Page 39 of Alliance Bride
“Good. Keep at it, and you will soon find it comes naturally.”
She remained near as Eadlyn repeated the process, the soft whisper of thread the only sound between them. The quiet work soothed something in Eadlyn, especially after the chaos of the Gathering a week ago. The jarls had departed with as much fanfare as they had arrived, leaving everyone to go about their everyday lives.
Once again, Eadlyn rarely saw Aevar, save for mornings and evenings. Yet, to her astonishment, he still allowed her to read the Scriptures to him each night. It had become such a habit that last evening, she’d simply started reading without asking if he wished to continue, and he hadn’t objected. He spoke little, but now and then, he asked a question. While he may only be humoring her or listening for entertainment, she prayed every day the words would lead him to faith. If nothing else, his curiosity gave her hope she did not expect to find here.
Still, a cloud hovered over that hope.
Almost a month had passed, and yet a wall remained between them. His family welcomed her as one of their own, their kindness easing many of her early fears. But Aevar remained distant most of the time, as if unsure where she fit beside him. She might have believed it was just his way, or the way of Nord marriages, if not for the open fondness he displayed toward his family and the affectionate way Runar and Erik treated their wives.
A prickling sense of disappointment needled at her, and she fought to smooth it away. He treated her with consideration and respect. That was enough. What more could she ask for?
Still, the question stirred in her mind and, after a moment’s hesitation, she turned from the loom and spoke. “I love how close your family is. It’s something I’ve never experienced before.” She paused before forging ahead. “It’s clear how much Aevar loves all of you. I know I’m still new, and we are still learning one another, but…do you think he might ever let me in like that? Or, because I am Essian, will he always be more reserved in our relationship?”
For a heartbeat, something drifted across Inga’s face. Something like sorrow. She reached out, resting a warm, calloused hand on Eadlyn’s arm. “It isn’t you, dear. My son…he carries a lot of pain. He was married once, to a girl named Thora. She was his life. She died almost three years ago, bearing their daughter. The babe lived but a few hours herself. And with them, something in Aevar died as well. He’s spent these years guarding the pieces of his heart too closely to risk breaking them again.”
The words struck, echoing in Eadlyn’s mind. No wonder Aevar kept his distance. She had believed she’d been the one to sacrifice for her people and this alliance, but Aevar had made his own sacrifice, marrying a stranger while still mourning the loss of his wife and child.
Another, more terrible, realization struck, seizing her with icy fingers. She clutched the string of beads at her chest. “These clothes…they were hers.” It all made sense now, the wistful, aching looks Aevar had given her.
Inga nodded, her smile sad but tender.
“I shouldn’t wear them,” Eadlyn whispered, already turning toward the bedroom to change at once.
But Inga stopped her. “It’s all right. Aevar gave them to you.”
Even so, guilt twisted in Eadlyn’s belly. “I don’t want to cause him, or any of you, more pain.”
“You aren’t. You needed clothing. And Thora herself would have wished for her things to serve the living, not gather dust.”
Eadlyn wavered until Inga gave her arm a comforting squeeze.
“As for Aevar,” she said, “I cannot promise he will love you, but I can promise he will take care of you and guard you with his life. We all will.”
The words wrapped around Eadlyn like a cloak against the cold. Tears smarted in her eyes. “That is already more than I ever hoped for.”
“I win!” Trygg’s triumphant shout rang through the hall, drawing a few amused glances from the others.
In his excitement, he scattered half thetaflpieces across the table. Aevar chuckled, snatching the king piece before it tumbled off the edge. He didn’t let his nephew win every time, but tonight he’d been inclined to indulge him.
Trygg hopped off the bench and rushed off to brag about his victory to anyone who would listen. Still smiling to himself, Aevar reset the game board, gathering the scattered pieces into neat rows in case someone else wanted a game before bed. He found his gaze drifting to Eadlyn, who sat on the other side of the hearth with Ranvi, Katla, and Alvir. Everyone would turn in before too long. He was tired after a day of hard labor, preparing the fields forplanting, but not enough to skip their nightly reading. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he found himself rather enjoying the tales.
Missing a piece, he leaned over to check under the table. He spotted it beneath the bench and retrieved it. When he straightened, his mother had joined him.
“I introduced Eadlyn to weaving today,” she said, keeping her voice low enough to stay between them. “She’s picking it up quickly.”
“Good.”
“I told her about Thora.”
A familiar, sharp ache lanced through his chest, the kind that never dulled with time. He drew a calming breath through his nose. Perhaps he should have told Eadlyn himself, but it was better this way.
“I expected you would.”
His mother watched Eadlyn for a moment before studying him again. “It is good for her to know why you treat her the way you do.”
Aevar frowned. Her words prickled under his skin. She made it sound as though he’d mistreated Eadlyn. “I’ve treated her kindly. I’ve done everything I can to make her comfortable.”
“Kindly, yes, but at arm’s length and certainly not like your wife.”
