His Captive Bride Page 7

  “It was Thorolf who first broke our laws,” he continued, directing his words to the full council. “He did not wait until the brunette was alone. He attacked a guard who was protecting her and killed him in the street. In full view of dozens of people.”

  A louder ripple of surprise and discussion went through the crowd.

  “Stille! Peace. Let there be peace,” one of the elders said calmly, quieting the throng. “Is this true, Thorolf? Did you use violence apurpose?”

  The knave shook his head, managing to look offended at the very idea. “The guard came at me with sword drawn. I merely defended myself—”

  “Nei, he attacked first, without warning,” Keldan corrected, stepping forward to join the fray. “And he only chose the lady out of spite, because he saw that Hauk and I had stopped to admire her and her friend.”

  Hauk briefly thought to protest that he had not been admiring Avril, but decided it would be better not to dispute any part of Keldan’s explanation.

  He heard knowing whispers going through the crowd behind him. All were well aware of the old animosity between himself and Thorolf. It occurred to him that he had in truth been staring at the little brunette just before Thorolf moved in to take her.

  No doubt the knave had chosen her for that reason alone.

  “Lies,” Thorolf insisted. “I obeyed our laws. I first saw the wench earlier in the day, long before Valbrand or Keldan ever noticed her. I waited until sunset, as we had all agreed, and I claimed her. I used violence only to defend myself against those who tried to stop me—”

  “You used violence because you have a taste for it,” Hauk said in disgust. “It pleases you the way drink pleases some men. You even used violence against a female—”

  This brought so many gasps and exclamations from the crowd, the noise drowned him out.

  “Stille!” another of the elders commanded. “Let there be peace!”

  “It is true,” Hauk insisted, gesturing to Avril. “When she tried to rescue her friend, Thorolf struck her so hard he broke her jaw.”

  The crowd erupted in noise again. Avril, who had been glancing worriedly from one speaker to the next, seemed to realize the conversation had taken a sudden turn in her direction.

  “What are you saying?” she demanded of Hauk with wide, frightened eyes. “What is going—”

  “It is my word or theirs.” Thorolf spoke over her. “And Keldan has just admitted that the brunette was in my hands before he interfered. I have been wronged. I ask that either my claim to this woman be recognized”—he indicated the English girl, who stood whispering prayers and trembling—”or that Keldan be required to return the female he stole from me.”

  Keldan looked thunder-struck, devastated at the possibility that his charming little brunette might be taken from him.

  Hauk quickly came to his friend’s assistance. “Mine eldrer, you have more than our word. There were two other witnesses.” He nodded to Avril and her friend. “Ask the women themselves. They cannot understand what has been said, and they have no reason to lie about Thorolf’s actions.”

  The elders gathered for a moment to discuss this suggestion among themselves. One of them who spoke French came over to stand before Keldan’s lady. Keldan immediately returned to hover possessively at her side.

  “We have need of your help, ma demoiselle,” the elder said with a bow, his voice gentle and his expression warm. “Tell me, if you would be so kind, what is your name?”

  The girl looked astonished to find herself suddenly addressed in her native tongue. She glanced over at Avril, seeking guidance.

  Avril shook her head, clearly opposed to offering help of any kind. Hauk frowned at her.

  But the brunette seemed to see no harm in revealing her name. “J-Josette.”

  “Merci, Josette. And could you also tell me, when did you first see this man in Antwerp?” He pointed to Thorolf.

  She cringed away from the black-haired giant who stared at her—only to bump into Keldan. But she did not protest the protective arm Kel draped around her shoulders.

  “When... when he grabbed me.” She shuddered visibly. “At the fair.”

  “You had not seen him before that?”

  She shook her head. “Nay.”

  “We would have noticed a man of his size,” Avril put in. “He does not blend easily into a crowd.”

  “Do not interrupt,” Hauk chided, though it occurred to him that he had just done the same thing, speaking out of turn to help a friend.

