The Viking Warrior's Bride

by Harper St. George

  It wasn’t until she’d said a good morning to the table and taken her seat beside the man that she realised it wasn’t going to be quite so easy to move on with her day. It was as if the night with him had made her body extra-aware of him. The heat from his body had her yearning to press herself against him. She remembered how good his bare skin had felt sliding against hers. His scent assailed her and she had no choice but to breathe him in. After spending a night covered in his body, tasting the delicious salt of his sweat and breathing his intoxicating sweat directly from his skin, her body recognised him and longed for that closeness again.

  Somehow her predicament was made worse by the fact that, other than a brief acknowledgement when she’d sat down, he didn’t seem to notice her at all. He continued speaking with Rolfe as if she weren’t there. They spoke in their own language so she couldn’t even listen in on their conversation to distract herself from him. When her bowl of porridge was sat down before her, she made short work of it, trying to distract herself from him. And when she was finished she rose.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, looking at her for the first time since she’d sat down.

  ‘To the sparring field. We’ve lost a week of practice and I wanted to continue the crossbow training.’

  The corner of his mouth tipped upwards, and though it was subtle, his gaze did a sweep down to her breasts and back again. The blue seemed to warm and she knew he remembered seeing her unclothed beneath him, possibly begging for him to take her. She blushed at the memory, both embarrassed and aroused all over again. She glanced to Rolfe to see if he’d noticed anything, but the man had resumed eating his meal.

  ‘I’m finished. I’ll walk with you.’

  And that was the moment she knew that no matter what he’d said, somehow last night would not stay in their bedroom. She wasn’t even entirely certain that it would contain itself to one night. She shook her head at the thought, too confused to think of that now.

  Instead of answering him, she simply nodded and led the way from the hall. The men who were standing parted to let her pass. She was aware of Vidar’s large frame behind her, moving gracefully and soundlessly across the floor. He didn’t touch her, didn’t even walk any closer to her than he normally would. But now he knew just how she’d fit against his chest and how the top of her head would tuck beneath his chin. She knew now how protected she would feel against his thick chest and how his arms would feel wrapped around her. She knew so much more about what it would feel like to truly be his and, heaven help her, she liked it all.

  They reached the sparring field before she realised it. A few warriors had already gathered, talking and stretching their muscles in the dim morning sunlight. She’d been too much in her own mind to make note of anyone they passed. If anyone said a greeting, she couldn’t remember, and she didn’t know if she’d responded. Vidar walked on to the armoury even though she had stopped at the edge of the field.

  What was happening to her? How was she allowing this man to affect her so much? She was disappointed that she couldn’t simply move on. This hadn’t happened the morning after her one time with Cam, but then that night had been so different. Cam had been leaving the next day for battle, so their joining had been tinged with a bittersweet edge. But it also hadn’t been in any way like what had happened with Vidar. Cam hadn’t kissed her.

  She touched her lips, which were still sore from Vidar’s. Cam hadn’t touched her nearly as intimately as Vidar had. Cam had been grateful when she’d offered herself to him. He’d smiled and pulled her down to sit beside him on the forest floor. The only moment of tenderness had been when he’d brushed her hair back from her face and asked if she was certain. After that it had taken only a few moments of him above her before it was over.

  There’d been a little pain and discomfort. Nothing like the pleasure she’d experienced with Vidar. She didn’t know how that was possible considering how much she’d cared for Cam.

  Vidar came out of the armoury with a sword slung over his shoulder. He held her crossbow in one hand and a quiver full of arrows in the other. Her heart flipped over at his thoughtfulness. Perhaps their night together had changed something in him as well.

  He held the crossbow out to her with the carving on the wood facing up. ‘It’s a beautiful carving. What is it?’

  ‘It’s known as the Pict Beast. Have you heard of it?’ she asked, pleased with his interest.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve seen it before. Years ago we were trading in Hedeby and I saw it inscribed on a shield. The merchant said it was a mythical creature of the Picts.’

  ‘Some would say it’s not so mythical. The story is that it roams the lakes of the north looking for strong warriors to eat for its dinner. It’s how it’s managed to live so long. The warriors keep it strong.’

  He smiled at that. ‘Is that how it ended up on your weapon, Wife? So that you could eat up the warriors you encounter and grow stronger?’

  She laughed at that. ‘If by growing stronger you mean surviving an attack, then, aye, it makes me stronger.’ Tilting her head back, she looked up into his eyes and realised that she liked the teasing and wanted to tell him more about herself. ‘My father carved it for me and presented it to me on my eighteenth year. He was proud of my accomplishment.’

  Vidar nodded. ‘As he should have been.’

  A warm current of longing moved through her. Perhaps her husband could find his way to accepting her after all. ‘Do you mean that?’ She probably should have let it rest, but she found that she couldn’t. She wanted to know how he felt about her abilities.

  ‘You’re a good marksman. Your superior skill will be a gain for our warriors.’

  Our warriors. She tried not to get too hopeful, but it certainly sounded like things had changed between them for the better. There was a part of her that wanted to press him. To point out that he only meant she would benefit the warriors by teaching them and that her skill would never be used in battle. But she didn’t. There seemed to be an unspoken truce between them, so she’d take the win and press him later.

