Longing For Her Forbidden Viking. Harper St. George

      Pushing his way through the crowd, he opened the door and hurried out into the cold night, genuinely concerned that a man might have taken her. The mead had flowed easily tonight and the wedding had made many of the men more eager than usual, himself included. The yard was deserted as almost everyone was packed inside the hall. Some had already sought their beds for the night, but it was too cold to linger outside. A light rustling of fabric had him walking around the corner of the hall to see her leaning back against the side, her face raised to the night air. Several strands of hair had fallen from her braid and the crown of ivy she wore tilted to the side, but somehow the dishevelment only made her more beautiful. There was a tightening deep in his belly as he watched her and that more than his conversation with Jarl Vidar made his voice harsh when he asked, ‘What are you doing out here?’

      Her eyes widened as she opened them. ‘Aevir! You frightened me.’

      He almost despised how much he wanted her. The sentiment did nothing to soften the tone of his voice. ‘It’s not safe for you out here alone.’

      His tone seemed to startle her for a moment, but she quickly, gathered her wits and gave him a hesitant smile. ‘But I’m not alone...you’re here now.’

      Her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with exertion. A fine mist of sweat shimmered on her face, making him ache to taste the salt of her skin. ‘And why do you think that makes you any safer?’ Somehow, he had drifted closer so that he stood directly in front of her. The mead seemed to dull everything around them while bringing her into sharp clarity before him.

      She looked up at him and said with perfect innocence, ‘Because I know that you wouldn’t harm me.’

      Her bottom lip was plump and moist, causing him to remember how she had kissed him back in the larder. ‘You’re right. Pleasure is so much better.’

      His palms pressed into the coarse wood at her back on either side of her. He felt like a moth must feel being drawn to the flame that would surely destroy it, but being powerless to resist its beauty.

      She gasped as if only now grasping the particular danger she was in and her hands came up to rest on his chest. She didn’t push him away, however. ‘You know that Lord Vidar wouldn’t allow...’ She swallowed audibly and seemed unable to finish her thought.

      All instinct now, he leaned down so that his mouth nearly brushed her ear. Her scent overwhelmed his senses, causing his body to clench with arousal that made him feel drunk as it swept through him. ‘Come to bed with me, Ellan.’

      ‘Aevir,’ she whispered her outrage, but when her gaze met his he could see the answer to his arousal in her eyes as a smile tugged at her lips.

      The promise of gratification pulsed through him. He could take her here against the wall if he wanted, but it wouldn’t do. She deserved a bed and he deserved an entire night to purge her from his mind.

      ‘Ellan!’ Lady Gwendolyn’s slightly breathless and alarmed voice filled the night. ‘Are you out here?’ Sounds of merriment came through the open doorway of the hall.

      Ellan’s wide eyes met his and she gave a regretful shake of her head before ducking underneath his arm to flee. ‘I’m here. It was stuffy inside, so I came out to get some cool air,’ she said as she rounded the corner.

      Lady Gwendolyn’s reply was lost as they walked inside and closed the door behind them. He let his forehead drop against the rough wooden wall and released a breath of frustration. Half of him thanked the gods for intervening before he made his obsession with her worse, while the other half wanted to sling her over his shoulder and take her off to his bed where he would spend the rest of the night with her legs wrapped around his waist.

      Finally, he took in a deep breath and straightened. The cool air into his lungs brought the return of clarity and rational thought. It was good that they had been interrupted. He shouldn’t have been willing to risk the Jarl’s ire to be with her for a night. Tomorrow he would return to the northern border as planned to help quell the threat from the Scots and he vowed to forget the girl who had bewitched him.

       Chapter Two

      Ellan’s father arrived a sennight later to collect her. His arrival wasn’t unexpected, but Ellan hadn’t realised how much she had hoped that he had simply forgotten her until word arrived that he was there. Pulling her shoulders back, she forced a courage she didn’t feel and stepped through the front gate to greet him, leaving the safety of Alvey’s walls behind her. Temporarily.

      She would confront her father, tell him in no uncertain terms that she was staying in Alvey and return to the tiny alcove above the hall that had been her home for the last several months. Her mind wouldn’t allow her to fathom the conversation having any other ending. If she dared to think it might, then she might succumb to despair and that wouldn’t do. Returning to Banford was akin to death as far as she was concerned. There was no life for her there.

      She would stay here and find the same happiness that Elswyth had found with Rolfe. Their courtship and wedding had been so fast and unexpected that Ellan still had trouble believing it had happened. Of course, some of that might be because she spent her days obsessing over Aevir and her nights reliving the scarce moments they had had together. Even her memories of her sister’s wedding were coloured with visions of how handsome Aevir had looked in his finery.

      If only Father hadn’t arrived at night, or if he had at least deigned to camp within the safety of the fortress’s walls instead of outside them, she might feel a little braver. A glance to the night sky revealed not even a single star to light the way. She shivered at the ominous darkness and pulled her cloak even tighter around her shoulders.

      The overflow of Dane warriors who now resided in Alvey—their numbers far too large to be contained within the walls—were camped nearby. Their fires made a wide trail of light from the walls to the forest in the distance and their tents flickered pale in shafts of moonlight. In some ways, she would feel safer going in that direction, but she turned towards the small fire set away from the others. Her father was too proud to seek sanctuary with the people he viewed as his enemy.

      His wiry frame leaned over a spit roasting what looked to be a rabbit. As she approached, he moved away from it and stood. Even from this distance she could tell that he was glaring at her with disapproval. It was the same expression he always wore when he looked at her. If there had been a time when he’d gazed upon her with love and understanding, she couldn’t remember it. Since Mother had run away years ago, there had been only grave censure and a suspicion that she would betray the family in some way as well. After all, she had the look of her mother and the heart of a woman. Betrayal was all but assured.

      He waited for her to step into the meagre light given off by the fire, then he said, ‘You will marry in a sennight.’

      Though she had done everything she could to prepare herself for this moment, his first words to her after months of separation still caused a zing of pain to dart through her. There were no tender words of greeting. No declaration of how he’d missed her, only the harsh announcement. She was a burden to be disposed of, not a beloved daughter to be welcomed with open arms.

      Again, an image of Aevir came to mind. He had come back to Alvey only hours ago, but he had been too busy conferring with Rolfe and Lord Vidar about a skirmish with the Scots to look her way. If only marrying him were an option.

      ‘You’ve found someone to take me off your hands at last.’ She tried for irreverent, but her tone fell flat. ‘A Saxon?’

      Light from Father’s campfire flickered in the deep shadows of night, casting hollows and jagged lines across the weathered planes of his unforgiving expression.

      She shouldn’t have been surprised by his words. Threats of marriage had been hovering over her head like a sickle poised to descend on a fresh patch of wheat for the past year. The only difference this time was that the promise had never been quite so specific. So ripe with certainty and