The Viking's Bride (Viking Warriors Book 1)

by Jessica Knight

  Once the sword is out, I roll over and groan. Sweat stings my eyes, and my vision is coming in and out as my brain threatens to shut me down in unconsciousness. I turn my head to see an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I’m used to death. I’m used to killing, but I’m not used to seeing a flattened body. I hold my hand over my mouth to stop myself from puking.

  I was impaled on his sword and stuck on him. What day is it? It must have been at least a day because it isn’t raining anymore. I take my sword in my good hand and get to my feet, keeping my left leg out from the deep cut in my calve.

  Well, there’s only one way up, and I think the effort may just kill me, but I must get back to Sassa. My head swims, probably from dehydration and blood loss. I lean against the rocks, taking a few deep breaths again to try to gain control of my body. A river rushes close by, and I decide, before I do anything, to get a drink and clean up. Maybe I’ll feel better.

  I grab my enemy’s sword, not bothering to check to make sure he is dead. There’s no need. I use the swords to walk. They are my crutches. It’s difficult to move through the sharp edges of rocks and the deep grooves. Something deadly can be hiding in the caves the rocks create, and I wouldn’t even know.

  I stumble and fall against an old, dead tree, resting my sore muscles and bleeding wounds. A sarcastic chuckle leaves my throat. No matter how hard anyone tries, I just don’t die. I feel like death, sure. I probably look like death, too, but according to the pain, I am most certainly not dead.

  “Come on.” I push myself off the tree and stumble again, righting myself with one of the swords. The rocks slowly turn to pebbles, then sand. I smell water. The air is a bit cooler, too, the closer I get. I turn left at another cliff and see the river. I collapse at the shoreline, letting the water nip my knees. I clean my hands in the crystal-clear water, watching it turn red, then brown, until it finally runs clear.

  I grab the swords next, cleaning them off and hooking them in my belt before walking into the shallow waters. I bend my head back, dipping my entire body underneath the surface. I cry out as the rushing fluid licks my wounds, and I know if I don’t get them seared soon, they will get infected and living would be for nothing if I just end up dying.

  I pop out of the water, gasping for air. I open my mouth wide and take a few swallows. I can cry with relief, but I won’t. I can’t afford to lose the hydration. I crawl my way from the water on my hands and knees, gripping the soft minerals of the sand until I’m back on the shoreline. I flip to my back and lay there under the sun, feeling weak and exposed, but I know I must keep pushing. I must keep going if I want to see Sassa again.

  I get up on shaky legs and walk to the cliff. It is more hard dirt and mud than rock; it will allow me to use my swords to climb. If I can. It will take everything I have left in me to make it up this cliff. I unsheathe my swords and slide my eyes to the wound in my shoulder. It hurts just to move my fingers; I can’t imagine how painful climbing will be.

  But Sassa counts on me. She needs me just as I need her, and I will die trying to get to her. I take my right arm and shove my sword in the dirt. I use my arm to pull myself up, taking my left arm to do the same. I scream until blood flows down my throat. My left arm feels as though someone is ripping it from its socket. I curl my bicep, lifting myself up, depending on my brute strength to get me toward the top.

  I inhale through my nose and dangle on the left sword for a minute, trying to gather the energy to pull the right sword out and stick it in the dirt higher. I swing my legs, shouting as I stab the cliff again. I think of Sassa and how she must feel and lift myself up, my entire body shaking.

  I push my body to the brink, climbing the high wall with my swords. I stab the wall again, but the sword hits something solid and it plunges to the ground one hundred feet below me. I’m halfway to the top. And all that’s left is one sword. That makes things far more difficult than they were before.

  My shoulder throbs, and a fresh spurt of blood flows down my left arm. I’m doing more damage now, but I must keep trying. I lace my hands around the one sword and swing. To the right of me, there is a rock outcropping, with a large tree root extending up from it. If I can get to the rock, I might be able to climb the tree root the rest of the way. I’ll have to leave my sword behind, and I will only get one chance. If I miss by an inch, I’m dead.

