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TWO

Ealhunding

The guards had to force me down the aisle, their fingers wrapped harshly above my elbows on either arm as they pulled me forward. I pleaded with them in hushed whispers.

"Let me go. Please, Lucas, you have known me my whole life." I nearly sobbed. It was true. Lucas had been assigned to guard me since I was 2 years old.

My father sat upon his throne near the altar, his eyes speaking to me. Do not ruin this. It was not a request, it was a threat.

Northmen were gathered near the front of the crowd, towering over the other men and guards. If they decided to strike, we would not stand a chance even though we outnumbered them.

The man standing in front of the altar must have been the leader, Ragnar. He stood apart from the others, closer to my father. Like his comrades, he was massive. Tall and broad and solid. His size sent a shiver down my spine. It would be too easy for him to kill me if he chose to. Though my father had built some type of trust with the man, I did not share his confidence. Which is why I made sure to slip a small dagger in the waist of my hose.

As the space between us shortened, his features became clearer. He was… stunning. Though his skin was still stained with dirt (and possibly blood), it was a handsome face. I don't know what I had been expecting. The stories I had heard had given me an image of gnarled, monstrous men, the type that would eat children. But this was just a man. Albeit, a giant of a man.

His eyes swept to mine and I was startled by their brightness. Blue like ice reflecting sunlight. It was a shade unlike any I'd ever seen before. It was fitting considering his stare chilled me to the bone.

So this was the man I was being given to. The man I was supposed to spend the rest of my god forsaken life with.

As I reached the altar, I was painfully aware of the tears that streamed down my cheeks. I refused to look at the Pagan and instead I pointed my heated eyes towards my father.

I had never felt the white hot flames of anger as intensely as right then. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to hurt my father. For years I had helped him strategize his battles, train his soldiers, protect the people of Wessex. And yet, he gives me away.

Though I was not looking at him, I felt Ragnar's eyes scanning me from head to toe. Blood rushed to my cheeks in both anger and embarrassment. Behind him, his men snickered and spoke to one another in their native tongue. I could only guess that I was the subject of their jokes.

Lucas deposited me in my rightful place beside Ragnar and gave my shoulders a stern shove, forcing me to my knees onto the kneeling bench. The bench itself was ornately decorated with white and cream colored flowers. I saw Ragnar look over towards the crowd. Athelstan, the priest who had been staying in our home, nodded as a signal for him to kneel beside me.

It was only when I grabbed hold of the bench railing that I noticed my hands were shaking. I gripped the railing harder, hoping it would keep Ragnar from noticing. I didn't want him to see me as weak. He needed to see that I was strong, that I was not one he could control. Even if he was my husband.

My plan didn't work, because once he knelt beside me, his big hand covered mine. I'm not sure if the gesture was meant to be reassuring or cruel, but I ripped my hand away regardless.

"Do not touch me." I hissed through clenched teeth. For the first time I brought my eyes to meet his, hoping they held all the hatred I felt in my heart for him. The corner of his mouth perked up into a smirk. The bastard found it amusing. I thought about the blade hidden on my person. Would he be so amused when I held it to his throat tonight?

Yes, I was aware that the room would be filled with other people. Servants to help me undress, my father, the priest, and a monk, all standing by to watch him bed me. What they didn't know is that they would have to hold me down and be complicit in my destruction if they wanted to see this marriage consummated. I would not lie down and let this heathen take my virtue without a fight.

The priest began the ceremony and I could not stop the sob that coursed through my body.

"Please father!" the words left my lips before I had even thought them. "This cannot be undone!" He ignored me. They all did.

Except for Ragnar.

I saw his head swivel to face me, but I refused to look back at him and could not see his expression. All of these people surrounding us, and not one would save me.

Not even God.

*

My father spared no expense for the feast that followed the ceremony. White flowers and greenery covered the hall, hanging from rafters and winding around candles. The plates they served food on were gold and our cups studded with rubies. Food was brought to us in overflowing baskets. Pork, lamb and chicken, all accompanied by steamed vegetables. And the wine… the wine was abundant. He was no doubt, trying to show Ragnar just how wealthy the King of Wessex was.

