To Steal a Viking Bride

by Gina Conkle

  “This isn’t about our mother,” she nearly shouted. “This is about you wanting the jarl’s chair.”

  “Shhh, Eira.” Gunnar gripped her shoulders. “We cannot change the past, but we are here, now. You must decide.”

  “How can you say that so calmly? You were badly beaten because of her meddling.”

  Black brows drew together. “I would bear it again if it meant we’re together,” he ground out. “We all pay a price for love. I’ve paid mine.”

  Dark eyes pinned her with an unspoken question. Are you ready to pay the price for love?

  His clothes smelled of sea brine and seal oil. Warriors slathered their hands with the oil for hard days of rowing. The soot on his skin and clothes had to be from Uppsala burning…the fighting…the livid wound on his cheek. He must’ve pushed hard from Uppsala to be here tonight.

  To come for her.

  She touched his whiskered jaw. “You don’t want vengeance?”

  “No. I want to leave with you.”

  Her breath hitched. Gunnar’s childhood had been different, a half world of slave and highborn parentage, of violence and art. King Olof had spoken to him of the White Christ and his strange teachings against vengeance. She’d been taught from her first steps to end trouble with the sword. His blood ran hot for sensual pursuits, hers for war. Yet, the man before her obviously wasn’t afraid to take up arms. And he still wanted her. Badly.

  “That means you leave tonight, Eira, forsaking all here,” Ginna added.

  “Because of course our mother would’ve wanted that.” She glared at her sister, the stare fleeting. Gunnar, his smell, his presence, the warmth of his hands on her shoulders, drew her back to him.

  Bold brown eyes locked with hers. Full of depth. Mesmerizing. Making her weak. Gunnar stood no more than half a head taller than her, but his shoulders had broadened since she last saw him. Could he carry the burden of a wife? A man with no land? No coin? It was incredible that he wanted her to leave with him this instant.

  Ginna peered through the curtain weave. “Steinar rises from his seat.” She let go, coldly facing Eira. “What’s it to be dear sister? Stay and wed Steinar? Or go with Gunnar?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Eira’s hair smelled earthy and sharp. Was it the same costly cedar soap he’d bought for her three years past? Under a billowing tent, a merchant of Damascus laid out his wares for Uppsala’s curious people. Gunnar had bought a large block, fed by the pleasure of her smile when she’d sniffed the tangy aroma.

  At hearing Ginna’s question, Eira gaze had landed on him, but now she searched the floor. Her silence suffocated him. Anger, joy, the sensual quickening of Eira’s body when he touched her leg…these were things he expected, not indecision. Her hesitation was a slap in the face. His hands fell to his sides.

  “I must go.”

  Eira’s inhale was fast. She reached out but he was already at the back door.

  “I’ll walk you to your ship,” she said.

  “You’ll want this.” Ginna pulled Eira’s blue, fur-trimmed cloak from a barrel. She held it out for Eira and peeked through the curtain at a second woman detaining Steinar. “Go. Quickly”

  Eira swept the cloak around her shoulders. “I understand why you were underfoot so much. It wasn’t the loving sister attending to the details of my wedding. You want the jarl’s chair.”

  “Berate me all you want later. At least see Gunnar safely gone.”

  Eira pulled up her hood. “Now you’re concerned for his safety? How touching.”

  Gunnar strode out the door, tired of the sister’s sniping. He eyed the line of pine trees creaking darkly ahead. Sharp gusts bit his cheeks. His wound throbbed. The scar would be a good reminder to have a care with the gentler sex. Two torches lit the yard, their flames blowing sideways in moonlight. Stones and dry earth crunched under his boots.

  “Gunnar. Wait.” Eira’s footfalls hit the ground behind him.

  He marched faster. “No need to wish me farewell.”

  She caught up with him and matched his stride. Blonde hair flowed from her hood, the golden strands tapping his arm. He felt a grim smile creasing. If he believed in Odin, he’d say the temperamental god wanted Eira to go with him.

  “But I want to.” Her breath worked faster. “I, I feel the need to explain…at least talk with you more.”