  I swing like that, gaining momentum with every curl of my hand against the silver of the sword. I’m nervous, but I can’t let it deter me from my goal. On the next swing, I let go and reach out for the ledge, barely gripping onto it with my fingers. My left shoulder screams at me to stop. I grunt and groan in the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life.

  But I pull myself up.

  I rest once I’m on the stone. I think I may puke or pass out from the feel of it. I breathe in my nose and out through my mouth, trying to get a hold of myself. I can do this. I’m a warlord. I’m the strongest Viking there is. I’ve proved my worth, and Sassa deserves for me not to give up. I wrap my hands around the tree root poking up from the ground and climb.

  My feet cross at the ankles, and I used my arms to slide and my legs to push. It’s working.

  Until the root creaks.

  I stand on the branch, balancing myself, and break into a run. I launch myself to the top of the cliff, my fingers digging into the grass and dirt, threatening to give out and send me to my death—again.

  The root falls from beneath my feet, and I’m left dangling, a sheer drop underneath my feet. My heart is pumping through all the pain I feel. My fingers barely hold onto the edge. I know it would be so easy to give up, to surrender. To fall to my death.

  But I must get to Sassa. I must get to my wife.

  I use my tired, sore muscle to pull myself up from the face of the cliff.

  I fall to my stomach and relish in the solid feel of the ground beneath me and start to laugh. I did it. I fucking did the impossible.

  “I’m going to be sick.” I turn over and puke all the water I drank, along with bile that stings my throat. I crawl away from the disgusting mess and collapse, wanting to go to sleep.

  But again, I can’t.

  I hold my hand to my shoulder and get up, determined to get to my wife. I drag my limp leg behind me and walk. I walk toward my freedom, toward my future, toward my happiness. I don’t know how much time goes by, but the castle comes into view. I don’t know how, but I start to move faster, clutching my hand toward my shoulder still.

  Sassa. Goddess, she probably thinks I’m dead.

  “I’m not. I’m here,” I rasp. When I come upon the gate, I notice no one is there. Well, Achim is dead and the other one, well, hopefully he isn’t a fool like his friend was. I take advantage and walk through the gate. I feel my body start to weaken, knowing I am finally where I need to be.

  “Sassa!” I try to shout, but my throat is coated in dust and blood. I think of salt and my mouth pools with saliva. “Sassa!” I shout a little louder. “Sassa!”

  This time I hear someone’s door open. It is the King’s second.

  He gasps and runs to me. “Grimkael? It’s you. We thought you died.”

  “Me, too,” I say with a weak smile.

  “Sassa is not well since your death,” he admits with sad eyes.

  “How?”

  “You shall see. Lady Sassa! Einarr!” Lord Troy wraps his arms around me and drags me to the drum that alerts the kingdom of any dire news. His deep baritone travels through the entire village, but no one comes out of the castle.

  “Sassa!” I scream this time, feeling my body give in to the pain. “Lord Troy. I’m about to pass out. I’m dehydrated; I have a deep wound in my shoulder that must be seared and a cut in my leg that needs stitches. I may have broken a few ribs, and my face really hurts—”

  “Grim!” her lyrical voice is heaven. And maybe that’s where I am. Maybe that’s what all of this means.

  I turn on my good leg and nearly cry when I see her state. Her hair has lost its shi
ne, her eyes dark with circles, the blue not as bright. Her cheeks are sunken in. I’ve never seen her look so sad.

  “Sassa,” I croak, water pooling in my eyes and dripping down my face with nothing but pure happiness and relief coursing through my body. I never thought I’d see her again.

  She sprints to me, holding onto her dress, so she doesn’t trip. Once she gets to me, she knocks me over, but Lord Troy catches us. Thank goddess, because that would have really hurt.

  “Oh my god, you’re alive. You’re real. Tell me you’re real.” She touches my face and traces the outline of the cut on my cheek.

  “Don’t cry, my love. I’m here. I’m here. I’m real. I thought I’d never see you again.” I pull her to my chest, burying my nose in her hair. It smells of lavender, and it makes me smile.

