Chapter Four
As Bronwolf took his seat for the evening meal next to the princess a week later, he questioned his sanity once again for keeping up this torture that was self-inflicted, but he also knew the answer. After the conversation he’d had with Ivar regarding keeping Aethelthryth’s virtue intact—and the perverse decision to have her now sitting next to the man—he’d decided that he needed to stay close as well. Even if doing so drove him to distraction. Which it did. Sitting next to her at meals made every nerve ending tingle. Worse, every time he caught the slightly spicy scent of whatever she washed her hair with, he had the urge to bury his nose in her coppery mane and run his fingers through the long strands to find out if it felt as silky as it looked. Looking into the green depths of her eyes was like getting lost in the woods. The sound of her voice, low and melodic, enchanted him. He wondered, on more than one occasion since she’d joined their table, whether she might actually be a Huldra—the seductive forest creature that lured men to their deaths by singing to them while perched on rocks near waterfalls.
Thankfully, York didn’t have any waterfalls.
But it did have forests. Acres and acres surrounded them. All of which could provide excellent grounds for Saxons to hide and wait. And tomorrow, his men would be bringing in the Yule log.
“And why is it I cannot cut down an appropriate tree without Saxon assistance?” he asked now.
“It can’t be just any tree,” Aethelthryth answered.
“I know that. It must be oak.”
“Yes, but oak takes a long time to dry out so it will burn properly. Normally, we would chop it down in November.” Her mouth set. “Since you barb… Since your people invaded, we were unable to do so. Now we must find one already felled.”
She still thought of them as barbarians, even though in the six weeks since they’d claimed the fort not a single man had been killed. At least Ivar had been engaged with a serving wench and not heard the slip. If he had, Aethelthryth would have been perilously close to finding out just how barbaric the man could be.
“May I remind you that we have not murdered your men nor raped your women since we arrived?” He leaned closer, cursing silently when he caught her warm scent, and whispered, “You might have a care about what you call us.”
Her eyes widened, and she stilled. Did she understand his message’s intent? That Ivar was not a man to be provoked? Or… He blinked as her breath hitched. Was it his nearness that made her breathing so shallow? He placed a finger over her lips, intending to tell her to think before she spoke. Instead, he found himself tracing the outline of her soft, warm mouth. She gasped. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped his hand as though he’d touched the red-hot embers of a fire.
And perhaps he had, for he could feel a fire slowly start to burn inside him.
• ♥ •
As Ella dressed the next morning, the memory of what had happened at last night’s dinner remained firmly etched in her mind. She’d certainly had enough time to ponder on it since she’d not gotten much sleep. Bronwolf had drifted in and out of her half-awake dreams.
In the past week, she’d almost managed to squelch her strange reaction to his presence, to ignore how every single fiber of her being seemed more alert when he sat next to her, to deny how very aware she was of him. If she didn’t look at him, she could almost manage to pretend he wasn’t there. But that was before last night.
He’d never leaned toward her before. He’d been so close, his warm breath had fanned her ear, causing another disorientating sensation to sweep through her, this one sending a strange warmth to her lower belly. She had felt cocooned by his body heat, as though wrapped in a blanket. But it was his actual touch that remained firmly emblazoned in her mind. She could still feel the harsh callus pad, so in contrast with the gentle brush of his finger as he slowly outlined her lips. That had made her nipples bead and her breasts had suddenly felt heavy.
And then he’d jerked his hand away as though he thought she might bite him.
The chamber door opened, and she looked up to see Rowena with a tray in her hands.
“I was just about to go downstairs to break my fast.” Ella wrapped the embroidered girdle around her waist. “You didn’t have to bring me food.”
“A party is preparing to go out to find the Yule log. I knew you wanted to join them, so I thought this would be quicker.” She smiled at the guard in the hall and then closed the door. Moving closer to Ella, she lowered her voice. “I thought it would be an opportunity to talk without other ears to hear.”