  “Nay, Valbrand, I would hear from her, as well,” the elder said easily. “Tell me, ma demoiselle, did Thorolf hurt you?”

  “Aye, he...” Avril paused, lifting a hand to her cheek, her gaze on Thorolf’s massive fists. “He struck me so hard, I fell to the ground. The pain was so great that I thought my jaw was—”

  “Fortunately, the injury has healed,” Hauk finished for her.

  “Merci, mes demoiselles.” Bowing to each, the elder returned to translate the women’s answers to the other thirteen, while Thorolf stood waiting impatiently.

  Avril remained very still, her fingers on her cheek. “But my jaw was broken,” she whispered. “I am sure of it. He hit me after I wounded him.” Blinking, she stared at Thorolf’s right arm. “With my knife.”

  Hauk shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of how he was going to explain that away. Thorolf was close enough that she could see clearly there was no injury to his arm.

  His skin was unmarred. There was no scar. No mark at all.

  “The wound must not have been as serious as you thought,” Hauk said casually.

  “But it was,” she insisted. “His blood was all over my gown—”

  “It was twilight.” Hauk had burned the garment this morn, hoping she would forget that particular detail of the incident. “The shadows play odd tricks at that time of day.”

  “But—”

  “Silence. The elders have reached their decision.”

  Avril quieted—more out of shock, Hauk guessed, than any newfound obedience. By all the gods, the quick-witted demoiselle was adding up the evidence before her eyes much too swiftly.

  As the elders reclaimed their places, she even thought to look at her palm, which she had cut on a shard of glass in his vaningshus not an hour ago.

  Already it was completely healed. There was no mark of the injury. No blood, no scar, not even a scratch.

  Her mouth dropped open in a round O of disbelief.

  If she thought to notice, he thought sourly, she might see that the scratches her nails had inflicted on his face were gone as well.

  ’Twas something she would have to grow accustomed to in her new life here on Asgard.

  One of many things.

  “We have reached our decision,” Erik announced. “Stille. Let there be peace.”

  A tense hush fell over the crowd. For once, his uncle did not indulge in a long-winded oration, simply stating the judgment flatly.

  “Keldan was indeed wrong to take the woman Josette when Thorolf already had her in his hold.”

  Keldan uttered a strangled sound. Hauk bit back a curse.

  “But Thorolf committed the more serious offense,” Erik continued, “by killing the guard instead of waiting until the girl was alone. He engaged in wanton violence, endangered the lives of others in his traveling party, and risked bringing unwanted, dangerous attention to the peaceful people of Asgard.”

  Thorolf shot a simmering glare at Hauk and Avril, looking wrathful enough to kill them both for having thwarted him again.

  Without even thinking, Hauk stepped in front of her, obeying an instinct to protect her.

  “Keldan may keep the woman Josette,” Erik announced, “and Thorolf is also denied any right to the female that Bjarn had claimed.”

  “Nei!” Thorolf shouted, his face awash in disbelief. “I risked as much in the voyage as the others. Am I to have naught to show for it?”

  “Be grateful the punishment is so light,” one of the other elders
said, his voice and his gaze cool. “And do not risk our ire further. Using violence against a female proves you unfit to be a husband. Bjarn’s woman shall be free to choose a mate from among those men of Asgard who are unmarried. She will not be given to you, Thorolf.”

  Glowering at them, Thorolf started to say more, then apparently thought the better of it. With a curse, he turned on his heel and stalked away, shoving a path through the crowd.

  Keldan looked like he would melt from relief.

  The English girl opened her eyes, blinking in wonderment at Thorolf’s abrupt departure. She stopped muttering prayers, as if they had just been answered.

  But as Hauk watched Thorolf stalk away into the night, he had the gut-churning feeling that the most troublesome malcontent among them had just been rendered even more dangerous.

  The elders resumed the interrupted ceremony, Storr bringing over the chest of brooches, Erik moving to stand before the next man in line, while another elder came to lead the English girl away, quietly speaking to her in her native tongue.

