Viking Beast: Viking Warriors Series

by de Maupassant, Emmanuelle

  “You need not doubt my fidelity.” He sealed his promise with a kiss upon my inner thigh. “There will be only happiness.” He continued upward, his golden beard grazing soft against my skin. “And many children.”

  His voice was husky as he brought his mouth to my curls. His tongue found me, the tip flicking back and forth, and I moaned, feeling my wetness grow. The familiar ache stirred low in my belly. Eirik had shown me what it was to be desired and to crave in return.

  His heart was mine, he said. Yet, I held back some part of me—afraid of him seeing how much I needed him.

  Not so very long ago, he’d left Svolvaen at Gunnolf’s command, to make a marriage of alliance. Duty was stronger than love, he’d told me. Even now, on the eve of our wedding, I didn’t know if I could trust my heart to his care.

  Nor did I know if I could trust myself.

  On the night of Ostara, when Gunnolf had seduced me, hadn’t I welcomed that strange, consuming oblivion? I’d believed myself betrayed—that Eirik had never loved me, that he’d come back wedded. Piece by piece I’d died, letting Gunnolf claim what Eirik had so carelessly cast away, until I barely remembered who I was. I hadn’t wanted to remember.

  I pushed against Eirik’s shoulders, suddenly fearful, unsure of myself, but he grasped my waist and pulled me firm toward his mouth.

  “I want you.” He buried his tongue deeper, reaching where his cock would soon follow. “And this—forever.”

  I struggled only briefly, holding fast to the raised portion of the deck until I could think only that he must not stop. It had always been so, from the first days, when he’d come to Holtholm as a raider, and I’d been powerless to deny him.

  I slid my fingers through his hair, yielding to the urgent hunger of his mouth. With yearning pain, I wanted him, but he took his time, for it aroused him to see me so. He teased me long and slow, until my belly tightened with sweet pain and I shuddered, blinded by brilliant light.

  Unfastening the brooches that held my gown, he pulled all that I wore over my head, until I lay as naked as he, and he moved to cover me.

  He pressed his lips to my eyelids and my forehead, and to the hollow of my throat, scooped back my hair to nuzzle behind my ear.

  I twined my arms about his neck, welcoming his weight and the long sliding push of his penetration—lost to the sensation of being filled and stretched.

  “So tight. So warm.” He buried his face against my breast, suckling with each thrust, then grazing my nipple with his teeth, yielding sharp pleasure.

  I could not lie still. I wanted all of him. Caressing his buttocks, I pulled him deeper, wrapping my legs around his. “Eirik!” I breathed his name, gasping for air, trembling, while he clasped me tight. A searing jolt seized me, white-hot and blazing. I raised my hips to receive him, crying at the depth of his final invasion, arching as he spurted his seed—desiring all that he would give.

  * * *

  I rubbed my cheek on his chest, listening to the slap of water against the side of the boat as we lay together.

  Eirik cradled me. “You’re mine, Elswyth.” His lips touched the crown of my head. Tenderly, he stroked my hair. “I wish only…”

  I raised myself to my elbow, wishing to know what troubled him, but he shook his head.

  “’Tis foolish— for she is dead these thirty years.”

  Sitting up, I placed my hand over his heart. He’d spoken of his mother only once—of her abduction when Eirik had been but three summers old.

  “Do you wish to tell me of it?”

  A shadow crossed his face. “It changes nothing to dwell on the past.”

  I brushed the hair from his eyes. “But it may ease your heart and—”

  He caught my wrist and turned my palm to meet his lips, holding it there for several moments. “You wish to know what pains me, wife, that you may share in understanding.”

  “I do.”

  Eirik returned my hand to his chest, holding it there with his own. He breathed slowly, his brow furrowed, gathering his thoughts.

  “For many years, I had no knowledge. Only later did I discover what no one wished to tell me. My grandfather, jarl in his time, married Ingrid of Skálavík and two children were born: first Hallgerd, then my mother, Agnetha. When Agnetha reached the age of betrothal, they promised her to Beornwold, Ingrid’s nephew—Jarl of Skálavík.”

