The Viking's Defiant Bride by Joanna Fulford

Author:Joanna Fulford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-09-15T04:00:00+00:00

The words were prophetic—half an hour later Ceolnoth appeared with the news that two of the Danes had fallen ill. It struck a sombre note with the rest and the meal that night was taken in an unwontedly quiet atmosphere.

Elgiva slipped away as soon as she could and went to check on her nephews. They were asleep and, according to Hilda, both had been quite well before she put them to bed. Reassured, Elgiva returned to the chamber she shared with Wulfrum. It was her habit to retire first and often she was asleep before he returned. This evening, therefore, she was surprised and not a little dismayed to see him there already and clearly preparing to retire. He had stripped off his tunic and shirt and her startled gaze fell on the silver arm rings and the muscles beneath, muscles whose strength she already knew.

‘Are the children well?’ he asked.

Elgiva stared at him in surprise, wondering how he could have known her errand.

‘Quite well, my lord.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I would not have them succumb.’

He sounded sincere and she was touched in spite of herself. It behoved her to make an effort in turn.

‘Thank you for allowing me to go with Osgifu tomorrow.’

Wulfrum unfastened his breeches. ‘It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. I know I can be of help.’ Elgiva turned away, removing her girdle and laying it aside, keenly aware of the naked form just feet away.

‘So I think.’

Her hands paused on the laces of her gown and she looked up, half-expecting to see mockery in his expression, but it was conspicuous by its absence. For the second time she was taken aback. If he knew it, Wulfrum gave no sign, but merely climbed into bed.

‘If we could just discover the cause, it would be something,’ he said.

Elgiva unlaced her gown and drew it off, laying it with the girdle. ‘I was thinking about that. If food is not the common link among the sick, could it be the water?’

She unfastened her hair and shook it loose. It fell in shining waves across her shoulders as she reached for the comb. Wulfrum propped himself on one elbow, watching. With an effort he dragged his thoughts back to the question.

‘How so?’ he replied. ‘The villagers draw their water from the stream, my men from the well by the hall.’

‘Is it possible your men might have drunk from the stream too?’

‘It’s a thought. I shall question them tomorrow.’

Elgiva nodded. ‘It might be a good idea, my lord.’

She resumed her task, taking her time over it, aware the while of Wulfrum’s gaze. His face gave no clue as to the thoughts behind but the memory of the afternoon was still keen, his parting words in particular: I’ll let you go—for now.

Eventually she could delay no longer and, with reluctance, laid aside the comb. Then she blew out the lamp and joined him, hurriedly drawing the pelts up under her chin. With thumping heart she felt his weight shift and her body tensed.

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