“She is in the first of the carts,” the boy replied. “With a holy man.”
Tormod dismissed the boy, who ran off to spread the word.
Less than half an hour later, the procession of carts trundled into the pass.
“Lord Cadell?” Tormod called to the group.
“Lord Cadell sends his deepest regrets.” A tall man, whom Tormod recognised as Cadell’s steward, rode towards them. “I am his steward, Rhydderch—Lord Cadell has sent me in his stead.”
When Tormod didn’t react, Rhydderch halted his horse and inclined his head towards Tormod in a show of some respect, although Tormod suspected it was not heartfelt.
“I bring everything that was agreed,” Rhydderch assured him. “Lord Cadell’s presence was not promised in the agreement.”
“Bring forward my bride,” Tormod demanded, signalling to his men to check the items in the carts.
“Lady Aoife!” Rhydderch called.
Tormod saw a figure in a pale dress stand up. She climbed down from a cart, followed by a man dressed in dark robes. One of the Christian priests, no doubt sent to marry them. He waited, forcing them to come to him, noticing the priest didn’t touch or help the girl, even though she was clearly exhausted and frightened. Had they travelled all night without allowing her to rest? She was dressed all in white, her hair covered by a veil. She looked like one of the Christian God’s followers. Weren’t those women forbidden from marrying and kept from men all their lives? Was this the joke Cadell and Lady Ula had shared?
Tormod couldn’t quite work out at whose expense the joke had been played. An untouched woman, kept from other men, was not a disadvantage as far as he was concerned. Although, he had heard rumours that sometimes women were sent to the church asa result of their indiscretions. He would need to ensure she was not going to lumber him with another man’s child. He needed an heir — his own son, this time — and if he found this to be the case, he would return her to her father.
At any rate, his worries about his bride having some kind of affliction were at least appeased. When he got close enough to see her face, he smiled. Despite her pallor and the slenderness of her figure, she seemed hale and whole. Her eyes were a strange shade of blue and a few wisps of red hair curled around the sides of her face. She was pretty. He would grant her that—maybe not beautiful, but certainly not the hideous troll he had begun to imagine.
When her gaze came to rest on him, her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath, then it slid to the ground. Her hands trembled, and he fought an urge to reassure her. He would show no weakness in front of Cadell’s men. Besides, he had made a terrible mistake before, when he had allowed his feelings for a woman to cloud his judgment. He had sworn to himself he would not do that again.
“My lord.” The priest gestured for Tormod to move forward, which he did.
Tormod stretched one hand out towards the girl, but she merely stared at him. Then, at a word from the priest, she let him take her hands and lift them to his lips. Her hands were cold, and she was shivering. He waited for her to meet his gaze. When she did, he saw fear in her eyes. He smiled at her. Her fear would soon pass when she came to understand the status and riches he was offering her.
Keeping his gaze on hers, he kissed her fingers. “I am Tormod, jarl of the Norse settlers here. I am pleased to welcome you as my bride.” When she smiled shyly at him and nodded, he turned to the priest. “We are ready.”
The priest hurried through what seemed to pass for a marriage ceremony, then scurried back to where his cart stood and took up his seat again.
“Everything is there,herre,” one of his men reported.
“Very well,” said Tormod. “Send our carters forward.”
Within a few minutes, Tormod’s carters were seated in all but the first of the carts. The holy man was seated in that one and it had turned to face back towards Cadell’s lands, ready to return.
Rhydderch nodded at Tormod, then all the Britons turned and left, the holy man’s cart trundling along behind the mounted guards, the remaining carters walking at the rear. No one even spared a backward glance at the girl. Was no one here concerned for her well-being? His sense of distrust returned. Was she really Lord Cadell’s daughter? He examined her while her gaze remained fixed on the disappearing carts. Yes, he thought so. The set of her jaw and the line of her nose were certainly similar enough, although her eyes… her eyes were unlike any he’d seen before. He squeezed her hands. She turned to him, appearing no less frightened than she’d been a moment ago, and her steps were hesitant as he led her across to his own cart. He lifted her into it, ignoring her look of surprise, and settled himself beside her.
“We will be home soon,” he promised her. “And there will be a proper wedding tonight. You may rest beforehand.”
He had meant the comment to cheer her; instead, it made her recoil from him. At least it seemed likely she was a virgin, nervous about what would happen after the wedding. Unless… And now he let his own fears colour his thinking. Was she already planning to betray him? No, that was unfair. Not all women were as treacherous as his first wife, and this time he would be watching for signs of deception. His traitorous heart would not hide the truth from him again.
Chapter Four
Aoife glanced over atthe man she’d been given to. Her new husband. A sliver of fear crept down her spine. Everything about him was different from the men of her previous acquaintance. He wore a helmet, as did all his men, so she couldn’t see his face properly. He was taller, tanned from time spent outdoors. His blond hair was long and braided tightly down his back, his beard braided as well. His ruggedness contrasted directly with the more pampered nobles she knew, who often expected their men to do their fighting for them. This man was clearly a warrior, broad-shouldered and strong. He’d lifted her easily into the cart and had many scars on his face and hands, presumably from battle.
She’d only ever seen men of his people. What were their women like? Would she be accepted as his wife, or even more ostracised than she had been in the past? Would she even live long enough to find out?
She couldn’t stop shaking and her gut churned with an odd mix of fear and anger at being married off to a man she’d never met. A man whose people had attacked their lands for years, killing indiscriminately and sacking the monasteries over and over. How could her father have agreed to this?
She clenched her fists and frowned. A marriage arranged to suit her father’s purposes was only to be expected. However, until now, she’d always assumed she would have the option of refusinga suitor. And to be sent to live amongst the Norsemen? These men were strangers to her country. Men who had killed so many of her fellow Britons, including their king, and kept others as slaves, people whose language she didn’t even know. What would become of her?
He must have felt her gaze on him, because he turned to look at her. And smiled. She glanced away and then back. It had been a pleasant smile. Perhaps he didn’t intend to kill her immediately.
She sighed. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had simply smiled at her. As the daughter of a lord, she should have expected more from her life. However, fate had never been on her side. Not since her mother had died. Hesitantly, she smiled back at him. He reached for her hand and took it in his own. Their eyes met, and she found herself unable to look away.
