Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

“Don’t say that,” Strian voice cracked as he pulled her in for a deep kiss that left Gressa clinging to him.

  “Strian, let me come. Let me do at least this before you leave.”

  “Before I leave? You think I’m leaving you here?”

  “I had hoped.”

  Strian straightened to his full height which had him towering over Gressa.

  “Let me dispel that hope. You are coming with me. My thralls don’t decide where they go.”

  Gressa lashed out, but Strian grabbed her wrists.

  “You want me to trust you and bring you along only to tell me moments later that you plan to stay here. I won’t let you go, so you intend to run away.”

  “I intend to kill Grímr and figure out the rest later.”

  “It’s already figured out, Gressa. I don’t trust you to stay here. Fool that I am to have considered it. You come with me, but I’ll be damned if I give you a weapon. I don’t want to die with an arrow in my back.”

  Gressa gasped and backed away. “You fear that after what I’ve done, what I’ve endured, to keep you alive, I would kill you.”

  “Much has changed, hasn’t it?”

  Gressa did not miss that he meant both over the years and since they found one another.

  “I may wish many things on you, Strian, even your death. But it will never be at my hands. Never.”

  Strian stared down at her for a long moment before grabbing her wrist. “Let’s go.”

  Strian was not sure what he would do with her, but he was willing to admit to himself she was right about being the best archer. He was not ready to voice aloud his capitulation, but he had already accepted he would give in and give her a bow.

  As they passed the armory, Strian informed Freya and Erik that he would be on the cliffs instead of his ship. When he grabbed a longbow they brought back, they understood why. Gressa stumbled, unprepared for Strian to pick up one of the Welsh bows and several quivers of bolts. His broad shoulders carried them with ease as he mounted his waiting horse. He pulled her into the saddle in front of him. The jolt of the horse’s movement pushed Gressa into Strian’s chest. He wrapped his arm around her, and they rode out in silence.

  Erik, Freya, Rangvald, and Lorna hurried to the beach where the rowboats ferried them to their boats. The Mackays, Mackenzies, and MacLeods sent archers along the coast, where other rowboats ferried them to the opposite shore while most of their warriors prepared for an attack by land.

  Tormod asserted that the Norse might come by water, but the Munros would come by land. A scout confirmed they saw men leaving the Norse fleet just east of the entrance to the Kyle of Tongue.

  Once everyone was aboard their ships, there was little they to do but wait. The minutes ticked away into hours with mutters of doubts growing louder. It was late afternoon when the whistle signal passed from ship to ship. They had spotted the enemy fleet entering the kyle. The warriors awaiting the enemy pulled their shields from the sides of the boats and held their swords at the ready.

  Tyra glimpsed the prow of the first ships as she waited at the front of the flotilla. It would be on her call that they lifted the first chain. She waited for the signal to come that the entire fleet was within their trap. As the first ships grew closer to the chain and net, she looked around and strained to catch anything that might sound like the signal, but it was quiet. No one spoke, only the lapping water made a sound. When it was impossible for her to wait any longer without risk of the plan failing, she lowered her raised arm, and the chain snapped into the air as the teams of warriors heaved on each side. It vibrated as water gushed through the links, but it struck the prow of the boats and stopped them. Tyra listened to the enemy’s orders to fall back, but arrows rained down from above and from the flotilla. Grímr’s fleet attempted to retreat, but there was not enough room for all of their boats to maneuver. His warriors fell to the decks or into the water one after another. Tyra spotted a man she deduced must be one of Grímr’s sons. He looked just like his mother, Inga, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Erik, his cousin. She raised her bow and released the arrow. It found its mark deep within the man’s neck. She pulled another arrow and shot the next warrior she caught in her sights. So went the rest of the battle. She launched arrow after arrow until there was enough room for them to drop chain and the flotilla to pursue Grímr’s boats.

