God's Eye (The Northwomen Sagas #1)

by Susan Fanetti

  A frosty hand clutched at Brenna’s heart. There was no thing worse that she could have heard at that moment. With a whimper she couldn’t contain, she pushed at his heavy shoulders and fought to be freed. Her movements moved him inside her and made her body flare and seek, yet she fought on nonetheless.

  But Vali would have none of it. Making his body stiff and somehow heavier, he resisted her and held her head firmly. When she stopped struggling and glared up at him, frantically trying to keep close her anger lest despair get its hold on her, he said, a smile playing on his lips, “By your heart, Brenna. Not your lovely eyes. By your spirit. And that is no ill thing. I see the woman that you are. I love you.”

  Before she could make sense of those words, his mouth was on hers again. Then he began to flex his hips, rocking gently in and out of her. Pleasure overtook pain with every slide of his body in hers, and Brenna could make no sense of anything at all.

  Brenna writhed and grunted, whimpered and arched with Vali’s every touch. Even as her mind’s doubt and confusion compelled her to question him, her body provided its own answers. He had imagined this—oh, how he had imagined this—but he had not done her justice. In her naïveté, she responded to him like a wanton. When she understood, what delights had they awaiting them?

  The rigid naïf at the riverbank was gone. Now, as he rocked his body into hers, the doubting novice was gone as well. She was with him wholeheartedly, body and mind and spirit, forgetting herself as she had when he’d brought her release with his tongue, and she was the greatest gift he had ever known.

  She had brought her other leg up and hooked it, too, around his waist, locking her ankles against the small of his back so that he could feel the firm muscles of her thighs pressing against his hips. Her hands clung to his back, her fingers digging in, their short nails scraping his skin. Her tongue moved with his as if she had always known their dance.

  She was maiden-tight, her body clenched around his like a scabbard, and the heat of her seared him to his core. Every sensuous slide, like he moved through the thickest, freshest cream, brought him closer to his own bliss. But he would not release his need until she had felt another release of her own, until he knew that the pain he had caused her had been well and truly salved.

  With each surge forward, he brought a bit more force, seeking her depths, her pleasure. When she tore her mouth from his and arched her neck, tipping her head far back with a sultry moan, he smiled and pressed his mouth to the pale skin she’d offered him. He could feel her pulse throbbing unstably against his tongue.

  “Vali…please,” she gasped, her body writhing under his, her legs clamping around him. She had stopped saying that she didn’t understand. Now she was wide open to the sensations he could bring her.

  He drew his knees up and pulled her up with him until he sat on his heels and she on his lap. She cried out—in surprise at first, and then in pleasure as she landed on his thighs. A groan ripped through him at the new depth, the hotter heat he found at the limit of her body. Holding her tightly to him, he dipped down and caught her breast in his mouth, between his teeth, suckling her as he drove his body into hers again and again. She let go of his back and clutched his head, her fingers catching his hair and pulling fiercely.

  She arched backward, so sharply and suddenly that he lost her breast, and her own hips began to flex and rock. Her quiet moans became rutting grunts, and then she went completely still, as inflexible as iron, and her sex clamped around him so completely that she nearly pulled the climax from him.

  But he would not spend in her, not yet. She would be his wife before he would. So he bit savagely down on his lip and waited for her to finish. The moment that he felt her body ease, he lifted her off of him. She gasped and clutched, fighting their separation, but he freed himself from her. Before he could take himself in hand, he spent, calling her name in a pained shout, covering her belly with his seed.

  He laid her heaving, damp body back on the bed. With a light kiss to her lips, he turned the furs back and sat up.

  She grabbed his wrist, her hand closing over his arm ring. “Please don’t go.”

  He rested down again, leaning on his elbow at her side, and brushed tousled, fair hair from her face. “Brenna, it is my wish that I never sleep away from you again. I mean to go nowhere, except to your washbowl. I would clean what I spent on you.”

  Looking down at her belly, she took a finger of her free hand and drew it through what he had left. With a small, lovely smile, she nodded, and he rose.

  The room had gone to a dark chill, and the water in her pitcher was cold. He crossed to the hearth and stoked the remaining embers. When they caught to flame, he laid two small logs on, then went back and poured chilly water into the washbowl, and soaked a clean linen in it. After he wrung it out, he went back to the hearth to warm it, and he laid another, larger log down on the new fire.

  Turning back to the bed, he saw Brenna watching him, the firelight glittering in her eyes.

  “You are a kind man.”

  He smiled and crossed the room to sit at her side on the bed. With the furs still turned back, he wiped her belly, sweeping lightly over her skin. She sighed and lay flat, opening herself to him.

  Her belly clean, he returned to the washbowl and rinsed the cloth, wringing it out and bringing it back, this time without warming it first. He had taken her maidenhead; she would likely be glad of some gentle cool.

  He pulled gently on her thigh, encouraging her to spread her legs, and then he washed her sex. She jumped and gasped as the cool touched her still-hot skin, and then let out a humming breath as he gave her relief.

