by Anthology
“Shall we?” the monk gestured.
Gustaf ran ahead of him and blocked the door, exchanging like-minded looks with Tait. “You may want to cover your eyes before you enter.”
Tait patted the priest’s shoulder. “Trust me. You will be grateful you did.”
Confused, the monk brought his hands up to his face and covered his eyes. With Gustaf’s guidance, he was led into the longhouse, the shriek of a woman in labor piercing his ears.
Gustaf led the man around the hearth and quickly knelt down beside her. “I am here, my love,” he said, wiping her brow with a cool cloth.
“We have not much time, Gustaf,” Mara remarked. Her concern extended from the thin crease of her lips to the seriousness of her eyes. “Once the baby descends, Æsa has to push.”
Gustaf grabbed the priest by the arm, jerking him from his stupor. “You heard the princess. Proceed.”
The distraught monk cleared his throat and commenced the unconventional ceremony with the conventional Latin introduction. “In nominee Patris, et Fillii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”
From then on, Gustaf was oblivious to the man behind him, who recited words of unknown purpose. He was attentive only to his suffering Æsa, making certain he did all that Mara asked of him.
He may have failed to protect her from Ásmundr but he would not fail her now. She needed him and he needed her. Like he’d told her before, she was the only woman he wanted. There was no other who could alight his lips with a smile, fill his heart with joy, and gratify his soul with pride. Nothing made him prouder than watching his Æsa endure the pains of childbirth so she could gift him with a son.
With all her might, she sat curled up over her stomach and pushed. Gustaf braced his arm across her back and coached her to keep pushing, his heart in his chest as he awaited this miraculous moment. Each push, brought the baby closer to delivery and Gustaf couldn’t help but encourage the priest to speed it up.
As the last words fell from the monk’s lips, an infant’s tiny cry broke through the commotion of the room. Æsa dropped to her back in exhaustion and Gustaf stared as Mara lifted the bloody little one for him to see.
“A boy,” Mara said, tears filling her eyes. “My nephew. You did it, Æsa. You birthed a son.”
Gustaf swiveled his head toward the priest. “Did you marry us?”
The monk smiled. “You are husband and wife in God’s eyes. What God has joined, let no man tear asunder—and God help them if they do.”
Gustaf wrapped his arms around Æsa’s spent body and buried his face in her neck. “I love you, wife. I love you. Do you hear me?”
Æsa brought her hand up to stroke his cheek, but had no energy to do more.
“Do you want to hold your son, Gustaf?” Mara asked, wrapping the wailing child in clean linen.
He looked up Æsa’s gaze and glanced at the infant with apprehension. “Hold him?”
Mara carried the child to him and helped fold Gustaf’s arms in a cradle. She transferred the bundle into his embrace, praising him as he gentled the newborn in a slow rock. The babe settled down and snuggled into place.
“See,” Mara commended. “He knows who his father is already.”
“You think so?”
“He feels safe enough to sleep.” Mara ran her fingertips over his delicate forehead and returned to her place between Æsa’s legs to tend the afterbirth. “You can leave now, Father.”
“Bless you, child.” The priest scurried out the door, desperate to forget the indecent position in which he’d seen Æsa.
Gustaf made the mistake of looking over at Mara. The copious amount of blood, flesh, and membranes she extracted from his wife unsettled his stomach. The vivid red stain of blood on the linens and Æsa’s thighs pulled on his heartstrings.
Mara regarded his disconcerting reaction. “’Tis all right, Gustaf. Æsa feels no pain. I will have her cleaned up shortly.”
Trusting in Mara, he forced his gaze to remain on the little one in his arms. From the tufts of reddish-blond hair on his son’s head to the button nose above his full lips, he’d never seen such a beautiful sight. He glanced at Æsa only to find her staring at him, smiling.
“What shall we name him?” Æsa asked.
He laid their son next to her on the boxbed and drew his family together in his arms. “I think we should name him after your father.”