  Strian pushed his doubts aside as he handed the longbow to Gressa. She did not look at him but placed the first quiver between her feet. She stunned Strain with how strong she was to pull back the bowstring on a weapon almost as tall as her. She released one arrow after another, and despite the distance, Strian watched as each one found a home in an enemy neck, chest, or eye. The only times she missed was when someone else’s arrow struck her intended victim. She wasted few arrows, and killed more men that Strian ever had in a single battle.

  Grímr’s ships retreated to the headland and out of range of their archers. Strian noticed how far apart the enemy’s ships sailed. There had never been a chance to pull the second chain and trap them. When a gap formed between those that never crossed the first chain and those retreating from the first one, he whistled the signal. The second chain snapped up and trapped some of the ships.

  “Damn it to hel,” Gressa swore, using several words in Welsh that Strian was sure were vulgar.

  “To your Christian god’s hell?”

  Gressa glared at him. “No, to ours. The real one.” She forced herself to calm. “I didn’t get him. He would have been on one of the last boats, so he could make his getaway just like always does. Shite.”

  Gressa blinked several times, refusing to cry in front of Strian. He had humiliated her enough times in the past few days. She had an ounce of pride left, and she would not forfeit it before him. He pulled her into his arms, and she dropped the bow, her arms too tired to continue to hold it. She pushed her hands between them, intending to shove him away, but when she felt the strength of the muscles beneath his shirt, she clung to him.

  “You will get him. One way or another, he will die. I reckon you have the most right to revenge. I will make sure he dies at your hands, or at the very least, you can watch his slow and painful death.”

  Now, Gressa did push him away. “Why? Why would you promise me that? A slave. You think I’ll fight again? When we return to Wales, you think I will take up arms against my people. My chance to get him has come and gone. You won’t give me a weapon again anyway. It is not my vengeance to have.”

  She tried to storm off, but Strian caught her around the waist. “You still have a lot of explaining to do, and I intend to get that explanation. For now, you’re off the hook. We can’t wait here any longer. Thank your god, or whoever you believe in these days. I don’t have time for this.”

  Twenty

  “He escaped. The bluidy bastard escaped.” Lorna railed as she pushed the keep door open. Despite her small size, her fury was enough for the enormous door to bang against the door.

  “My scouts will tell us which direction he headed. In the meantime, we’ll gather as many provisions as we can offer you, and you can set sail at first light.” Alex smiled at his cousin.

  “I’m sure he’s going back home. I believe what Gressa said. We killed three more of his sons today, so he has none left. He will want his revenge on Ivar, which means he knows we will follow.” Tyra pushed the hair from her face. She and Bjorn had stayed to help untie the ships. They ran all the way from the beach to the keep, catching up with the others.”

  “I agree with Tyra. We should prepare to go home.” Bjorn looked at each of them, but paused when Strian shook his head.

  “I’m staying.”

  “What?” Freya burst in. “No, you’re not. I refuse.”

  “To what, grant me permission? Will you try to stop me? Will you stand by as your husband, or your cousin, fight his friend? Your friend?” He looked over her head, “I’m staying, Freya.”

  “Why? I demand to know.”

  “I have my reasons, and th
ey are not any of your business.”

  “It’s because of her,” Freya pointed at Gressa, and Strian pushed her behind him.

  “Freya,” he warned.

  “Strian,” she mocked.

  Erik tried to step between them, but Freya shot him a look that promised retribution. He might be her husband, but she was Ivar’s representative. He was not entitled to decide for her.

  “I refuse to release you. You’ve pledged fealty to my father, which means you will obey his orders. He never commanded you to stay, but he did command you to fight for him.”

  Strian’s chest puffed out as his shoulders rolled back. “Freya, you have never done this with any of us. You would start now? Now you’re the almighty daughter of a jarl because you’re not getting what you want. Do you realize how petulant and spoiled you look, not to mention childish?”

  Freya hissed as she grabbed Strian’s wrist and held it up. “None of us were children when my father gave us our rings. Our childhood ended when we swore our oath. You don’t get to decide when and where you follow that oath. Bring the bitch with you. Let her ruin your life all over again. I don’t care. But you are coming with us. Bound if we have to.”

