАТЬ