Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  “Where will you go tonight? Back to their home?”

  Again, her laugh held no mirth.

  “Definitely not. You’ve brought me to where I planned to sleep.”

  Bjorn looked at the boats, then Tyra, and shook his head.

  “You can’t mean you would sleep on your boat.”

  “Why not? I do it all the time.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. I spend more nights on my boat than I do anywhere else. My aunt and uncle assume I’m with a man and don’t care except that no proposals have come my way, and I get the peace I want. Besides, I like my boat.”

  “I know you do. You may as well be the tenth daughter of Rán and Ægir, but that doesn’t mean you should be pressured into retreating to your cabin to find a place you belong.”

  Embarrassment and discomfort at the reminder that her family did not want her flooded her. She realized Bjorn meant well, but her nerves were raw from all that transpired that day, including her relatives telling her they never cared that today was the anniversary of her parents’ death. It was just like any other day except it reminded them of the burden they carried. She had told no one that this was how her morning began.

  “We aren’t all so fortunate to have a jarl and frú for an uncle and aunt. Not all of us have a jarl’s longhouse to return to. Not all of us had the spoiled upbringing of being the jarl’s favorite, his second son.”

  Bjorn reeled back as though she slapped him.

  “I’m not Ivar’s second son. I am reminded of that every day since I sleep in the chamber that should have been his second son’s, but alas, none of Lena and Ivar’s other children lived long enough to claim it. I know exactly where I live. I know exactly who I am. I am there by the mercy of the gods and their generosity. I was only five when my parents died. I was a child who would have starved if they hadn’t taken me in. I wasn’t old enough for my family to marry me off when my parents died. I didn’t have any options but them.”

  As soon as the words left Bjorn’s mouth, he wished he swallowed them. Tyra staggered backwards and waved him away when he tried to support her.

  “I had thought I’d marry soon after I moved in with them. I thought I’d found someone who would want to marry me. No greater fool than me to have thought that.”

  Tyra ran to her ship and jumped onto the deck. For the second time that day, Bjorn watched her disappear as she left him behind, regretting the past and the present.

  Tyra ran along the deck until she reached her cabin, but rather than slam the door shut, she left it open just enough to observe Bjorn standing alone on the dock. She expected him to storm away, so she was unprepared when his shoulders slumped and his head hung to his chest. He stood like that for so long that Tyra started to worry. When she decided to go back, she paused because he sat and tilted his head back to look at the night sky. Tyra remembered he said the aurora lights scared him as a child. She remembered Bjorn was a happy child, fearless to the point of being reckless. She had a hard time reconciling what she had learned with what she was certain she knew. It made her wonder how much was a façade, how much of his recklessness was to make up for how scared he must have been when he had no parents. Perhaps his brazen acts were an attempt to join his parents in Valhalla. He was right. He lived at the mercy and generosity of Ivar and Lena, and he was lucky they were loving to him. She had been wrong to point out he was not their child. The deaths of their infant children, the stillborn births and miscarriages, were a sensitive topic for everyone, so to point out Bjorn was a substitute had been unkind. Guilt began to eat at Tyra when she recalled the various unkind words she had tossed at Bjorn over the years. She began to worry he might not have deserved all of her caustic remarks.