  There was blood on the linen. Only a little, but enough to make his heart hurt. “I am sorry I could not avoid causing you pain. On my life, I want never to cause you more.”

  “It was not so much. The pleasure was great. There was so much pleasure, I thought I would die.”

  He dropped the linen to the floor and lay at her side to claim her mouth. She was with him at once, knowing now how they fit, and after mere moments, they were both breathless, and he was stirring again to life. It was too soon to take her again, she needed time to recover, so he pulled away, rolling to his back and bringing her with him. He settled her head on his chest, her glorious hair draped over his arm.

  She rested on him, her hand on his belly, stroking softly and keeping him stirred, and yawned prettily. He chuckled and kissed the crown of her head, letting his lips linger there.

  “The sun is not yet risen. Sleep, my love. Rest with me.”

  She sighed, and he felt her body relax utterly.

  Vali had never known peace so rich in all his days. He had led a contented life, since he’d run from his father’s brutal grip. He had friends, he had honor, he had home and a place in the world. His fellow warriors were his family, his jarl was his father. But lying with this mesmerizing, solitary woman, he had never felt so quiet in his heart before. So full, so complete.

  After a long moment, unsure if she were still awake, Vali murmured, “When you love me as I love you, I would make you my wife, Brenna.”

  “I love you now, Vali.” Her voice was soft with comfort.

  He turned her face up so that he could see her eyes. “Then marry me.”

  She smiled that smile that was only his. “I became yours, and you mine, tonight. Of course I will marry you.”

  ~oOo~

  “I will go with Orm and Viger to the town,” Brenna said and stood.

  Vali stood, too. “I would that you would not.”

  Mirkandi, the town that served as the hub among the three princedoms of western Estland, was likely to be dangerous for any raider. But the villagers now under their protection needed to trade in the town, now, before the winter set in, and later, during the sowing and reaping seasons, when their crops would grow and go to market. They could not hide in the castle like mice.

  Vali knew this, of course. It had been his suggestion that they send a small party first and judge the stake
s. A large party of raiders would seem to be a raid. But he had not intended for his woman to undertake the risk of that mission, shieldmaiden or not.

  Brenna ignored him and slung her longsword on her back. She grabbed her furs from her seat and her shield from the wall, and she stalked toward the door. Orm and Viger watched her, then glanced at each other, then at Vali, then back at each other, and then followed Brenna.

  “Brenna! Hold!” Vali took long, quick strides, passing Orm and Viger. Brenna had stopped only a few steps from the door; she did not turn to him until he had her arm in his grasp and pulled. Then, she gave him the full heat of her storied stare.

  “Vali, do not. I am not your housemaid to sit quietly in a corner weaving your tunics.”

  “I know that. But do not do this. We are to be wedded in less than two weeks’ time. I would have you live to see it.”

  “I could say the same. You scout north, into Prince Toomas’s lands. Should his men come upon your party—”

  “That is why you do this?”

  She pulled her arm free of his and took the last steps to the door. “No. I do this because I am a warrior, just as you are, and I know my work.” Heaving the door open, she stalked out. After a brief, awkward hesitation, Orm and Viger went after her.

  Angry and agitated, he stared at the closed door for a long time, and then he realized the true risk. Yanking the door back open, he ran through the anteroom and out into the castle grounds. Brenna had just mounted her steed, a mare she called Freya. He stopped at the horse’s side and held up his arms.

  “Brenna.”

  At first, she gave him that fierce warrior’s glare, and then she understood. With a tiny smile, she leaned over, holding her arms out to him, and he caught her. He pulled her off her mount and held her close. “I would not have you go without this,” he whispered against her cheek. “I love you, shieldmaiden.”

  “And I you.”

  If he never saw her again, at least those words would be the last they would hear of each other.

  Reluctantly, he set her down, and she took her mount again, offering him a sincere smile and a pat of her hand over her heart. He returned the gesture and turned back to the castle. He could not bear to see her ride away.

  Orm and Viger were mounted, waiting behind her, grinning at each other over the display of affection they’d just witnessed. He walked between their horses and snarled at them. “If she does not return, neither had you better.”

  That cleaned the dirty smirks from their lecherous faces.

  When he came back into the hall, Leif stood alone next to the long table. The others had dispersed.

  “Where are Tord and Harald?” Vali hooked his axes through their belt rings and snatched his wolf pelt from the back of the chair that had become his. “I wish to be off.”

  “They prepare and are collecting Jaan and Georg from the village. I would have them go with you. I think they will make fine warriors and are already our best allies. We should train them up, and they might guide you as they can.”

  Vali nodded; he agreed. They would need to be ready for war when winter broke, and a warrior with a blade would fare better against a prince’s army than a farmer with a pitchfork.

  As he headed toward the door again, Leif said, “Vali, a moment.”

  Vali stopped and turned back, waiting.

