Marrying Her Viking Enemy. Harper St. George

asked.

      ‘I know enough to clean wounds and mix common poultices. It is one of my tasks back home.’ Satisfied that she’d done her best to remove the dried blood, she grabbed a bit of soap from the bowl that sat on the floor beside the tub. He clearly wasn’t able to use his left arm well, so his back was still marred with smudges of dirt and old blood from the wound that he hadn’t reached. With gentle strokes, she washed his back, the linen moving over his skin in a soft caress that allowed her to feel just how hard he was beneath his skin. His strength was powerful and could have been intimidating, but he merely hummed softly in approval of her touch and dropped his forehead to his knees, lending an odd peace to the moment.

      When she was finished cleaning, she laid the linen across the rim of the tub and dipped a dish into the bucket of steaming hot water that had been left beside the tub, careful not to burn her fingers. ‘This may hurt a bit.’

      He smothered a groan as she trickled the hot water over his wound. The water left streaks of reddened skin down his back. ‘I’ll need to do it once more to make certain the wound is clean. It helps the healing.’ He nodded, leaning forward a bit more to give her better access. This time he didn’t make a sound save for a swift exhalation of breath as the scalding water slid over him. ‘There. It’s done.’ The wound had reopened, but only a little blood seeped from it. It was a good sign that there would be no festering.

      ‘You’ve been sent to exact Saxon vengeance. Admit it.’ His blue eyes gleamed at her over his shoulder, that same almost-smile hovering at the edges of his mouth.

      ‘I’ll admit nothing,’ she quipped, squeezing out the linen and indulging this strange urge to tease with him. ‘But if a Saxon gave you this scratch, ’tis my duty to make it hurt more.’

      He laughed and sat back against the rim, his eyes stroking her face. ‘Then I’m forced to disclose the truth. It was no Saxon, but a Scot. Are you under the same allegiance to the Scots?’

      She had to force herself not to take in a breath or show any sort of reaction. He was teasing, but it was as close to the truth as anyone had come in the entire time she had served Lady Gwendolyn. She was not in league with the Scots, but her father very well might be by now. There had been rumours that he’d met with them before she’d left.

      ‘Not to my knowledge.’ She gave a shrug, hoping the comment sounded flippant and a part of the game.

      ‘That’s good to know. Otherwise I would worry about your axe.’

      ‘You’re not worried about it regardless? Saxon vengeance, as you said.’

      His eyes fairly sparkled with merriment and she found herself unable to look away from them. It was as if someone had found a way to dye them the most vivid shade of blue she had ever seen. He slowly shook his head, a drop of water running down the side of his face. ‘It’s an interesting choice of weapon.’

      She stared down at the axe attached to her belt because she had to look away from him. ‘It’s more tool than weapon. It’s useful on the farm and I’ve grown accustomed to wearing it.’ She didn’t mention that she was more accurate than any man when it came to hitting targets with it. ‘Lady Gwendolyn has been kind enough to give me archery lessons while I’m here. Perhaps you should worry about that tomorrow on the practice field.’

      This made him grin and that dimple in his cheek shone. He was so handsome when he smiled that she had to look away again. He was likely to think she was a fool like Ellan with how she seemed suddenly unable to hold his stare. There were many ways that this man unsettled her. What was happening? Was he flirting with her? Was this teasing usual for the warrior?

      Enemy, enemy, enemy, the mantra repeated in her head.

      ‘I’ll look forward to seeing that.’ Something about the way he said that, so firm and exact, made her believe it. It also made her chest swell with pride. Despite herself, it pleased her that a warrior of his renown wanted to watch her skill.

      ‘Is that where you were all summer?’ She busied herself by sorting the items on the tray and preparing the poultice. ‘Fighting the Scots?’ She told herself that she was asking out of curiosity, but the words of her father wouldn’t leave her. They made that feeling of unease churn deep in her belly. Any news about the relations between Danes and Scots would be useful to him.

      ‘Not all summer, but a fair bit of it. They’ve been active, but are so far no threat to Alvey.’

      ‘My home is to the north. Should I be worried about them?’ It was a fair question. She had spent many nights in her bed worrying about the Scots to the north and the Danes to the south, and her tiny village caught between them.

      ‘Nay, no need to worry yet. And, Elswyth...’ She nearly dropped the poultice when he reached out to touch her shoulder. His eyes were deep and solemn with concern. The warmth from his touch moved down her back to settle deep in her belly, wrapping itself around that knot of unease. ‘We’ll protect you from them if the time comes.’

       And what if we are the reason the Scots have come? What if Father has done something that has brought them to our door?

      She didn’t ask those questions, though. She would not give her family away. ‘How do you know they won’t be too powerful?’

      He smiled again and let her go. His teeth were straight and white, making his smile far too pleasing for a warrior such as him. He should be fierce, with a fierce smile to match. His expression turned to pure masculine arrogance when he answered, ‘They’ll never be too powerful for the Danes.’

      She scoffed and made a show of finishing her work with the poultice, mixing the herbs in the bowl before readying a bandage with a length of folded linen. However, deep in her heart, she feared that he was right. She’d been impressed with the Danes who had spent the summer in Alvey. She’d been even more impressed by the sheer power of the army that had marched into Alvey hours ago. Tomorrow she would see them in practice, but she really had no need to see them to know that they would be fierce. Their reputation preceded them there.

      ‘You Danes are all alike. Too full of yourselves for your own good.’

      ‘It’s not conceit if it’s true. I’ve never lost a fight.’

      She found it very easy to believe him. He sat in that humble tub like a king, his powerful arms stretched along the rim, his eyes shining with confidence. In that moment she had to wonder if it was possible for anyone to best him.

      His eyes had gone slightly hooded as he watched her, an indolent quality coming over his face. ‘I toured the north after Lord Vidar married Lady Gwendolyn. I don’t remember meeting you.’ He said it as if he would’ve remembered.

      God knew that she would have remembered him had they met before. He was too vibrant and too formidable, equal parts terrifying and fascinating.

      ‘Nay, we never met.’ She remembered their visit well, though her father had kept her and Ellan hidden away inside so that she’d never actually seen Rolfe. It was no secret to anyone that Father distrusted the Danes. She suspected it had been one of the reasons Lord Gwendolyn had sent for her and her sister. The woman was ever trying to make peace, but it seemed no matter what she did, Father wouldn’t approve.

      He despised the fact that his own wife had run off with one of them. It ate at him constantly. Before it had happened, he’d always been stern and quiet, but something had changed in him in the years since. He brimmed with anger and bitterness. Lady Gwendolyn marrying a Dane had brought it all to overflowing. He hated that she’d married Lord Vidar and he hated all the Danes in Alvey that came as a result of that marriage. There would be no peace as far as he was concerned.

      Elswyth had been surprised that Father had agreed to Lady Gwendolyn’s plan, but his reasoning had become clear on the morning of their departure. He had approached her horse where she was saying goodbye to her younger brother Baldric. Ellan had followed their older brother, Galan, out of the yard, giving them a brief moment of solitude.

      Pitching his voice low, he’d