Strian looked down at the most beautiful face he had ever seen, the one that haunted his nightmares.
“Are you another man’s wife?”
“You have no right to ask that.”
“I disagree.”
They stood staring at one another once more, tension rippling across and between them.
“Gressa, where have you been?” Strian’s voice was little more than a whisper as he beseeched her to give him answers he had searched for over the past ten years.
“Wales,” she admitted.
Strian staggered back.
“Everyone told me you were dead, but I knew you weren’t. I would have felt it.”
“I was close to dead when you left me behind.”
“I did not leave you behind! I searched and searched. I wouldn’t board my boat, but Ivar and Leif carried me kicking and screaming back to it. I went over the side the moment they let go. I swam back, but Ivar had me shackled to the mast since I refused to follow his orders.” Tears welled in Strian’s eyes for the first time since he watched his father’s pyre drift away during that same voyage. He had lost everything by the time Ivar’s fleet sailed away from the Welsh island off the coast of Anglesey. He bracketed Gressa with a hand on each side of her head. He turned his face into his arm as he tried to control the sob rising within him.
“I didn’t know that,” Gressa whispered, her voice hoarse from her own tears.
“I lost my mother just before we sailed, then my father on that voyage. I only learned a few moons ago that my uncle was responsible for my father’s death. I lost you, too.”
“That was a long time ago, Strian.” Gressa pressed him away, and he let her step away. “Too much has happened since then.”
“What are you doing here? How did you get from Wales to here? That’s the other side of this blasted island.”
“They sent here me with the other archers. They recruited us.”
Strian head snapped back.
“Did you know who you would fight? Did you know it was our people?”
“No, and they’re not my people anymore.”
“Yes, we are. We will always be your people.”
Gressa shook her head.
“Strian, my home is with my people in Gwynedd.”
Strian was certain someone struck him with a battle axe as he tried to take in what Gressa said.
“What is there that is more important?” he sneered. “What man warms your bed so well you would rather stay with Christians?”
Gressa’s hand flew across his face.
“And what women have you pleasured since you thought I was dead?”
“I never thought you were dead.”
“But you never denied bedding other women.”
“What did you want from me? You made a better life for yourself in Wales. Did you even try to return?”
Gressa’s silence was more than Strian could bear. He gripped the sides of his head. He forced himself to breathe, and when he looked back at Gressa, she staggered away from the venom that filled his eyes.
“If you liked Wales so fucking much, you shouldn’t have left. Like it or not, you are going home. To the Trondelag.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her back toward the bailey. “As my thrall.”
Tyra was exhausted by the time the last of their people were floating into the firth as their souls traveled on to their final resting place. She prayed they were each standing before the doors of the great feasting hall. She had seen that the women and children she sent into the keep the day before found protection and were well cared for. She longed for a bath and a bed. Her back and shoulders ached, and she had bruises all over her body. She squealed when Bjorn swept her off her feet. He hooked one arm beneath her knees while the other pressed her against his chest. Tyra rested against him as he carried her into the keep and was falling asleep by the time Bjorn carried her into a chamber. She smelled rosemary and thyme, making her curious enough to open her eyes. She noticed steam rising from a tub before a hearth. Tyra wrapped her arms around Bjorn’s neck until he pretended to splutter. Once she was on her feet again, she wasted no time peeling the filthy clothes from her even filthier body.
“I would burn these if they weren’t my only clothes.”
“And I would keep you naked if you wouldn’t have to appear before anyone else.”
She turned back to grin at Bjorn, but snapped her hands over her chest, not hiding her breasts but her scar. It was the first time since they reconciled that had a clear view of the damage the axe did. It had been dark the other times. Bjorn shook his head and pulled her hands away.
“Bare those marks with pride, Tyra. You saved my life when you received those. You put your life before mine, and I will be grateful until the end of time.” Bjorn kissed along the worst of the scar. “There is naught that will convince me you aren’t the most beautiful woman alive. Don’t hide from me. You never have to hide aught from me.”
