The Warrior's Runaway Wife

To Elrik’s surprise, the old man stomped a foot and slapped his knee as he howled with laughter. Wiping tears from his eyes, he said between gasps for breath, ‘Oh, that’s a good one that is. What would I do with a wife at my age?’

‘I suppose the same things you did with Agnes.’

‘You are younger than you appear, aren’t you?’ The man reached across the table to throw a half-hearted punch at Elrik’s shoulder. ‘Trust me, boy, twenty or thirty years from now you’ll see things differently.’

Elrik resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘You misunderstood me. I meant things like sharing a meal, or a conversation around the fire and a soft warm body to lie against in bed. Nothing more.’

‘I’d not bring another woman to Agnes’s bed. No.’

The woman in the green over-gown came back down the stairs and approached the table. ‘Edward, give her but a few moments to get ready and then you can go up. It’s the room on the end. Just knock, she’ll be waiting.’

The man turned to the others gathered and raised his mug. ‘You owe me, boys.’

Elrik knew the man had just won the wager over who would be the first to visit the new woman’s room. Too bad he wasn’t about to let that happen—at least not until he discovered if this woman was Brandr’s daughter or not.

Needing to get upstairs without drawing unwanted attention, he asked the woman in green, ‘Any of the ladies free at the moment?’

She looked him up and down and then smiled. ‘For someone like you, they’ll fight over the honour. Do you have any preferences?’

The old man answered, ‘He likes them red-haired and lusty.’

‘That settles it then. The second door on the right will be the one you want. She’s free right now.’

Elrik rose and shot a glance towards Fulke, giving him the slightest nod in the direction of the stairs. He then took his leave of the old man. ‘I trust you’ll enjoy your evening.’

‘As will you, I’m sure.’

He approached the stairs, pausing by Samuel, his other guard, and gave him the same slight nod towards the stairs. While he was above trying to determine whether this woman was Brandr’s daughter or not, his men would make their way closer to the bottom of the stairs. They would then be near at hand if he ran into any trouble.

Elrik took the steps two at a time and quickly traversed the length of the corridor, stopping in front of the last door. Careful to keep his knock soft as an old man might, he tapped on the door.

‘Enter.’

He pushed open the door and approached the bed in the dimly lit room. As stiff as a board upon the bed, the young woman had the covers pulled up to her chin. She held fast to the edge of the blankets with a grip that turned her knuckles white. Hair the colour of night was spread out atop the pillow beneath her head. She kept her eyes tightly closed.

This was no experienced whore. It was only a guess, but he was fairly certain he’d just found Brandr’s missing daughter. He leaned over the bed and whispered, ‘Lady Avelyn, your little adventure is over, get up.’

Her eyes sprang open at the same time her lips parted. He clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Do not force me to carry you from here naked. I doubt your father would approve.’

She shook her head, then wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged.

Elrik lifted his hand slightly, giving her room to talk, but keeping his palm close enough to cover any scream should she decide to do so.

‘I am not going home.’

Had the appearance of her icy-blue eyes not given her identity away, her comment confirmed his suspicion. His guess had been correct—this was indeed Brandr’s daughter. He knelt on the bed and loomed over her. ‘The old man you are waiting for will be up here in mere moments. I am not letting you share a bed with him.’

If he did anything that witless, King David would be offering up a special serving of wolf’s head—his—on a platter at the next banquet.

‘So, either you get up and get dressed or I’ll pull you from the bed and dress you myself.’

To his amazement, she hesitated as if debating some third option he’d not given her.

Elrik leaned closer to disabuse her of the idea. ‘It is simple. Get up and dressed on your own, or I will see to both myself. Either way, you are getting out of that bed and you are getting dressed.’

When she narrowed her eyes at him, he had the feeling that she was preparing to argue. Which was something they had no time for at the moment. He grabbed the blankets and tore them from her grasp.

She squeaked and crossed her arms against her chest, trying to cover herself.

‘Unless you possess a third breast, you have nothing I’ve not seen before.’ He took hold of her wrists. ‘I have no time for your false show of sudden modesty. Get up.’

‘I am not a whore.’

He knew she wasn’t. She might be Brandr’s bastard daughter, but he knew that until this unfortunate event, she was far too valuable for him not to have kept a tight control over her upbringing. As the man’s only daughter, there would have been little opportunity for her to have become a whore. But the fact was that he’d found her in bed, naked, in a known brothel and she was going to debate her position? Elrik pulled her up from the bed. ‘We can argue that later. Where are your clothes?’

She nodded towards the window. He released her, pausing to say, ‘Do not run and do not scream.’

He then retrieved a chemise and tunic from a bench beneath the window. Pushing the clothing against her chest, he ordered, ‘Get dressed.’

Instead of doing as he bid, she stood there, holding the clothing, and stared at him. ‘I am not going with you.’

A twinge of tension started behind his eyes. He hadn’t wanted this mission to begin with. However, he was certain that if he didn’t deliver her to King David, his lands and life would be in grave danger.

His temples throbbed. David should have sent one of his younger brothers on this task. Either one—Rory or Edan—would have been a better choice than him. At least they had the patience and temperament to deal with women in a much kinder and gentler manner than he.

His deceased wife had taught him well that women were untrustworthy liars and good for only one thing—the getting of children—and, as in Muriel’s case, sometimes not even that.

Elrik jerked the clothes out of her hands. After gathering the skirt of the chemise in his hands, he dropped it over her head. Keeping his attention directed at the fabric beneath his fingers instead of the pale smoothness of her skin, or the dips and swells of her comely body, he tugged the chemise down to cover her.

He then did the same with her tunic, leaving the laces hanging, before pushing her down on to the bed to squat before her and drag the stockings over her feet and legs, then slipped on a pair of soft boots.

Elrik placed his hands on her knees. ‘I like this no more than you. But I am charged with taking you to Carlisle. You can argue this arranged marriage of yours with King David.’

She shook her head and crossed her arms before her as if the action would grant her some type of protection.

‘I warn you, Lady Avelyn, I have little patience for childish behaviour from anyone but children. It will go better for you if you come willingly as an adult ready to calmly debate this marriage arrangement, rather than being dropped at King David’s feet like an unwilling prisoner. I promise you the King will be less likely to entertain the complaints of a prisoner.’

When she remained seated and did nothing other than look away, he added, ‘I will not ignore my orders, nor will I fail to execute them. You can get up and come with me of your own accord, or I can carry you like a sack of grain.’

That warning got her attention. She stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

In no mood for further delay, Elrik stood up and before she could determine what he was about to do, he hauled her up over his shoulder.

‘All right.’ She pounded her fists on his back. ‘You have proved your point. Put me down.’

He set her on her feet and turned her to face the door. ‘We are leaving. Now.’

Avelyn refused to budge. ‘I owe them for my keep.’