  She sobs, clutching onto me like I’m about to float away. “I thought I’d have to spend the rest of my life without you. I thought I, and our child, would have to live on our own.”

  I lay my good hand against her stomach, and my head gets dizzy again, from the news, or blood loss, or both. “We’re going to have a child?” I ask.

  Her hand is on mine. “Yes. I was so scared. We can talk about it after you’ve had rest. God, when Einarr came in and said you fell, and then we couldn’t find your body. I’ve been stuck in sadness.”

  “I’m here. We’re alright.” I kiss the side of her face, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the big brute.

  “Einarr,” I say with a big smile on my face, and he stomps toward me with large strides.

  “Grimkael. You tough bastard.”

  “Not so tough. I’m about to pass out, and I need you to catch me.” I start to sway, my surroundings blurring.

  “Now?” he asks with panic.

  “Now.” And my eyes roll back to darkness, but I don’t fall. Someone catches me this time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sassa

  I haven’t left Grim’s side in days. I refuse to let go of his hand. I can’t believe he is here, alive—barely. He was already passed out when Einarr seared his wound closed on his shoulder. Now we are just waiting for him to wake up. Between exhaustion and dehydration, no one knows how long he will be out for. It scares the hell out of me.

  A part of me wonders if he will ever wake up. Will this be all that is left of the man I love? His skin, his body, but not his voice, laugh, or kiss? If so, wouldn’t death be friendlier?

  He looks like he has been through hell. “Wake up, my love, please,” I beg, running my hands through the tangles of his hair. It’s unruly, but I don’t want to brush it. I’m afraid I’ll hurt him. It may need to be clipped. It’s matted with blood and dirt that we can’t get out no matter how many times I wash it.

  I sigh and stand, strolling over with tired legs to the basin where the fresh water is kept. I get a cloth, a mug for him, and one for myself. My eyes are so tired. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s rest, but I refuse to close my eyes if it means missing when he wakes.

  “I’ve missed you, Grim.” I sit the mugs down on the table and sit back on the hard, wood stool. “I was so frightened. I fell into a pit of darkness that I don’t know if you will ever forgive me for. I hope you do, but I understand if you won’t.” I hide my face in my hands in complete shame.

  “There is nothing that you can do that I won’t forgive you for,” he mumbles.

  I lay beside him and cup his face. “You’re awake.” I lean in and give him a peck on the lips. One of my tears flows down the curves of my face and trickles to our lips. It’s salty, but as long as I feel his lips against mine, I am a happy woman.

  “Like I could ever stay away from you,” he says.

  “You might want to after I tell you something, I feel so much shame about.” I reach for the mug and give it to him, helping him sit up so he can drink. He gulps the contents down in a few seconds and sighs, sitting his head back against the pillow.

  “Tell me.” His fingers lace with mine, and I place my other hand against the slight swell of my stomach. It’s small, but it is there.

  “When you died, I no longer wanted to live, Grimkael. I had no use for this life anymore, even if I was pregnant. I didn’t want it. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look at our child without thinking of you. I didn’t want just a piece of you. I wanted all of you, but I came to my senses. I was just riddled with so much grief.”

  “I don’t blame you.” His large palm presses against my cheek. “I would feel the same if anything happened to you. I love you. And I can’t wait to have this child with you. There is nothing to forgive.”

  I press my lips against his again, wondering how I got so lucky. “How did you escape the cliffs? Einarr said he saw you fall.”

  He sighs and wraps one arm around me. “I did fall. I didn’t wake up until… wait… What day is it?”

  “It’s been three days since you’ve been back. You’ve been sleeping.”

  “Right. So, three days ago, I woke up impaled on my enemy’s sword. When I fell over the cliff with him, I landed on him. I took the swords and used them to climb up the cliff. It was hard, nearly impossible. I thought my arm would fall off. It hurt so much, and yet all I thought about was your face. I knew I had to do whatever it took to get back to you.”

