The Winter Bear's Bride (Dubious Book 2) (7 page)

He could be distracted as well.

He thought he’d gotten the best of her, that marrying her would get him one step closer to the Elder’s chair, but he was wrong. Very wrong. While he thought her overwhelmed and distracted by his blustering and kisses, she’d made very certain that the agreements only listed her.
Analise
. Her as a person, not as lady and heir apparent of the Asmundr.

She looked down at the thin white gown she wore, smoothing it over non-existent hips and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

The gown and lack of ornamentation and cloak meant one thing…

Capta Sperata.
Captured Bride.

It was an old custom, one steeped in antiquity. In times past, an unaccompanied woman caught out in the snow could be taken as bride by the bear-warrior who found her, a tradition that had evolved into a way for couples to elope if either family opposed the mating. But it came with a cost: a captured bride was cut off from her family, severing all ties, to become solely her husband’s. A cost she planned to turn to her advantage.

It was easy to achieve. A thin white shift, no cloak, indoor shoes… She would take nothing with her. Just as though she’d been cast out to the mercy of the elements.

Just as Aevar had been all those years ago…

Rika sighed, moving forward to push Analise’s hair back from her face and look into her eyes.

“Never let it be said that you lack courage. You have the heart and will of the strongest bear warrior, child.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and tears filled her eyes. “Your father does not deserve your loyalty.”

She would not cry. She would
not
cry. Analise blinked back tears at the words and, impulsively, wrapped her arms around the older woman.

“I loved him, you know?” she whispered, even as the horns blew to announce the arrival of Scar’s men. “Aevar… He was going to ask my father for my hand. That’s why he was on that hunt. Why…why my father—”

She couldn’t get the rest of the words out, her voice choked and she simply buried her face into the curve of Rika’s shoulder.

“I know, my love.” Rika stroked her hair gently. “I’ve known for years, and he would have loved you for the rest of his days.” She pulled away, hands on Analise’s shoulders and her expression firm. “But he’s gone and you need to think of yourself now. Don’t do this. Don’t anger Scar by doing this.”

“I have to,” she whispered, hands wrapped around Rika’s wrists. She needed her to understand. Needed at least one person to understand.

“The other clans will never bow to Scar’s will. There are too many of them and they’ll tear the Asmundr apart if he takes over, even as my mate. And I can’t have that on my conscience. This way…” She shrugged and tried for a smile. It wouldn’t come. “This way it’s just me. That I can live with.”

She paused for a moment, then looked earnestly at Rika. “As soon as I’m gone, you leave as well, okay? Go to the Halvard…Mikkel is a good man and it won’t be long until he succeeds his father. Promise me!”

She shook Rika’s shoulders until the woman nodded.

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” Analise smiled, turning as the doors in front of them opened and the Einar warriors entered the room.

Time to meet her fate.

He never thought he’d get married, but here he was, kitted out in his best leathers, a new cloak about his shoulders as he waited for the first glimpse of his bride.

Analise.

Her name conjured up her image and for a moment he allowed himself to crack the door to his past and remember another time. A time when bitterness and hatred had no stranglehold on him. A time when everything had seemed possible and a childhood friendship had started to blossom into something else. The memory made him smile, the walls around his heart cracking a little to allow in the possibility of…what?…happiness?

He kept his gaze on the outline of the Asmundr hold. Arick and his most trusted warriors had gone to claim his bride and bring her to him. He’d backed her into a corner, yet she’d still agreed to marry him. A decision she’d made with a calmness and fortitude that both surprised and gave him a newfound respect for her. She was far more than the pawn clan gossip had painted her.

And she was his…

The thought overwhelmed all else. Since the moment he’d met her, he’d tried to hate her, tried to see her as the entitled, stuck-up bitch most women of her rank and status as a bear-mate were. But he couldn’t. As soon as she’d stood up to him in her father’s hall, chiding him for violence, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind. Hell, he’d wanted to claim her then and there, crushing her delicate body against his as he plundered her mouth. Wanted other, more carnal things…

He shuddered, rolling his shoulders as the warriors ahead of him shouted a warning that someone approached. Instantly, the group around him was on alert. The Asmundr might have been defeated in battle, and leadership ceded to Analise when her father hovered on the brink of death, but he wouldn’t put it past some of Magnus’ loyal men to mount an attack.

