Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3)

by Celeste Barclay

  “That’s not true. There were not that many. I just made the mistake of going back to the same ones. And I coupled with them. I didn’t make love to them. How could I when it was you who consumed every corner of my mind, your name I called out?”

  “You never had tender feelings for any of them? You never considered marrying any of them.”

  “No. I never had what you did with Knud.” Bjorn tried to keep the jealousy from his voice, but he suspected he failed.

  Tyra pushed herself onto her elbow.

  “I was fond of Knud, but I liked the escape from my family he offered even more. You found out how things ended, how they were between him and me. I didn’t make love to him or anyone else. There was only you, my first time. Then not again until the woods.”

  “It is amazing how feelings change something that people have done since time began. The actions are the same, but they mean so much more when it’s with someone you love and desire above all else.”

  Tyra pushed the hair from his forehead and neck, the tenderness returning after the animalistic feelings moment ago.

  “It is. I don’t know if other couples in love experience this as we do. I suspect so from Freya, Lorna, and Lena, but I know it’s unlike anything else for me. I wouldn’t want it to be like this with anyone else.”

  “I love you, Tyra. I have since we were children, and I will until we meet again in Valhalla. I won’t let you go in this lifetime or the next.”

  They filled their kiss with the devotion born of a lifetime, of being in love and of gratitude they finally shared. They drifted to sleep entangled in one another’s arms and the comfort of a bed.

  Twenty-One

  Their departure the next morning was tense. It was clear that Erik and Freya had argued, but everyone said their thank yous and goodbyes to their Highland partners. As they sailed away with Bjorn and Tyra leading the fleet, it was difficult to watch the scene play out between Strian and Freya. There was open hostility between the two of them. Strian glared at Freya, and she returned his looks with smug ones of her own.

  Over the course of their journey back home, the tension eased but never disappeared. Tyra kept a close eye on Strian, and her heart hurt as she watched the distance grow between him and Gressa. She worried at times that she might be the cause, but she found it much easier to blame the woman’s unexpected reappearance in their lives. There was not the open hostility between Strian and Gressa like there had been when he first captured her, but there was a distance there that had not been present right before they left Castle Varrich.

  They did not face any squalls like they had on the way to Scotland, but the seas were rough and gave them no help. Despite all of Tyra’s skills and knowledge, there was no way for them to catch up with Grímr’s fleet. They caught glimpses of him, but the waves were against them, as though the gods seemed to laugh and make merry at their expense.

  “So much for me being the daughter of the sea. We’ve barely moved at all today.” Tyra’s pursed lips showed Bjorn her disgust and frustration.

  “There is naught to do but have the oarsmen keep going. The wind will shift at some point, and we know where Grímr is headed.”

  “But he might get there before us.”

  “There are still more warriors at home than what he set off with. You witnessed how many of his boats we captured or sank. His fleet is limping along.”

  “The same as we are.”

  “We’re not limping. We’re hobbled by the weather.”

  “Same difference.” Tyra tapped his chest, appreciating his reassurance. She returned to the tiller and took it back from her former first mate.

  True to his word, Bjorn started the voyage back on Tyra’s ship. But the rough seas required him to return to his own boat. His first mate, who he promoted to captain, was an apt and capable sailor, but he had not been at the helm often enough during storms. He did not possess the skills needed to overcome the weather.

  “Stay!” Tyra called to him as the water washed over the rails.

  She looked at the other ships and breathed a sigh of relief that the others were leashed to their rails and masts. She had prayed to the gods repeatedly for days, wishing the weather would change and push them toward home. Now she got her wish, and she prayed once more, this time that no one washed away. The swells and troughs slammed their boats like wooden toys. She listened for cracking wood, the sign that a ship would flounder, but nothing carried on the wind because of the noise from the waves.

  “Ty, we have to lower our sails, or we will capsize.” Freya screamed against the wind.