“My father…” she thought. “What made you decide that?”
“Sighvatr is a good name. A noble name.”
Æsa tested it on her lips. “Sighvatr, son of Gustaf, son of Rælik. It sounds perfect.”
Gustaf’s eyes flashed wider and he sat up. “I nigh forgot about the gift Ulfr and Ketill gave to us.” He searched through the room for the package, rummaging through their many belongings the men had brought off the longship. “I thought I saw Jørgen bring it in, but where did he put it? Ah, here ’tis.”
He untied the crisscrossing of leather straps and pulled out a thick cloak of deep brown bear fur. “Just as I suspected,” Gustaf crooned, holding it for her to see. “Ulfr finished tanning the hide of the bear I slayed—as a gift. A wedding gift from me to you. What do you think?”
Æsa ran her hand down the soft sable fur. “’Tis beautiful. I will wear it with pride for ’twas my brave warrior husband who took down this monstrous beast.”
As Gustaf unfolded the cloak and spread it over his wife and child, another cloak of smaller size fell out. “Look at this, Æsa,” he said, picking it up. “A tiny version of yours. Sighvatr has his own cloak, too.” He draped the cloak over his son and took in this blessed moment.
His son was born. His Æsa was now his beloved wife. And his future had the potential to afford him a long life of peace and happiness. Perhaps being temperate would suit him after all.
Holding his family in the cradle of his mighty arms, he closed his eyes and savored the quiet reflections of this moment. He finally sat content in a place he could call home—a home where all the descendants of Rælik could for evermore live in peace.
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTE
If you enjoyed THE TEMPERATE WARRIOR, I encourage you to try THE EMERALD ISLE TRILOGY so you can read about how Gustaf and Æsa first met. Not only that, but you’ll get acquainted with Gustaf’s two younger brothers and the women who love them, for an epic tale of passion, betrayal, and redemption. I promise to give you a romance series quite unlike anything you’ve read before.
THE WARRIOR’S CAPTIVE, Book 2 of the Warrior Sagas
Coming soon in 2015!
ABOUT RENEE VINCENT
Renee Vincent is a bestselling Contemporary & Historical Romance author who also pens lighthearted, endearing Chick-Lit romance, with a smidgen of spunk, under the name Gracie Lee Rose. From the daunting, charismatic Vikings, to the charming, brazen Alpha male heroes of modern day, you’ll be whisked away to a world filled with fast-paced adventure, unforgettable romance, and undying love.
Her books have earned numerous accolades, including a #1 Amazon Bestseller for Viking Romance, countless 5 Star TOP PICKS by Night Owl Reviews, a “5 HEART Sweetheart” Award by The Romance Studio, and a "Best Book of the Year 2011" nomination from Long And Short Reviews.
She lives in the rolling hills of Kentucky with her husband and two children on a beautiful secluded farm of horses and hay fields.
www.ReneeVincent.com
Other books by Renee Vincent:
Silent Partner
Emerald Isle Trilogy
Ræliksen, Book 1
Mac Liam, Book 2
The Fall of Rain, Book 3
Jamett & Joseph Series
The Start of Something Good, Book 1
The Road to Something Better, Book 2
The Gift of Something Grand, Book 3
LOVE IN A
SMALL TOWN
The PINE HARBOUR Series
a novel
by
Zoe York
Website ~ Facebook ~ Newsletter
&nbs
p; LOVE IN A SMALL TOWN
Six years. Two break ups. One divorce. They should be over each other.
Police officer and army reservist Rafe Minelli knows better than to tell his wife no, particularly since they aren’t married anymore. She can’t hightail it out of town, though, not when they’ve finally broken through the post-divorce cold war status quo.
Olivia Minelli needs to leave Pine Harbour. It’s just too hard to see Rafe moving on without her—even if he says he doesn’t want to. But when a new and exciting job falls into her lap, she needs to choose: protect her heart, or take the new job and risk getting emotionally entangled with her ex-husband. Again.