  “Talking is done.” He cut through a copse of trees, a shortcut to the lonely beach where his boat waited.

  He trotted through the forest, pushing aside low hanging branches. Wind whistled overhead. A storm was coming. He pushed on silently and to her credit, Eira charged on without a word. By her darting glances, she read his mood well. She always could. The race to the beach calmed the seething beast inside him. Bruised and battered from Uppsala’s fighting, he didn’t want more battles. The war raged on in Uppsala and would for days to come.

  He’d been a man with no true home. As a child he’d lived on the fringe of Uppakra, avoiding Hrolf’s ire as best he could. King Olof fostered him in Uppsala, yet even there he’d known no true rest. Not until the summer a tall blonde haired, blue-eyed maiden from Aland stepped off her father’s boat. His heart had leapt in his throat at the sight of her.

  Instinct whispered…she was his home.

  His boots slammed Aland’s soil, yet he couldn’t stomp out the flutter in his chest at seeing Eira. Waves slapped the shores beyond the trees. A harsh chuckled erupted. The size of his vessel was laughable, as far-fetched as his plan to steal a Viking bride. Three summers ago, Eira’s wealth and stature meant nothing. He loved her. She loved him. They were two young lovers caught in the joys of conversation and sexual exploration. Tonight, her position wedged a chasm deeper than the waters separating Uppsala from Aland.

  She was lost to him.

  He smiled into the wind. He could toss her over his shoulder and tie her up until she came to her senses. As angry as he was she still stirred him. Her fierce blue eyes. The way her hair fell free when he pulled out the last comb. And the fight in her. He chuckled again. If Ginna wasn’t ripe with child, he was sure the sisters would’ve fought like cats on the storage room floor.

  If his passion burned deep, Eira’s burned bright, her strength insurmountable as the ice-blue mountains of the far north.

  He stepped onto the beach, and the wind carried her voice.

  “Please. Gunnar. Wait.”

  Wind blasted his hair as he charged ahead. Men scrambled around the humble fishing boat. Footfalls raced faster behind him.

  “Don’t go.” Eira grabbed the back of his tunic.

  He pivoted on the sand and she let go. “I must.”

  Light-colored fur framed her face, the tufts shining like choice silver mixing with her spun gold hair. She was a highborn woman of Aland, a woman who would be chieftain of half the island here. Without thinking, he captured the gold locks and tucked them back inside her hood. Her lips parted at the tender touch. He smiled bitterly. Even powerful women needed a gentle hand.

  “We were meant to be, Eira.” His hand lingered on her petal soft cheek.

  She wrapped a hand over his wrist. “I have no regrets. If I could relive that summer with you, I would and gladly so.”

  “And give yourself to a corner born son again?” he asked hoarsely.

  A flurry of wind blasted them, twirling her skirts around his legs.

  Eira’s throat moved with a delicate swallow. “A thousand times over,” she whispered.

  Her eyes softened at the corners, honest and pure. A spangle of pleasure danced across his skin, the same as when she tilted her face for their first kiss.

  His hand curved around her nape, and he brought his mouth down on hers. Eira was sweetness and longing, widening her mouth for him, welcoming the invasion. Tongues brushing shot heat to his groin. Eira groaned in his mouth, and he tasted the finest mead on her lips
. Their bodies pressed together, two meant to be one. This truth was in the cradle of her hips...the curve of her breasts…the length of her legs between his.

  He shuddered when Eira scraped her nails across his waist down his hips. She slid both hands around him and squeezed his butt. Her fingernails dug in. Sharp. Hungry. He smiled mid-kiss. The maid of Aland was never shy about what she liked.

  Eira rubbed her breasts across his chest. Their bodies flush, his erection was hard between them.

  “Don’t leave me.” Holding him close, she broke the kiss.

  A single tear glistened on her cheek. He wiped the salty diamond with the pad of his thumb.

  “I’d kiss away a lifetime of your tears and replace them with laughter, but not here, Eira,” he said quietly. “Ginna was right. The people of Aland will never accept me.”

