Page 46 of Alliance Bride
But he hesitated. Would the gods even acknowledge him if he made a request on behalf of his nephew?
Eadlyn’s words whispered in his mind.God always hears and answers prayers. He brushed them away. Even if it were true, he was not Christian. Her God would not hear or answer him.
As he drew near the longhouse and took in the peaceful scene outside, he slowed to a halt. His mother and Ranvi were sitting in the sun. Nearby, Eadlyn knelt beside Trygg and Katla in the grass, her hands resting in her lap as Trygg showed her a rock he’d found. Eadlyn listened with full attention, as if he’d discovered a rare gem. She tried to answer something he’d said and butchered it.
Trygg doubled over in giggles, prompting Katla to do the same. Móthir and Ranvi joined in the mirth, gently correcting Eadlyn’s mistake. A few paces away, Alvir wobbled forward on unsteady legs, determined to be part of the moment. Eadlyn straightened as he raised his arms toward her. She lifted him up without hesitation and settled him on her hip.
The sight hit Aevar square in the chest as if his pendant had turned into Thor’s true hammer. She looked so natural and comfortable standing there with a child in her arms, the other two at her skirts, almost as if he were seeing a vision of what the future could hold. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs struggled to expand at the ache that grew in his heart.
And yet, icy dread pooled in his stomach. The two battled each other until something brushed his shoulder. He jerked his head around, finding Braan at his side. He banished the tumult within him.
His brother observed the scene, arms crossed. “She’d make a good mother.”
Aevar fought a wince, unable to disagree with him. “She would.”
Braan said nothing. Only watched until Aevar felt his attention shift to him. “Well, there’s only one way to make that happen. Maybe stop treating her like a guest and start treating her like your wife.”
The words hit a raw nerve. Aevar straightened his spine. “I won’t do that. Not without her consent.”
Braan’s brow lifted. “Have you asked her lately?”
Aevar shot him a sour look. His brother needed to mind his own business.
Braan held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. Be miserable.”
“I’m not miserable.”
Braan let out a dry laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked off, muttering something under his breath that Aevar didn’t bother trying to catch.
Aevar remained behind, jaw clenched, the weight in his chest morphing into something harsher. Frustration. Shame. Maybe even grief, though he didn’t know what for. His attention drifted back to Eadlyn as she bent to hand Alvir over to Ranvi. He sucked in a hard breath, banishing any remnant of the longing that had arisen so fiercely, and forced his gaze away.
He didn’t want a wife, and he didn’t want children.
The arrangement with Eadlyn worked just fine. She may never have her own children, but at least she could enjoy Erik and Ranvi’s. That was enough for both of them.
It had to be.
Chapter Seventeen
Mistshroudedthemountains,and a pale light filtered through the clouds as Eadlyn stepped out of the longhouse. She adjusted her shawl, breathing in the damp air. The trees had burst into bright green in recent days, spring fully arrived, but the cool, rainy weather had kept her indoors. She’d missed her morning walks.
The clouds overhead still lingered, but they didn’t appear heavy with rain, and the faintest glow behind them suggested the sun might yet win the battle. She stepped onto the path toward the fjord, her spirits lifting. As she walked through the village, she exchanged soft smiles with the women tending to their animals or carrying pails. A group of children came dashing up the road, full of shouts and wild energy.
“Góthan morgin, Princess!” they chorused as they swept past her.
She laughed at their exuberance, and her thoughts drifted as she walked. What would life have looked like if she and Edward had been born in a place like this, children of a smith or a weaver? Would they have been freer? Happier?
But no. Her life was not a mistake. God had crafted her specifically for the time and situation in which He had placed her.
The fjord greeted her like an old friend, the surface glassy beneath the gray sky. Rain had left the sand damp and soft, squelching under her shoes as she stepped to the water’s edge. A gentle stillness met her. No wind, no waves, just the slow inhale and exhale of the fjord against the shore. She breathed in the air, cool and clean, and the calmness of the water settled in her soul.
She loved it here.
And not just the fjord, but the village. The longhouse. Her home. In a little over a month, she had settled into her new life. She recalled the anxious days and nights leading up to the alliance. The fear that had clawed at her from the inside. She never imagined finding peace here, and she praised God for the miracle.
After a time in prayer, she turned back toward the village, eager to return to her weaving project. But as she passed the first cluster of buildings, someone stepped into her path. She opened her mouth to greet them, but the words died on her tongue.