  Instead, she smiled and offered up a little more about herself to him. ‘It’s said that my grandmother’s grandmother was from a Pict tribe. She was the chieftain’s daughter and fought beside him when they faced disputes with outsiders. That’s why he chose the Beast for me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Vidar’s smile widened. ‘That explains a lot about you. Something of the warrior is in your blood.’ He turned to head off towards the growing group of men who were gathering on the field.

  ‘I suppose. Does that bother you?’ she asked before he could walk away to join them, genuinely curious.

  ‘To the contrary. It means we’ll make strong children.’ He tossed a knowing glance back over his shoulder.

  And as he’d meant to happen, she was reminded of how those children would be made and what had happened in their bed last night. Nay, regardless of what he’d claimed, what had happened between them would not stay in their bedroom.

  Despite its auspicious start, the morning did not continue smoothly. She led the small group of warriors in their crossbow practice, but Ivar continued to be difficult. The crossbow wasn’t a difficult contraption to learn to use, but it did take skill to use it as effectively as possible. He refused to follow her instruction and as a result his aim continued to go wide. It couldn’t possibly be his fault though—or so he claimed—so instead of doing the small adjustments she suggested, he broke his crossbow over his thigh and threw it down at her feet. Then he stormed off the field. She resolved not to allow it to bother her and continued her lesson with the others.

  * * *

  They broke just before midday to rest and eat a short meal. Vidar was trying to make up for lost time, so he ordered them all to return to the field in the early afternoon. This time there was no crossbow practice. All of the men had their swords intent on sparri
ng.

  ‘Do you doubt the need for blocking off the squares?’ Vidar glanced over at his wife as she walked up to stand beside him. Her sceptical gaze looked out over the Saxons who were getting to their spaces in the makeshift boxes. He was reminded of how she’d challenged him on that first morning and he remembered how it had annoyed him.

  ‘I don’t understand it.’ Pausing, she let her gaze wander over the men before coming to rest on Vidar. ‘But I’m willing to try to understand.’

  And that was how he’d progressed so badly with her at the start. He’d tried to make her submit to him by his sheer force of will. He hadn’t realised what a prize she was. Submission given that easily wasn’t as valuable as the submission he had to earn. He knew that from leading the men. His most prized fighters were the ones to which he’d had to prove himself. Once earned, their loyalty was nearly impossible to lose. He wasn’t certain now why he’d thought her loyalty should be different.

  ‘Fair enough. For that, I’ll have to demonstrate.’

  ‘I’m certain it’ll be fascinating.’ She smiled and he couldn’t tell if she was being insolent or not. The woman was a puzzle.

  Shaking his head, he called out to two of her warriors, Wulf and another man he’d noted to be good with a sword. He’d seen that the warriors here relied less on the axe so he wanted to stick with a weapon they knew well. When they walked over, he directed them to spar without the boxes to contain them.

  ‘Do you see how he’s retreating?’ He pointed to Wulf who moved back several yards to dodge the blows directed at him.

  ‘Aye. Wouldn’t you have him retreat from the blows?’ She raised a brow and looked at him sceptically. Rodor had come over to join them and his expression matched hers.

  ‘Northmen don’t retreat,’ Vidar said. Wulf had regained some ground and started the long journey of regaining more as he ploughed forward. ‘It’s tiring. The more tired you are, the more likely you are to make mistakes.’

  She scoffed at his explanation. ‘Northmen don’t retreat because they don’t want to get tired or because they’re stubborn?’

  Rodor hid his grin behind his hand.

  ‘Can’t it be both?’ Vidar indulged her. ‘It’s not considered winning with honour if you have to retreat to win.’

  ‘Sometimes retreat is the quickest way to victory,’ she countered.

  Vidar looked over at her, uncertain about what she meant. ‘The quickest way to victory is to be efficient with your blows so that you take out your enemy before he can attack you. Superior strength and cunning is necessary for that. You’ve seen the way your warriors battle. If you’d indulge me, I’ll demonstrate with a warrior and you can see the difference. I’ll win faster.’

  She looked at him from the corner of her eye as she considered his proposition. Finally, she said, ‘I’ll accept that wager.’

  His mind immediately went to all the ways he could make her pay when he won. None of them involved battle or strategy. All of them involved her in their bed. He’d yet to determine if she planned to attempt to keep a repeat of last night from happening, but he planned to thwart her if she did. They were too good together and things would only get better. If she’d let them.

  ‘What are the stakes?’ There must have been something in his voice, because she flushed and met his gaze from beneath her lowered lashes. He loved how quickly she went from fierce warrior to innocent wife. He loved both of those sides of her.

  ‘Lord Vidar! Lady Gwendolyn!’ One of the lookouts called to them from the wall, breaking the momentary spell they’d fallen under. The two warriors stopped sparring and everyone turned. ‘A warrior comes!’

  Vidar and Gwendolyn rushed towards the open gates as one of his warriors rode through. He’d been part of a lookout that had been patrolling the southern border of Alvey for any signs of the rebels. The fact that he’d come back alone meant he had news to share.