“Oh?” She was immediately all attention. “Is something wrong?”
“It might just be idle talk…” Rowena hesitated.
“Go on.” As their healer, she’d had opportunity to be privy to conversations while tending the men that others hadn’t. If the Vikings were up to something, Ella wanted to know. “What have you heard?”
“Some of the heathens have started taking wagers…” She let her voice trail off again.
“On what?”
“On you, I’m afraid.”
“On me?” Dear Lord. Had her identity been revealed? “Do they know who I am?”
Rowena shook her head. “They still think you’re the princess.”
“Then what are they wagering on?”
She paused once more, then took a deep breath. “On how long before Ivar decides to take you to his bed.”
“What?” Ella heard the incredulousness in her voice. “You just said the Vikings think I’m Aethelthryth!”
“Right now, that seems to be the only thing holding Ivar in check.” Rowena gave her a worried look. “You must be careful what you say, lest you make the man angry.”
You might have a care about what you call us. Bronwolf’s words came back to her. She’d been so caught up in her physical reactions to him that the words had not really registered. He’d already warned her before not to vex Ivar. That the man did not make threats he didn’t carry out. With a sinking feeling, she was sure that applied to any boasts he made, as well.
“But I’m a valuable hostage. At least, the princess is.” Ella wished her tone sounded more convincing. “Ivar must see that ruining Aelle’s daughter is only going to make matters worse come spring when the battle will begin again.”
“What if there is no battle?”
Ella frowned. “You mean Ivar will actually try and broker peace? Aelle will never agree.”
“Perhaps not, but other Viking raids have resulted in the Norsemen settling in. Some of Ivar’s men—and even some of ours—are seeing that we have as many similarities as we have differences.”
Ella considered that. Edmund had managed to avoid war by allowing the Vikings to winter in East Anglia. And, Bronwolf had reminded her that no one had been murdered since they took the fort. “If that is Ivar’s intention, he must know Aelle will never agree to any kind of truce if his daughter has been defiled. It’s not logical.”
When Rowena just looked at her with a distraught expression, Ella grew apprehensive. “What is it you aren’t telling me?”
Another pause. “There has also been talk of another way to avoid war with Aelle.”
“What is it?”
“At first, I thought the rumors started because Ivar decided to move you to the dais for meals. As princess, Aethelthryth should have been accorded that honor to begin with—”
“I agree,” Ella said, trying not to think of how advantageous it was that Bronwolf was also seated there. “Do the soldiers think I might be able to influence Aelle? As his daughter, I mean.”
“I suppose that might be one way of thinking,” Rowena said.
It wasn’t like her to be purposely vague. Ella’s uneasiness increased. “Just finish what you need to say.”
The healer took a deep breath. “Since Ivar is a Danish prince and Aethelthryth is a Saxon princess, there are those that are trying to convince him it would be benefit both sides if he were to marry you.”
“What?” The thought made Ella’s blood turn to ice. “I’m not even the real princess!”
Rowena regarded her solemnly. “Aye. There will be the devil to pay when Ivar finds that out too late.”
It was also too late to rethink what she had done. It was also too late to confess who she really was. She didn’t even want to consider how that piece of information would vex Ivar. But what if his men managed to convince him that marrying her –Princess Aethelthryth—was the best thing to do?
The obvious solution was to become so shrewish that Ivar would not even consider a match. The obvious conclusion to that solution would be that she would, indeed, anger the man. And Bronwolf had already warned her of those consequences.
Ella felt a hysterical bubble rising in her throat. How ironic that the devil had come to claim his due at Yule.
• ♥ •
“You aren’t seriously considering marrying the princess?” Bronwolf asked Ivar incredulously as they waited in front of the Great Hall for the group to assemble for gathering the Yule log.
Ivar shrugged. “Why not? Matches have been made for alliances for centuries.”
“Usually both sides see the benefit of that,” Bronwolf answered. “Without consulting Aelle first, he will just see it as one more reason to make war.”
