Читать книгу The Warrior's Runaway Wife - Denise Lynn - Страница 12
ОглавлениеAvelyn fisted her hands at her side. The last few days she’d started to believe that she’d managed to escape her fate and would not be found.
Instead, once again she learned the uselessness of fanciful hopes, wishes and luck.
How had this oaf found her? She’d expected her father to send men after her, but she’d thought they would be his men, someone she knew or someone who was at least familiar.
Apparently, her father had gone to King David for assistance instead of to his grandfather, King Óláfr, or even to his uncle and liege, Lord Somerled.
Why?
Perhaps he didn’t want them to learn that she’d run away rather than wed the man they’d chosen as her husband.
And now this...this stranger thought he was going to take her to King David like an errant child? She frowned as yet another hopeful thought drifted into her mind. Was it possible that her father had dragged the Scots King into this because he’d had a change of heart and had found the ancient warlord chosen as her husband to be unsuitable?
It was doubtful, but she clung to that thought as it would be the only slender thread of sanity available to her. However, her fanciful wishes did little to explain the identity of this man.
From what she could tell, he was strongly built—the long, fur-lined mantle covered him from shoulder to ankle, so she couldn’t see the shape of his body—but he’d easily lifted her over his shoulder with one arm. Yet, at the same time, his attempt to dress her hadn’t been overly harsh, fumbling perhaps, as if unused to the task, but not cruel.
And his touch, when it had rested on her knees as he’d tried to reason with her, had been warm. Had she not been distraught over being found she could have easily fallen into the comfort that warmth had conveyed.
His eyes were green, flecked with gold. His hair was nearly as black as hers, but his was shot through with silvery strands that made it impossible to know his age.
But he wasn’t old. Older than she was, but not ancient like the man she’d been betrothed to wed.
‘Who are you?’ she asked over her shoulder.
He did nothing but grunt and poke a finger into her back to prod her along the corridor towards the stairs.
Just as they reached the top of the stairs they met an old man. She could only assume this was Edward, the old man Hannah had coerced her into sharing a bed with. He was most likely headed to her room. Avelyn wondered how her unwanted rescuer would deal with this event.
Edward looked from her to the man behind her, a frown of puzzlement creasing his already lined face. ‘This is not the red-haired wench.’
‘No. It isn’t.’
‘This is my woman. I paid for her.’
‘How much?’
‘What does the amount matter to you?’ Edward reached for her, adding, ‘I paid. She is mine.’
‘It matters greatly to me because she is my wife.’ The man looped an arm about her waist and pulled her close. ‘And because we have three hungry children at home who would be grateful for the coin their mother could deliver.’
Wife? Home? Three hungry children?
Struck mute by his outrageous lies, Avelyn could only stare blindly ahead. She wasn’t completely lacking in wits. He had spouted the lies in an attempt to leave the inn without incident. She wished he’d have devised something less demeaning to her.
‘If the amount is right, I might be willing to allow her to go with you. Provided, of course, that I stand guard over the two of you to ensure no harm comes to the mother of my children.’
Avelyn narrowed her eyes, then turned her head to glare up at him. She didn’t know him well enough to decipher the quick look he gave her, but she was fairly certain it had been a silent warning to keep quiet—a warning she planned to ignore.
She jutted an elbow into his gut and turned her attention to Edward. ‘That is not the reason he wishes to watch.’
Her rescuer’s fingers tightened against her waist, but she forged ahead, determined to make him feel as foolish and embarrassed as he’d made her feel. ‘Oh, no, his rutting leaves behind nothing memorable except children and he wishes to see if he can learn anything.’
The man’s soft hiss gave her enough satisfaction to stop her own outrageous claims.
Edward stepped aside, shaking his head vigorously as he waved them towards the stairs. ‘No. No. Please, go. I will find another.’
Without wasting any time, the man moved his hand from her waist to wrap his fingers around her wrist before rushing her to the steps. Halfway down he muttered, ‘Woman, you need have care with your words.’
‘My words?’ She kept her voice just as low as he had. ‘You made me look and feel like a whore.’
He once again tightened his hold. ‘You did that to yourself.’
Avelyn tried to tug free. ‘I did no such thing.’