  Leif walked up to him and put his hands on his shoulders. He was almost as tall as Vali, and they stood near eye to eye. “We are allies and equals. In these weeks here, I’ve come to think of you as more than that—as a brother. Yes?”

  Vali had nothing but admiration and respect for Leif. And affection, too, but he was wary now. “Yes. Brothers.”

  Leif smiled. “Good. Then as a brother, please hear me. You and the God’s-Eye—”

  “Brenna.” He cut him off. “Call her Brenna. And please, brother, do not put your thoughts into words you cannot recant.” He knew Leif’s misgivings, and he knew they had merit. They had merit, but no matter.

  “I must. I see that you are happy. The G—Brenna smiles now, and I have known her long without ever seeing such a sight before. She is a worthy woman. Wed her if you will. None here would stop you. We will celebrate and wish you the grace and goodwill of the gods. But Vali, should your fealties cross, you must think of the risk. Of what you, or she, would do. Would you be sundered from her? Or would you abjure Jarl Snorri and swear an oath to Åke? If you would not, if you would have her renounce her oath, Åke will bring all he can down on Snorri and on you. You would take more from him than a shieldmaiden. Whatever you believe about her gifts, Åke believes her to be the source of his power. He would not rest until he saw your head on a pike at his door. And then he would enslave her, to be sure she never slipped away again.”

  “You have said this all before. I know you are right. And I know, as do you by now, that it does not matter. I must have her. What follows will be as it will, as the gods wish it to be.”

  Leif heaved a deep, frustrated sigh and squeezed Vali’s shoulders before he dropped his hands. “As you say. Perhaps the gods will ease the way of such a mating for the sagas as Brenna God’s-Eye and Vali Storm-Wolf.”

  “We will make wedding offerings in the hope that it will be so.”

  ~oOo~

  Marriage among their people was rarely a matter of love. Even among the poorest of freemen, it was normally a transaction between two men: a man ready to marry and the father of a woman likely to bear him children and keep his house well. Among the nobles, it was little different. Marriage was simply a financial arrangement between families.

  But Brenna and Vali had no families, and they brought few material possessions with them but the clothes on their backs and the weapons in their hands. Vali had gold and silver, his portions from all his raids, buried at home, and he expected that Brenna did, too, but they had not discussed it, and Vali saw no need to. Their marriage would be one of love, and there was no other concern of consequence.

  They were far away from home, and they were without family but the raiders and villagers who had become their clan. They had no bride price, no holding. Brenna, a shieldmaiden, and a slave before that, had not ever worn the kransen of a gentle maid. She had no women near her who knew their traditions but Astrid, who was nigh as rough and warlike as Brenna herself. Little about her preparations would be in keeping with the wedding traditions of their people.

  Vali thought the gods would understand. To every extent they could, however, they meant to keep the gods’ ways.

  For his part, he had no ancestral sword to offer, and knew she had none, either. They had only their own weapons of war. He need not cleave from his identity as son, because he had broken that tie long ago. But he bathed fully, thinking as he did so of the ritual cleansing away of his bachelorhood.

  He thought of Brenna, being bathed by Astrid and Olga and the female servants, standing in the deep tub as they ran hot water over her fair skin, as they washed her long hair, as they cleaned every part of her, and he was glad that he had insisted upon being left to wash unattended, because he had to take himself in hand, spending his seed in the cooling water at his feet.

  When he came into the main room of his quarters, he found a snowy-white tunic and new leather breeches tanned so dark they were nearly black, with boots and belt to match, arrayed over the bed he no longer used. He smiled, knowing well it was the work of Olga—she had either made them herself, or she had tasked someone else to do so, but he knew that it was she. Olga had been more fluttery and happy at the prospect of this wedding than had been the bride herself.

  He dressed, marveling at the suppleness of the hide and the weighty softness of the finely-woven wool. As he closed the belt, a light knock came at the door.

  “Enter,” he said, surprised when Olga opened the door and peeked in. “I thought you would be with Brenna.”

  “I will go back. She has enough with her now. She is well. Too many at once make her…” The word failed her, so she made an angry face, an
d Vali laughed.

  “Yes. I would think women’s fuss would make her…” he mimicked Olga’s angry face, and they both laughed. “But why are you with me? As you can see, I am able to dress myself. Thanks go to you, I believe, for the groom’s finery.”

  She smiled. “A man should look his best on this day, jah? I was able to send for plenty good hide from Mirkandi.” Her grasp of their language had grown daily. By now, she was nearly perfectly fluent, though she kept a charming accent. “I come and see if I might weave your hair.”

  Vali kept his sides shorn and usually kept the long hair in the middle tightly braided, in one or two plaits that started at his hairline and clung to his head until the hair was loose of it, then trailed down his back. Something he could do himself; a slave girl he’d favored when he was young had taught him. Except for what he shaved, he had not cut his hair since he’d left his father, and it fell, when loosed, nearly to his waist. It was dark and thick, as thick as the full head of most men.