  Vidar was there to greet him when he brought his horse to an abrupt stop. ‘What do you report?’ he asked, switching to his language without thinking.

  ‘We found an abandoned camp. They travelled south, but split up into two groups. The rain obliterated their tracks, but it looks like one has continued further to the south safely away from Alvey land. I came back for more men to help find the other group.’ The warrior jumped down from his mount.

  Vidar’s heartbeat began to slow and return to normal speed. It seemed there was no urgency. Not yet, but it seemed there could be soon. ‘That’s a good idea.’ He’d already left a few men behind to guard the farms, but they had plenty to spare between the Saxons and his own warriors. He started mentally inventorying which warriors would be the best to send.

  ‘What’s happening, Vidar?’ Gwendolyn stood beside him, her brow furrowed with concern and more than a little impatience that he’d not included her in the conversation.

  He quickly recounted what had been said and turned to Rodor and Rolfe who’d joined them. He listed off the names of ten of the warriors he wanted to accompany the rider back out.

  ‘Those are all Danes.’ Gwendolyn grasped his arm when he tried to follow Rolfe to the sparring field to collect the warriors.

  ‘Aye.’ Vidar nodded and paused to look down at her. Rolfe stopped as well, his gaze going from one to the other.

  Something about that set her off. Her eyes blazed with fury and she tightened her grip on his forearm. ‘There must be Saxons in the group. If we’re to encourage a union, then they have to learn to work together. It’s the only way to move forward.’

  Part of him was angry that she dared to interfere, but a larger and more reasonable part of him understood. They must not continue as they had been up to this point. It would eventually put a rift in Alvey that would be very hard to overcome. ‘Fine. We’ll add five Saxons to the group.’

  ‘Add five? But you were only sending ten. Why not take five Danes away? Do we need to send fifteen men?’

  He sighed, the anger in him starting to sizzle and gain momentum. ‘We’ll add in the Saxons because it’s the right way to move forward. You’re right, they do need to learn to work together. However, until I’m satisfied with their training, I won’t allow the risk to my own men. They’ll go as extra swords, or they won’t go at all.’

  She let go of his arm as if his flesh had burned her and drew herself up to her full height. He nodded to Rolfe, who walked off with Rodor towards the warriors.

  ‘That’s not what we discussed.’

  He raked a hand through his hair, irritated that she still defied him. ‘We never discussed the proportion of Danes to Saxons.’

  Shaking her head, she said, ‘But we discussed the need to talk things over. You spoke with your man not even caring that I couldn’t understand you. And you made the order to send your men without even discussing it with me.’

  He cursed under his breath. He hadn’t even thought about discussing things with her, because he was so accustomed to making decisions on his own that it had been an intuitive assessment of the situation. ‘We lead together or not at all.’ He repeated the words they had spoken that night under the stars. ‘I remember.’

  She still seemed angry despite his concession. She stood with her arms crossed and her narrowed gaze telling him that she’d give him a tongue lashing if she thought it would help.

  ‘Which men do you want to send?’ he asked.

  After naming off five warriors, she made her way to the armoury and he went to the sparring field to call out her men and get them organised with Rolfe’s group.

  * * *

  The group set off within the hour, and most of the warriors had cleared the sparring field of the boxes they’d made. There would be more practice tomorrow.

  He’d seen the men off and walked back from the gate to make certain the armoury was locked up for the rest of the afternoon. But he stopped when sh
e came out, her sword in her hand. It was a beautiful piece of work, made for her size, yet still retaining the strength to take down a greater-sized warrior.

  ‘Grab your sword,’ she said. Her eyes were still livid and fiery.

  A few of the men who were still in the area stopped to watch, eager for his reply. Vidar grumbled internally, but to her he asked, ‘Why?’ Though he suspected he knew where this was headed.

  ‘If you remember, we were in the middle of a wager. You said you planned to fight one of my warriors.’

  He grinned, but his pulse speeded up, sending his blood rushing through his body. ‘I’m not going to fight you, if that’s what this is about.’

  ‘Why?’ She raised an eyebrow and glanced to the nearest group of men who were close enough to hear her every word. ‘You said you wanted to fight one of the warriors to prove how your way was superior. I’m one of the warriors.’

  ‘You’re my wife.’ He bit the words out in an effort to keep his voice down. ‘Don’t do this here, Gwendolyn.’

  ‘Don’t ask you to keep your end of the wager?’ She raised her voice and asked, ‘Is there anyone here who wouldn’t like to see Vidar spar with me?’

  ‘Gwendolyn,’ he growled, but it was too late. Others had heard her and started to come over. ‘If you remember, we also agreed that any disagreement would be handled in our chamber.’

  ‘This isn’t a disagreement. This is you showing me that your way is superior. We can settle it by you proving it.’

  He wanted to toss her over his shoulder and take her up their chamber and spank her again. Nay, better yet, he wanted to do it right there. This was her outright challenging his authority. This wasn’t about the wager. ‘Think carefully of the consequences of what you’re suggesting.’