  The seventh bride, the Italian firebrand, was not nearly as accepting of her new status as the others had been. Once told in her language what was happening, she became even angrier, kicking and screaming. Her unfortunate groom, Gareth, had to take his vows quickly, then carry her off over his shoulder, his new wife pounding on his back.

  Hauk sighed wearily, afraid he had just gotten an advance look at his own evening.

  And then it was Keldan’s turn. Beaming, he took Josette’s hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her fingers.

  Poor fool. He already looked to be half in love.

  The elder who spoke French returned to tell the little brunette what was to happen—and though he spoke softly, Avril picked out just enough words to understand at last.

  Eyes wide with shock, she turned to Hauk. “This is some sort of wedding ceremony?”

  That, apparently, was the last guess she would have made.

  “Aye, milady. I am surprised you did not deduce it sooner.” He arched one brow. “Did you think we savage Norsemen meant to devour you in some heathen sacrifice here under the moon?”

  Color rose in her cheeks as she gaped at him—and astonishment seemed to have stolen her voice.

  Her friend burst into tears, evidently less than pleased to hear that she would be spending her future here with Keldan.

  But naught could dampen Kel’s spirits as he fulfilled his part of the ritual.

  “Ja,” he said eagerly when it came to the traditional questions. “Jeg gjor. I will.”

  With a broad smile, he pinned the silver brooch to Josette’s gown, though she tried to bat his hands away, sobbing.

  “Let it be known to all that this is Josette,” he said gently, “wife of Keldan.”

  Avril’s numb shock had given way to panic by the time Erik and Storr reached them. Hauk had to hold her with both hands to keep her from bolting.

  “Nay! Let go of me!” She shook her head wildly, not even listening as the French-speaking elder explained.

  “Ma demoiselle, you have been brought here to be this man’s wife, and will live here with him the rest of your days—”

  “Nay.” She kept twisting, trying to break free. “I cannot. I will not! You cannot mean to keep me here forever. You cannot—”

  “Avril, you will not be harmed.” Hauk tried to subdue her as gently as he could, her terrified words striking him like darts. “You have a new life here.”

  “... Though you will never see your homeland again, you will know no hunger, no illness, no want—”

  “Nay!” she shouted, clenching her fists. “You have no right to do this! You—” As if an idea had struck, she suddenly raised her bound hands, showing them the gold band that gleamed on her left ring finger. “I-I am already married!”

  Hauk had noticed the ring this morn, when he undressed her.

  But the fact that she already had a husband changed nothing.

  He turned her to face him, holding her by the shoulders. “It matters not, milady. You are mine now.”

  Defiance blazed in her eyes, so hot he felt it sear through him like a torch. “Never,” she spat. “I will never be yours! I will not stay here!”

  His uncle Erik began the traditional questions. “Hauk, you have risked all to bring this woman to Asgard, and we now recognize her as yours...”

  He forced away the memories that slashed at him.

  “... On your oath of honor, do you accept her life and her safety as your responsibility?”

  Avril bared her teeth, as if she longed to fasten them on his throat.

  “Will you see to her needs and her happiness, and protect and care for her all the days of her life?”

  “Ja,” he grated out reluctantly. “Jeg gjor. I will.”

  His uncle handed him the pearl-encrusted silver brooch, adding an unexpected phrase he had not said to any of the others. “May she bear you many fine sons and bring you happiness.”

  Hauk did not reveal the surprise he felt at his uncle’s good wishes. Nor did he correct his error.

  Hauk did not want this defiant demoiselle to bring him happiness. Or any other emotion.

  And she would bear him neither sons nor daughters—for he had no intention of bedding her.

  “Let it be known to all that this is Avril.” He pinned the brooch to her gown as she glared up at him with green eyes full of fury. “Wife of Hauk.”

  Chapter 6

  Avril stood in the entrance of Valbrand’s darkened keep, her blood seething with outrage, her rapid breaths unnaturally loud in the silence. Flickering points of fire began to illuminate the long chamber, one by one. Her captor was slowly lighting candles, his boot steps echoing on the stone floor.

