Surrender My Love

  Alfred was a surprise to her, as was his one remark. “You are the envy of every woman here, Lady Erika.”

  The words were Danish. She was not surprised he could speak her language, with as much contact as he had had with Danes for most of his life. His age surprised her, though, for he appeared no older than Selig. And he dressed no finer than his other courtiers. In fact, she would not have known who he was if she had not heard him addressed by name.

  As for his remark, any comment she would have made to it would have embarrassed them both, for she did not feel very charitable at the moment. So she made none, and kept to herself that she would gladly let any woman there trade places with her. Envy? They did not know Selig Haardrad as she did. They knew only his charming side, which she could not deny she had seen, though not experienced, while she knew only what cruelties he was capable of.

  And that would not change just because he could now call her wife. That designation merely offered him more opportunities to make her miserable.

  The ceremony was over much too quickly. In fact, no more than an hour had passed from his telling her they would marry to their becoming, officially, man and wife. And she realized only afterward that she had been given no time to really think about what she had agreed to. Without such haste, she might have…

  But it was done. She had a husband now. And examining that thought too closely would likely lead to hysterics.

  The celebration feast that followed was a mockery as far as Erika was concerned. She had nothing to celebrate, and neither did Selig, yet they sat through it, side by side, enduring the good-natured jests and crudities that typically accompanied a wedding. In fact, everyone was enjoying himself, except the newly married pair.

  Even Selig’s family was in high good cheer, which Erika found strange, since she had come to understand that they all cared for him a great deal. It was the atmosphere, she supposed, and the fact that Selig didn’t look nearly as gloomy as she did. Could they actually think he was pleased with the outcome of the day, and were happy for him? Obviously, he was merely putting a fine face on it for their benefit.

  Selig downed yet another tankard of ale. He had given up trying to keep track of the constant swing of his emotions. And he had given up trying to ignore his wife.

  She was not to have sat beside him until she called him master, yet here she sat. But she would be calling him husband now, and were they not one and the same, master, husband? They were supposed to be, but she would never think so.

  He could have had any woman he wanted—anyone but this one. And yet he had this one. She was most definitely his now. He just didn’t know what to do with her now that she had gone from slave to wife.

  Had he really agreed never to touch his own wife? But he hadn’t agreed to forgo his revenge. He would still have that. Wasn’t that why he had married her?

  Damned emotions weren’t making sense today. She was beautiful, and miserable, and he found it difficult keeping his eyes from her. Yet the more dismal she looked, the more annoyed he became.

  It was her wedding day. Brides were supposed to be happy on their wedding day. His bride should have been the happiest of all. It wasn’t conceit that made him think so, but his experience of women and their reaction to him. Yet Erika would not even make a pretense of happiness for the benefit of their guests.

  He finally told her, sharply, “This is not a funeral. If you are so uncomfortable, you may return to my chamber—and your place in it.”

  Erika flushed, though no one else had heard him say that. And even if he had been overheard, only a few knew that her “place” was a corner on the floor. She should have been only relieved, that that was where she was still to sleep. He was keeping their bargain. So why was she embarrassed and—and she wasn’t sure what else?

  That was a lie. She knew what else. But, Odin help her, how could she possibly be feeling disappointment? It had been her insistence that he not touch her—though made for reasons other than the obvious. She was simply afraid of the passion he had shown her, which she liked too much.

  ’Tis likely you will come to love him.

  His sister’s words had never stopped haunting her. She was afraid of that, too, because he didn’t give her enough reasons to really hate him. He tried, but embarrassments were immediate and soon forgotten.

  He has never hurt a woman in his life.

  Was it true, then, his father’s contention? And if it was, then what Selig had threatened to do to her today was a lie. He wouldn’t have been able to do it.

  She took his permission to leave the hall gladly. She needed to be away from his disturbing presence so she could think more clearly. That he let her go without an escort was a revelation. If the marriage had done nothing else, it had apparently given her back some freedom. And the damned chains were gone…

  The damned chains were back on Selig’s bed when she entered his chamber, retrieved by someone who knew exactly whom they belonged to—him—her. Selig probably wasn’t even aware that she had given in to that act of defiance.

  The chains went flying out the window again, and it gave her just as much pleasure to toss them out this time as before. Now if she could just find as much pleasure sleeping on the floor on her wedding night.

  Chapter 31

  RAGNAR MADE KRISTEN wait nearly an hour up on the wall before he answered her request for another talk between them. The discourtesy was the prerogative of a superior position, which he thought he still held. The only reason she didn’t lose her temper or simply leave was because of the pleasure she was going to get from disabusing him of that notion.

  Royce had less patience. He left and returned three times in that hour that they waited, and nearly dragged Kristen down from the wall the fourth time he stalked off, he was so annoyed with Erika’s brother.

  Her mother didn’t bother to join them on the wall, since she spoke no Danish. But her father was there beside her, could have spoken with Ragnar himself, though he declined, knowing how much Kristen was looking forward to it this time.

