Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Aevar tugged the laces of one of his arm bracers taut, the leather creaking beneath his fingers. He needed something to keep his hands busy while he waited for Kian. His father and brothers were already occupied with their own tasks, and the silence in the lean-to made the waiting worse.
A chill breeze swept in beneath the canvas.
Not as biting as the river he’d bathed in at dawn, but sharp enough to draw a shiver.
The icy plunge had shocked his thoughts clean for a time.
But now the weight of what lay ahead settled in the forefront of his mind, heavy with the kind of uncertainty that made a man itch for battle.
Better to face it head-on than circle it with dread.
Footsteps squelched toward the shelter, and Kian appeared, boots muddy.
Aevar straightened. “Did any of them fit her?”
Kian held up one ring while laying the rest on a pile of furs for the men to reclaim. They were generous to have offered them.
“Good, here’s mine.” Aevar handed the silver band to Kian. “Keep it safe, or Erik will have your hide.”
“Will do.” Kian tucked both rings deep into one of his pockets.
Aevar was honored Erik loaned him his own wedding ring. Though a hair too big, it meant far more borrowing it from him than from any of the other men. Maybe it would bring some of the good fortune Erik had in his marriage.
Kian took over on Aevar’s half-laced bracer. “She asked about you, what sort of man you were.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her you were a real bear. Grouchy all the time…”
Aevar rolled his eyes, though for half a moment, he wasn’t sure he was joking. He was relieved when Kian laughed.
“No, I said you were a good man and wouldn’t harm her. I think it helped settle her nerves a bit. I hope so anyway.”
Good. Aevar had no desire to add fear to her burdens. He’d seen the wide-eyed way she regarded him yesterday. A princess from the soft South had every right to be wary. He didn’t blame her.
“What’s your opinion of her?”
“Well, not that we had much time to talk, but she seems like a nice girl. She wasn’t all weepy or hysterical or anything. Like Braan said, she seems to have some guts, especially for a princess.”
Aevar hoped they were right. A delicate southern woman would have a hard time of it in the harsh wilds of Nordra. “Do you think she’ll be able to handle our way of life?”
“She’ll have to. We all do.”
He was right. Life didn’t bend to comfort; it demanded adaptation.
Kian finished tying off the laces and slapped Aevar on the shoulder. “Maybe she’ll surprise you.”
In a good way, he hoped.
Kian had just tied off the second bracer when the others approached the lean-to. Fathir paused, taking him in. “Are you ready?”
“Nearly.” Aevar reached for his belt holding his sword and seax knife.
Fathir shot a glance toward the pavilion where they’d negotiated yesterday. “We’re about ready to start. I talked with the king and their priest. They’ll keep the ceremony short and simple. Not a bunch of religious yapping. I’ve heard priests like to ramble.”
Aevar nodded. They did not need to draw it out. It wouldn’t have much effect on the marriage either way. That came only in the day to day.
Once he’d buckled his belt, he turned to Kian, who held his cloak for him.
He shrugged it on and faced his father. Now he was ready.
Fathir took a step forward and placed his hands on Aevar’s shoulders.
He said nothing at first. No words were needed at this point.
Reluctance rested on his face, but this wasn’t a death sentence, and Aevar wasn’t the one leaving his home and everything behind.
Finally, Fathir just said, “Let’s get this over with.”
He led the way around the shelter. Erik, Braan, and Kian fell in around Aevar as they headed for the pavilion.
The ten huskarls they’d brought with them milled about and offered him encouraging nods as he passed.
They’d soon finish packing up camp. By the time he returned, it would be like they’d never been here at all.
As they neared the pavilion, his heartbeat elevated the way it did in the final moments before a battle.
He hoped this wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life.
With something as significant as an alliance attached to it, he could not escape if things turned sour.
Gods, he prayed she wasn’t an unreasonable sort of woman he’d have to contend with for the rest of his days.