“But the deed will already have been done.” He grinned suddenly. “And the real benefit would be teaching that vixen how to respond to a man in bed.”
The thought of Aethelthryth lying naked beneath another man brought a red haze to his sight. For the second time since they’d taken the fort, he’d felt the berserker rise in him, only this time it was for a woman he wanted. He yearned for the satisfaction of smashing his fist into Ivar’s face—prince or not—and watch the red haze turn into real blood. It took his considerable iron will not to do it. His grandfather always said the right words could win as many battles as swords.
“The Saxons have been pliable since we invaded. The soldiers have agreed to your terms. It’s obvious that the villagers and even the servants, revere their princess. Should you force Aethelthryth to wed, they may very well rebel.”
“I’m hardly scared of villagers and servants,” Ivar nearly sneered. “And the soldiers have no weapons.”
Bronwolf tried again. “I still think you have a better chance at achieving peace with Aelle if the princess can testify that she has been well-treated and not used.”
“The princess speaks too boldly. I heard her call us barbarians. Perhaps she needs to find out what that means. The best way to do that is to rut with her until she begs for mercy.” Ivar smirked. “But who says I won’t treat her well…if she learns her lesson and becomes biddable.”
Biddable wasn’t a term Bronwolf would ever use to describe Aethelthryth. She might appear quiet—docile even—but her eyes were ever watchful. He sensed a tension in her too, as though she were coiled to spring and attack given an opportunity.
He wished Ivar had not heard the remark last night. He thought the man hadn’t, since he gave no sign, but then, the prince was a master of lying-in-wait too. His reputation for being ruthless wasn’t limited to the battlefield. Unfortunately, Bronwolf had seen too many women in conquered towns who’d been on the receiving end of Ivar’s lessons. Bloodied, bruised, and broken if they didn’t comply.
And compliance was another word he’d not use to describe the princess.
The situation was growing rapidly worse. The first suggestions that Ivar marry the princess had been made in jest amongst the men after a few barrels of ale had been consumed. Ivar, in his cups as well, had been amused. After that, the rumors spread like wildfire, taking on a life of their own. And now, it seemed the prince was actually considering following through. Bronwolf had to buy some time.
“Can I make a suggestion?”
Ivar shrugged again. “Why not?”
“You are right that Vikings do not fear villagers or Saxon soldiers. If you are seriously considering marriage to their princess, would it not be beneficial if the people of York would be willing to vouch to Aelle that the match was one they approved?”
Ivar frowned. “Not that I care what they approve, but go on.”
“Their approval will mean something to Aelle, if not for you.” Bronwolf thought quickly. “It’s the Yule season. In a few minutes, we will begin searching for the right log. The Solstice is nearly upon us. The Boar feast is something Aethelthryth’s people look forward to—”
“Is there some reason you are lecturing me on the season?”
Bronwolf managed to keep his expression impassive. “Yule is the season for good will. Odin, himself, was thought to ride the Wild Hunt delivering gifts to the worthy—”
“You are beginning to sound like a skald. Get to the point.”
“I mean this. Let us celebrate all of the Yule festivities with the Saxons. Let them hold their Christ’s Mass. Include them in our Solstice rituals.” He held up a hand before Ivar could make another comment. “If we treat all of them well throughout this time, we establish good will. That, in turn, will go far in their approval of this match, which means Aelle—”
“All right! It makes sense, I suppose. Now, will you cease your blabbering?” Ivar looked annoyed. “I am beginning to think it is you that wants that woman.”
Bronwolf snapped his mouth shut. If Ivar knew how close to the truth he was, he’d take that as a direct challenge, which would only have dire consequences for Aethelthryth. Somehow, he managed a grin. “I have all I can handle with the two wenches waiting for me every night.”
Ivar’s annoyed expression vanished. “My gift to you.”
“Ja. Thank you.” Bronwolf managed to keep the smile in place. At least, he’d bought the princess some time.