  Freya spun on her heels and took two steps before turning back around. She walked to Strian but looked at Gressa.

  “Hurt him again, and I will kill you. I will never forgive you for what you did to him. Never,” she whispered so her voiced only reached Gressa and Strian.

  “Freya,” Strian started, but Gressa squeezed his arm. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Not now and not here.”

  “Very well, Freya. Have it your way. But if anyone is unwilling to forgive, it is now me.” Strian turned and wrapped his arm around Gressa. “We’re going to my ship.”

  Tyra and Bjorn watched the exchange between Freya and Strian, stunned at the course of events. They both knew Freya was right, but they were shocked she would treat Strain as she had. Rangvald and Lorna frowned at Erik, as though it was his fault his wife issued such orders.

  “They are her people. You know that. Our marriage doesn’t change who she is or her right to lead.” Erik looked at his parents. “Besides, there is far more going on than anything the three of us know.”

  Three heads turned to look at Tyra and Bjorn. In turn, Bjorn and Tyra looked at one another.

  “Strian and Gressa have a past, but we don’t know all of it,” Tyra hedged her bets, and wanted to sigh when Rangvald, Lorna, and Erik nodded and seemed satisfied.

  “We will oversee the provisions,” Lorna looked to Alex who nodded, glad to escape the scene that played out in his Great Hall. Tormod and Andrew had backed away and given their irate Norse friends space when the argument began. They were uncertain how much blood might be involved.

  “We will inform the others. Right, son?” Rangvald formed it as a question, but there was no doubt it was an order.

  Tyra turned to Bjorn, “I will check on Freya.”

  “I will follow Strain.”

  They exchanged a brief kiss.

  As dusk gave way to night, Bjorn and Tyra laid together in the chamber given to them. Neither had made headway with their friends, and both were heartsore. Freya and Strian would never ask them to take sides, but just as Strian was more like a brother to her, he was the same to Freya. Both Bjorn and Tyra recognized Freya was trying to protect Strian because she loved him, but it had gone terribly wrong.

  “Do you think they’ll forgive each other?” Tyra asked as she drew circles on Bjorn’s chest. The little smattering of hair was still damp from their bath.

  “Eventually. Whatever his reasons, we all know it’s because of Gressa. Something is going on.”

  “What do you suppose it is? He was intent on bringing her back with him, but now he wants to remain here. I doubt it’s to farm.”

  Bjorn chuckled.

  “Hardly. He would go to Wales with her. But for what reason, I can’t tell.”

  “What do you think will happen with them?”

  “I hope they can reconcile like we did, there is something far greater than a misunderstanding that stands between them.”

  Tyra remained quiet as she continued to run her hand over his chest as his arm pulled her closer to his side, his hand cupping her bottom.

  She slid her hand up his neck until she pressed his face toward hers.

  “I love you,” she murmured.

  Bjorn shifted her so their lips met, languid and slow, neither in a rush. Bjorn kissed a heated trail along her jaw until her got to her ear.

  “Not more than I love you,” he breathed then licked the whorl of her ear. When she shivered, he nipped as her lobe before drawing it into his mouth.

  Tyra draped her chest over Bjorn’s as he found the spot behind her ear that made her moan.

  “Louder, Ty. Let me hear your pleasure.”

  “The entire keep will hear it if I’m any louder.”

  “Let them.”

  Tyra pushed up on her hands until she straddled Bjorn’s hips.

  “No more teasing. I want to make love to you.”

  Bjorn groaned as she encircled his length and stroked. She raised her hips until he glided along her slick entrance. When she positioned him, Bjorn grabbed her hips, pushing down mercilessly as his hips thrust up. Tyra’s head fell back, and she did moan unabashedly. She did not care anymore who heard her.

  “Gods, Ty. Nothing should feel as good as this. I would stay buried inside of you for the rest of my life.”

  “I would keep you there if I could.”

  Tyra rocked her hips as Bjorn pressed her onto his length. When she circled her hips, Bjorn was sure he was floating outside his body. He had never experienced bliss like he did with Tyra.