When they stepped into the pavilion, the princess was not yet present.
Only the priest and a handful of Essian soldiers, including the man who had challenged him yesterday.
Their eyes locked, and if only a look could kill, Aevar would have been on the ground bleeding out.
That glare hadn’t softened overnight, and he held the piercing stare for a long moment.
He would have enjoyed testing himself against this warrior had the princess not intervened.
He shifted his attention to the priest. Before today, he’d only ever seen a dead one, face down in the Talta mud after a Kalgoran raid.
That man had worn simple brown robes. This one, however, wore fine white linen trimmed in gold.
A large, jewel-encrusted cross hung heavily on his chest. He might have made an impressive sight where he came from, but here, mud spattered the robes from hem to knees, marring the image.
The man’s long face pinched as he peered down his nose at Aevar.
At least as best he could, given they were the same height.
Erik would have accomplished the feat much better, standing as tall as the scowling Essian warrior who still tried to kill Aevar with his gaze.
Aevar couldn’t help himself and gave the priest a slow, insolent smirk.
The one he used to annoy his brothers. Sure enough, the priest recoiled, lips curled in contempt.
So much for Christians loving their enemies.
Beside him, Braan stifled a snort, and Erik let his gaze drift over the priest in the cool and dismissive way he’d perfected as the eldest. Aevar contemplated leaning over to ask Kian if all priests were like this. After all, the Talts were Christian, or so they claimed.
“Stand here.”
The priest’s thin voice drew Aevar’s attention back to him. The man pointed at a spot to his left as if Aevar were a wayward child. Aevar stepped forward, raising an eyebrow. The priest huffed. What did he have to be so uptight about?
As much fun as tormenting the man turned out to be, the mood changed in an instant when the priest straightened and focused on something beyond the pavilion.
Aevar turned to find the king approaching, his sister on his arm.
Their smooth-talking adviser followed behind.
All thoughts of mischief flew out of Aevar’s head as his heart gave a heavy thump.
He never thought he’d see another woman as his bride.
She kept her head bent as she approached, though stole glances his way.
She walked with a steady, accepting pace, not like she was being dragged to the ceremony.
If anything, her brother’s steps marked reluctance.
A shame the heavy woolen cloak she wore hid her shapely figure he hadn’t failed to notice yesterday, but he stopped his thoughts there. Best not to go down that road until he knew what sort of relationship theirs would be. He wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge the draw of another woman anyway.
He did notice the way her dark hair fell long and soft around her shoulders, tempting him to bury his fingers in it.
But the thought of that and the memories it stirred cut painfully into his chest, bringing such observations to an end.
Today they were bound only by political arrangement.
The future was something he had no desire to consider right now.
The princess and the king crossed the remaining distance, and when they reached the gathering, she faced her brother.
He clasped her shoulders, and a silent exchange passed between them.
She attempted a smile before they parted.
The king and his adviser took a stand with their men while the princess turned and took the spot in front of Aevar.
Here she met his eyes but broke away almost immediately. He caught each shallow, deliberate breath she took. Though her face was dry, moisture clung to her lashes. He supposed that was to be expected. She showed her courage by hiding her tears here.
He let his gaze wander over the rest of her face.
He’d spied them yesterday, but now that he studied her more thoroughly, he counted three light scars skimming the soft flesh of her cheek and another threading down through her lips toward her chin.
They didn’t detract from her beauty, but how might a princess have come by such wounds? Maybe she’d tell him one day.
The priest cleared his throat, interrupting Aevar’s perusal of his bride.
“You will join hands.” The man didn’t even work up the decency to hide the disgust in his voice.
Aevar freed his hands from the folds of his cloak and held them out to the princess. She moved more timidly, and her fingers came to rest in his, cold and trembling a bit. He almost folded his hands over hers to warm them but caught himself.
Reflex. Nothing more.