  I bit my lip, for I knew that such a contract had never been fulfilled.

  “Hallgerd became jarl on his father’s death and spurned the contract, giving Agnetha to his closest friend, Wyborn.”

  “A love match?”

  Eirik nodded. “Half of the dowry that would have come with Agnetha was sent to Beornwold in recompense, and it seemed the matter was settled. My mother soon bore Gunnolf, followed by Helka, and myself. More than six years passed.”

  I frowned, knowing that blood feuds began over far lesser offences. “But Beornwold had not forgotten.”

  “No, Beornwold neither forgot nor forgave. After my grandmother’s death, he came to take Agnetha by force, saying that what he’d been promised should not be withheld.

  “And Hallgerd beat the Skálavík raiders into retreat.”

  “Aye,” said Eirik, “but not before my father fell, and my mother was taken by Beornwold.” He squeezed my hand. “Svolvaen emptied its stores and coffers for her release, and a pact was signed. The boat maker and his two oldest sons went to Skálavík to build three dragonships. In return, there was to be no further conflict.”

  I swallowed, wondering if I was brave enough to ask more. “And did she speak of what passed during her captivity?”

  Eirik made no reply, merely looking out over the fjord. At last, he said, “When Svolvaen sent a ransom for her release, Beornwold sent her back, but she wasn’t the same. I woke up one morning and she was gone again. Everyone was searching. It was the next day that a fishing boat found her floating, out there.”

  “Oh, Eirik!”

  I regretted having asked at all.

  His mother had taken her life, grieving for the husband lost to her, and for the lost part of herself taken by Beornwold. The saddest part was that Eirik, Helka, and Gunnolf had lost them both.

  Eirik gathered up my under tunic, passing it over my head, then held out my green gown, helping me into it before pulling on his own clothes. “My brother grew up thinking Hallgerd weak for having signed the truce. He always spoke of revenge for our parents’ deaths but knew we lacked Skálavík’s strength. An attack would have brought the end of everything.”

  “And what do you wish, Eirik?”

  “I, too, have hungered for justice, but I won’t ask others to lay down their lives to appease my sorrow. We all live with wounds from our past. It’s wisest to find a way to see beyond them.” Moving to the other end of the boat, he fitted the oars once more.

  “We’ll complete the fortifications begun by Gunnolf once the summer’s crop is harvested, but I intend no feud with Skálavík. Beornwold is dead these four seasons past, and the bad blood has ended.”

  We said no more as Eirik turned the vessel about. The sky had grown dusky—a soft twilight before the brief hours of darkness.

  My heart should have been filled with joy but a secret lodged there, held close these weeks past. I hadn’t been sure at first, but my conviction had been growing, and I needed to tell Eirik. He would soon notice himself, and I must speak afore that time came.

  For so long I’d desired a child, and Freya had answered me, but my past clung upon my shoulder like the darkest shadow.

  Gunnolf had died on the night Eirik had returned to Svolvaen, yet I remained in his power, for I feared the babe I carried had not been sired by the man I loved.

  Just another few weeks, and I will tell him.

  But tell him what?

  That his own brother, having made me his bed thrall, had planted his seed where Eirik had failed? That his heir might be born of that lust, rather than the love between us?

  Eirik had sworn for
giveness of all that had passed in those precarious days—but would he forgive this? Surely better for me to pretend certainty and claim the conceiving to have occurred only after Eirik’s return. It might even be true.

  I’d wanted a marriage built upon trust and honesty.Instead, it would begin with a lie.

  4

  Elswyth

  July 31st, 960AD

  “A toast to our jarl and his good lady,” bellowed Olaf. He towered above us, standing upon the table. “May the gods give us all such wives—clever and resourceful, and with beauty exceeded only by Freya.”

  Eirik grinned and inclined his head in thanks as our guests drank, and there was much banging of cups for them to be refilled.

  “You’ll need to go looking in the forest to find your sweetheart, Olaf!” Anders hollered from the other side of the hall. “Some bear is sure to be willing to embrace you.”

