Desire's Hostage: Viking Lore, Book 3 (19 page)

Though the chamber was barely large enough for all five of them, Maelcon paced the short length between his chair and the door. He limped slightly, his old wound clearly exacerbated by the tumultuous events of the last two days.

“And you are sure it is someone from within my fortress?”

Alaric repressed the impatient reply that almost erupted from him. He shouldn’t fault Maelcon for not wanting to believe that someone living within his walls was working against him.

Maelcon had resisted listening to aught Alaric had to say, still fuming over the fact that Alaric would propose to marry his daughter. But when Alaric had explained the cart accident that wasn’t an accident at all—which Rúnin confirmed—Maelcon had sunk into his chair, stricken at the news that Elisead had been in danger.

Now he paced frenetically, clearly too incensed at all Alaric had said to sit still. Alaric, too, wished to pace, to punch something, to drive his blade into whoever threatened his mission—and Elisead.

Instead, he clenched the arms of his wooden chair until his knuckles whitened.

“It has to be one of your people,” he replied levelly. “Though I have had some…defiance among my men, none would attempt to thwart our mission. There is no benefit to them in doing so.”

“But what is the benefit to Feitr, whom you’ve clearly decided did this?” Maelcon asked, spinning on his heels to make yet another pass across the small room.

“That is something I have not yet determined,” Alaric said darkly. “But I will ask him…firmly. Where is he now?”

“I sent him to the village where he was needed to help repair the thatch on one of the villagers’ huts,” Maelcon replied.

Madrena stood suddenly. “We should go get him. Now.”

“Nei, Madrena,” Alaric said, standing also. “I do not wish to spook him. And I will be assured that we are all safe and prepared before confronting him. For all we know, others within the fortress may be working with him to stop an alliance between the Picts and the Northlanders.”

Madrena glared at him, but Rúnin drew her back down into her seat with a gentle hand. “Alaric is right. A dozen of our warriors are still at the camp. Our force is divided, and we still don’t truly know who our enemy is. We cannot simply rush into a battle with so little knowledge and preparation,” Rúnin said lowly.

A laden look passed between Madrena and Rúnin. Such a brash charge into danger had almost cost Madrena her life last autumn, Alaric knew. If it hadn’t been for Rúnin pulling her back from the brink, Madrena would likely be dead right now.

“We will wait, then,” Alaric said. “In the meantime, alert those of our crew who are within the fortress.”

“And I’ll talk to my men as well,” Maelcon said.

“Nei, for we don’t know who might be working with Feitr.” Alaric’s voice brokered no argument. At last, Maelcon nodded.

“There is something else, Maelcon,” Alaric said. “Something Elisead and I wish to discuss with you in private.”

Without further prompting, Madrena and Rúnin rose and let themselves out of Maelcon’s chamber soundlessly.

Maelcon’s eyes narrowed on Alaric, but before he could speak, Elisead stood at Alaric’s side and took his hand.

“Alaric and I are going to wed, Father,” she said, her voice firm. “You know it is in everyone’s best interest. It is time to let your resistance to this matter go.”

Maelcon fumbled for words, all the while tugging on his beard.

“Our people will be more secure with an alliance,” Elisead charged forward, not giving Maelcon a chance to come up with a response. “We needn’t fear retribution from the likes of Domnall or the King with a force of Northmen warriors at our backs. And the Northmen won’t go away. More of them will come. You must decide which side you want them on—do you want them to be your allies, or your enemies? How much can these walls truly withstand when—”

“Enough!” he snapped, his eyes flaring at his daughter.

Alaric had to resist the urge to gaze upon her with awe. She was a more persuasive negotiator than he’d realized. With an inward smile, he filed away the knowledge that his future wife, who appeared so demure, was a more than worthy adversary.

“When did you add the Northmen’s longship to your bride gift?”

Elisead blinked in confusion at Maelcon’s sudden shift in topic.

“Mayhap a sennight ago. Why?” she replied, her delicate brow furrowed.

Maelcon nodded in resignation. “And you knew even then that you would marry Alaric.”

Elisead’s eyes widened on her father. “Nay, I didn’t. I hadn’t even considered it until—”

Maelcon held up a hand, silencing her. “But you sensed it, did you not? That is why you added the ship.”

Alaric stared down at Elisead, who was clearly struggling to answer. Though he’d wanted her from the first, he’d never allowed himself to hope that he could somehow bind himself to the woman at his side until the thought had taken root last night. Was it possible that Elisead had wanted him all along as well?

At last, Elisead let out a long breath. “I…I sensed something, aye. The stone guided me to carve the ship, and I…felt something telling me that my fate was entwined with the Northmen—with one Northman in particular.”

Even as Alaric’s heart leapt into his throat, Maelcon sank into the nearest chair.