Bjorn shed his clothes, too, and walked with Tyra to the bath. He stepped in, then helped her over the side. The settled with Bjorn’s back against the tub, and Tyra draped across his chest. They soaked, both too tired to do more. When Tyra caught herself drooling on Bjorn’s chest and felt the rumble of his laughter beneath her cheek, she forced herself to sit up. The tub was cramped, so she had to turn and sit between his legs. She moaned as Bjorn ran a lathered wash linen over her arms and back, massaging the knots as he went. He passed the cloth over her breasts, and her body responded despite her fatigue. She was aware of how Bjorn’s body reacted while hers pressed against him. He washed everywhere he was able to reach, having to leave her legs to Tyra since his arms were not long enough. He poured water over her head then lathered soap into her hair. She moaned over and over as he massaged her scalp, his powerful hands cradling. He once more poured water over her head and washed away the suds.
“Go warm yourself beside the fire while I finish.” Bjorn pushed Tyra to her feet.
“But I don’t want to,” She sounded petulant, but she did not want to miss the opportunity to touch Bjorn as he had touched her. She stepped from the tub, but instead of doing as Bjorn said. She wrapped a drying linen around herself, pulled a stool next to the tub, and ran a soapy linen over his body, her hands burning a trail as Bjorn gripped the sides of the tub. Her hand wrapped around his cock, and he scrunched his eyes closed as the sensations coursed through his entire body.
“Ty,” his hushed tones did not hide the need.
“How do you think I felt moments ago?”
Bjorn scrubbed his own head as Tyra finished the rest of his body. Once he was clean, he stepped from the tub, not caring that he was creating a puddle. He helped Tyra to her feet once more and pulled the towel from her body. He took in the stunning sight of her magnificent body. He had not seen her bare since the first time they made love all those years ago. The times they had made love on this voyage had been in the dark, and their rushed tryst in the woods had only afforded him a view of her delectable backside. He feasted on her body until he looked up and noticed her lick her lips. She gorged on the sight of his aroused staff. She wrapped her hand around it again and stroked him as her head fell back. Bjorn growled and dragged her to the hearth. He snatched a plaid from the foot of the bed and snapped it open before easing Tyra to the floor. He followed her down until his body rested between her thighs.
“I thought I was too tired to do aught but fall sound asleep. Now that is the last thing I want to do,” Tyra caressed his back as she drew her fingertips across his back.
Bjorn slid into her body, and they both closed their eyes as they savored the bliss of their bodies becoming one. They held one another for a long time until need overtook them, and sentimentality fell away. Their pace was slow as Bjorn thrust as deeply as he could, and Tyra’s muscled clenched, keeping him in place until they both needed him to thrust again. They flew over the edge into ecstasy together. Neither of them made an effort for Bjorn to pull out. As they floated back down to Earth, Bjor
n kissed Tyra’s temple.
“Ty,” he breathed beside her ear. “You never had time to get that herb from Freya, did you?”
She shook her head. She stared into Bjorn’s eyes.
“I don’t know that I want to anymore.”
“And I don’t know that I want to go into battle again knowing you are there, possibly carrying our babe.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“Looking for a farm when we return home.”
Tyra grinned as she cupped his cheeks. She lifted her head to kiss him, their eyes locking, both growing serious.
“I’ll ask her for it in the morning.”
“I won’t mention the farm to anyone until after we settle this business with Grímr.”
They both understood their duty, and they were willing to accept it.
“We have plenty of time, my love,” Tyra kissed him once more.
“The rest of our lives,” Bjorn returned her kiss and rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. He threw the plaid over them.
They both fell asleep as their eyes drifted closed, and neither moved until the sun poured into their chamber.
A pounding at their chamber door awoke Tyra and Bjorn.
“What?” Bjorn bellowed.