  Tyra shook her head. She was certain they should keep them up a little longer. They needed the tailwind to push them through the waves, or they really would be at the mercy of the sea gods.

  “Not yet! Keep them raised. If your boats pitch too much, lower them halfway, but you need them!” Tyra thought Freya must have heard her because her friend sat by her tiller, and no one moved on her deck.

  Strian was too far from her ship for him to possibly catch what she said, but she saw Freya signaling him. No matter their differences, they were family and a team. They put aside their differences long enough to stay alive. Even if it was only to argue later.

  The waves settled hours later, but they had made headway at last. Tyra watched the waves and listened to the whistles and cheers as others spotted pods of dolphins. She breathed easier.

  Bjorn remained on his ship for the rest of the journey, but he often pulled alongside Tyra so they could speak. There was no privacy, so talk of navigation and Loki’s games with nature dominated their conversations. The trickster god must have been responsible for their frustration. Without a true storm, there was nothing to justify the stronger-than-usual waves. Crossing the North Sea was never easy, but the swells and troughs were far greater than they should have been. It raised the hairs on the back of their necks, knowing the treachery and capriciousness of the gods. Tyra gave up trying to sleep in her bunk as the rise and fall of the hull rolled her around the bed and rattled her teeth. She preferred to stay above deck, where the other ships were visible, and monitor their course.

  They had a calm morning midway through their voyage, and the oarsmen on all the ships made steady progress. Tyra stood at the rail speaking to Freya, who maneuvered her ship alongside Tyra’s port side.

  “Even with this calm weather, we won’t catch up to them. We haven’t spotted them in days,” Tyra mused.

  “The weather hasn’t blown us off-course, but I doubt any of his captains are as good as you. Do you think he floated further adrift? Have we passed him and don’t know it?”

  “That’s possible, but I doubt it.”

  “Do you think any of his boats floundered?”

  “That’s more likely with the waves. We almost lost several of ours.” Tyra looked beyond Freya’s shoulder, making her friend look back as well. Tyra dropped her voice. “Rangvald’s captains are not very good. It’s surprising any of his ships survive the tides. They don’t steer their boats into the swells, and that forces them to drop into the troughs. They all seem to be racing each other to nowhere. They know not to pass me, and they are still well behind most of our boats.”

  Freya looked over her shoulder again, watching her husband speak with her first mate.

  “I know. I’ve spoken to Erik about it more than once. He’s shocked just like we are. His father lost several of his captains in the battles with Hakin and Grímr. He had to replace them with sailors with less experience. How they haven’t crashed into one another is a matter for the gods. I wondered if it was the storm on the way here, but they’re not any better in calmer waters. Erik told me his father has been so livid that he refuses to look for fear he will lose his temper and throw his ax at someone. Lorna took more than one to task before we left Scotland. They don’t seem to have learned.”

  The two women continued talking until Freya’s barrelman, Freund, who was only a boy of about eleven, called out from the crow’s nest.
/>   “Seagulls! I see seagulls!”

  Tyra left Freya at the rail and ran to the bow of her boat. She climbed onto the dragonhead and held on with one arm. She shaded her eyes as the rocky coastline came into view and scanned the area to get her bearings. She recognized many of the scattered rocks that jutted from the sea.

  “We are another day’s sailing from home,” she called out. Her crew raised a cheer as word traveled from ship to ship until the entire fleet was calling out and stomping their feet.

  Their final day at sea offered them neither wind nor choppy water. The oarsmen battled the waves, but Ivar’s homestead came into view. The alarm for approaching ships rang, but they arrived to a warm welcome. Ivar and Lena waited for them on the docks, and Lena did not wait for Freya to come to her. She dashed down the dock as Ivar laughed, but he was close on her heels. She pulled Freya into a tight embrace as she thanked the gods she had both of her children home again. Leif guided Sigrid through the crowd as she hugged her full and round belly. Tyra greeted them and held out a tentative hand. When Sigrid nodded, Tyra placed it on Sigrid’s belly. A kick made her jerk her hand back. At Sigrid’s laugh, she tried placing her hand there again. This time she was more prepared for the movement.

