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‘I need air.’ She put her hands on her knees and tried to gulp a breath. The tight bodice of the dress prevented her and the world started to go black at the edges. ‘Help me.’
Chapter Five
‘Sayrid? Can you breathe? Where are you hurt?’
At Sayrid’s faint cry, Hrolf turned back towards her. In the space of a heartbeat, all colour drained from her face. She made a wild grab for support as her knees began to buckle.
Before she fully crumpled to the ground, Hrolf captured her about her middle and hoisted her on to his shoulder to general approval. Silently he kicked himself. He should have known she’d stubbornly refuse to admit any injury and would carry on regardless. She was like him in that way, but it stopped now.
‘Next time tell me before you faint,’ he murmured. ‘I have you.’
The movement seemed to revive her. Hrolf breathed a sigh of relief.
‘I walk on my own,’ she said, striking his muscular back. One fist landed straight on a bruise, but Hrolf paid it little attention. ‘There is no need for this pretence. I’m far too big to be carried like a normal bride.’
He shook his head at her stubbornness. The woman had practically fainted away and then insisted she was fine. She was his responsibility now and he refused to lose everything he’d won simply because Sayrid Avildottar didn’t look after herself properly. He tightened his grip on her kicking legs and strode away from the hall where the feast was prepared.
She hit her fist against his back, harder this time. The pain ratcheted through him. ‘You’re going the wrong way!’
‘You are my bride and you go where I go.’ Hrolf drew his sword. ‘And I will fight any man or woman who says differently.’
She stopped squirming. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I wish to enjoy my bride. Alone!’ he thundered.
The crowd parted in front of him.
He carried her to the deserted street and carefully lowered her down. Her front slid along his. Her breasts touched his chest, making his flesh ache with desire. It was wrong. He knew she wasn’t well and he still wanted her. He had never felt this way about a woman before.
‘You can walk if you wish.’ His voice rasped with banked passion.
‘I do wish.’
Sayrid hated that she had enjoyed how her curves moulded to his hard muscles for that all-too-brief instant when he lowered her down. She stepped hurriedly back and made a show of straightening the pleats in the skirts so it concealed more of her legs.
‘Why did you feel the need to carry me?’ she asked, studying the ground with great intensity.
‘You asked for help. I obliged. You may thank me properly later.’
She risked a glance upwards and saw something in his eyes which made her draw her breath in, but it vanished so quickly she couldn’t be sure. Her mind kept remembering how his tongue had darted into her mouth during the kiss after the ceremony. Was that the sort of thanking he wanted? She curled her fists, tensing her body as she imagined how he’d laugh if she gave in to the impulse.
‘That wasn’t the help I meant…the crowd was far too close…I just needed air.’
‘You fainted.’ His face became full of uncompromising planes. ‘Kettil will understand that my first duty is to my bride. I’ve no wish for her to drop dead on our wedding night.’
‘You’re overreacting.’
‘How badly injured were you in our battle? The truth.’
Sayrid drew on her years of experience and jutted her jaw forward. Her touch-me-and-I-break-your-arm face, as Auda once called it. ‘I’ll live. Two years ago on the way to Birka, the mast broke in a storm and landed squarely on my shoulder. I kept going then and steered the boat to safety. I can certainly keep going now.’
He captured her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. ‘This is not about the safety of your men or anyone else but you. I will not have my bride keeping secrets about her health. I know how quickly people can die.’
‘Bruises, nothing more.’ She wrenched her chin away. Keeping secrets indeed! He was the one who hadn’t informed her about his daughter. If she had known… Sayrid curled her fists. ‘The crowd hemmed me in. And the gown is far too tight. But fainting was a mistake. I should have been stronger. I will do better next time.’
Sayrid concentrated on a spot above his right shoulder and carefully composed her face. How could she begin to explain the sheer terror which had washed over her when she encountered his daughter? How all the memories of her stepmother flooded back?
‘Can we go to the feast? People will be disappointed if the bride and groom leave before the feast starts. They might whisper that it shows disrespect.’ She forced her feet to move.