“I should have learned long ago that trying to control your carving is like trying to control the weather. You are a force of nature, my daughter.”

Elisead’s eyes suddenly shone bright with emotion, but before she could respond, Maelcon waved a hand and spoke in a voice that was suddenly weary.

“Aye.”

“Aye what?” Elisead breathed.

“Aye, you two will marry.”

Before Alaric knew what was happening, Elisead launched herself into his arms. He grunted as she bumped his stitched shoulder, but he wouldn’t let a little pain dull this moment.

Married. He’d never considered the prospect before. He’d always kept his mind on the next battle, the next challenge, the next voyage. But now no matter what the gods had in store for him, he would have Elisead at his side.

“Save that until a priest can be brought,” Maelcon said sourly as he eyed his daughter in Alaric’s arms.

Elisead disentangled herself and faced her father once more, a blush pinkening her cheeks. Alaric could only pray that Maelcon wasn’t astute enough at reading his daughter’s embarrassment to guess that they had already done far more than hug.

“How long will that take?” he asked, feeling his own lust stirring at the memory of what they’d shared in the woods earlier.

“A sennight, or perhaps more,” Maelcon said.

“We’ll have a Northland ceremony as well as a Christian one,” Alaric declared. Maelcon’s face darkened, but Alaric wouldn’t be deterred. This marriage represented the union of their peoples. His crew would certainly be pleased to have a grand celebration as if they were back at home.

But it wasn’t time to celebrate yet. Alaric once again grew sober at what lay ahead.

“No matter what happens with Feitr, I will keep Elisead safe,” he said. “I swear it on my life.”

*    *    *

His time had run out.

He slipped away from the wooden door. Maelcon, the old fool, had folded at last. Alaric would wed Elisead, and then there would be no undoing their alliance.

Unless he acted now.

Maelcon and the others paid so little attention to him. They all thought he was busying himself, just as he always did, seeing to his tasks without so much as a peep. Yet no one had noticed him lingering in the shadows outside the chief’s private chamber.

Walking on silent feet, he crept along the great hall’s walls toward the large double doors. He’d have to bide his time for a few hours until night fell, but then he’d strike.

Burning the fields had been desperate. He should have known that it wouldn’t deter Alaric, the stubborn bastard. But he’d had to try everything before resorting to what now lay ahead.

He didn’t relish his task, but it was better than the alternative—an alliance between Northlanders and Picts. It soured his stomach. The thought of his people lowering themselves in such a union was more than repulsive. It was an insult, one that he could not allow to be carried out.

If it meant taking lives, so be it. He was born a warrior. But perhaps he was fated to be a leader, for he was the only one who could steer his people into the right once more.

He sidled through the great hall’s doors and slipped into the yard. There were only a few hours until nightfall.  The darkness would give him the cover he needed to slip back into the great hall and strike.

Though his body hummed with the need to act, he forced himself to crouch in the shadows next to the stables. He had waited this long and worked meticulously to bring about his goal. Soon enough, his plan would be set into motion—and then he would be unstoppable.

At last darkness fell over the fortress.

The men who’d visited the camp had returned at dusk, sweaty and exhausted from disposing of the bodies of both Domnall’s men and the three of their own rank they’d lost.

Though Alaric longed to give his fallen men the proper Northland funeral ceremony they deserved, there was no time for that. At least they had died fighting an enemy. He had to trust that the Valkyries had seen their bravery and had whisked them away to Valhalla for the endless feasting and battle that all warriors hoped to attain in the afterlife.

His crew had all been briefed with the most urgent information—there was a threat within the walls of the fortress. Someone—or several people—didn’t want to see the Northmen settle. But he’d also told them that he was going to wed Elisead, thus sealing their alliance with the Picts forever.

Though his men were clearly uneasy at having no direct enemy to strike, no clear path of action, they nevertheless complied with Alaric’s order to wait and remain calm. Alaric would be the one to handle Feitr. He wouldn’t let anyone take the satisfaction of pinning the schemer under his blade and having the truth out of him once and for all. The last thing Alaric needed was the entire force of his crew lashing out and either spooking their enemies or taking the chance for retribution from Alaric.

He longed to charge into the village and drag Feitr in by the neck. But the darkness descending on them would force him back soon enough. For now, Alaric needed to see to Elisead’s safety.

“On the morrow, this will all be over,” he said softly to her as he guided her toward her chamber down the corridor built on the back side of the great hall.

It had been a tense few hours as they’d waited for nightfall. He wished he and Elisead had been able to savor the joy of their impending wedding. Instead, he’d been busy plotting his confrontation with Feitr. She’d stood by his side quietly as he paced and planned, first with Madrena and Rúnin, and then with the rest of his men.