Then the familiar broad shoulders of Arick came into view, and Scar breathed a sigh of relief. For all of a couple of seconds as the group emerged out of the lightly falling snow and he saw his bride clearly for the first time.

His heart stuttered for a moment, a chill settling over him.

He hadn’t thought much on what she would wear to their wedding. As the daughter of the Elder, he’d assumed her wedding gown would have been of the finest quality, exquisitely made and a testament to her status as the Elder’s daughter. Her hair would be piled up on top of her head, displaying the graceful arch of her neck, jewels woven between the locks…

None of it. Nothing. Instead, she wore a simple gown, her arms wrapped around her for warmth and her head was unadorned, blonde curls tangled by the snowy breeze.

 “Oh, shit… she hasn’t.”

“She’s…that’s…”

Capta Sperata.

The chill invading his bones turned to rage, simmering through him dangerously. Instead of honoring their agreement, the one that would see her and her people safe, she’d chosen to cut herself off from her clan, to become a captive bride instead. She’d turned the tables on him, taking what he offered and giving the minimum, herself, in return.

As a tactical move, it was outstanding. She had totally screwed him over, and he hadn’t seen it coming.

The simmer became white hot, explosive, and he strode forward. Arick tried to stop him, but he waved the bigger man off with a snarl.

“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” he demanded, looming over his bride.

She looked up, her expression a calm mask in the face of his anger. “My lord?”

He grabbed her by the upper arms, ignoring her wince. “Don’t you fucking ‘
my lord’
me! You know exactly what I mean,” he growled and raked her slender form with a hard gaze.

Already she was chilled to the bone, her body trembling as the cold tried to claim her. Her lips were turning white and the slippers on her feet were soaked through by the snow. He should put her from him. She’d chosen this path to turn her back on her clan and come out into the snow, so he should make her walk back to the encampment as she was. It would fucking serve her right.

His fingers wouldn’t release. Instead, he hauled her closer. There was no gentleness in his touch now. That was over, had been over the moment she’d thrown his goodwill back in his face. He knew his expression was murderous, but didn’t do anything to alter it as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Was it worth it, my lady?” His whisper was rough, with a dangerous edge, and she shivered in his hold. The scent of fear rolled from her skin, making him feel like a shit, but he ignored it. She should feel fear; she’d brought this on herself.

“W-worth what?” Her lip almost trembled, but she kept her cool, pulling back as far in his hold as she could to meet his gaze. He could snap her like a twig, but still she stood up to him. Admiration filled him, which only fuelled the anger filling his veins. He didn’t want to admire her. She was a traitorous bitch, who’d used his goodwill toward her against him.

He smiled, little more than a feral parting of his lips to show his teeth, as he pulled her forward, hand hard on the back of her head to whisper, “Was fucking me over worth it?” His lips brushed her ear, and she jumped.

Anger turned to lust and he fisted his hand in the back of her hair and pulled her head back. He crashed his mouth down over hers in hard demand. There was nothing soft about his kiss as he pried her lips apart with his tongue. Her soft whimper was lost in his mouth as he plundered hers. He slid his tongue past her lips in thrusts that mimicked what he wanted to do to her with his cock.

Not the love making he’d planned before he’d realized the depths she’d stoop to to get her own way, but simple fucking. He would take her, own her, possess every part of her before the night was out. He would know her in every way a man could know a woman—his rage would accept nothing less.

He broke the kiss to glare down at her. “I hope it was worth it because you’re going to pay for it later…in my bed.”

****

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Analise had known her stunt would anger Scar, but she’d told herself that she could handle it. That the needs of her people outweighed whatever would happen to her. After all, he wouldn’t kill her…and she didn’t think he was the type of man to beat his wife.

