Annis laughed. ‘You know as well as I that Eadward is happiest on his farm. He goes whole days without so much as a word to anyone. He would not be happy as a ruler.’ Then she sobered and took Gwendolyn’s hand. ‘Perhaps I should’ve said what man who’s travelled weeks and weeks to find you and claim Alvey as his own would turn away now?’
And that was the crux of it. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have come all this way to simply turn around now. Even worse was her strong suspicion that even if he did, Jarl Eirik would only find someone to replace him. Despite what Vidar might want for himself, she knew that Jarl Eirik wanted this land as a barrier between himself and the tribes to the north. And he needed that to happen before the Saxons to the south claimed it for their own. Or that’s how her father had explained it to her from his deathbed.
Gwendolyn just wanted to be left alone and for Alvey to be secluded from the kings to the south and the tribes to the north.
‘You could very well be right, Annis, but I have to try something. How would you feel if Eadward had been taken from you and a strange barbarian forced upon you?’
Annis nodded and her eyes filled with so much sadness and pity that it hurt Gwendolyn to look at them. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her eyes filling up with tears. ‘It should be me, not you. I’m the oldest and this should be my burden.’
‘Oh, Annis.’ Gwendolyn pulled her into a hug, suddenly ashamed that she’d allowed her own fears to make her sister feel guilty. ‘It’s not your fault. I suppose it’s not anyone’s fault.’ As much as she wanted to find someone to blame, it was simply the way things were. ‘I’ll have to figure things out.’
Annis nodded and drew back, wiping at her nose with a kerchief she’d drawn from her sleeve. ‘You will, Gwendolyn. I have great faith in you. You always figure out a way.’
Gwendolyn had not figured out a way. Despite her best efforts, she was stuck in this marriage arrangement. Rodor and Jarl Eirik stood at the table where their tankards of ale had been pushed to the side and the two scrolls stretched out before them. One of them was from the chest in her chamber, and the other had been produced by Jarl Eirik. She could tell from her seat at the head of the table that they were identical even before Rodor stood back and gave her a solemn nod.
Tightening her grip on her tankard, she tossed back the rest of the ale and contemplated how many cups she could drink that night. If she finished off an entire pitcher, would it be enough to make her forget that this was her life now? That these men who sat at her table would be here to stay? That that man...Vidar...would be her husband? Nay, she sincerely doubted there was enough ale in Alvey to make her forget.
‘Well, Lady Gwendolyn, as you can see the documents support my earlier statement. I’m within my rights to replace Magnus with Vidar.’ Jarl Eirik pushed back from where he’d been leaning over the documents to stand beside Rodor.
For all his bluster earlier, Rodor kept his hand resting lightly on the sword at his hip. It was a casual pose, but she realised it for the support it was. If she commanded it, he’d turn on the Danes. He’d hate every moment of it, but he’d do it.
Her gaze went down the length of the table and then further around the large chamber. The candles flickered overhead and a large fire burned in the hearth, illuminating the room while keeping the corners in shadow. All eyes had turned to her and there was a tension in the room that had rarely been present in a home that was so well cared for. She counted roughly three score of the Danes. Her own men numbered nearly that many, but there were more lingering outside. Their women were suspiciously absent from the great chamber on this night, leaving only herself and Annis.
If Gwendolyn called for a fight, then her men would eventually overpower the Danes, though not without some loss of life. If they moved fast enough, they’d even be able to attack the Danes still left in their ships. Though it was anyone’s guess if the Danes would move fast enough to escape on their ships. If they did escape, then they’d return to avenge their Jarl. It might be weeks or months, but they’d come back with hellfire. She was confident in Alvey’s ability to withstand a siege, but she had no real idea of how many Danes they’d come back with. It would be a risk.
If she went through with the marriage and allowed Jarl Eirik to leave in peace, she’d still be able to attack the men he left behind. A year...maybe more would pass before he realised something was amiss, but eventually he’d send a contingent of men and he’d see what she had done. Then Alvey would still need to contend with the hellfire he’d rain down upon them. And she’d have to face the fact that she’d killed her own husband in cold blood.
Neither option was very appealing. Both of them would lead to the deaths of at least a few of her men. What Rodor had said earlier rang true. A true leader must put everyone else first.
Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she said, ‘Aye, Jarl Eirik, I can see that you are within your rights.’ She studiously avoided looking at Vidar, who was still seated near his brother’s side. He’d yet to weigh in with his opinion and she couldn’t take the smirk she was sure to find on his face. ‘I’d like to know why the substitution was necessary.’ Would Magnus have been any better than Vidar?
The Jarl inclined his head as if he’d expected the enquiry, but his grimace made her think he wasn’t completely pleased with having to relay the information. ‘Magnus is the leader of Thornby, our most powerful settlement. He was injured in battle and a Saxon woman took him in and healed him. After his stay in her village, he was able to quell a rebellion by the Saxons and decided to marry the woman. I felt his influence there was necessary for peace in the area.’
Gwendolyn wondered if the woman had agreed to the marriage, or if she’d had it thrust upon her, but she kept silent.
Jarl Eirik continued, ‘I chose Vidar to replace him because I trust him to see to Alvey’s protection. He’s learned everything he knows at my side.’
Finally, Gwendolyn allowed her gaze to move to Vidar, who was sitting at the table. He leaned back in his chair with an ankle propped on one knee, almost indolent in his regard of the situation. There was nothing for Gwendolyn to do but nod her acceptance of the Jarl’s explanation.
Jarl Eirik smiled. It crinkled the sun-bronzed skin around his eyes and made him seem genuinely good natured rather than smug. ‘Good, then let’s move ahead to talk about the ceremony.’ He took his seat and reached for the ale he’d pushed to the side. Rodor walked around the table and sat down across from him, taking the vacant seat next to Annis. ‘Unless you’d prefer a substitution of your own?’ he asked after Rodor had seated himself.
‘What do you mean?’ Gwendolyn asked.
‘Your father calls for his daughter to wed my best man. He doesn’t specify which one.’ Jarl Eirik’s gaze wandered across the table to where Annis sat with her back ramrod straight. Her fingers were laced together in front of her, but her knuckles had turned white because she’d clasped them together so hard. The colour had drained from her face as soon as she’d sat down at the table with the men. She was obviously afraid. Gwendolyn was suddenly very glad that she was the one who had to deal with this. If it were Annis, she feared her sister wouldn’t survive it.
Forcing a smile, Gwendolyn said, ‘I’m afraid that I’m the only daughter available for the task.’
‘Then I’m a lucky man.’ Vidar spoke for the first time since they’d started this meeting. His voice was deep but smooth and pleasing to the ear. It matched his appearance. He was well groomed with fine features and she suspected that he left a trail of admirers wherever he went. But it would take more than surface charm to win him any favours here.
Gwendolyn met his gaze and found that he was indeed as amused as she’d thought he might be. Though he wasn’t smirking, his eyes were lit with some inner light that told her he found the situation amusing.