  Her blonde brows knit together, and a stone sunk heavily inside him.

  “I need more time,” she begged.

  “It’s the one thing we don’t have.”

  “You burst into my home and expect me to run off on a moment’s notice,” she huffed. “You can’t think this was a serious plan.”

  He chuckled harshly. “Yet that was my plan.”

  “Sweep in, grab me, tell me to run away with you as if you were gone three days instead of three years,” she said, snapping her fingers. “Just like that.”

  A grin split his face. He was certain it was none too friendly. “Bigger decisions have been made with less dithering my sweet.”

  She pushed back hugging herself. Wind howled across the beach, lifting sand and leaves. White caps toppled over waves increasing in size.

  “Gunnar,” Emund shouted from the boat. “Look.”

  Torchlight wavered in the black forest, the flame growing brighter with each passing second.

  “Steinar comes for his bride,” he said ruefully. He faced Eira and swept a deep bow. “Time to go.”

  Eira raced after him. “What about the one hundred men?”

  “I lied,” he said over his shoulder and gave the beached vessel a heave into the water.

  She waded in beside him. “You came for me, wounded, with three men and a small fishing boat?”

  Waves crashed, flattening her skirts against her legs. The torch broke through the tree line at the far end of the beach. His chasers must’ve gone to the harbor first, as he’d hoped they would. Steinar emerged from the trees, fresh gusts whipping his red cloak sideways. Eira’s hood blew back and skeins of gold blonde hair tangled freely. He’d remember this moment forever. Someday he’d carve her fine features in wood, the straight nose and full lips of his tall Valkyrie maid.

  “Gunnar, we need to go,” Emund’s voice broke in.

  Across the beach voices shouted. More raised torches broke through the midnight trees. Axes lifted high. White and blue shields twirled with Steinar’s colors. The tall Viking marched across the sand, each step deliberate like a man with all the time in the world. He probably thought no man would defy him, nor would the woman he’d wed on the morrow.

  With one hand on the boat, a brutish beast welled up. Warriors sped across the long beach, their boots kicking up sand. Those men were coming to kill him. Wicked laughter welled up, and Gunnar yielded to his Viking roots. Bending low, he tossed Eira over his shoulder. He wasn’t sharing. She belonged to him.

  “This is how it will be, Eira. You’ll be my wife.” Speaking above the rushing waves, he heaved her over the ship’s rail onto a bundle of furs. She tumbled in a pretty heap, staring wide-eyed at him. He hefted himself into the boat beside her. “You’ll bear my children and keep my house.”

  Emund and the others rowed with all their might into an oncoming wave. The ship rose to meet the violent crest, and the men rowed harder. He found his seat and rowed with renewed fierceness. On the shore, Steinar’s fighters stomped into the surf. Moonlight gleamed on iron swords and polished shield bosses.

  Eira sat at his feet, both hands gripping the rails as the ocean beat their meager vessel. “Is that all?”

  The boat sped past the break into the midnight sea. Steinar’s warriors shrunk in size. Their little boat sought a camp south of Uppsala, a journey that would take half the night in a rising storm. From there, home would be on Gotland.

  “You want more?” he asked, laughing. Neither jostling waves nor an angry half-brother could quash the elation bursting in his chest.

  Victory surged in him. He claimed the greatest treasure a man could have. True love. If the love of his life needed time to adjust, he’d give it to her. Smiling at the woman seated before him, he knew how to win her. If gentle patience didn’t work, hot caresses would.

  “You’ll cook my food and rub my shoulders.” He bent low and whispered in her ear, “And when we’re done pleasuring each other, you can mend my clothes.”

  Her rich laughter was sweet music. Eira rose to her knees and nudged his thigh. “Move over.”

  He did and she took a seat on the bench beside him. She snapped the key ring hanging from her waist and lobbed the keys at the shore. The jangling metal arced high and landed not far from Steinar’s feet. Men scrambled in knee-high water, searching for the keys. Eira took one oar from his hand and met his strokes with her own strong turns.