“We’re all needed in the bailey,” Freya called back. “Tyra, let me in.”
Tyra looked at Bjorn and shrugged. She wrapped the plaid around her as Bjorn swiped a damp drying linen from the ground. Tyra looked back to be sure Bjorn was covered and only shook her head when Bjorn held the linen in front of his groin but did little to hide the rest of him.
“She’s your cousin,” Tyra hissed.
“So? I know she isn’t looking.”
Tyra opened the door and watched as Freya scowled when she noticed Bjorn.
“It’s one thing to know you’re mauling my best friend, it’s another to find the evidence.”
“I’m sure I said something similar to Erik about you, cousin,” Bjorn teased.
Freya turned back to Tyra.
“I brought this for you. I imagine you will need some, too.” Freya handed over a small oilskin wrapped package. “Pennyroyal. I haven’t that much to spare, but we can look for more before we leave. If you hurry.”
“Thank you. I was going to ask you about it this morning.”
“Figured at much. Ty, don’t wait much longer to make the tea. If you already have need of it, it’ll incapacitate you for at least a day. It’ll only be worse if you wait longer.”
“I know. Thank you.”
Freya stepped back through the door, and Tyra pushed it closed as she walked back to the pile of dirty clothes she had no desire to put back on. She wished she had washed them last night and spread them out to dry. She chided herself for letting Bjorn distract her once more.
“What did she mean if you already have need of it? And that it’d incapacitate. Will it make you ill? I was under the impression it was safe to use.” Bjorn pulled her into his embrace, and she could not miss the worry etched in the lines around his eyes and between his brows.
“It is safe. She meant that if I’m already carrying a babe, it will make me lose it. It hasn’t been that long, so if it flushes my body of a babe, it wouldn’t be much worse than having my courses. If I wait, and I’m carrying, it will be far worse. I would bleed more and be in far greater pain.”
Bjorn froze, uncertain of what sounded the worst from what Tyra just explained.
“And if you might be carrying our babe? You would still drink the tea?”
“It’s far too soon for me to know. It would be at least a fortnight before I might have a clue. Even then, I wouldn’t be convinced for at least another moon. If I knew for sure, I wouldn’t even consider it, but I don’t know. I’d rather not wait but consider this as prevention instead.”
“But we would know then before the fortnight is up. We would know if you had been carrying.”
“Yes.”
Tyra watched Bjorn try to work through what she was struggling with, too. She was not sure if she could withstand the outcome, the guilt or the disappointment. Either would overwhelm her while still conflicted over whether she was ready to begin a family with Bjorn.
“If I don’t start using the tea, then I might end up with child, if I’m not already.”
“I know,” Bjorn swallowed. “Tyra, it’s your choice. I will support whatever you decide.”
“But what do you want?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I trust your decision.”
Tyra found the responsibility to be far heavier than anything else she had ever expected.
“I will save the tea until my courses are due. I will drink it then. I won’t know if it’s the tea or nature that brings on the bleeding.”
Bjorn held Tyra as they both reconciled themselves to the decision.
“We have to meet the others,” Bjorn whispered, and Tyra nodded. “Ty.”
Tyra looked up as she stepped back.
“We haven’t talked about it, but I want to marry as soon as we get home.”
“I want that, too.”
“But what if that takes several more moons? Are you all right with waiting?”
“I don’t know that we have much choice.” Tyra grinned, “Unless you want to be wed in the White Christ’s church.”
“Hardly,” Bjorn growled then chuckled.
“Me neither. And they call us heathens. They put their god on a cross and stuck nails in him. Hardly sounds civilized.”
“I’d rather celebrate Odin’s life than the death of some man from a far off land. Bah.” Bjorn handed Tyra her clothes, then looked for his. “I don’t like thinking of you only being my companion. I don’t want anyone wondering there’s any chance that either of us is not committed to this relationship.”