  Bjorn followed Tyra onto the dock, but came to a dead stop as he watched her with Sigrid. The awe was clear on her face, and he recognized envy though others would not notice. He approached his cousin and his wife. Before he said anything, Sigrid looked up.

  “About damn time.”

  “Sigrid, they just arrived. Bjorn came straight over here,” Leif chastised.

  Sigrid shot him a look like he was simple.

  “No. They are together.”

  “What?” Leif looked between his cousin and close friend. “You are?”

  “Yes,” Bjorn wrapped his arms around Tyra’s middle. He placed one hand on her belly but covered it with his other arm. The possessive hold did not go unnoticed by Sigrid, but Leif was too stunned to catch it.

  “Then my wife is right. About damn time.”

  Tyra laughed as she twisted to look back at Bjorn. “I’d say that’s fair,” she laughed.

  “Better late than never,” Bjorn responded.

  Sigrid clapped. “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait. I was so frustrated with you both.”

  “So, you knew,” Tyra grinned.

  “Of course, I did. I’ve known since I was five and ten. That was the first time I had a vision of you two together.”

  Tyra blushed to her roots. She and Sigrid were close in same age.

  “Just what were you shown?” Tyra was not sure she wanted to find out the answer once the question left her mouth, or at least not in front of anyone else.

  It was Sigrid’s turn to blush. That was enough for both of them. Sigrid changed the subject.

  “How was the rest of the voyage? I only had short visions here and there. It was not enough for me to tell if things were in your favor.”

  “Much happened. It would be easier to explain when we are all together in the longhouse,” Bjorn interjected. He looked around for Ivar and Lena. When he caught sight them, he squeezed Tyra’s waist and nodded in the older couple’s direction. “I would speak to them right now.”

  Tyra’s brilliant smile blinded him. She pulled away, but when she reached back for his hand, she just about pulled it loose from his shoulder. It was his turn to smile, pleased at her impatience.

  “Jarl Ivar?” she called out.

  Ivar and Lena waved and directed speculative looks at the couple.

  “About damn time,” Ivar muttered.

  “Ivar, leave them alone.”

  “It’s all right, frú. Sigrid said the same thing.”

  “Wise woman my son married,” Ivar grinned. “I expect there is something you would like to speak to us about.”

  “There is, Uncle,” Bjorn chimed in. “We’d like to marry before the sunsets tomorrow.”

  Tyra shook her head, and Bjorn’s smile faded. “Today,” she replied. “I don’t want to wait beyond today.”

  “That is a surprise, Tyra. We were sure Bjorn might have had to chase you to the altar.” Ivar teased. “No, but I will drag him if he is a minute late,” Tyra responded.

  Lena stepped forward and pulled Tyra into her embrace. Tyra returned it without hesitation, sinking into the comfort the woman had provided since the day of her parents’ funeral. Lena stroked her hair and kissed her forehead, much as a mother would.

  “I’m overjoyed to have you in my arms again. I worry about you just as I do Leif and Freya. I prayed every day for your safe return and that you would recognize you and Bjorn belong together. But, love, it’ll be dark in a few hours. There is much to do before a wedding.”

  Tyra tried to shake her head, but Lean shushed her. “Please trust me on this. It would be better if you waited until we can all see and aren’t rushed.” There was a note to Lena’s voice that made Tyra relent. “Very well, but before midday tomorrow. That is as much as I will concede.”

  Ivar and Lena chuckled as Bjorn crowed. “Who am I to deny her? She might cut off my cock and hand it to me.”

  Ivar and Lena looked at him in shock.

  “There is a story behind that.” Bjorn chuckled.

  Lena looked at Tyra, who had the good grace to blush.

  “I’m sure there is. I look forward to hearing it,” boomed Ivar who called to the others to join him for a feast.