  And Selig, that sot, was no doubt still abed after drinking himself under the table last eventide. If he had been able to consummate his marriage after Royce and Ivarr had carried him up to his bed, it would be a miracle. But Ragnar wasn’t going to know that. By the time Kristen was done with him, he would think his sister well and truly wed and bedded, with no recourse for undoing the marriage open to him. That is, if he ever bothered to make an appearance.

  Turgeis came first, alone, to tell her that if she had nothing new to add to what had been discussed yesterday, Ragnar wasn’t going to waste his time speaking to her again. He seemed embarrassed to have delivered that message. But Kristen showed none of the anger it was to have sparked. She felt it keenly, she just didn’t show it.

  But she did retaliate in kind by replying, “The only one who might have anything to repeat is your Lord Ragnar. The only thing I have to discuss is his sister—and her new situation.”

  She also added that she would wait five minutes more and not one minute longer, and if Ragnar hadn’t come forth in that time, then he could wait until some other day to find out what had occurred to Erika since last they spoke.

  Kristen pitied Turgeis’s horse, having to support that kind of weight at that speed. But he did ride back to camp at a tearing gallop, and Ragnar was back with him in less than five minutes.

  “I see now why you call Turgeis Ten Feet the ’giant,’ but you should have taken pity on him,” Garrick said beside her. “He only repeated what he was bidden to say.”

  “So?”

  “So he is a man sick with worry over his lady, and with no control over what happens here.”

  “I saw Turgeis break a man’s neck with a slight twist of his hands,” Kristen replied. “Somehow, that does not inspire pity.”

  Garrick grinned at her droll tone. “Yet he is not the one you are annoyed with.”

  “True.” She sighed. “I suppose I could apologize to him—afterward. That is, i
f I have the nerve to get anywhere near him ever again. I tried it once, and would not like to repeat the experience. Up here on the wall, with him down there on the ground, is close enough—”

  She didn’t finish, since Ragnar had arrived. He didn’t come as close this time, which would force them both to shout. And he didn’t look the least bit disturbed over the message she had sent back with Turgeis. Confident was how he looked, and arrogant in his possession of the upper hand.

  “What say you, Lady Kristen?” Ragnar shouted. “And be quick about it.”

  She did say something, a few choice curses that he wasn’t like to hear. Her father pointed out the obvious. “You are whispering.”

  “I know.”

  Ragnar could hear none of it from the distance he had chosen. “Speak up, lady!”

  She put her hands to her mouth as if to shout, and whispered again—for her father’s benefit. “If he thinks I am going to strain my voice just because he has a louder one and is comfortable raising it, he can think again.”

  Garrick had to put a hand to his own mouth to hide his chuckles. Below, Ragnar was holding a hand to his ear, but he still hadn’t been able to catch her words. He tried twice more to get their talk going, but though her lips moved, no sound reached him.

  At last out of patience, he moved his destrier forward, directly below the wall, to demand, “Can you hear me now, Lady Kristen?”

  She leaned slightly forward over the wall so he couldn’t miss her smile. “Certainly, Lord Ragnar. And it was good of you to come. After all, circumstances have changed somewhat since last we spoke.”

  “I thought they might.” Smugness, which grated. “Is my sister being sent out?”

  Kristen’s smile didn’t alter. “Nay, but you may come safely inside now and be welcome.”

  “And what makes that offer any more appealing than when I last rejected it?”

  “We are now related—through marriage.”

  It took him all of two seconds to grasp the meaning of that and explode. “What have you done? If you have forced her to wed him—”

  “On the contrary,” she cut in, her tone still quite pleasant. “Erika looked quite willing to me. But you need not take my word for it. You can ask her yourself.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Likely still abed.” His face went florid at that. Kristen rubbed it in a bit harder. “Did I forget to mention yesterday that your sister and my brother have become enamored of each other?”

  “You spoke only of his revenge.”

  “And would you not agree it was a fine revenge, making her fall in love with him? Unfortunately, he got caught in it himself.”

  “You are lying!”

  “Actually, ’twas just yesterday, before your arrival, that my own mother caught them—well, let us say neither one of them was screaming for help.”

  “Neither one? You would have me believe your brother would object to—!” He could not finish. He was at that moment so exasperated by impotent fury that he could have pulled every one of his hairs out—and strangled Lady Kristen.

  “You may discuss with your sister the how and the why, Lord Ragnar. The fact remains, she is a member of my family now, my own sister-in-law. She was wed last eventide, with much pomp and ceremony. The celebration lasted long into the night. Mayhap you could hear it?”

  He was glaring up at her as if he would like to cut her into little pieces. “She would not marry without my permission,” he gritted out.

  “She did not need yours when she had permission from a king—his insistence, actually.”

  Ragnar flushed several shades of red; then, quite suddenly, all color left him with the implications of that last statement. “The Saxon king is within and you did not tell me?”

  Kristen merely shrugged. “His presence here was unrelated to the issue.”

  Unrelated? He had besieged the King of Wessex. If Guthrum heard of it, Ragnar would know his wrath, and he had this vixen here to thank for that.