I spoke to no one and was seated in my chair with guards standing on either side of me. They had orders to keep me in place, as I had already attempted to leave the hall.

My husband was seated next to me. His friends were at one of the front tables below us. They were loud and ill mannered, eating with their hands and trying to bend plates. I supposed if I had been a bystander, I would have found it all very amusing. But knowing that I would have to spend the rest of my life surrounded by those people sapped all the amusement from my mind.

I brought my cup to my lips and let out an audible humpf when I remembered it was empty. After my espace plan had been thwarted, I settled for getting inebriated, which I guessed wouldn't have been too difficult considering I was never one to indulge. My tolerance was nearly nonexistent. However, my father soon put an end to that plan as well, forbidding servants from filling my cup.

From the corner of my eye, I watched Ragnar slowly push his cup to the side, closer to me. Was he taunting me? I flicked my eyes to his face. He was watching me, and when our eyes met, he nodded down to his cup. He was offering me his drink.

My first instinct was to grab it and devour every last drop. But I stilled my hand before it could act. No. I will not accept his pity. My hand moved again, this time swatting his cup and sending the red liquid all over his lap.

I took in a sharp breath. I had meant for it to spill on the floor, not him. It wasn't that I felt badly about ruining his clothes. They were disgusting to begin with. If anything, the scent of the fruity drink may be an improvement. I was afraid he may strike me.

If he did it in front of my father, would he still allow me to be taken away by the monster? Or would he realize that he was not to be trusted and forgo the whole thing?

That small spark of hope was doused quickly when Ragnar smiled. He patted himself dry with a nearby cloth, his lips spread wide the entire time. He would not hit me here. He was a savage, not an imbecile. He'd surely be better off waiting until we were alone, until my father couldn't see him beat me. But judging from my father's scowl of disapproval, I doubted Ragnar would need to be sneaky.

I suddenly wished that my brother was here. Athelwulf had taken a handful of father's men to collect taxes from the villages. They took this journey once a year, and were usually gone for 2 weeks. Briefly, I wondered if my father had counted on his absence. He would not have been happy with this plan. In fact, I don't think he would have let it be proposed in the first place.

A second thought caused my stomach to drop. My brother will not be home for another week. I will never see him again. The Northmen will be leaving Wessex the day after tomorrow. My chest began to constrict, air no longer getting to my lungs. A cold numbness spread through my body, giving me a strange floating sensation.

I will never see Aethelwulf again. I clench a fist, digging my nails into my palm while my other hand came up to grasp the pendant hanging from my neck. The small emerald stone that Athelwulf had gifted me the morning he set off to his first battle. I had been a child, as had he. But nonetheless, he was grown enough to fight for his country, for his father. I had been terrified that he would not return, that I would lose my brother, my only friend. 10 years later and the smooth rock still rubbed against my chest.

A small wounded sound escaped me. It was only loud enough for my new husband to hear. He peered over at me, still mopping up the spilled wine from his trousers.

Though he did not speak, his brows raised as if he were asking a question. I felt my own face contort in anger. This was his fault. If the Northmen had never come to Wessex, my father would have never struck this deal. I would have married a prince, or even a king in a far away land. I would have travelled to see my family on holidays. Aethelwulf would have been here to see me off. I would have children that I could love, instead of ones I'd loathe.

"I hate you." I'm not even sure if I had said the words aloud, but his quick flicker of shock in those blue eyes told me he had heard. It was gone and instantly replaced with amusement.

"I had no idea." he said with an air of playfulness. It was the first time I had heard his voice (I couldn't hear anything aside from my own heartbeat during the marriage ceremony). It was a strong voice, but not as menacing as I had imagined.

I glared at him, but it seemed to have no impact on him. He easily turned his attention to his men, happy to watch them eat and drink. I watched them too. I watched all of them, Northmen and Saxons, all drinking to their heart's content, dancing, singing, celebrating. I wish I could spread my pain onto all of them. I wish every last one of them could suffer as I was suffering.

The evilness of my thoughts shocked me. I had never wished harm onto my people. That was not the person I truly was… was it? My name alone told people I was pure of heart and mind. I was sacred. At least I was supposed to be.

Already, I was becoming a violent being. Already, my husband was rubbing off on me.