The Warrior's Runaway Wife. Denise Lynn
her to King David, his lands and life would be in grave danger.
His temples throbbed. David should have sent one of his younger brothers on this task. Either one—Rory or Edan—would have been a better choice than him. At least they had the patience and temperament to deal with women in a much kinder and gentler manner than he.
His deceased wife had taught him well that women were untrustworthy liars and good for only one thing—the getting of children—and, as in Muriel’s case, sometimes not even that.
Elrik jerked the clothes out of her hands. After gathering the skirt of the chemise in his hands, he dropped it over her head. Keeping his attention directed at the fabric beneath his fingers instead of the pale smoothness of her skin, or the dips and swells of her comely body, he tugged the chemise down to cover her.
He then did the same with her tunic, leaving the laces hanging, before pushing her down on to the bed to squat before her and drag the stockings over her feet and legs, then slipped on a pair of soft boots.
Elrik placed his hands on her knees. ‘I like this no more than you. But I am charged with taking you to Carlisle. You can argue this arranged marriage of yours with King David.’
She shook her head and crossed her arms before her as if the action would grant her some type of protection.
‘I warn you, Lady Avelyn, I have little patience for childish behaviour from anyone but children. It will go better for you if you come willingly as an adult ready to calmly debate this marriage arrangement, rather than being dropped at King David’s feet like an unwilling prisoner. I promise you the King will be less likely to entertain the complaints of a prisoner.’
When she remained seated and did nothing other than look away, he added, ‘I will not ignore my orders, nor will I fail to execute them. You can get up and come with me of your own accord, or I can carry you like a sack of grain.’
That warning got her attention. She stared at him. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
In no mood for further delay, Elrik stood up and before she could determine what he was about to do, he hauled her up over his shoulder.
‘All right.’ She pounded her fists on his back. ‘You have proved your point. Put me down.’
He set her on her feet and turned her to face the door. ‘We are leaving. Now.’
Avelyn refused to budge. ‘I owe them for my keep.’
Elrik rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ease the still-growing tension, then reached inside his mantle for the coins King David had given him. Without counting them, he tossed the sack on the bed. ‘That will more than cover the roof over your head and food.’ He pushed her forward. ‘Now go.’
‘No. Wait.’
‘Wait?’
She rushed to a small table in the far corner of the room, picked up a small pouch and slipped the ribbon dangling from it over her head. After tucking the pouch inside the neck of her gown, she came back to him.
‘Anything else?’
‘No.’
He waved towards the door. ‘Then go.’
‘You are just going to walk out of here with me?’
‘That is the plan, yes.’
‘And you don’t expect anyone to question or stop you from doing so?’
He would like to see them try such an act, it might provide him with an opportunity to release some of the tightness burning along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. ‘Why would anyone do so? Do you belong to anyone here?’
‘No.’
‘Have you entered into some sort of dubious agreement with anyone?’
‘No.’
‘Then I do not see what reason they would have to stop me.’
‘They don’t know you.’
Elrik blinked. ‘They obviously don’t know you either.’
‘I have been here over a week. They know me.’
If that were true, she would not now be in this position. It was doubtful that she would still be under this roof. ‘Oh, so you told them you were Lord Brandr’s daughter and that you’d run away from a marriage arranged by your great-grandfather King Óláfr?’
She hesitated. ‘No.’
‘Would you like to tell them? We can go below and once I get everyone’s attention you can then make your announcement. Of course, I won’t be responsible for any who decide to take you captive and hold you for ransom—or think to return you to your father for some sort of reward—or worse, marry you himself with the assumption that there will be something worthwhile to gain.’
She shot him a look that threatened to skewer him on the spot before opening the door and marching stiffly out into the corridor.
Avelyn fisted her hands at her side. The last few days she’d started to believe that she’d managed to escape her fate and would not be found.
Instead, once again she learned the uselessness of fanciful hopes, wishes and luck.
How had this oaf found her? She’d expected her father to send men after her, but she’d thought they would be his men, someone she knew or someone who was at least familiar.
Apparently, her father had gone to King David for assistance instead of to his grandfather, King Óláfr, or even to his uncle and liege, Lord Somerled.
Why?
Perhaps he didn’t want them to learn that she’d run away rather than wed the man they’d chosen as her husband.
And now this...this stranger thought he was going to take her to King David like an errant child? She frowned as yet another hopeful thought drifted into her mind. Was it possible that her father had dragged the Scots King into this because he’d had a change of heart and had found the ancient warlord chosen as her husband to be unsuitable?
It was doubtful, but she clung to that thought as it would be the only slender thread of sanity available to her. However, her fanciful wishes did little to explain the identity of this man.
From what she could tell, he was strongly built—the long, fur-lined mantle covered him from shoulder to ankle, so she couldn’t see the shape of his body—but he’d easily lifted her over his shoulder with one arm. Yet, at the same time, his attempt to dress her hadn’t been overly harsh, fumbling perhaps, as if unused to the task, but not cruel.
And his touch, when it had rested on her knees as he’d tried to reason with her, had been warm. Had she not been distraught over being found she could have easily fallen into the comfort that warmth had conveyed.
His eyes were green, flecked with gold. His hair was nearly as black as hers, but his was shot through with silvery strands that made it impossible to know his age.
But he wasn’t old. Older than she was, but not ancient like the man she’d been betrothed to wed.
‘Who are you?’ she asked over her shoulder.
He did nothing but grunt and poke a finger into her back to prod her along the corridor towards the stairs.
Just as they reached the top of the stairs they met an old man. She could only assume this was Edward, the old man Hannah had coerced her into sharing a bed with. He was most likely headed to her room. Avelyn wondered how her unwanted rescuer would deal with this event.
Edward looked from her to the man behind her, a frown of puzzlement creasing his already lined face. ‘This is not the red-haired wench.’
‘No.