Tingles raced through Eadlyn’s chilled fingers, all the way up her arms, sending a twinge to her middle.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t held a man’s hand before, but something about this was far more intimate.
Aevar’s hands were warm to the touch—rough, worn, strong.
She swallowed, though it was nearly impossible to do without gulping.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles, shooting another shiver straight up her arm.
She forced her gaze back to him. He still watched her intently, and she wished so much she knew what he was thinking.
They were standing so close, only their linked hands between them.
Close enough for her to notice a scar under his cheekbone she had missed before, and another peeking from the dark hair on his chin.
So many scars between these Nord men, and those were only the ones she could see.
Not that she was one to be put off by scars, but they told stories.
Of battles fought. Of a life that likely looked nothing like her own.
Just what kind of world was she stepping into?
She tried to imagine him as an Essian man, clean-shaven, hair trimmed short, and without the scars.
To her surprise, she came to the conclusion that he might have caught her eye under different circumstances.
Not that it completely helped, but she acknowledged she could be marrying a much older man. Perhaps she should count her blessings.
Father Bened began the ceremony, his nasally voice thick with the contempt he harbored toward her husband-to-be.
He’d made no secret of it since negotiations had ended.
Though he’d been the royal priest for over a decade, it had brought little good to the palace at Kenwich.
He spent far more time counting coinage and drawing attention to his outward piety than doing any actual work for the Lord.
If only Brother Winstan were here instead.
Eadlyn craved his spiritual guidance and counsel.
He was the one who had taken up where Bened failed and helped guide her to true faith in Christ. But he had his small church to tend to back in Kenwich, and Father Bened was expected to travel with them.
He was one person Eadlyn did not regret leaving behind.
He had complained for half the evening last night that they should have insisted on Aevar being baptized as part of the marriage agreement.
Thankfully, they had not. It would no doubt have led to a pointless debate and ill feelings with their new allies.
They couldn’t risk that. Getting dunked in the freezing river by Bened would not have made Aevar any more Christian than the other Nords anyway.
That could only ever come through a change of heart and true faith.
She should have prayed for such an outcome more than she had.
It seemed so impossible, but she was ashamed of such a lack of faith on her part.
Lord, if I can be a light and witness in Nordra, guide me and use me. Give me the courage to be so.
Except for such prayers, she found it hard to focus with Aevar’s solid presence so near and overwhelming and missed most of the ceremony.
His attention remained fixed on her. Of that, she was very aware.
She wasn’t sure what sort of unnerving sensation it sent to her already tangled stomach.
She’d seen men leer at her before, but this was not that.
Dare she believe there was some honor in this man when she knew so very little about him?
She recalled what Kian had said and prayed yet again for it to be true.
She didn’t need for a husband to love her, just for him to be kind. That was all she asked.
Before she even knew it, they had come to the vows, and she fought to concentrate. Her heart raced as she forced herself to hold Aevar’s gaze while Bened recited the words.
“Do you, Aevar Runarsson, take Princess Eadlyn as your wife, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part?”
Eadlyn held her breath, but only a heartbeat passed before Aevar answered, “I do.”
And she realized this was the first time he had spoken in her presence. The first time she had heard his voice. It was deep yet warm, and she wanted for all the world to believe he’d meant his vow.
Tremors threatened her limbs as Father Bened’s attention shifted to her.
“Do you, Princess Eadlyn, take Aevar Runarsson as your husband, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others until death do you part?”
Eadlyn stared into Aevar’s eyes. If only she could see the future in them. Yet, whatever it held, she was here for a purpose she would not abandon. Lord, I’m laying my life down at Your feet. You brought me here, and I will trust You.
“I do.”
Fear still thudded in her chest, but at that moment, she found a strange sort of peace in the knowledge she had made her choice.
She had followed through despite the unknown.
At the same moment, Aevar’s hands tightened around hers, and she wanted very much to believe it was his way of saying, whatever happened now, they were in this together.