  “No need to go so far,” guffawed Halbert. “The sheep pen is right outside. Half a dozen darlings to choose from there, Olaf!”

  The others roared in laughter, men and women alike, making ribald gestures. Guðrún, walking amongst them with her jug of mead, was tossed from one lap to the next, until she landed upon Olaf’s—to much cheering and her own blushes, for all knew she nursed tender feelings for him.

  I couldn’t help but feel content. Since my arrival in Svolvaen, I’d fought for acceptance and approval. Now, seeing how I made Eirik happy, his people had granted me their blessing. I’d played my part as hostess that day, taking many kisses upon the cheek.

  Only Bodil, standing apart, scowled as I glanced her way.

  You can keep your sour looks, I thought. For I am married now, and Eirik will have no more of you! I gave her an innocent smile, but she continued to glower, and I reprimanded myself for pettiness. Though she’d once been Eirik’s lover, he’d shown no inclination for her since bringing me to Svolvaen.

  I resolved to enjoy the merriment, which had moved to the bracing of elbows for arm wrestling. With so much mead drunk, the bouts quickly escalated, until there were several men tumbling on the floor, red in the face. They tasked Eirik with taking on every one. The losers of each bout received a light punishment—a horn of ale brought for drinking in one long draught, to more cheers.

  I’d lived in Svolvaen a full year, but I was yet to grow accustomed to the boisterous nature of such gatherings. With some relief, I retreated—it being a bride’s privilege—asking Sylvi to set aside the platter she carried and come with me to comb my hair. I’d worn it loose today as Eirik liked best, falling to my waist.

  From beyond the wooden partition of Eirik’s chamber, there came the sound of stamping feet and shouts of encouragement. I closed my eyes as she drew the carved bone through my hair, letting her attention soothe me.

  “My congratulations to you, my lady,” Sylvi spoke softly as she worked. “And may the gods send you their blessings, and all the happiness a bride may wish for.”

  I murmured my thanks, but no more—for I knew she referred to the getting of children. She’d guessed already, perhaps, at my condition, but I knew she would say nothing. Sylvi had always been adept at keeping secrets.

  “’Tis beautiful you look. The bride’s scarlet is becoming on you.”

  Sylvi had dyed the wool herself, steeping it in the bark of mountain alder, and the colour had sprung vivid. I touched her hand in gratitude. “You’ve always been kind, Sylvi—a good friend.”

  She squeezed my fingers in return, then drew the comb again. She gathered back my hair from my shoulders, being careful not to dislodge the copper brooches clipped to the looped straps of my gown. I tilted my head back and absentmindedly fingered the adornment on my bodice. Not just any brooch, but the ivory pieces Asta had gifted to me before her death.

  Asta.

  I could still see her face so clearly.

  Since the night of Gunnolf and Faline having fallen into the chasm upon the cliffs, the rumours of Asta’s spirit walking had ceased, and I was glad—for that other realm had no place in this.

  Gunnolf’s body had washed ashore after some days, though Faline’s had never been found. With his sword and shield upon his chest, we’d sent the jarl to the next life upon the pyre of a burning ship.

  I wondered if he and Asta had found the peace that had eluded them in this world. There had been too much death and too much unhappiness, but Eirik was right—we would begin anew.

  We’d spoken our vows that morning, upon the shore of the fjord, alongside Helka and Leif, with all Svolvaen bearing witness to our marriage.

  Helka would soon return to Bjorgyn with her new husband, there to enjoy further rites before Leif’s own people, but, until then, we’d celebrate together.

  Eirik’s gaze had not wavered as he’d made his promise to keep me as a husband should—to care for me, feed and clothe me, protect me, and give me children. The last he’d spoken with a smile, which I’d returned even as my heart trembled, aware of the babe growing already in my womb.

  With two pigs and a goat offered in sacrifice to Odin, the animals had been promptly carried off for roasting. The feast couldn’t begin in earnest until the meat was cooked. There had been merriment at the tables nonetheless, each set with the abundance of our mid-summer harvest, and every guest given a loaf baked in the shape of a sun wheel.