  “My warrior,” I whisper, laying my head against his chest. I sigh when I hear and feel his heartbeat against my cheek. His warm skin presses against mine. Alive. He is here. Beneath my fingertips, breathing, talking, and kissing.

  “You’re the warrior. I’m just a man in love,” he says as if his statement holds all the answers to the world. We lay there in silence, enjoying the company of one another. “How’s your father?” he asks.

  “He is getting worse. He is barely holding on. At this point, I don’t know how he is still here or why. I love him, but to see him in so much pain every day, I’d rather him find peace. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “I don’t think you could be a bad person. I think it is human and it is natural not to wish to see the ones you love suffer.”

  My fingers trickle down his chest and back up, careful to miss the large wound on his left shoulder. “That feels good,” he murmurs.

  I giggle when the blanket at his waist starts to tent. “Even on the brink of death. You horny madman.”

  “I’m on the mend. I can’t help it. It’s been forever since I’ve had you last,” he whines. “But I want a bath. I feel filthy.”

  “Speaking of filth….”

  “What?” he asks.

  “Your hair. We tried to brush it out, but I’m afraid we may have to cut it.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t care. I’m just happy to live.” He wraps his arms around my waist as I lift him from the bed and help him to the tub.

  “I don’t have any hot water.”

  “Don’t want any. A nice cold bath sounds delightful after everything.”

  “If you’re sure,” I say.

  He limps, careful not to tug on the stitches in his leg as he walks. He uses my shoulder for leverage as he gets in the empty tub. His arms lay on the edge of the tin, his cock still gleaming and erect with want and lust. I lick my lips, hoping he doesn’t seem me ogling him.

  “I may be injured, but I can still fuck you against this wall. I haven’t bathed in days though, and I’d rather do that clean. But if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  I blush and run to the other room where a well is kept and carry water over, load by load. I can’t believe I still blush. I’m pregnant with his child, for god’s sake. Once the tub is full, he sighs, leaning his head back. “When I woke up, I went down to the river to clean off. I hoped it would make me feel better before I tried to scale a mountain, but this water feels better. Maybe it’s because I know you’re the one pouring it.”

  “Oh, Grim. That has nothing to do with it.” I take a bar of soap, suds it up in my hands, and run my palms over his head, getting it in the strands nic
e and deep. I don’t want to cut his hair. I love it long. He looks wild with it, and I love his untamed appearance.

  “Sure, it does. You’re pouring the water with love. I can feel it surrounding me, healing me, giving me strength. There isn’t anything stronger than you, Princess. Nothing in this world,” he mutters, moaning as I massage his scalp.

  I take a comb and work my way from the ends to the root, getting the tangled mess out. It takes a while, and the soap helps, but I finally get it done. Taking another basin, I dip it in the water and then bring it over his hair to get the soap out.

  Trying to grab a bar of soap is impossible. It’s so slippery. I take a cloth and fold the square bar in it and use it like that to wash his body. “I love your hands on me,” he says, his cock never once flagging.

  “I love my hands on you,” I admit. His eyes are closed, but my eyes are on his body, on his wounds, and scars. He is so beautiful. The happiness in my heart can’t be explained. I almost wonder if this is a dream. Maybe I’m living one of my nightmares when I thought he was dead. Maybe this is my peace.

  “You’re thinking loud,” he mumbles.

  “Just thinking about you.” I dip the cloth in the water and run it over his chest. I take care to make sure I don’t get the bandage wet. That is a foul-looking wound he has on his shoulder. He is lucky it hasn’t become infected. A damn miracle, if you ask me.

  I take my lip between my teeth and stare at his cock below the surface. “I hear an orgasm makes pain a little more manageable.” I wrap my palm around his throbbing member, and his lips part in a sensual gasp.

  “You should prove that,” he moans as I stroke him.

  “I think I might,” I purr. “But first…” I stand up and take my dress off. “I want to join you.”

  “Be my guest.” He sits up a little straighter, focusing on my breasts. “Fuck, they have gotten bigger.”