• ♥ •
After what Rowena had just told her, Ella considered not joining the search for the Yule log. She needed time to compose herself before she faced Ivar. Time to develop a plan. But Aethelthryth always accompanied the party—as a chaperone of sorts so the lads wouldn’t try to waylay the maids—and also to approve the choice of tree. She would have to do the same. Besides, today’s outing would give her the opportunity to find a spot where a Saxon might slip away from the hunting party two days hence.
To her relief, some minutes later when she joined the group outside, Ivar was not present. Instead, Bronwolf appeared to be leading the group. She also noted that his men outnumbered the Saxons gathered. To her surprise, though, two of the Saxon soldiers were actually carrying axes.
“You allow my people to have weapons?” she asked as Bronwolf approached.
“Only two of your men.” He smiled, his dimple appearing. “I don’t think they’ll rebel, given the odds.”
Ella looked at the heavily armed Vikings. In addition to their own double-edged battle axes, they had swords strapped to their sides and most of them had several long saexes attached to their belts, as well. She raised a brow.
“We are searching for a log today, not a boar.”
The dimple vanished. “Boar are not the only things that lurk in the forest.”
He probably meant Saxons. Aelle probably had men watching the city walls. She hoped he did, since it would be make it easier for the man who managed to leave the hunting party if someone were waiting to guide him back to Aelle’s camp.
“It is not the Saxon custom to attack in the middle of winter.”
“It isn’t the Viking custom, either,” Bronwolf said, “but we did.”
She could hardly argue the fact. Instead, she pointed to the two Saxon soldiers who held axes. “Are you intending to have them do the thrall work of cutting a log to size?”
“Something like that,” he answered. “Ivar has decided that Saxon and Viking should work alongside each other and celebrate the Yule together to promote peace between us.”
Peace between them. Ella looked down, the words sending a chill through her that had nothing to do with the nip in the air. A marriage between a Saxon princess and a Danish prince could accomplish the same thing. She glanced at Bronwolf through her lashes. Had he also heard the rumors? As intensely as he was looking at her, he probably had.
She lifted her head. “You should know that the king will never agree to peace.”
He studied her. “You mean your father?”
For a moment, she almost faltered. If her deception should be discovered, Ivar would be beyond angry. Apart from her own personal punishment that she didn’t even want to think about, he would unleash his fury on her people, as well. Past raids—including her own village—had shown her what Vikings were capable of. Women would most likely be raped and the men slaughtered like so much livestock. She swallowed. “Of course, my father.”
He continued to contemplate her. “You don’t sound very close to your father.”
Dear Lord. What to say? But perhaps this was a golden opportunity to lay the seeds that Aelle would not be moved by a marriage to Ivar? “A king has many responsibilities. He has spent little time with me.” That much, at least, was true. He probably didn’t know Ella existed.
Bronwolf frowned. “He would certainly take an interest in whom you married.”
So, he had heard the rumors. She might as well speak her mind. If nothing else, she might be able to gage his reaction. Giving what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug, she answered. “I have no plans to marry for many years.”
His brow lifted. “Isn’t that unusual for a princess?”
Ella paused. He was right, although she was not privy to the king’s actual plans. However, since she’d started this conversation, she might as well finish it. “Perhaps it is, but I have heard the rumors flying about. So know this. King Aelle will never agree to let his daughter marry the enemy.”
Bronwolf gave her another intent look. “I assume you are speaking of yourself?”
Drat. She’d nearly given herself away again. “Of course I am.”
“Interesting.”
He had no idea. While what she said was true, the real Aethelthryth was safely at an abbey by orders her father had given. She would not be marrying the enemy. Even if Aelle found out about this possible marriage, Ella doubted he’d do much to stop it, since she was an imposter and the jest would be on Ivar. The Danish prince would not take kindly to being made a fool, and she would be to blame.
What fate awaited that outcome she didn’t dare contemplate. Somehow, she must keep this marriage from happening.