Page 19 of Alliance Bride
Aevar’s mother turned to Runar with a questioning look. He rested a calming hand on her shoulder, also speaking in Aerlish.
“We made the alliance with Essix. To bind it, we agreed to a marriage between Aevar and Eadlyn.”
Eadlyn wasn’t sure what emotions flickered across the woman’s face. Distress? Resignation? Hope? They came and went too quickly to name. Eadlyn glanced at Erik’s wife, who met her husband’s gaze. He shrugged, lifting his brows.
Aevar’s mother turned back to Eadlyn, and a smile bloomed once again, softer than before. Gentler. “Princess Eadlyn, I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m Inga, Aevar’s mother.”
Her Aerlish was slower and less practiced, but Eadlyn sensed the sincerity beneath the careful words.
The younger woman stepped forward. “I’m Ranvi, Erik’s wife. These are our children. Alvir,” she bounced the toddler on her hip, “Trygg, and Katla.”
Eadlyn greeted them each, though she wasn’t sure the children understood her words. Trygg eyed her with tentative curiosity, while little Katla was more shy, hiding her face against Erik’s neck.
Before anyone said more, a third woman slipped into their midst as if she’d materialized there.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
She stood at Braan’s side, her dark hair falling to her waist and ornamented with small braids and silver beads. Her eyes were darker than most Eadlyn had seen among the Nords. Like a few of the other women, she wore trousers and a leather coat trimmed with fur. Two axes hung from her belt. This womanwasa warrior. There was no doubt about that. While her Aerlish was fluent, Eadlyn detected a subtle difference in her accent.
Braan draped an arm around the woman’s shoulders, and Aevar motioned toward her.
“Eadlyn, this is Heida, Braan’s betrothed.”
She greeted her politely. Heida nodded in return, watchful and quiet. Eadlyn did not know what the other woman thought of her, but she detected no hostility. Only a reserved, mysterious air. The kind that no doubt drew Braan’s attention in the first place. She hoped her instincts were right. So far, no one seemed to harbor any outright dislike toward her. It was as good a start to her new life as she could have hoped for.
Inga took over, slipping into what Eadlyn recognized as hostess mode. “Let’s get everything inside.”
The men turned back to the horses to unload their supplies. Before Eadlyn even realized it, Aevar had her belongings in hand. Kian, Braan, and Heida led the horses away, and Eadlyn followedthe others into the longhouse. Trygg scampered ahead, a bundle of excited chatter.
Giant pillars carved in winding patterns rose overhead, drawing Eadlyn’s attention upward to a vaulted roof that curved like the hull of an overturned ship. A wide balcony lined each side of the hall, likely used for storing food and other household goods. Wood smoke clung to the air, mingling with something savory.
When she lowered her gaze again, she studied the layout of the longhouse. Two long tables stretched parallel to a central hearth, their surfaces scarred and marked by many years of use. At the far end, atop a raised dais, rested a third table—a place of honor. It wasn’t the palace in Kenwich, with its stone halls and gilded fixtures, but it held its own kind of majesty.
Colorful tapestries hung along the walls, their bold, swirling patterns softening the rough timber with comfort and artistry. To the left, two broad platforms were built against the wall, raised a little off the ground. Cushions dotted the surface, and a pair of standing looms sat nearby to create a space for working and for resting.
Near the hearth, a trio of women worked. One, older and gray-haired, stirred a blackened pot that released the mouthwatering scent of meat and vegetables. The younger two sat with spindles in hand, wool twisting between their fingers. They wore clothing like the Nords, but their hair was cut short. Slaves, most likely, taken in raids.
Eadlyn’s attention shifted away from them as Aevar veered toward the left wall, disappearing with their things through one of several wooden doors that broke the line of the hall. Four on the left and four on the right.
Private bedchambers.
Eadlyn exhaled long and low, the tension in her limbs loosening.
Thank you, Lord.
The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind, with Eadlyn at the center of many questions and curiosity. Her first impression of Aevar’s family was one of genuine warmth. They were louder and more rambunctious than anything she had ever known, their laughter bouncing off the smoke-darkened beams overhead, the children always running about. The chaotic nature was a stark contrast to the hushed, brittle formality and constant dread of her childhood. She suspected this was what a true family was like. The kind she had only ever glimpsed from a distance.
The evening meal of venison stew cooked over the hearth had been everything she hoped for. Though not as fancy as a dinner prepared by the cook at Kenwich, after days of cold trail fare, it tasted heavenly.
Eadlyn said little as they sat around the table, and the family often slipped back into Nordric before catching themselves. She didn’t mind. Weariness clung to her, and she was content to listen and observe. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one ready for rest.
“Well, I’m going to call it a night,” Erik announced, pushing back from the table with a stretch of his arms. “After all those days on the trail, I am looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.”
His declaration began a chain reaction. They exchanged goodnights, and one by one, the family disappeared into the small rooms branching off the longhouse.
Everyone except Eadlyn and Aevar.
Unsure, Eadlyn remained seated, folding her hands tightly in her lap. Her heart drummed her ribs, each beat growing louder as the inevitable approached. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, afraid of what might already be written across Aevar’s face.
