Smiling up at him, she tightened her hand on his, making the barest hint of a smile turn up his lips. He would not let himself be so free before the Jarl, so the hint was enough to reassure her. There was the scantest ache between her thighs, a reminder of how recently he had been there. She was amazed to realise she was already wondering how soon they could sneak off for a private moment. The day was meant to be filled with a tour of Glannoventa and the surroundings, but surely there would be something—a copse, a nook—where she could at least kiss him again.
Rurik’s face changed right before her eyes. His roar of outrage barely registered as his brows drove together and he lunged before her, driving her behind him with a forearm. The dagger on his hip came out as he got into a battle crouch before her. Distantly, she was aware of a sword striking stone—only after she heard the sound did she realise that it had narrowly missed Rurik, striking where he had been standing only to crash into the wall instead. She had been too much in her thoughts to anticipate danger.
Drawing the dagger kept in her boot, she rose to her full height and went to step around him. ‘Stay behind me,’ he said, his left arm coming out to keep her back as his right wielded his dagger.
Angry and uncomprehending, she glared out at Jarl Eirik and the men who stood near him. There were ten while the rest continued to spar farther off. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ she yelled.
The Jarl’s brow was fierce and his gaze was calculating as it roved over Rurik, assessing him. ‘If he is to take Wilfrid’s place, he must prove his ability to protect himself and you.’
‘That was unfair. You had no right to do that. What if you had hurt one of us?’ Outrage filled her voice. Her gaze found the Jarl’s warrior who had swung the sword. She had not noticed him the night before; she was quite certain she would have remembered. His wild mane of hair was pulled back from a face that was all angles, as if it had been chiselled from the side of a cliff, and he was taller than any man she had ever seen. His arms alone were nearly the width of her midriff.
Still the Jarl stared only at Rurik. ‘You were never in danger, Lady Annis. The sword was aimed for Rurik. If the sword had found him, he would not deserve his place as your husband.’
‘That is for me to decide.’ She bit the words out, but, seeing that there was no immediate danger to her, Rurik put a hand on her shoulder.
‘He is right. I must prove myself,’ said Rurik.
Once more taking in the giant, she turned to her husband and lowered her voice. ‘You do not. I chose you. That will be enough.’
‘Perhaps for you, but not for them.’ He gestured over his shoulder and she saw her own warriors spread out farther past the courtyard, between the stone outbuildings and homes farther out. ‘Our own men need to know that I am capable of leading them. It would have come to this eventually.’ The backs of his fingers stroked her chin before he turned back to the Jarl. ‘I will fight any man you choose.’
A cheer went up through the Danes while her own men looked on in silence, but their eyes were gleaming with anticipation. The prospect of any sport seemed to be too much of a temptation to resist. It did not matter that her own heart seemed to have swallowed itself whole. Perhaps Rurik was right and the warriors needed to see this demonstration of brawn to begin to respect him.
‘Valgautr!’ Jarl Eirik’s voice carried to every warrior.
The one who had nearly decapitated Rurik, the near giant, turned to face the Jarl and her stomach plummeted. He could not mean for Rurik to battle that beast. Even as Valgautr raised his sword high above his head to gain a roar of support from the Danes, she did not want to bring herself to believe that this was happening. With one blow of his fist, she feared that he would shatter Rurik’s skull and she said as much in private after she had made her way to the Jarl.
He actually laughed, throwing back his head in a way she had never seen him behave before. She tightened her fingers around her dagger’s hilt, itching to drive it into him. Not to kill him, but simply to stop him laughing. It wasn’t worth it. She had learned her lesson about vengeance, but it did not stop the fantasy from playing through her mind.
‘Why do you laugh?’ she asked, her gaze on Rurik who had moved farther away from the house to a more open space.
‘Because you are likely correct in your assessment.’ He stood with his arms crossed and his legs wide as he watched on with obvious pride. Catching her rage-filled gaze on him from the corner of his eyes, he softened his stance. ‘I won’t allow it to progress that far. Valgautr needs a bit of sport or he becomes ill-tempered.’ When that still did not placate her, he sighed and dropped his arms, turning towards her. ‘If you truly wish for Rurik to stay as your husband, then he must overcome some obstacles to prove himself before your men as well as mine, or no one will accept him and you’ll have a revolt on your hands.’
She took in a frustrated breath and watched as Cedric, who had disappeared briefly, returned from the house, sword in hand. The exhale stopped in her throat when she recognised it as Wilfrid’s battle sword. It had been hiding in the armoury these last few years. Rurik