  Bjorn watched the lights flash across the sky. The old fear seemed foolish now, but it had terrorized him as a child. He had never admitted to anyone but Tyra that they scared him. He knew they scared Leif because he had snuck into Leif’s room more than once to discover it empty and to learn later that he was in Freya’s room. He never admitted he was lonely and frightened, because he did not feel right denying Leif of his sister’s help. Instead, he did as he told Tyra. He buried his head beneath the covers. Now, he watched the greens and yellows dance behind the clouds, and he tried to view them the way Tyra did. He liked the idea that the lights were his parents waving to him. His thoughts reverted to them when he was alone, but he struggled remember what they looked like. The guilt of forgetting them had plagued him for years, and the love he carried for Ivar and Lena made him feel like he failed his parents’ memory. He moved to the edge of the dock and looked down at the water. More than once he considered sailing out and not returning, instead joining his parents where their pyres burned. The only thing that stopped him each time was knowing he would die but never join them in Valhalla. His death would not be in battle or in the glory of serving his people. He would not feast with the gods or his mother and father. The goddess Freya would not select him to join her in Fôlkvang. He feared his death would have no honor because his death would not happen while avenging someone. He would not be honored for dying to avoid bringing shame to his family. Just the opposite, he would shame himself. Bjorn had fought for his people time and again, and he was proud of his service. But they would view taking his own life as weak when he knew in every other sense he was anything but. He had survived the loss of his family and too many battles to count. Bjorn would not shame his surviving family, but it did not change the fact that he struggled with the decision for years.

  Bjorn looked over his shoulder at Tyra’s boat and another wave of failure crashed over him. He had failed her as a friend and a lover. He had caused her pain ten years earlier just as he did now. Her words from earlier that day rang in his ears, “Why couldn’t you be the man I need?” He had asked himself the same thing many times since his one tryst with her. It was a crushing realization each and every time that he was not that man and probably never would be.

  Bjorn’s head hurt, and the weight of the world seemed to crush him. He needed to escape for a while. He looked at the water again. He was happiest when he sailed, and he would rather swim than walk. He stood and removed his cloak, his sword belt, his knives, his boots, his leather pants, and his shirt. He walked to the end of the dock and dove in, swimming as far as his lungs allowed, until his chest burned and forced him to the surface. He looked back at the shore and noticed Tyra running along the dock, stripping off her clothes as she sprinted.

  Four

  Tyra watched the anguish play across Bjorn’s face as he stared at the night sky. It was impossible to ignore the dejection he managed to hide from the rest of the world. She felt like an intruder, spying on him during his most vulnerable moments, but she feared what he might do. She kicked herself for never considering that she and Bjorn might suffer the same grief. She had been so consumed in her own feelings, and Bjorn’s loss had been so long ago, that she did not stop to consider he might still be suffering. Now her unkind words and taunts were petty and childish. She had an inkling why he felt duty bound to keep her alive. He did not seem to fear his own death, but the possibility of losing those he cared about bothered him. While Tyra did not deny she loved Bjorn, she had always feared his feelings toward her were more out of obligation. She doubted that now. As she watched him, her heart expanded with love for a man she had had a hard time tolerating. She loved him for the man she knew him to be, even though she could not rid herself of her grudge or her animosity when she came into contact with him. Her mouth went dry when he stood and disrobed. His body had been a marvel when she saw it all those years ago. She had seen him shirtless frequently over the years, and it never failed to stir her, but he was bared in his full glory right before her eyes. She had never seen anything so incredible. His chest seemed broader now that she glimpsed how it tapered to his narrow hips. The muscles in his buttocks flexed with each step, and the muscles in his legs jumped with each movement. His abdomen had more ridges than she realized when she notic
ed how they created a vee to his hip bones and the tuft of dark hair between his legs. He was still the most endowed man she had ever seen. As he walked past her ship, she ducked behind her door until she was sure he passed her. She stepped onto the deck in time to watch his back muscles bunch and ripple as he dove in. She stood staring as she waited for him to surface.

  As the seconds ticked by, unease creeped up her spine. He seemed to have been underwater far too long. He was the best swimmer of them all, but even for him, too much time passed. Fear spiked through her as she waited. The bay was deep enough for their ships, but their hulls were shallow. She worried he hit the bottom, that the seaweed trapped him. She worried something attacked him. She just worried. Tyra pulled off her boots then ran along the dock, pulling off the rest of her clothes. She was diving from the dock when she caught his head emerging. She swam out underwater, but she came up before she reached him. She looked at him while treading water. They were several feet apart, but his surprise still registered. He swam toward her, and she spotted the caution in his gaze.