Tyra could not help but laugh. It started as a tiny bubble and erupted into gales.
“Bjorn, do you really imagine anyone in our tribe will doubt that? After how long it’s taken for us to admit how we feel? I suspect there is no one within Ivar’s homestead who doesn’t know we’ve been in love with each other since we were children. The only two who didn’t was us.”
Bjorn pulled on his clothes, and as his head popped through his collar, he shook his head.
“They might, but Rangvald’s men and these Highlanders don’t.”
“Worried someone might try to woo me away?” Tyra teased.
“No. I just don’t want you to beat some poor woman who makes the mistake of smiling at me.” Bjorn sauntered over to her.
Tyra tugged him to her, and just before she kissed him, she breathed, “I wouldn’t just beat her. I’d kill her. You’re mine.”
Sixteen
The bailey was busy as the Mackenzies, MacLeods, Mackays, and Sutherlands gathered to decide how they would deal with their rogue neighbors the Rosses. Rangvald and Lorna stood with their own people, and Freya, Erik, and Strian mingled with their tribe members. Tyra watched how Erik blended in with their tribe, even though his own family stood feet away. He had not abandoned his tribe or his parents, but for the sake of the mission, he stood beside Freya and supported her as the leader of Ivar’s forces. Bjorn may have led the warriors in battle, but Freya was Ivar’s representative when they made decisions. Strian was the voice of reason whenever they needed it, and she led their fleet. They had each matured into the role they were meant to play within their tribe. A wave of gratitude crested within her chest as Bjorn wove his fingers with hers.
“We have to follow him,” Freya’s voice carried as she argued.
“And if we have to track him across Scotland?” Erik asked.
“Then you better be ready for a sore arse, because you will be in the saddle for a long time,” Freya quipped.
“Do we have any idea where he went?” Bjorn asked as they joined the conversation.
“No,” Freya shook her head.
“I can find out,” Strian cut in.
All heads whipped toward him, but he w
as looking at a group of captives who huddled together awaiting their fate. Men tried to be brave, while women whimpered. They were all aware of the tales of what became of Norsemen’s thralls. They feared being sold to the east, and it was a justified fear. Some of them might be, but many would become servants in Ivar’s and Rangvald’s households.
Strian looked at the faces turned toward him and shrugged. “I’ll let you know what I discover.”
He walked away before anyone asked him what he meant. Tyra and Freya exchanged a glance, but he left Bjorn and Erik confused.
“If he learns nothing, do we send scouts? I’d rather not ride all over this island if we can sail wherever we need to go. How do we know Grímr doesn’t try somewhere else? England? Francia?” Bjorn brought them back to the topic.
“I’d love it if he tried to recruit in Francia. They’d cut off his bollocks and serve them with sauce,” Erik quipped.
“We should talk to the Highlanders and discover what they think. They’d be better informed if there are any other clans near here who might harbor or support him. If they don’t think so, we should sail wherever we go next,” Tyra reasoned.
Rangvald and Lorna joined them as Tyra finished speaking.
“We agree with Tyra,” Rangvald chimed in. “We suspect he will try to recruit from England. If that’s the case, then we should return to our ships and sail.”
“Do we continue with this voyage or do we return home for more warriors?” Freya asked. “We lost much of our forces, but not so many that we can’t still win if Grímr’s recruitment remains slow. My concern is more battles like we have fought will leave us underpowered if he succeeds in finding more warriors. Do we wait till that happens and risk going home with our tails between our legs, or do we regroup then return with an ever larger fleet?”
“Wales,” Strian stated quietly. Faces swung toward him, having not noticed he slipped back into the group. “He’s going to Wales. The archers impressed him, and he wants more longbowmen. But he intends to sink our ships first. He wants us trapped.”
Strian’s taut jaw and hard stare told the rest not to questions how he knew. Strian would not make a suggestion unless he was sure it was reasonable and judicious.
Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3) Page 19