  They spent the remainder of the night telling the tale of their mission. They took turns recounting the events, and Ivar’s temper simmered until the end, when they warned Grímr was once more on his way. Ivar’s grip on the handle of his mug snapped it from the mug. He looked down at his hand, surprised and unaware of how he had been squeezing.

  “The bastard wants revenge for the death of his bastard sons? Let him come. Let him discover how long he lasts when he doesn’t have his brother or hired thugs to hide behind.”

  “Father, he still has the men who sailed back with him. There were at least ten ships that survived our attack and escaped.” Freya pointed out. Ivar’s stare had Freya retreating into her chair back. She nodded before looking at her plate.

  “Ivar,” Lena’s voice softened Ivar’s rigid posture. Ivar rolled his neck, the cracking sound ringing around the table.

  “We are ready for him when he comes,” Ivar’s voice was even and controlled.

  The meal continued as Ivar and Lena along with Leif and Sigrid told them what happened while they were away. Their story was much shorter.

  Bjorn and Tyra retired to his chamber. As Tyra undressed, she looked around the chamber, realizing for the first time that she was in her new home. Bjorn stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and pulling her back against his chest.

  “What are you thinking about?” Bjorn asked.

  “Realizing this is now my home. Relishing the fact that I never have to live with my aunt and uncle again.”

  “This will be your home for as long as you want. If you want us to have a longhouse of our own, then I will look into to it.”

  Tyra leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. “Maybe when this is over, and we no longer have to worry about Grímr killing us in our sleep.” Tyra sighed as Bjorn massaged her shoulders. “By that time, though, we might want that farm. Is there any sense to having a longhouse built if we don’t intend to live there that long?”

  “Perhaps I should ask Ivar for that land sooner rather than later.”

  Tyra dropped her head as he continued to rub the knots from her neck. “Are you serious about becoming a farmer? You’ve never known that life. You’ve lived here, in the settlement, and as a warrior.” Her muffled words floated from her bent head.

  “That’s not true. My earliest memories are of my parents’ farm. I remember the animals and the smell of freshly tilled land. I remember my mother sneaking me pieces of warm baked bread before my father came home. I’d like our children to have t
hose memories.” Bjorn’s arms once more wrapped around Tyra, but this time, both hands rested on her belly.

  “And if it’s a few years before we make those memories?” Bjorn caught the uncertainty in her voice.

  “By the time we finish this sick game of Grímr’s, it will be deep into winter, then it’ll be raiding season. It’ll be a year before we can consider building a home or starting a farm. We’ll discover what the gods have in store for us then.” Bjorn turned Tyra to face him. “If we have one child, ten, or none, that will never change how much I love you.”

  “You have developed a knack for saying the right thing.”

  Bjorn’s grin was lopsided and boyish. “I’ve always had that. You just didn’t accept I was right. Rather, you refused to admit it.”

  Tyra spanked his backside before dashing to the bed. Bjorn caught her, and they crashed onto the mattress laughing. But the laughter soon faded to moans of pleasure as they passed the time before their wedding.

  Twenty-Two

  Tyra lifted the embroidered gown from her trunk. She had planned to visit her aunt and uncle’s home for the last time that morning to retrieve her few belongings, including her mother’s wedding gown. When she told Bjorn where she intended to go, he swore and forbid her to go. She grew angry at the idea he would not allow her to go where she wanted, but he bellowed at her that he would end up killing the last of her family on their wedding day because he would be damned if he allowed anyone to mistreat her or be unkind.

  When Tyra realized it was his clumsy way of protecting her, she relented and agreed to him arranging for someone to move her things to their chamber. Now, she kneeled before the chest and looked at the few items she had tucked away from the time when she lived with her parents. She had not dared keep them out at her aunt and uncle’s home for fear of being ridiculed or, worse, having them stolen. She laid the dress out on the bed to let it air and prepared to meet the other women at the bathhouse.