WHAT’S A TOONIE, EH?
I use some culturally specific terms in this book, which is set in rural Ontario. Probably more than the three I’ve included here. Sometimes I forget that you guys didn’t all go to stag and does growing up. I sure did! I had to wait until I was nineteen to enjoy the toonie bar properly, though.
Stag and doe: fundraising party held for an engaged couple, common in rural Ontario
Legion: community centre run by military veterans
Toonie: two dollar Canadian coin (see, Loonie: one dollar Canadian coin)
I hope you enjoy Rafe and Olivia’s story, and I look forward to sharing more Pine Harbour books with you soon!
~ Zoe
DEDICATION
Believe in second chances
For my sister—look, Pan, I wrote a romance novel set in Bruce County!
ONE
IT was bad enough that after going through a very public divorce from the man Olivia still loved, she had to serve him breakfast four times a week. That she looked forward to those mornings…well, that wasn’t great either. But Rafe worked two jobs and lived in a tiny one-room apartment. And the other option for eggs and bacon was his mother’s café.
Liv shuddered at the thought of spending even one morning a week with her ex-mother-in-law. So she couldn’t fault Rafe for keeping his regular stool at the diner she worked at, even if it didn’t help the official party line held by all six hundred people in their small town of Pine Harbour—that their split had been her fault and Rafe was completely innocent.
The former point was true. The latter was not. Parsing the difference with the town busy-bodies was a futile effort though, so she let the whispers slide. They just added to the steaming pile of crap that was her life.
But the absolute worst was that today, Rafe had brought a date to breakfast.
And she’d serve him eggs and paste on a smile, but then she was calling a real estate agent. Whatever cosmic joke had made her fall in love with Rafe Minelli had delivered its final punch line.
He wasn’t in uniform today—either of them—but he still looked achingly good. Faded blue jeans that she recognized from the irregular rip on one of his solid thighs. Old enough that she’d washed them many times. The denim would be soft, and when he turned around, his wallet would be clearly imprinted in his back right pocket. And even though she wanted to grab a butter knife and gouge his heart out, first she wanted one more look at his magnificent ass.
Because she was a glutton for punishment, and Rafe delivered in bucket loads. Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t do him justice. Olivia grabbed a washcloth and wiped down the counter as she watched him guide his date to a booth under the window.
No! She wanted to shout. You sit at the counter and ask me if it’s been busy. I bug you that you need a haircut and we both remember that time I gave you a trim in the bathroom. How you slid your hands under my shirt and teased my nipples while I squealed for you to hold still. The walk down memory lane cut sharper than usual because it wasn’t shared. Even though she knew she needed to move on, let go of Rafe and start dating again, she wasn’t prepared to see him do just that. And the pretty blonde woman sitting across from him twisting the shit out of a sugar packet was wearing one of his plaid shirts, so Olivia couldn’t even pretend it was a breakfast meeting—not that Rafe would ever have business that needed to be discussed in a diner.
He was a full-time police officer and a part-time soldier. Had been a full-time son and a part-time husband, too. No room for a wife, definitely no room for a side job. No, this was definitely a morning-after-a-sleep-over breakfast and Olivia had to serve him fucking coffee. She wrenched the carafe from the warmer, grabbed two menus from under the counter, and pasted on her sweetest eat-shit-and-die smile before squaring her shoulders and approaching the couple.
“Coffee?”
They both nodded and Olivia silently lifted each of their white ceramic mugs and poured. For someone who just got laid, Rafe didn’t look happy. His eyebrows were pulled together, hooding his gaze, and he had faint dark circles under his eyes. Maybe he was realizing just how awful a human being he was to bring…
“Do you need to see a menu, Natalie?” His voice sounded strained too. He dumped two creamers in his cup and stirred roughly.
