"The jewels are beautiful, my lord," Anora murmured, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked up at him.
"No more beautiful than the woman who will wear them," Wulfgar replied softly, his voice a whispered caress. Smiling at her pleasure, he lifted a small, rolled parchment from the chest. Unrolling it gingerly, he read aloud: "I, Wulfgar Ragnarson, present to Anora, daughter of Godric, ten thousand acres of land adjacent to my own estate. Henceforth, this land is her own property, to do with as she sees fit." This announcement brought great shouts of approval from the stunned guests, with the realization that Anora was now one of the richest women of the Danelaw.
Earl Godric, slightly overcome by his daughter's good fortune, addressed her gently. "Anora, do you accept the marriage gift of Wulfgar Ragnarson, and agree to go with him willingly as his wife?" The great hall suddenly grew hushed, all awaiting her answer.
Anora rose gracefully from her chair and turned to face Wulfgar. His handsome features were inscrutable, yet the steely blue depths of his gaze were searching. His hand reached out to her, and she grasped it with trembling fingers. It was warm and strong, and reassured her. "I do willingly accept, and look upon Wulfgar Ragnarson with great favor," she answered in a clear voice, loud enough for all to hear.
The words had barely escaped her lips when a great roar went up from the guests. Servants rushed to fill empty goblets as the rounds of toasts began anew. The great beams of the hall echoed with the revelry that would no doubt continue far into the night. Oblivious to the merriment, Wulfgar bent his head and kissed Anora's lips, lingering for a moment as he savored their tender warmth.
"Ahem!" Coughing sharply, Father Leofwine gestured toward the documents still lying unsigned on the table.
A deep chuckle rumbled from Wulfgar, and, turning to Earl Godric, he laughed. "Your priest truly has your interests at heart, my lord." Dipping the pen into a small jar of ink, he made his mark on each document, then handed the pen to Anora, who did the same. Content that all formalities had been observed, the aged priest bowed before the couple and took his leave.
"We are in agreement, then," Earl Godric said, offering his silver goblet to Wulfgar.
"Aye, my lord." Wulfgar nodded, his eyes upon Anora. Taking the goblet, he drained it with one draft.
Chapter 6
Anora sipped slowly from her goblet as she watched the celebration around her. The revelry showed no signs of abating, even though the hour was growing late. She glanced at Gwendolyn, unable to suppress a smile at the sight of her tempestuous sister surrounded by anxious suitors. Gwendolyn was smiling prettily, but her eyes flashed dangerously — a strong indication of what she truly thought of their unwanted attentions. Anora sighed. She only hoped her sister would one day find the same happiness she felt this night. Wulfgar's kiss still burned upon her lips, and she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering his embrace. A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over her. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes to find him gazing at her with concern.
"'Tis the honeyed mead, I fear, my lord," Anora murmured, rubbing her temples to ease the dull ache in her head. Accustomed to drinking only small quantities of the potent brew, she could not recall how many times her goblet had been refilled. She knew only that she had never felt so light-headed before. Chiding herself for her foolishness, she rose unsteadily to make her excuses.
"Wait, Anora," Wulfgar bade her gently. He turned to Earl Godric, his voice low. "My lord, I beg leave to escort Lady Anora to her chamber. It seems the drink and excitement have proved too much for her this evening."
Caught off guard by Wulfgar's request, Earl Godric leaned back in his chair, shrewdly appraising the younger man. God's blood, he's impetuous, he thought. Then he chuckled. He could still vividly recall his own haste to bed the beautiful Bronwen eighteen years ago, and gazing on his radiant wife this night he was not surprised that he felt the same even now. Yet, he pondered, sobering, propriety must be maintained. Without the proof of Anora's bloodstain of innocence on the marriage bed, the marriage agreement would be annulled.
Sensing Earl Godric's thoughts, Wulfgar stated bluntly, "No harm shall befall her, my lord. She will be on her wedding day as she is this night . . . a virgin. You have my word."
"You may escort her, then, Wulfgar," Earl Godric consented, a look of firm understanding passing between them.
Wulfgar only hoped that Anora had not heard that rather indelicate exchange. Offering her his arm, they descended the stairs from the dais. Engrossed in their revelry, very few guests noticed the couple's departure as they slipped through a side door that led to the family quarters.
