Marrying Her Viking Enemy. Harper George St.
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Название: Marrying Her Viking Enemy
Автор: Harper George St.
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9781474088824
isbn:
Rolfe grinned, always happy to see the woman who had given Vidar his much-needed comeuppance. She, along with Tova’s chubby cheeks, were enough to brighten his mood. Now that Wyborn had moved back to his place at Rolfe’s feet, the baby stared at him, her blue eyes round in curiosity. ‘I see you’ve had a busy summer. She’s grown.’
Lady Gwendolyn settled herself on the bench beside Vidar, a soft expression on her face as she glanced over at her husband and child. ‘Very busy. Not yet a year old and she’s already trying to walk.’
‘Ah, she’s a determined one, like her mother.’ Lady Gwendolyn smiled, so he shifted his gaze to Vidar as he said, ‘I feared the babe would look like her father, but the gods have smiled on her and only given her his wheaten hair. She looks more like you now, Lady. She is beautiful.’ And indeed she was. Her cheeks were plump and rosy, her eyes bright and inquisitive.
Lady Gwendolyn gave him a playful glare while Vidar chuckled and the babe looked away, the sound of her father’s deep laugh drawing her gaze. An unexpected ache swelled in Rolfe’s chest at the scene. There was no doubt that his homecoming was victorious. Despite the traitors in their midst, he should feel pleased and content for a job well done. Instead, watching the little family before him made him aware of what was missing from his own life. It was a peculiar feeling, when he’d been content with his life for a while now.
To distract himself he reached forward and stroked Tova’s silken hair, stifling a grunt of pain as he pulled at the wound on his shoulder. ‘She’ll rule this place soon.’
‘You’re hurt, Rolfe!’ Lady Gwendolyn exclaimed. She rushed around to his back and pulled at his tunic. He grimaced as the blood that had dried to the linen under-tunic pulled at his wound and looked across the hall to distract himself as she prodded.
He’d been vaguely aware of the woman he’d seen atop the wall working across the hall this whole time. He found her now, trying her best to not appear as if she was curious about him as she filled cups with mead, all the while she kept stealing glances at their small group. Her expression was filled with the same wariness and grim determination he’d seen on her face outside. A thick braid of dark hair fell over her shoulder, across her lush breast and nearly down to her waist. She hadn’t been in Alvey when he’d left and he couldn’t help but wonder who she was.
‘There’s a good amount of blood,’ said Lady Gwendolyn and he grimaced as she poked the tender edges of the wound. The woman had many skills, but sensitivity to his pain didn’t appear to be one of them.
‘A spear tip, compliments of the Scots. It’s fine. It wasn’t very deep.’ It burned like fire, but a fever had yet to set in.
‘What happened?’ she asked and he gave her an abbreviated version of events.
‘A minor skirmish.’ He shrugged when he’d finished. ‘There were less than twenty of them.’ He’d leave it to Vidar to tell her about Durwin’s betrayal.
As she moved back around him to retake her seat, she followed his gaze to the girl across the hall. Giving him a knowing smile, she said, ‘Go upstairs and I’ll send someone to tend you.’
He thought about objecting, but the idea of possibly having some time alone with the girl was too pleasing to pass up. Grabbing a bag of loot that would be his portion from the stash on the table, he rose to his feet and sought his chamber.
Elswyth hadn’t thought that she would be attending the warrior named Rolfe in his bath. Yet there he sat in a tub of steaming water. His chest was thick and broad, roped with muscle above the rim of the tub which was too short for his large frame. His knees were bent, sticking up out of the water so that she could see the cords of muscle that shaped his powerful thighs. Water clung to his hair, making it a few shades darker than the blond it had been earlier. It hung free from its constraints, but had been pushed back to better reveal the chiselled planes of his face. His nose was a bit too prominent, his brow line too defined, his lips too hard, but somehow taken altogether those features were almost pretty on him. A masculine pretty that took her aback.
And that was before he looked at her. His eyes were the purest blue she’d ever seen. Not piercing, but intense and so vivid the colour almost didn’t seem real. There was a kindness lurking in their depths that helped her to step farther into his chamber and draw the door closed behind her. Lady Gwendolyn had made it clear to all when they’d arrived that she and Ellan were not here for the men’s pleasure. But this man was new and she didn’t know if he’d been advised. Wounded or not, he was powerful enough to do what he wanted with her and, though she could fight him, her axe was best thrown from a distance.
A soft growl from the corner warned her to proceed with caution, as a large mongrel with grey fur rose to his feet. ‘Down, Wyborn.’ The dog responded immediately to the warrior’s command and lay back down, but his ears were standing up as he watched her.
Casting her wary gaze from the mongrel to his master, she said, ‘I’ve brought herbs for your shoulder, Lord.’
‘I’m no lord.’ His voice was somehow smooth and rough all at the same time and pitched so low that the timbre of it was quite pleasing. She was surprised at how easily he spoke her language with barely any accent at all. His gaze dropped to the axe on her hip before he turned back to the task she had interrupted and splashed more water over his head, though he only used his right hand.
His chamber was larger than she’d thought. Shelves and chests lined one wall and a table and bench occupied the corner. Behind the dog, a bed was set into an alcove that could be curtained off from the rest of the room. It was larger than the one she shared with Ellan and piled high with thick furs. In the middle of those furs a red stone set amid pieces of silver and gold glinted back at her in the candlelight. She carefully averted her eyes from that treasure. It was stolen from a Saxon, no doubt. The thought gave her the surge of anger she needed to rediscover her courage.
‘What’s your name, girl?’
She set the tray holding the poultice, linens and herbs down on a chest a little harder than she’d intended to. So hard that he paused in his administrations and looked over at her. ‘I’m no girl,’ she said, mimicking his words to her. Whenever men wanted to keep her in her place they liked to throw that word around. It made them feel stronger and she found herself disappointed that a warrior such as him would feel the need to use it.
She expected him to let those unnaturally vivid blue eyes sweep down her body. To take in the curves of her breasts and hips. To make it clear that he understood that she wasn’t a girl after all. Her body could only belong to a woman who could only be here to please him with those very same curves. But he didn’t break eye contact except to take in her expression. Finally, he gave a brief nod and a tiny smile lurked around the corners of his mouth, hinting at a dimple in his cheek.
‘Nay, you are no girl. I can see that now.’
Those words felt like a compliment. In a life that had been short on compliments of late, it was most welcomed. Her cheeks burned and she looked down at the tray to make herself appear busy.
‘What are you called?’ he asked.
‘Elswyth.’
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