Stealing a glance from under her lashes, she studied the brooding man next to her. He’d gone from the dangerous bad boy who set her body on fire, but stopped when she asked him, into a brooding lethality that stole the strength from her knees. As he turned toward her, his dark eyes held no expression, no nothing and she realized she really knew nothing about him. She had no idea how he would react to her duplicity.

Real fear danced along her spine as he leaned down to kiss her, and she couldn’t help it when her body tensed. Their kiss earlier, when he’d… It hadn’t been a kiss. He’d laid claim to her with his mouth as surely as he would take her body later this night. It had been a branding, an intent of ownership as close to tumbling her to the snow-covered ground and fucking her as it could be without actually doing it.

His lips covered hers and she shivered, her heart aching for the smiling Scar who’d cornered her in the hold garden. Unbidden, her fingers curled around the edges of his jerkin, but the touch was over almost before she’d registered, and he stepped away. He didn’t let her get far, though, a hard arm looping around her waist to keep her by his side as he turned to the audience massed behind them.

The Einar stronghold turned out to be that of a clan long dead, the Magnhild. She remembered coming here as a child and wondering at the people who had once lived here before they’d fallen afoul of the Bear-Clan Elder. Now the ruined walls had been shored up, the roofs had been repaired and lights twinkled from the windows.

“Congratulations, Alpha!”

“Welcome the lord and his lady!”

Shouts of congratulation followed them as they walked through the crowds, Scar stopping to shake hands and laugh and joke with his people. His dangerous look disappeared as he did, her new husband appearing at ease and happy. Until he turned back to her at the door and the coldness returned to his features.

He offered his arm without a word, leading her into the the hall. Welcome heat hit her and she shivered in relief. Despite Scar’s own cloak wrapped around her, she’d still felt the bite of the cold outside and her feet were frozen.

People piled in after them, filling the seats at the tables as Scar led her silently to the top table. Two heavily carved chairs sat there, one slightly smaller than the other. The chairs of a clan leader and his wife.

“Your prize,” he murmured as he seated her, flopping down into the chair next to her and motioning for a servant to fill his tankard.

Analise shivered, sliding his cloak from her shoulders and slipping the wet shoes from her feet as the festivities began.

Over the next few hours, drink flowed as mountains of food were devoured. The top table was served sumptous roast meats and vegetables, then beautiful desserts. But, her stomach in knots, Analise couldn’t manage more than a few mouthfuls. It seemed like everything she ate turned to dust in her mouth. None of Scar’s people spoke to her, and even the servants avoided making eye contact. There were furtive glances her way from the guests and whispered conversations. Ignoring them, she picked up her wine goblet.

“You needn’t think that getting drunk will save you,” came a low voice from beside her, the first time Scar had spoken to her since the ceremony. “Insensible or not, I will have you tonight.”

Risking a glance sideways, she found him watching her, chin supported by two knuckles and his big body seemingly relaxed. She knew that was an act. Tension virtually vibrated from his skin, the potential for bloody and brutal violence hanging in the air and his dark eyes like midnight itself.

“I don’t. I’m not looking to be saved.” Her voice was reasonably level and thankfully didn’t break. Lifting her chin, she held eye contact. “I know I made you angry—”

“Angry?!” He sat forward in an explosion of movement, his hand snapping out to grip her at the back of her neck and yank her toward him. She squeaked, hands on the arm of her chair to avoid her ribs being slammed against it.

He smiled, his scar twisting his lips into a snarl. For the first time, it scared her. “Oh you have no idea,
my lady.
”

With those words, he rose, pulling her to her feet. She didn’t fight him, old lessons kicking in. Her heart thundered in her chest as he pushed her in front of him, hand around the back of her neck and fingers curled over her collarbone. No one looked at them as they left the room, and soon the sound of revelry was behind them.

The silence ate at her nerves as he led her through darkened corridors. He didn’t say anything and that made it worse. Her steps faltered on the steps as he pushed her ahead of him up a winding staircase toward the lord’s chambers.