‘My mistake. I could have sworn I found you in bed, naked, waiting for a man to join you for the night.’
She couldn’t very well deny what he’d found upon entering her room. However, it wasn’t quite what he’d assumed. ‘Nothing was going to happen.’
Their discussion stopped as they reached the bottom of the stairs where two men waited, but she wasn’t about to let this end her explanation for long. Avelyn hung back, uncertain what these men wanted. But her rescuer walked past them, saying, ‘Let’s be on our way.’
She was relieved to discover they were his men since both looked as dark and dangerous as he. The two fell into step behind her and they all exited the establishment.
The cold rain pelting against her face did nothing to cool her ire. He’d called her a whore—accused her of things that would enrage her father should even a hint of such a rumour reach his ears.
Not willing to spend another heartbeat in this man’s hold, Avelyn jerked her arm free and marched quickly ahead.
Heavy footsteps stomping in the mud behind her warned that he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. She knew she’d be unable to escape, especially right now, while they were on foot. But she didn’t have to endure his company.
She glared at him over her shoulder. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I will gladly do so once I deliver you to King David.’ He again captured her wrist with strong fingers, then pulled her about to face him.
The two men stopped alongside, only to be ordered, ‘Retrieve the horses and meet us near the well.’
The crestfallen looks on their faces might have been laughable at another time. But right now she didn’t care that their desire for listening had been thwarted. The things she wanted to say to this man did not need an audience that would make her the object of gossip.
Once they were on their way, she looked up at the man who’d quickly made himself an irritant in her life. ‘Release me.’
To her surprise, he did. She stepped back, putting a little space between them. ‘I am not a whore.’
His lazy, bored glance from the sky back down to her did not endear him to her in the slightest. In fact, his silent display of derision only made her want to fly into a rage. Instead, she fisted her hands at her side and repeated, ‘I am not a whore.’
‘I wouldn’t expect Lord Brandr’s daughter to be one. Although, finding you as I did would have made it easy for another to have come to that conclusion.’
The arrogant half-smile on his face was her undoing. Everything she had suffered these last weeks—the hunger and thirst, the fear, the cold dampness—all roiled to the fore serving to ignite her rage. Avelyn raised her arm to strike the smug expression from his face.
His arm shot out as fast as a loosened arrow and he grasped her forearm, warning, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ He pulled her against his chest. ‘I am not beholden to your father, nor to you. I will not meekly endure your abuse no matter how angry you become.’
Avelyn lowered her head, wishing she could simply disappear as quickly as her rage had at the deep tone of his voice. What was wrong with her to make her act like such a simpleton, such a fool?
At her lingering silence, he said, ‘Your anger is misplaced. I have done you no harm, nor have I wronged you.’
‘I know. I am sorry and apologise. It’s just that...’
She stopped speaking and closed her eyes, unable to find the words she sought and not wanting to say anything more to a man not known to her.
He released her and with a finger beneath her chin lifted her head. ‘What? It’s just that what?’
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He didn’t appear angry or out of sorts. Just curious, as if what she’d been about to say mattered. ‘It’s just that I don’t wish to wed Sir Bolk.’
He laughed softly and lowered his hand. ‘I can understand that. I wouldn’t want to marry him either.’
How could she not laugh at his ridiculous comment? However, knowing he was taking her back to do just that—marry Sir Bolk—tempered her humour.
Avelyn sighed and stepped away from the comfort she’d found pressed against his chest. ‘Yes, well, while neither of us wishes to marry my great-grandfather’s warlord, I will soon be forced to do so.’ She shivered at the thought of sharing a life and a bed with the man.
‘Then you have two or three days to find a reason that will convince King David to intervene on your behalf.’
‘I am nothing more than a piece of property. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.’
‘Ah, perhaps you have forgotten, property has value.’
That was true. Property did have value. But that value was determined by men who had little, if any, concern for her or for anything she might want for her future. A future she hadn’t thought about in what seemed ages.
Her wants were no different than any other woman’s. She wanted a husband, home and children. But she had little faith in the love that troubadours sang about—it seemed a rather fleeting and useless emotion. Something more solid seemed a better choice—caring, friendship, sharing, a partnership of sorts were all things she would prefer over some elusive feeling that served only to leave one suffering the relentless pain of loss.