  The cloth gag in her mouth prevented her from voicing any more of the choice words she had shouted when he carried her away from the althing. By nails and blood, if this arrogant Norseman thought he was actually her husband now, if he was under the delusion that he was about to enjoy a wedding night...

  She twisted her hands, trying to loosen the leather thongs that bound her. He only bothered to light a few candles before returning to her side—the silver flash of a dagger in his hand.

  The gag muffled her cry. But she stood her ground, summoned all her courage, and glared up at him. Curling her fingers into fists, she prepared to defend her virtue to her last breath.

  His jaw was clenched, his pale-blue eyes unreadable. And he towered over her at a height that suddenly seemed as great as the cliffs above the ocean.

  Yet when he lifted the knife toward her, he only sliced through the bindings that tied her hands, setting her free.

  Avril choked out a muted exclamation of disbelief.

  When he raised the blade again, her gaze snapped up to meet his.

  But he merely reached for the gag—then paused, as if reconsidering.

  “Milady,” he said, his voice low and rough, “let us strike a bargain. I am damnably tired and I would prefer not to spend any more time arguing this night. I want naught but to go to bed—”

  With a muffled squeak of fear, she kicked him in the shin.

  He dropped the knife, hobbling back a step. “Alone,” he added with an annoyed scowl, scooping up the dagger before she could grab for it. “I meant alone. I want only sleep. In truth, you may take the bed. I will make a place on the floor.”

  Avril could not believe her ears. She flinched away when he reached for her again. Inhaled sharply when the cold edge of the blade pressed against her cheek.

  Yet he surprised her a second time, cutting through the cloth that had rendered her mute. Before she could even exhale, he returned the dagger to its sheath on his belt and walked away from her.

  “What I am asking is that we declare a truce between us,” he said in that same gruff voice. “At least for the rest of the night.”

  Avril blinked at him, reaching up with tingling fingers to remove the bits of cloth from her mouth. She spat out a mou
thful of fuzz, not taking her eyes from his broad, muscled back as he strode toward the bed.

  He took a pillow and blanket and returned to this side of the chamber, dropping them in the far corner. Avril felt so confused she could not coax her tongue to form words.

  Gallantry was the last thing she had expected from him.

  “In the morn,” he continued, opening a nearby trunk and taking out another pillow, “I will explain more to you about the island and our ways. You will fare well here, Avril. Now that you have been recognized as my wife, everyone will—”

  “Norseman,” she choked out, finally gathering her wits enough to interrupt him. “Allow me to make something clear to you. I am not your wife and I am not staying here.”

  He sighed, letting the chest’s lid fall with a solid thwack. “Aye, unfortunately for me,” he said, “you are, and you will be.”

  Avril glared at him across the firelit darkness. She could throttle the man. Happily. Surely God would forgive her.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to make him see reason. “Listen to me, Hauk Valbrand,” she said as politely as she could manage. “It is obvious that you do not want me here. And we both know that I do not want to be here. There is a simple solution to our problems. Let me go home.”

  With an oath, he tossed the pillow into the corner, hanging his head. He raked one hand through his hair, the strands pale gold against the dark skin of his tanned shoulders in the candlelight. For a moment, despite all his size and sinew, he looked...

  Worn out. Weary. Spent.

  “I cannot.”

  “Why not?” she demanded in frustration. “It should be a simple enough matter to return me to Antwerp the way we came—”

  “The matter is out of my hands.” He shook his head.

  “Are you afraid I will reveal your secret? Is that why you refuse to let me leave?” She moved toward him. “I swear to you I will not tell anyone.”

  He glanced at her over one brawny shoulder. “Our secret?”

  “That you are Vikings. Hidden away here all these years from a world that hates you. I will not tell anyone about this island. You have my word.”

  He turned to face her. “And I am to trust your word? I am to trust that you would not have a change of heart once you were free? That you would not return here with men-at-arms to take vengeance and ensure we never go raiding again?”