  Tyra began to kick and met him halfway.

  “You were underwater so long,” she murmured.

  “You were watching me?”

  Tyra turned her head away and nodded.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, but she was not sure he could see the movement. When he asked again, she was sure he either had not or it did not satisfy him.

  “Because I didn’t like how we left things. My words were thoughtless but held yours against you when you spoke the truth. I’ve been thoughtless more times than I’ll ever be able to remember.” Tyra looked at the water then toward the cliffs. “I regret now all the jibes I’ve made over the years. I never once considered your feelings other than to hurt them. I’ve been angry about how life treated me, and once that anger included you, you became an easy target. I’m sorry.”

  Tyra looked him in the eye as she offered the apology.

  Bjorn took a deep breath as he listened to Tyra’s admission. He looked into her hazel eyes and saw her remorse. He reached for her hand, which hovered at the surface. When she did not reject him, he pulled her toward him. She came without a fight, their knees bumping into one another.

  “That morning, the morning you were hugging Strian, my mind screamed you rejected me. I was sure you used and abandoned me. I never thought about the date. I only wanted to hide the pain and save face. It was like one more person I cared about left me behind,” Bjorn’s voice broke as he continued to look at Tyra.

  “Oh, Bjorn.”

  Bjorn brushed a tear from her cheek before it had the chance to travel far. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her flush to his body. She wrapped her legs around him as she cupped his face.

  “I was so hurt and angry. I never considered how it must have appeared to you. But why didn’t you talk to me?” Tyra murmured.

  “Because Strian was hurting just as you were. I wasn’t going to take something else from him.”

  Tyra’s heart broke as her mind flashed to the innumerable things Bjorn had done over the years, putting others ahead of himself. She had chided herself for loving a selfish man. At that moment, she was realizing her heart had known all along what her mind refused to admit. Bjorn was a good man. That was why she had loved him since they were children.

  Bjorn rolled onto his back and began to swim them back to the dock.

  “What’re you doing?” Tyra asked.

  “I’m taking us back to shore. I’m not making the same mistake twice. I--”

  Tyra gasped and released him. She pushed him underwater and swam fast and hard to the dock, and Bjorn emerged spluttering. He turned and swam after Tyra. He reached the dock just as she pulled herself from the water.

  “Mistake? Fine. This was a mistake. I should have known.”

  “Tyra, wait. Will you never give me a chance to explain?”

  “No.”

  She swept up her clothes and ran to her boat. This time she slammed the door when she reached her cabin, leaning against it as the tears flowed. She wondered if her rejection was premature. Had she rejected him to avoid him rejecting her first, or did she have a legitimate reason to be insulted? Tyra did not know, and she did not want to think about it. She toweled herself off and climbed into her bunk. She closed her eyes, but sleep evaded her until she let her mind drift to the few times she and Bjorn had been alone. Her heart ached, but she fell asleep.

  Bjorn dressed himself and made his way back to the longhouse. Before he reached the door, Gunnhild approached him. Her smile was a clear invitation, and Bjorn considered it. He wanted to convince himself that Tyra rejected him for the last time and that he was ready to set aside his love so that he might move on. He smiled back at the woman who had pleasured him several times over the years. It had been during feasts when he was drunk and lonely. This time he was sober and lonely. She took his hand and led him to her home. Bjorn followed her in and groaned when she pressed her body against him. He had been semi-aroused when he held Tyra, forcing his body to remain in check so as not to scare her. Now it responded with need. It had been so long since he had been with a woman, and he had not forgotten Gunnhild was talented. Her hand traveled to his cock and rubbed its length. Bjorn tangled his hands into her hair as he returned her kiss. She pulled at his laces until he sprang loose, and stroked him as his kiss grew more desperate. Bjorn was aware what he was doing was wrong. It was wrong to be with Gunnhild when he was in love with Tyra. He was sure Tyra would not forgive him if she learned he bedded Gunnhild right after holding her naked body against his own. And he knew it was wrong because it was not Gunnhild he pictured thrusting into, not Gunnhild he envisioned as he surged toward release. It was only Tyra. It was only ever Tyra, whether he was alone or with a woman.