Her mother had pined for her love every day until the last. Even on her death bed, she’d wanted nothing more than the touch of his lips against hers one more time. At fourteen years old Avelyn had come to the harsh realisation that this love her mother craved was never going to come to her bedside—at least not while she lived. After her mother had died, she’d vowed never to allow herself to be trapped so neatly by a man’s pretty words.
No matter how sweetly spoken, they were false and meaningless.
But that didn’t mean she did not want a husband. She simply wanted one who would honestly care for her and her alone. One who was nearer her own age, so they could grow old together. One strong enough to protect her if need be and lustful enough to give her children.
One not unlike the man before her.
Avelyn gasped softly. What devil had put that notion in her head?
She took another step backwards, wanting to put more than an arm’s length of distance between them.
‘Avelyn? Lady Avelyn?’
From the sharper tone of his voice and the quizzical way his brows were drawn closer together, he had asked her a question. One she’d missed while her unruly mind was off wandering places it shouldn’t go.
‘What?’
‘I asked why Sir Bolk had been chosen.’
She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. It isn’t as if they included me in making their decision.’
‘You have a brain, otherwise you would not have got this far on your own. So, think about it. Why would they have chosen such an elderly man and why would he have agreed?’
‘Well, of course he agreed. What man in their right mind would naysay their King?’
‘You obviously don’t know Sir Bolk. Not even the King could sway him if he wasn’t agreeable to the arrangement.’
‘No, I don’t know him. Nor do I wish to.’
‘He must have seen some advantage to the wedding.’
‘Other than trying to outlive a third wife?’
‘I doubt if that would happen. However, he would go to his death bed as son-in-law to Brandr and great-grandson-in-law to King Óláfr. Everything of value he possessed at that moment would go to—’
‘My father!’ she interjected, cutting off his words. ‘Including me.’ She staggered a couple of steps back, shocked by the realisation that her father and great-grandfather were even more underhanded than she could have imagined.
‘Then they would have the opportunity to marry you off once again.’
Even though Bolk’s possessions were meagre, they would all pass to her father. Avelyn wanted to scream. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and asked, ‘Do you think King David would go against my family?’
‘If given a good enough reason to do so.’
‘You said I have two or three days to devise one?’
‘That is about how long it will take to reach Carlisle.’
She stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on his arm. ‘Then, my good sir...’ she pulled her hand back ‘...what is your name?’
‘Roul. Lord Elrik of Roul.’
Avelyn burst out laughing. When she was able to gain control of herself, she wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head. ‘Of course you are. It only makes perfect sense that King David sent his Wolf to sniff out and retrieve King Óláfr’s lowly prey.’
He frowned down at her. ‘I fail to see the humour.’
‘That is because you are not in my place. I am nothing but a defenceless dove. You are a wolf. It seems out of place that they would send such a skilled hunter to track down so meek a prey.’
He offered her his arm and then turned to escort her to the men and horses waiting near the well. ‘It is impossible to know ahead of time how dangerous a prey might prove to be.’
‘Yes, that is true. You had no way of knowing if this dove hid fangs inside her beak.’
He nodded in agreement. ‘Or perhaps talons worthy of any eagle.’
Once they reached the others, Elrik paused to ask, ‘Can you ride?’
Avelyn could count the times she’d been on the back of a horse on one hand—two fingers in truth. But the alternative was obvious—she’d be forced to share his mount and that would place her too close to him for comfort. She shrugged. ‘Not well, but I’ll manage.’
He lifted a brow, but said nothing. Instead, he removed his long mantle and slung it over her shoulders. While securing the pin to hold the cloak in place and tucking her hair inside the hood, he said, ‘This will keep you from getting any wetter than you already are.’
‘What about you? It will do little good for you to catch a chill.’
‘I won’t get sick from a little rain.’
She looked up at the animal next to her and, even though it was the smallest of the lot, she wondered how she was going to scramble up on something that tall. Before she could ask, Elrik wrapped both hands round her waist and lifted her up on to the saddle.
