The Warrior's Runaway Wife. Denise Lynn

you have two or three days to find a reason that will convince King David to intervene on your behalf.’

      ‘I am nothing more than a piece of property. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.’

      ‘Ah, perhaps you have forgotten, property has value.’

      That was true. Property did have value. But that value was determined by men who had little, if any, concern for her or for anything she might want for her future. A future she hadn’t thought about in what seemed ages.

      Her wants were no different than any other woman’s. She wanted a husband, home and children. But she had little faith in the love that troubadours sang about—it seemed a rather fleeting and useless emotion. Something more solid seemed a better choice—caring, friendship, sharing, a partnership of sorts were all things she would prefer over some elusive feeling that served only to leave one suffering the relentless pain of loss.

      Her mother had pined for her love every day until the last. Even on her death bed, she’d wanted nothing more than the touch of his lips against hers one more time. At fourteen years old Avelyn had come to the harsh realisation that this love her mother craved was never going to come to her bedside—at least not while she lived. After her mother had died, she’d vowed never to allow herself to be trapped so neatly by a man’s pretty words.

      No matter how sweetly spoken, they were false and meaningless.

      But that didn’t mean she did not want a husband. She simply wanted one who would honestly care for her and her alone. One who was nearer her own age, so they could grow old together. One strong enough to protect her if need be and lustful enough to give her children.

      One not unlike the man before her.

      Avelyn gasped softly. What devil had put that notion in her head?

      She took another step backwards, wanting to put more than an arm’s length of distance between them.

      ‘Avelyn? Lady Avelyn?’

      From the sharper tone of his voice and the quizzical way his brows were drawn closer together, he had asked her a question. One she’d missed while her unruly mind was off wandering places it shouldn’t go.

      ‘What?’

      ‘I asked why Sir Bolk had been chosen.’

      She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. It isn’t as if they included me in making their decision.’

      ‘You have a brain, otherwise you would not have got this far on your own. So, think about it. Why would they have chosen such an elderly man and why would he have agreed?’

      ‘Well, of course he agreed. What man in their right mind would naysay their King?’

      ‘You obviously don’t know Sir Bolk. Not even the King could sway him if he wasn’t agreeable to the arrangement.’

      ‘No, I don’t know him. Nor do I wish to.’

      ‘He must have seen some advantage to the wedding.’

      ‘Other than trying to outlive a third wife?’

      ‘I doubt if that would happen. However, he would go to his death bed as son-in-law to Brandr and great-grandson-in-law to King Óláfr. Everything of value he possessed at that moment would go to—’

      ‘My father!’ she interjected, cutting off his words. ‘Including me.’ She staggered a couple of steps back, shocked by the realisation that her father and great-grandfather were even more underhanded than she could have imagined.

      ‘Then they would have the opportunity to marry you off once again.’

      Even though Bolk’s possessions were meagre, they would all pass to her father. Avelyn wanted to scream. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and asked, ‘Do you think King David would go against my family?’

      ‘If given a good enough reason to do so.’

      ‘You said I have two or three days to devise one?’

      ‘That is about how long it will take to reach Carlisle.’

      She stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on his arm. ‘Then, my good sir...’ she pulled her hand back ‘...what is your name?’

      ‘Roul. Lord Elrik of Roul.’

      Avelyn burst out laughing. When she was able to gain control of herself, she wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head. ‘Of course you are. It only makes perfect sense that King David sent his Wolf to sniff out and retrieve King Óláfr’s lowly prey.’

      He frowned down at her. ‘I fail to see the humour.’

      ‘That is because you are not in my place. I am nothing but a defenceless dove. You are a wolf. It seems out of place that they would send such a skilled hunter to track down so meek a prey.’

      He offered her his arm and then turned to escort her to the men and horses waiting near the well. ‘It is impossible to know ahead of time how dangerous a prey might prove to be.’

      ‘Yes, that is true. You had no way of knowing if this dove hid fangs inside her beak.’

      He nodded in agreement. ‘Or perhaps talons worthy of any eagle.’

      Once they reached the others, Elrik paused to ask, ‘Can you ride?’

      Avelyn could count the times she’d been on the back of a horse on one hand—two fingers in truth. But the alternative was obvious—she’d be forced to share his mount and that would place her too close to him for comfort. She shrugged. ‘Not well, but I’ll manage.’

      He lifted a brow, but said nothing. Instead, he removed his long mantle and slung it over her shoulders. While securing the pin to hold the cloak in place and tucking her hair inside the hood, he said, ‘This will keep you from getting any wetter than you already are.’

      ‘What about you? It will do little good for you to catch a chill.’

      ‘I won’t get sick from a little rain.’

      She looked up at the animal next to her and, even though it was the smallest of the lot, she wondered how she was going to scramble up on something that tall. Before she could ask, Elrik wrapped both hands round her waist and lifted her up on to the saddle.

      Avelyn swung a leg over to the other side and tucked the long edges of his cloak beneath her legs. She took a deep breath before taking the offered reins in her hands, then stated, ‘I am ready.’

      She could only hope her words sounded more confident to him than they had to her own ears.

      ‘You will be fine.’ He patted her knee before mounting his own horse.

      * * *

      By the time they stopped a few hours later, the rain had ceased and now the clouds had begun to part allowing the stars to twinkle against the darkening sky.

      Avelyn shivered on her log seat before the fire and barely tasted the food in her mouth. She was tired and stiff from riding. Her hands ached from holding on to the reins so tightly the entire time and her thighs burned from clamping them against the saddle in an attempt not to fall.

      Her rescuer, Lord Elrik, had said nothing, but she’d felt him watching her the entire time and had feared that at any moment he was going to pluck her from her horse and plop her in front of him on his. She had to admit that there had been a couple of times when she’d not have argued with that arrangement. Times when they’d ridden too fast, or when the road beneath the horse’s hooves seemed to rise too steeply as they’d climbed a hill.

      To her amazement, she’d managed. But right now, she was most thankful to be planted firmly on solid ground. Her only desire was to curl into a ball and give over to the beckoning sleep teasing at her sluggish mind.

      Elrik leaned against a tree and watched Avelyn sway and then quickly jerk upright as she stopped herself from falling asleep right there on the log. It was obvious