  Though Eirik had desired our marriage without delay, we’d chosen to wait some seemly time, and to conduct our festivities to coincide with lithasblot—giving thanks to Urda for the bounty of Svolvaen’s lands. The weather had been kind in ripening the crops and, thanks to the algae I’d discovered in the cliff caves, we’d cured the ailment that had plagued our people. We were strong enough again to tend the fields. The first fruits were gathered, and the livestock were faring well.

  “There. All done, and ’tis like a golden cloak, my lady.” Setting aside the comb, Sylvi knelt to retie my slippers. They, too, were new, crafted from softest leather and sewn to match my bridal garb.

  It felt strange, still, to have others wait upon me. For so long, I’d been little more than a thrall—first as the plaything of Eirik, brought from the far western shores of my homeland for his pleasure, and then at the mercy of his brother, Gunnolf, in those dark days of Eirik’s absence. In name, I’d been ‘free’, but there had been few choices before me.

  We were fortunate in having Alvis, the lad who tended our livestock, to fetch water and firewood. But I’d always helped Sylvi and Guðrún, for there was much work to be done—cleaning hare for the pot, kneading bread, churning milk for cheese and butter, smoking and salting meat and fish, and working at the loom. With the harvest safe, we’d be busy preserving for weeks to come. No matter my position as the jarl’s wife, I’d vowed that those duties would not change—though I’d be spared the more burdensome tasks.

  Another roar of laughter rose from within the hall. As Sylvi glanced up, she caught my eye. I sighed, somewhat wearily, knowing that the revelry would continue long. There had been much to prepare in the past weeks, in readiness for this celebration, and we were both exhausted.

  However, Sylvi only smiled. “’Tis been too long since there was merriment, my lady. We must let them have their fun.”

  She was right, of course, but I was reluctant to face again the men’s rowdy jests and foolery. The door of the longhouse was wide open this night, and it would be easy for me to slip out, just for a while.

  Filled with so many, the longhouse was warm, and my arms were bare, but Eirik had given me a wedding gift—a knee-length cape of finely woven cloth, trimmed with the russet-coloured pelt of a fox he’d hunted this winter past. I draped it about my shoulders, glad for it as I stepped out. A breeze shivered the forest leaves.

  There were only a few hours of darkness, for it was high summer still, but the true night was upon us now. Further down, there was the distant light of torches. Even tonight, the watch were keeping guard, and I imagined them impatient at their posts, waiting to be relieved, that they might join the carousin
g.

  I walked some way up the hill, eager to leave behind the unruly celebration. It was my habit to seek the evening air, for I was oft disturbed by fretful dreams, and they’d plagued me much of late. Perhaps that explained my tiredness.

  I breathed deeply, willing myself to let go my fears. Eirik and I were married, and nothing could prevent our happiness. Soon, I would tell him of the babe, and he would want to believe that it was his.

  Yet, something gnawed within me. I knew not what the gods of my new home would make of my falsehood, but the omniscient God of my old life would not approve. In my heart, nor did I.

  I looked skyward, as if seeking the answer there, and the clouds parted to show me the moon. Full and low hung, it filled the sky with so much light, I was dazzled, but only momentarily. No sooner had the orb revealed itself, than a shadow passed over from which a skull seemed to form, the jaw open in a leering grin. I wanted to look away, but the vision held me transfixed.

  Never before had I seen such a thing, though I knew the summer skies were said to play tricks in the same way as the winter borealis.

  The next moment, from the corner of my eye, I saw some movement, or heard a footfall, but whoever was there was quicker than me.

  A hand of steel closed about my throat, while another clamped over my mouth. My shriek of protest came to naught and gained me only rougher treatment, for I was yanked from where I stood, my ribs crushed as I was dragged away, my arms pinned and my feet skimming the grass.

  It’s just a prank! One of Eirik’s men come to carry me back.

  Except it could not be, for whoever this was, his handling of me was far too rough. He made no attempt to speak, nor to return me to the ground, and we were not heading toward the longhouse but away, in the direction of the forest.