Avelyn swung a leg over to the other side and tucked the long edges of his cloak beneath her legs. She took a deep breath before taking the offered reins in her hands, then stated, ‘I am ready.’
She could only hope her words sounded more confident to him than they had to her own ears.
‘You will be fine.’ He patted her knee before mounting his own horse.
* * *
By the time they stopped a few hours later, the rain had ceased and now the clouds had begun to part allowing the stars to twinkle against the darkening sky.
Avelyn shivered on her log seat before the fire and barely tasted the food in her mouth. She was tired and stiff from riding. Her hands ached from holding on to the reins so tightly the entire time and her thighs burned from clamping them against the saddle in an attempt not to fall.
Her rescuer, Lord Elrik, had said nothing, but she’d felt him watching her the entire time and had feared that at any moment he was going to pluck her from her horse and plop her in front of him on his. She had to admit that there had been a couple of times when she’d not have argued with that arrangement. Times when they’d ridden too fast, or when the road beneath the horse’s hooves seemed to rise too steeply as they’d climbed a hill.
To her amazement, she’d managed. But right now, she was most thankful to be planted firmly on solid ground. Her only desire was to curl into a ball and give over to the beckoning sleep teasing at her sluggish mind.
Elrik leaned against a tree and watched Avelyn sway and then quickly jerk upright as she stopped herself from falling asleep right there on the log. It was obvious the woman was exhausted. It’d been more obvious that riding a horse was not something she’d been taught.
They’d lost a few hours due to her inexperience and that was something he couldn’t afford to let happen tomorrow. She wasn’t going to be pleased, but they needed to make up some time and would only be able to do so if she rode with him.
The thought of holding her before him, his arms around her, his chest a platform for her back, didn’t seem as unappealing as he might have expected. Granted, she would argue and put up a fuss at first, but she would soon become accustomed to the feel of his body against hers. After all, it wasn’t as if they would be doing anything unseemly.
He groaned softly at the image that thought had conjured.
Elrik shook the vision from his mind. What was wrong with him? Had a comely body and pretty face made him suddenly lose the ability to reason? She was Brandr’s daughter. Hadn’t that family already caused him enough trouble?
Besides, a woman was the last thing he needed in his life—no matter how attractive he’d found her. Experience had taught him that women were not worth the time, expense or heartache they brought along with them.
Hadn’t Muriel given him enough grief to last two lifetimes?
No. Holding her in front of him would not do. He needed to come up with some other way of keeping her securely on the horse.
Avelyn swayed on her seat again, but caught herself with a jerk that brought her upright once again.
When she once again swayed on the log, she’d been slower to jerk herself awake.
Elrik pushed away from the tree, knowing that this next sway would not be stopped as successfully. He caught her in his arms a heartbeat before she hit the ground.
Cradling her against his chest, he carried her to the makeshift pallet spread out not too far from the warmth of the fire and placed her on the blanket. Without waking, she instantly rolled on to her side, curling into a relaxed ball with a hand beneath her cheek.
He grabbed his mantle, which, after it had been dried by the fire, had been laid alongside the pallet, and covered her with the fur-lined garment. After tucking the edges tightly around her, he rose and stared at a wayward ebony lock of hair resting against the paleness of her cheek.
He had to give Brandr credit for one thing at least. The man could be a traitorous viper at the best of times, but he had produced a very lovely daughter.
Elrik joined his men near the fire.
Just as he stretched his legs out to get comfortable, Fulke asked, ‘How are you going to deliver her to King David if she falls from her horse and breaks her neck first?’
Not one to let a question go without comment, Samuel said, ‘It isn’t her neck we should be worried about. At the rate we are travelling, it’ll be our own necks in danger.’
Sometimes, like now when complaining seemed the current activity of choice, Elrik had to remind himself that these were more than just childhood friends, they were his two best men—they could both sleep in the saddle while still retaining control of their horses, both were handy with a blade be it a sword or a dagger and both men would always protect his back if the need arose. So, enduring their complaints was usually bearable.
This was not one of those nights. ‘The pace will pick up tomorrow and she’ll not break her neck.’
When Samuel opened his mouth, Elrik glared at him. The dark look gained him the result he’d desired—the man closed his mouth without saying another word.
