"Lady Anora . . . Lady Gwendolyn," he stated formally in a low, resonant voice, bowing slightly as he stood in front of them. Gwendolyn acknowledged him with a nod and a faint smile, then passed by him to take her seat beside Lady Bronwen.
"Welcome, my lord," Anora murmured, overtaken by a sudden shyness. Trembling, she felt rooted to the ground. Wulfgar was standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth emanating from his strong body. His clean, male scent enveloped her senses.
Wulfgar took her small hand and lifted it to his lips, gently kissing the delicate fingers. Anora's breath caught in her throat. She looked up at him, her emerald eyes locking with his steely gaze in an unspoken embrace.
"Come, Anora," he whispered huskily, offering her his arm.
The assembled guests had been silent while they watched this interchange with great interest, but they quickly resumed their hearty shouts of good wishes as the handsome couple walked to the dais and took their places side by side at the main table.
With a subtle wave of her hand, Lady Bronwen signaled to the servants to bring in the food. Soon the long tables were groaning under the weight of huge, steaming platters of roasted meat and smoked salmon. The ravenous guests, amazed at the endless parade of dishes from the kitchen, soon had their trenchers of thick, crusty bread piled high with succulent slices of beef and fowl. All this and much more was to be washed down with ample quantities of ale and honeyed mead. Savory side dishes of eggs with herbs and roasted potatoes also accompanied the meal, as well as bowls of autumn vegetables. And for dessert there were steaming puddings studded with choice bits of dried fruits and nuts.
As the guests settled down in earnest to enjoy the fine repast, their contented sounds of eating mingled with the merry conversation, occasional belches, and boisterous laughter. Once in a while a loud yelp was heard from under a table, where a well-placed kick to a growling hound would settle a dispute over discarded food.
Musicians strolled among the tables strumming stringed instruments, often stopping here and there to play a favored tune. Acrobats and jugglers performed their daring feats for the astonished guests, while lively jesters, clothed in multicolored costumes, teased and entertained with their lusty tales and ribald jokes. Countless toasts were offered for the happiness of the betrothed couple, and more than one red-faced guest collapsed into his trencher in a drunken stupor.
Gazing at Anora, still blushing prettily from the last bawdy toast, Wulfgar had all he could do not to draw her into his arms and taste the sweetness of her lush lips. He regretted that such little conversation had passed between them during the meal, but Earl Godric had kept him occupied with a long discourse on the year's political events. He had listened with half an ear, unable to concentrate fully on the heated talk of strategy. Anora's slender beauty and the occasional innocent touch of her leg against his sinewy thigh had been wrecking havoc on his senses all night.
Wulfgar took a long draft of ale from his silver goblet, steeling himself to be patient. He had eaten well of the hearty fare placed before him, but had drunk very little thus far. The warrior in him was always on guard; and he preferred to keep his wits about him while in the household of the earl. He leaned over toward Anora. "You have not eaten very much tonight," he commented gently, looking at her untouched trencher.
The sound of Wulfgar's voice, deep and resonant, sent a thrill racing through Anora. "I am not very hungry, my lord," she murmured. She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, unable to think of anything further to say. She must appear a tongue-tied simpleton to him, she thought, chiding herself. Hearing her father launch into another political tale, she glanced up just as Wulfgar reluctantly turned his attention once again toward his host.
She studied him unabashedly, drinking in the sight of his ruggedly handsome features. His dark hair, almost black, fell in soft waves to the collar of his tunic, while his steel blue eyes were framed by arching black brows and a strong forehead. His commanding profile, strong jawline, and the high-boned cheeks of his tanned face were a testimony to his Danish heritage.
Resting her gaze on his chiseled lips, Anora wondered vaguely what it would be like to feel them possess hers in a lingering kiss. Wulfgar had kissed her lightly several times during their brief courtship, but always in the presence of her maid-in-waiting. She recalled the sense of restraint she had felt in his arms, as if he were holding something back. Gazing at him now, imagining his hands caressing her skin, she was shocked at the boldness of her thoughts. Never before had she felt this way about any man. He alone had awakened in her a mysterious longing that she knew only he could fulfill. Mesmerized by her thoughts, Anora was startled out of her reverie by Wulfgar's sudden flashing grin.