  Kristen judged his expression accurately and added, “Alfred was to leave Wyndhurst today. As our two kings are presently on very good terms, I will assume you will likewise wish to keep him from becoming any more involved in this and grant him safe passage.”

  “Certainly,” Ragnar said quickly and with obvious relief. “He may leave at any time.”

  “You might like to assure him of that yourself when you come inside. And I suppose I must repeat, you may do so safely now, because of our new relationship. However, if you are still distrustful, my younger brother Thorall has volunteered to come out to abide in your camp the while you visit with your sister. I would have offered to be hostage for you myself, but my husband is a jealous man. He would not permit me to go among so many Vikings. So what say you, Ragnar Haraldsson?”

  “Open your gates, lady.”

  Chapter 32

  “TELL ME HOW he forced you.”

  Those were Ragnar’s first words to Erika after he had squeezed the breath from her in their mutual hugging. Hers had been, “I think you should not have left me home alone this time.” But then, she was so close to tears, she had to say something that might make him laugh. It didn’t work.

  They had been given the privacy of the small chapel. She had joined him there immediately she was told of his presence. But she had never gotten around to giving any thought to what she would tell him. She had instead been so immersed in thoughts of her husband that she had even forgotten there was a possibility she might speak with Ragnar today.

  The tears remained near the surface and likely would, because she was so happy to see Ragnar. She had begun to think she never would again. But there was her confusion, too, and she couldn’t even speak of it to him. And there was his concern, so evident, and knowing she must lie to him. She had never had to lie to him before.

  She led him to one of the pews to sit with her, and took his hands in hers before she said, with as much conviction as she could manage, “I was not forced.”

  “Erika—”

  “Nay, hear me out. I considered many things, even that you wanted a strong alliance for me, and this one is indeed that. His brother-in-law is a warrior lord here, and a friend of the Saxon king. His father is a rich merchant prince. His uncle is a powerful jarl in Norway, and he himself commands many men, every one a Viking warrior. For an alliance, brother, you could not have hoped for better.”

  “I would not have sacrificed you for it!”

  “I know, and I do not feel I have sacrificed myself. Ragnar, if I did not want to marry the man, I would have refused.”

  Sweet Freya, why did that sound so true? And why didn’t he simply believe her, instead of still looking so doubtful? She found out why.

  “Turgeis told me all that happened. This man took you to harm you.”

  “But he never did, and I—” She lowered her head, hoping he would just think her embarrassed to admit, “I have come to care for him.”

  “Why?”

  The directness of that question caught her off guard. She almost laughed. She did grin. A woman would never have asked that.

  She answered by asking, “Have you not met him?”

  “Met him?” Ragnar growled. “I saved his miserable life in the last war.”

  Her expression turned incredulous, and rightly so. “How is that possible? He fought with the Danes?”

  “He was with the Saxons,” Ragnar said in disgust. “Helmeted, with Danish coming from his lips. I assumed—wrongly. Even when I saw that black hair of his after I had dragged him from the field and bandaged his wounds, I still thought him a Dane. And he let me think it. I knew no differently until I saw him again yesterday.”

  Yesterday. Selig knew yesterday it was her brother he owed his life to, and still he threatened him? Had that been a bluff, too?

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell all when it occurred to her that what could have been a bluff yesterday might not be one now. There was a very great difference, after all, between letting go a prison
er and letting go a wife. If her brother insisted on a fight, and he would if he knew the truth, Selig would meet him. And she hated to admit it, but Ragnar, even at six feet, was a much smaller man. Ragnar facing Selig would be like Selig facing Turgeis. The outcomes were almost guaranteed. She still had to lie.

  He lifted her chin in his palm to draw her attention back to him. “What has my meeting him to do with your caring for him, Erika?”

  “You must admit he is a fine-looking man. I find it difficult to take my eyes off him when he is near me.” That much was perfectly true, which was probably why her cheeks started glowing when she added, “His attraction is quite powerful.” That, unfortunately, was also true.

  “You are saying you married the man because of his handsomeness?”

  She hated putting herself in with that shallow group who cared only for looks, but Ragnar might better accept that as a reason for such sudden “caring.” So she settled for merely elaborating on that point, and it helped that she could be truthful about it.

  “His handsomeness began the attraction, which I felt when I first saw him at Gronwood. It was because of it that I was so rattled I lost my temper and ordered him lashed. You cannot begin to know how much I regret that.” And that was especially true. “Now, did you find a wife?”

  He frowned at her change of topic and waved it aside. “I cannot think of that now.”

  “But I need to think of something other than this. Did you?”

  He pounced. “So you are upset?”

  “I am upset by your upset,” she insisted, and suddenly the words flowed from her without any difficulty. “I know you did not come here and expect to find me wed and willingly so, but, Ragnar, I simply could not help falling in love with this man. I tried to resist it. Selig tried, too. He wanted so much to hate me. And it endeared him to me, that he tried so hard, but could not. He wanted revenge, aye. That is the reason I was taken. But he found he is incapable of exacting revenge from a woman. Can you imagine his frustration, to end up in love with me instead?”