The darkened corridors, dimly lit by sputtering torches, were a relief to Anora from the brightness and smoke-filled air of the great hall. Pausing for a moment to get a breath of fresh air from an open door, she looked up at Wulfgar. "Forgive me, my lord," she began, but he hushed her words with a gentle finger to her lips.
"Come, my love, the hour is late." Leading her by the elbow, Wulfgar carefully guided her through the narrow winding halls. Grateful for his assistance, Anora doubted that she would have been able to walk to her chamber alone. Her head was pounding incessantly, and another wave of dizziness caused her to stumble on the first step that led up to her chamber.
Suddenly she felt herself lifted by Wulfgar's strong arms, and he took the wooden stairs two at a time as if she weighed no more than a feather. Crushed against his broad chest, she could hear the steady beat of his heart. The rhythmic sound sent an odd thrill coursing through her body, and she tensed within his arms. The day's past events seemed a jumbled confusion to her now, and she struggled to clear her clouded mind.
At the top of the stairs, Wulfgar swung open the door and set Anora down just inside the threshold. A copper brazier, glowing brightly in the comer, was the only light in the darkened room. "It is far too warm," Wulfgar announced. Crossing over to the small window, he pushed aside the tanned leather that served as a covering. Cool night air swept into the chamber.
Wulfgar took a deep breath of the bracing air. You are a fool to have brought her here, he thought distractedly, fighting to control his senses. He had never seen Anora look lovelier, or more vulnerable, than she did this night. He longed to hold her in his arms and caress her delicate curves, to awaken the smoldering passion that lay dormant within her. Leaning against the window, he tried to reason with himself that she would be his completely . . . forever . . . in only two days' time.
Anora swayed unsteadily as she stood by the door. Soft moonlight was streaming in from the window, and she could see Wulfgar's tall form illuminated against the indigo sky. "Wulfgar?" she questioned softly, fearful she had displeased him. She had never meant to drink so much mead, and she wondered if that was why he was so silent. Perhaps he had changed his mind, and there would be no wedding. The thought of being without him was more than she could imagine. A low, anguished cry tore from her throat, shattering the stillness of the room.
Suddenly she felt Wulfgar's arms around her, drawing her firmly to him. His lips, warm and hard, possessed her mouth and seemed to draw the very breath from her body. He held her so tightly she could feel the muscled hardness of his chest through her clothing. Returning his kiss with a passion born of innocence, Anora felt an urgent core of longing begin to surge within her and she trembled uncontrollably.
"Anora . . . my Anora," Wulfgar said softly against her ear. He nibbled a tender earlobe, sending shivers of hitherto unknown passion racing through her. By the blood of Odin, he could take her now but for his promise to her father, he thought wildly. Her very nearness threatened to overwhelm his resolve. Parting her lips, he deepened his kiss, his tongue gently probing the honeyed recesses of her mouth.
A soft moan broke from Anora's throat. Wulfgar hesitated a moment, holding her away from him while he gazed at her delicate features in the moonlight. Her eyes, deep emerald pools veiled by lush lashes, reflected her innocent desire. Reaching a decision, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her gently upon the thick fur coverlet, then stepped away and loosened the silver-studded belt from around his waist. Placing his sword, arm bands, and medallion on the chest at the foot of the bed, he kicked off his leather boots and hurriedly stripped off his tunic.
In the moonlight, Wulfgar's lean, battle-hardened form was illuminated in all its male glory. Anora gasped at the sight of his sculpted chest, thickly covered with dark curls, and the dark line of hair that trailed down his taut belly and narrow hips to end in another mass of curls between sinewy thighs. She stared at him openly; surprisingly, she felt little shyness. Her interest pleased him, and he laughed with pleasure at her wide-eyed admiration. Lying down on the bed beside her, he stretched his hard length against her and enfolded her in his steely embrace.
"There is much to learn of love, Anora," he whispered, tracing a path of fiery kisses along her throat. "Tonight I will give you just a taste of the pleasure we will find in each other's arms."
Murmuring gentle, soothing words, he unpinned the silver brooches from her mantle and slowly drew the garment over her head, and there followed shortly by her silken tunic. As the beauty of her form was revealed to him, Wulfgar drew in his breath sharply. His large hands trembled as he slid the lace straps of her camise from her delicate shoulders, then gently pulled the sheer garment from her body. Stunned by her beauty, he knew he had never before beheld such perfection in a woman.