"I trust my appearance meets with your approval," Wulfgar laughed rakishly. He had finished his conversation with Earl Godric, and had turned to find Anora studying him with desirous intensity, much to his delight.
"Do not mock me, my lord!" Anora blurted, sudden tears glistening in her eyes. Flustered and embarrassed that she had been caught staring at him in such a wanton fashion, she rose suddenly from her chair, upsetting it.
Catching her quickly about the waist, Wulfgar gently sat her on his lap, much to the amusement of several guests who had overheard their exchange. He locked her within his strong embrace. "Do not try to run from me, Anora," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. His voice was soothing as he stroked her long, silken hair. "It was not my intent to mock . . . I simply spoke in jest. Your beautiful eyes have betrayed you, Anora. They reflect a desire as strong as my own." He nuzzled her neck for a moment, breathing in the lavender-scented fragrance of her hair. "Soon, my love . . ."
By the blood of Odin, Wulfgar thought fiercely, would that this were our wedding night! He had wanted Anora for his own since the first day he had seen her . . . more than he had ever desired any woman. Her innocence had beguiled him, her beauty had bewitched him, yet it was the smoldering passion, reflected in the emerald depths of her eyes, that had captured his soul. He could feel her trembling within his arms, and the nearness of her threatened to overwhelm him. Willing himself to release her, he leaned over and righted her chair, and lifted her to her seat.
"Well, Lord Wulfgar, you have certainly given them something to talk about!" Earl Godric laughed, gesturing toward the many guests now watching the couple with great interest. He turned to Lady Bronwen, his voice low. "I believe 'tis a good time to sign those documents. We should summon the priest." She nodded in agreement.
"Grimbald, fetch Father Leofwine. I believe he is sitting at the far end of that table over there," Lady Bronwen murmured to the steward standing close by.
"Aye, my lady," Grimbald replied, hurrying off to do her bidding.
Anora blushed heatedly. She felt as if all eyes in the hall were upon her. She looked over at Gwendolyn. Her sister flashed her a warm smile of encouragement, but she could only nod numbly in reply. Dazed by the tumultuous whirl of emotions raging within her, she raised her goblet to her lips and took a sip of the honeyed mead. The spicy liquid spread a warm fire through her body as she drank, and she quickly drained the goblet. Feeling suddenly light-headed, she realized too late the effects of the potent drink on her empty stomach. Her vision grew fuzzy, and she could barely make out the stooped figure of the priest as he made his way toward the dais.
"My lord, may I present the betrothal agreements," Father Leofwine stated loudly. He handed the two rolled parchment documents to Earl Godric. He had spent many long hours hunched over his writing desk, meticulously inscribing the elaborate text with inks of different hues, and he was exceedingly proud of his contribution to this joyous occasion.
"My thanks, Holy Father," Earl Godric said warmly. The old priest nodded, then took his place behind Anora, where he would witness the signing. Earl Godric pulled the silken cord tied around each document. Unrolling them carefully, he placed one in front of his daughter and the other before Wulfgar.
Rising from his chair, Wulfgar motioned for one of his men to bring forth the carved-ivory chest he had brought from his homeland. The warrior set it up on the main table, then stood on guard before the dais. The air of speculation heightened in the hall, and many guests stood to get a better view.
Wulfgar opened the intricately carved lid, his voice resounding throughout the hushed hall. "I, Wulfgar Ragnarson, prince of the Danelaw, having sworn fealty to King Edgar, my liege lord, do hereby present to Anora, daughter of Godric, Earl of Cheshire, a marriage gift, in hopes that she will accept it willingly and look upon me with favor." Reaching into the chest, he lifted out a small wrapped bundle and set it carefully before Anora. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the silken ribbon that securely tied the bundle. It seemed like an eternity passed before she was able to untie the knot, but at last the linen folds fell open to reveal the contents.
"Oh!" Anora gasped. She stared in awe at the glittering brooch that sparkled at her in the bright candlelight. She had never seen anything like it before! Made of shimmering, beaten gold, the oval brooch was encrusted with emeralds and creamy-white pearls. She could feel Wulfgar's heated gaze upon her as she shakily held it up for all to see, and she started when he laid another bundle before her. Larger than the first, it contained a set of perfectly matched earrings and two gold filigree arm rings inlaid with ivory and precious stones.