Page 28 of Alliance Bride
Chapter Ten
Thelonghousebuzzedwitha constant undercurrent of movement and purpose as Inga issued final instructions to Alys, Nesta, and the other household slaves. Eadlyn moved among them, offering help where she could. The first of the jarls and their families were expected by midday, and the entire household stirred with a barely contained anticipation.
The atmosphere was infectious, everyone caught up in the rush of the coming festivities. Yet a slight thread of apprehension tightened inside Eadlyn. The Gathering was a time of celebration—a reunion of families, a chance to strengthen bonds—but she couldn’t shake the memory of Aevar’s warning about Staegar. What if others shared his view? What if her presence brought unrest? She pressed her fingers against the fabric of her apron as she moved, a silent prayer rising in her thoughts. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
As she helped Ranvi arrange a crate of drinking horns, someone called her name. A low, distinct call that cut through the chatter, drawing her attention. She turned as Aevar made his wayacross the room, his stride steady and purposeful despite the swirl of activity around him. She had seen little of him over the last few days, except at meals and when they retired to their shared room for the night. Even then, their interactions were minimal. He quietly settled into his furs, and she read. Once the chaos of the Gathering had passed, maybe they would find time to get to know each other better.
As he drew near, she caught his gaze lingering on her—on the cream dress and the red apron she’d chosen that morning. A fleeting change crossed his features, leaving her guessing. She couldn’t quite place it. Not attraction—of that she was sure—but something flickered in his eyes. Wistfulness, perhaps? Longing? It disappeared before she recognized it, vanishing behind his usual mask.
He reached into his coat and held out a hand. Resting in his palm was a small silver object. “Tallak finished our rings this morning.”
Eadlyn took it from him, turning it over in her hand. The intricate vine and flower designs crafted into the band caught the light at every angle. She let out an admiring breath. “It’s beautiful.”
“I asked him for his finest work.” Aevar’s tone was surprisingly gentle, as though the act held weight beyond simple craftsmanship.
She looked up. Such fine work must have been costly. “You didn’t have to do that. A simple silver band would have sufficed.”
Aevar’s expression softened a fraction, a rare glimpse of openness slipping through his guarded demeanor. “You are a princess and my wife. You should have the best.”
The words settled inside her, warm and unexpected. She smiled and slipped the ring onto her finger. The silver gleamedagainst her skin, completely different from the ring she had worn at their wedding ceremony. This one felt…personal.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Before he could respond, a horn rang out from beyond the walls. He turned toward the open door. “Sounds like someone has arrived.”
Inga swept past, already heading for the door. “Probably Halbjorn and Gorum. They always race to be first.”
Ranvi joined them a moment later, herding the children ahead of her. Together they stepped outside, where the spring sun had pierced the stubborn grip of winter. Though the air remained brisk, bright sunlight bathed the village, seeping into Eadlyn’s dress.
Runar and Inga positioned themselves at the head of the gathering. The rest of the family formed a semicircle behind them, creating a show of unity and welcome. Eadlyn stayed close at Aevar’s side and fixed her attention on the path winding toward them.
Then they appeared.
A line of riders rounded a corner, the sun glinting off polished helms and spearheads. Some forty or fifty strong, they made an imposing sight, cloaks streaming behind them, round shields painted in vivid colors hanging from their saddles. Though they came in peace, they appeared ready for war, armed and alert.
At their head rode a man who could have passed for a giant in any southern tale. As tall as Galen and twice as broad, his thick auburn hair and beard blazed like fire in the sunlight. His booming laugh echoed ahead of him as he pulled his horse to a halt.
“Runar!” he bellowed, flinging himself from the saddle.
He strode forward with arms outstretched and seized Runarin a bear-like embrace that ended in a thunderous clap on the back.
Runar grunted but grinned through it. “Halbjorn.”
A second rider dismounted more quietly. Younger by a decade, he had coal-dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked over the gathering with the kind of caution born of experience.
“Gorum,” Runar greeted, clasping forearms with him.
After a few brief words exchanged in Nordric, Halbjorn turned toward the assembled family. He swept his gaze over them until it landed on Eadlyn. His thick eyebrows lifted.
“You must be Princess Eadlyn,” he said in heavily accented Aerlish.
She dipped her head. “I am.”
“Ha! I expected some shy little thing.” He barked a laugh and turned to Gorum. “But look at her! Already seems like one of us.”
Eadlyn glanced down at her apron dress. “I’ve been doing my best.”
Gorum’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, appraising, and then he gave a quick nod. No grin, no theatrics, just a glimmer of approval before he turned back to the others.