  “Roll us over, Bjorn. I want you above me. I want to hold you.”

  Bjorn did not need another invitation. He changed their position and pressed his length into her over and over until she screamed his name. He did not relent until she climaxed again.

  “Don’t pull out. I have the pennyroyal. My courses should start within a sennight. I will drink the tea soon.”

  It was impossible for Bjorn to hold back after hearing Tyra’s demand. He thrust harder and faster, worried he might hurt her until she pleaded for more. His release ripped through him as he threw his head back and roared her name.

  Tyra held Bjorn as his arms shook, and she tried to breathe. Never would she have imagined lovemaking like it was with Bjorn. She had enjoyed the times she and Knud coupled, but she never considered it making love, and now she understood the difference. She wondered if it was the same for Bjorn, but they agreed to put the past behind them.

  “Tyra, what are you doing to me? I shall either live forever or die a young man. I’m not sure which, but you are unlike anything I ever imagined.”

  Tyra’s throaty laugh made Bjorn’s cock twitch. She must have felt it because she moaned and shifted beneath him.

  “I could say the same to you,” she tilted her hips, needing more of the friction that had already swept her away more than once. She grasped his backside as she moved again.

  “Not done?” Bjorn panted.

  “Never.”

  Bjorn rocked his hips as Tyra flexed the muscles of her core causing Bjorn to harden again.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” Tyra was not paying attention as her body demanded another release.

  “How am I growing hard again so soon? I was sure you drained every drop from me.”

  “Because I can’t get enough of you. My body aches for you. It’s a need I can’t describe, but I can’t get rid of it. My body wants yours within me, on me. Everywhere.” Tyra realized she made little sense. Her thoughts blurred as her desire propelled her. “Gods, Bjorn. More.”

  Bjorn buried his nose in her hair as he flexed his hips back and forth. He braced himself on his hands, and Tyra ran hers up and down the corded muscle before scraping her nails over his chest and down the notches of his belly.

  �
�I have never seen anything as magnificent as your body, Bjorn,” the reverence rang in her words.

  Bjorn pulled one of her legs over his hip as he drove himself deeper still. Tyra cried out as the new position gave her what her body craved, demanded. She concentrated and drew the muscles of her core around Bjorn’s length. He grunted as his hips picked up pace and slammed into her. Gone was the tenderness of just minutes earlier.

  “Tyra,” Her name savage and primal on his lips.

  “More,” She gasped as she grasped his buttocks and pressed him into her.

  “Ty, you’re pushing me too far. I’ll lose control.”

  “Good. I’ve already lost mine. Harder.”

  Those were the only words Bjorn needed and the last that she uttered. Their bodies moved in unison, and lust replaced love as they raced toward the finish. Their sounds of ecstasy filled the chamber as their bodies collided over and over, the sound of skin making contact drove them to move harder and faster.

  “Look at me.”

  “I can’t. Can’t keep my eyes open. Want to. Can’t.” Tyra tipped her back as she arched off the bed, and Bjorn pounded into her.

  “Bjorn!” she screamed.

  “Tyra!” his voice an echo of hers.

  Bjorn rolled them so Tyra was once more on top, unable to support his weight any longer, and he would crush her no matter how strong she was. He outweighed her by half, if not all of, her weight.

  “Are you all right? Was I too rough?” Tyra forced the words from her burning chest.

  Bjorn’s chest rumbled as he choked out a laugh.

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  “Not too rough. Just right.”

  They lay in silence as their skin cooled and breathing slowed. After their hearts ceased racing, Bjorn pressed Tyra up so that they gazed at one another.

  “Ty, I want you to understand it’s never been like that with anyone else. I’ve never made love to a woman other than you. And I’ve never lost control like that either. I feared I’d hurt you, but my body couldn’t stop.”

  “You didn’t hurt me, and I wanted it just like that. But what do you mean you’ve never made love? Bjorn, I know you’ve been with more women than you could possibly keep track of.”