“Aye, I know,” Elisead said, though her voice was tight with fatigue and worry.

He opened the door to her chamber and stood aside to let her in.

“And when it is, we’ll properly celebrate our betrothal.”

“What is involved in a Northland wedding?” she asked, turning to look up at him with those depthless amber eyes.

He closed the chamber door behind him, never taking his gaze from her. She was so beautiful, just like a wild forest spirit. And she had the heart and strength to match. What had he done to earn the gods’ greatest imaginable gift?

The chamber was dim except for the low fire that burned in the metal brazier. Even the summer nights could be cool here, as in the Northlands. How Alaric longed to stay with Elisead and keep both of them warm until the sun rose.

“There is a ceremony officiated by a
goði
—a priest. It is held out in the open, so that the gods are free to see the union of the two people and their families.”

He stepped closer to her, but instead of backing up, she held her ground. It meant that they were almost touching, her head tilted back to hold his gaze.

“And then?”

“Then there is much feasting and merriment—the finest honeyed mead flows freely, music is played, and at the end of the evening, the newly married couple is sent off to…seal their union.”

Unbidden, his manhood stirred in his trousers. Memories of the afternoon spent entwining himself with Elisead burned hot in his veins.

“Oh.” Was it his imagination, or was her voice unusually breathy and uneven all of a sudden? Was it possible that her thoughts ran along the same heated lines as his? “That is not so different from our own ceremonies.”

“And do your people celebrate a honey moon?”

She blinked up at him and shook her head slowly. “Nay. What is that?”

“It is a time when the new couple gets to know each other more…intimately. They have a full moon cycle to retreat into their own pleasure. They drink as much honeyed mead as they please and indulge in the physical intimacies of marriage. If their mead runs out before the moon cycle is up, it is considered a bad omen. But most couples reemerge more fully bonded—and quite satisfied.”

A beautiful blush rose to Elisead’s cheeks as he spoke. She was still shy at such sensual talk.

But Alaric knew based on this afternoon—and her reaction to even the slightest passing touch from him—that a deep, untapped well of passion resided within her. His heart hammered and his manhood surged to life at the thought of awakening her lust and freeing the wild spirit that lived behind her shy exterior.

“Mayhap…mayhap that is a tradition that we should observe. To honor your customs.”

At her words, he almost dragged her into his embrace and crushed her against him to claim her mouth fully. But he resisted. He wanted her to come to him this time, to begin testing the depth and breadth of her desire.

Her warm breath fanned over the hollow in his neck where his tunic parted slightly. They were so close, and yet only her breath caressed him.

“Ja, indeed.”

Tentatively, she raised her hand and brought her fingertips to his face. At the first brushing contact of her fingers against his jaw, he barely managed not to jerk at the flood of sensation. He clenched his teeth, but then her fingers ran along the bristle on his face to where a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Her fingertips traveled down his neck for a moment, then she moved them to his lips. The calluses on the pads of her fingers from carving taunted him, raising the blood to the surface of his skin and increasing the torrent of sensation.

At last, she deigned to end his torture. She rose on the tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself. Then she brought her lips to his in a feather-soft kiss.

He inhaled sharply. Even the lightest of touches from her rocked him to the core. He could take no more. He needed to be in control, lest he come undone completely at her gentle kiss.

Lacing his fingers through the auburn waves of hair cascading down her back, he tilted her head and deepened their kiss. She opened her mouth to him immediately, her tongue beckoning him in.

A groan rose in his throat as his blood hammered hotly in his veins. Her whole length was now pressed against him. His manhood strained against his linen trousers. Unable to resist, he ground his hips into hers, a silent promise of the pleasure they would soon share in his motion.

Suddenly a sharp knock sounded at the door. Alaric jerked his head up from Elisead’s, struggling for breath.

“What is it?” he barked, far harsher than he’d intended to.

“Feitr has been spotted approaching the gates from the village.” It was Madrena’s level voice, though he knew his sister well enough to guess that she’d intended to interrupt them. Of course she couldn’t resist an opportunity to give a barb to her older brother.

Alaric cursed softly. “Stay within your chamber,” he said to Elisead. “All will be well, I promise. But I won’t risk your safety if things get out of hand.”

She gazed up at him with those wide honey eyes, her lips parted and reddened from their kiss. “Aye,” she breathed.

He turned to the door, but her hand on his arm made him pause.

“Be careful. I…I care for your wellbeing as well.”

Warmth that was different than the hot lust from a moment before flooded his chest. He gave the hand that was on his arm a squeeze. Her show of emotion left him speechless. All he could do was wordlessly tell her with his gaze how much she moved him.

After a long moment, he forced himself toward the door once more. With one last look at her standing in the middle of the chamber, her eyes shining on him, he stepped out and closed the door behind him.