  The set of her mouth told him she knew the lay of Steinar’s heart. Power. Wealth. Position. Those were things Steinar coveted. Gunnar smiled at the willful women who would stand shoulder to shoulder with him for life. Eira’s heart. Her body and soul. These were what he coveted.

  “I’ll bear our children, keep our home, and cook and mend.” She faced him, a pearled light sparkling in her eyes. “I’ll agree to the pleasuring, but you can rub my shoulders.”

  He laughed loud enough the other men paused their rowing. Eira pulled hard on the oar, her smile wide and bright. They sat side by side, working in unison, striving for their future. The rest of Vikingdom would battle on, but he’d fought the greatest fight and won. The truth was in the beautiful prize beside him…his stolen Viking bride.

  I hope you enjoyed To Steal a Viking Bride. The Norse series world is intertwined. Gunnar and Eira will show up in another book in the series!

  All the characters appear in what will be six full books in the Norse series. If you enjoy the Viking Age, I invite you to go back to where it all began…Hakan and Helena’s story in Norse Jewel (book 1, Norse series).

  Cheers to you!

  Gina

  Want to try an excerpt? Keep reading.

  NORSE JEWEL

  by

  Gina Conkle

  Hakan’s face was in the shadows, but the white flecks of his wolfish eyes glowed. “Do not think to escape. I’m a fair man but care not for deceptive maids.”

  His massive size closed in, blocking all light. Wedged between a barrel and the ship’s side, sturdy wood imprisoned her. His skin grazed hers as he wrapped the leather around her wrists. She glanced down at the detestable strap, a burst of rebellion flowering.

  “Why the tether? What harm can one woman do?”

  His eyes widened at her show of courage, or so she guessed from the way he tipped his head in acknowledgment.

  “Aye, one woman.” His mouth made a grim line and bitterness threaded his voice. “I have seen the destruction one woman can do.” He knotted the leather. “The bindings stay.”

  Helena licked her lips, choosing silence. The chieftain’s nostrils flared like some predatory beast scenting prey. Was this anger barely restrained? Or something else?

  He touched the wet rope of hair that hung over her shoulder, letting his fingers slip between tangled strands. His thumb and forefinger found a single lock and stroked the hair down to the curling tip. Goose bumps skittered across her flesh from the intimate touch.

  “What is your name, thrall?” He asked in the gentlest voice.

  “Helena,” she whisp
ered.

  “Helena.” He repeated her name softly. The corner of his mouth twitched. He seemed pleased to know her name, but the pleasure was fleeting, replaced by fierceness. “I care not about trust, but I require obedience.”

  Helena swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

  “Serve me, as well as Agnar—” His teeth gleamed wolf-like in the darkness. “—and you’ll be rewarded.” Rising, he towered over her. “Fail in your purpose, and you will suffer the consequences.”

  The chieftain stalked away and, true to his word, he did not harm her. ‘Twas as if she did not exist for the way he ignored her. The Norseman kept his distance as one day slid into another, and the dragon ship carried her farther from home. Each day left her stewing over a baffling riddle:

  If neither deception nor fleeing would get her home, what else could she do?

  Book 1, Norse series

  Want to read more? Keep going…

  TO FIND A VIKING TREASURE

  by

  Gina Conkle

  “My eyes are brown like dirt. You know, no one sings the praises of dirt.” Sestra stepped from the tub near the open shutter, and snatched her plain linen underdress to her skin.

  Night fell soft and black outside Lord Hakan’s deserted longhouse. Crickets chirped evening songs, a reminder nature carried on despite the battles of men. The farmstead was eerily empty save the massive eiderdown bed. Tables, benches and chairs, chests, soapstone lamps, dishes, weapons—all traces of life—were gone.

  When Lord Hakan’s man was missing, Brandr decreed they’d wait.

  Brandr rose silent and shirtless from stoking the roaring fire pit, orange and yellow lights dance across his skin. The corners of his mouth curled, his tolerant smile, the one he used when listening to her prattle.

  Happiness flared inside her at his doing simple chores with his back exposed. He trusted her.