  Bjorn’s body crept closer to release. He was only moments away, but when Gunnhild sank to her knees and licked him, his eyes flashed open. It was not Tyra he was looking at. He tried to pull loose. “No, Gunnhild. I can’t.”

  But it was too late. His climax overcame him as his seed surged forward, splattering against Gunnhild’s lips and chin. He tilted his head against the door and banged it several time, regret coursing through him where pleasure had been only moments ago.

  “Still picturing that bitch. She won’t have you between her thighs or in her mouth.” Gunnhild purred as she stood. She was unprepared for Bjorn to grab her hair and swing her around to bang her back against the door.

  “Don’t speak about her like that. You know better.” He barked as he yanked her hair.

  Gunnhild pushed her arms up between them and shoved him back before picking up a jar beside them. She brought it down, but Bjorn stepped away and grabbed her wrist. “She’ll whore for other men, but she doesn’t want you. You have the chance to enjoy me but instead, she has you by the balls and isn’t making you come. When are you going to be a man and get over her?”

  “You question my manhood after I showered you with my seed?”

  “And who made you find your release? Tyra? Ha!” Her laugh was harsh and cruel. “I don’t think so. Does your cock even work if you’re not thinking of her?”

  “I suppose neither of us will ever know because I wasn’t thinking about your cunny.”

  Bjorn yanked her away and stepped out her door. He made a beeline for his chamber and threw his sword belt down, then threw his boots across the room. He was disgusted with himself for using Gunnhild, for giving into temptation so easily, and for still being in love with a woman who did nothing but reject him. Bjorn wondered how he could love a woman who could not stand him. It was beyond unrequited love; it was pure masochism. But he loved her for the person she was, not what she thought of him. That was how his love endured so many years. If he based upon her opinion of him, it would have fizzled long before their meeting by the fjord all those years ago.

  He slipped into bed, loathing himself and feeling worse than he had an hour ago when he considered sailing away.

  The
next fortnight fled by as preparations continued for their upcoming voyage. Tyra and Bjorn ignored each other by silent agreement, but Tyra noticed that Gunnhild and Bjorn avoided each other with thinly veiled bitterness. She wondered what occurred between them to create such animosity. She had her suspicions, since it began after she joined him in the bay. Her stomach churned each time she pictured Bjorn with another woman, but she was reasonable enough not blame the man. She had rejected him. Again. Tyra had forced herself to admit it was never Bjorn who rejected her but always the other way around. A thought, an explanation, niggled at the back of her mind, but she did not understand why she kept doing it. It was too painful to reflect upon for long. It brought a sense of loss and regret over time wasted. To Tyra, regrets were useless, but regrets plagued her now.

  “Freya, which ship are you taking? Will you sail the shallower hull again or will you go with the larger one?” Tyra asked.

  “The shallow one. It worked well the last time, especially when we needed speed.”

  Erik walked up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Do you plan to leave me in your wake, since mine will sit heavier in the water? You assigned me most of the supplies.”

  Freya laughed as Erik nuzzled her neck. Tyra watched Freya wrap her arms back around Erik, but she also witnessed one hand slide between them. Tyra looked down at her maps, but she did not restrain her smile. She was happy Freya relented and admitted how she felt for Erik. She had been a bristly bear when she was unwilling to confess she loved Erik as much as he loved her. The poor man had followed her around like a homeless puppy, trying to get her attention. Their scouting trip to Scotland was the cure, and they came back observing Erik’s Scottish heritage of handfasting. They were ostensibly married when they sailed into the docks. A pang of jealousy struck Tyra as it often did when she looked at Leif and Sigrid or Freya and Erik, but she was happy for them.