Natalie, huh? Olivia swung her gaze to the other woman. She looked nervous. Had he told her that he used to be married to their waitress? Used to wake her up with his tongue and his hands and his love, but not as often as he didn’t—he’d have to be home for that—and now they pretended to be friends a few times a week?
“I’ll just have some toast, please,” she said quietly.
Rafe sighed. “Don’t be silly.” He looked up at Olivia, his dark brown eyes unreadable. “Two breakfast specials please, one with bacon, one with—” He broke off and turned back to Natalie. “Sausage? Ham?”
“Sausage, I guess. Look, I can just wait for my friend outside, we don’t need to have breakfast.”
“It’s fine.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand before looking back at Olivia again. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“We’re swamped,” she said breezily, waving at the mostly empty diner. “I’ve got ketchup bottles to refill and napkins to stack, so—”
“One minute, Liv.” He pushed out of the booth and towered over her. “In private.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond, stalking to the small office behind the washrooms like he owned the place. Well, he could wait. She had a job to do, even if it wasn’t exciting or overly important.
“Natalie, is it? How did you want your eggs?” Rafe wanted his over-easy. At some point in the future, she’d forget all the stupid little things she knew about him. She hoped. Hadn’t happened yet.
“Scrambled. And rye toast if you have it.”
“Sure thing. Be right back.” She went straight to the pass-through window, dinged the bell and tacked the order up on the carousel. Frank gave her a knowing look from his perch at the grill. “Shut up,” she told her boss without malice. “I need five minutes.”
“I’ll holler if anyone comes in, I guess.”
If anyone came in, they’d pour themselves a cup of coffee and wait. She wasn’t worried. It wouldn’t be the first time Pine Harbour had heard Rafe and Olivia Minelli have a knock-down, drag-out fight. Probably wouldn’t be the last. Another reason she needed to leave. This couldn’t be her future—petty jealousy and tension-filled terse conversations with her ex. She took a deep breath and shoved the office door open.
— —
She was pissed, and he deserved it, but he didn’t have time to deal with that right now. He held up his hand, cutting off whatever smart remark was about to slide out of her beautiful mouth. “It’s not what you think.”
“I think she’s wearing your shirt.” She dropped her head, like she didn’t want to look at him, and her long brown ponytail fell over her shoulder. One of the sad side effects of not living with Olivia anymore—never seeing her hair down. He liked the ponytail because it was so her, practical and cute and sporty, but he loved the dark curtain of free-falling hair that he’d only seen in private. Now reserved for his fantasies, that image of Liv completely undone, tousled and sexy, was a favourite memory. Eyes blazing, the Olivia right in front of him would light him up if she knew what he was thinking about.
“I think you know better than to bring her here, but you’re more scared of your mother than you are of me, and fair enough. Your mom is frightening as all get out. And I know I have no right to care about what you do and who you do it with. I get that. So I will bite my tongue. But you don’t get to summon me back here for a chat while your new girlfriend sits out there waiting for you. That’s awful, Rafe. That’s not you.”
Wow, she went in a different direction than he’d expected. “Okay, hold up.” He let out a sigh as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out and swore under his breath at the call display screen. “Listen, I have to take this, but we’re not done here.”
She laughed, short and sharp and completely without humour. “Oh, we’re definitely done here.” She spun and jerked the door open, pausing in the doorway. “Your girlfriend takes her eggs scrambled, by the way.”
She’s not my anything, he wanted to yell, but that wasn’t completely true. Natalie had been his distraction of the month the night before. He’d bought her a few drinks and let her sit on his lap. Played with the bare skin at her waist and enjoyed the way she smelled. They’d kissed, and more than once. But he walked her to her car at the end of the night of pool and pints at The Green Hedgehog in Lion’s Head—Pine Harbour not being big enough for a pub of its own—only to discover that it wouldn’t start. And her friend, who’d left with Matt Foster, wasn’t answering the phone. Rafe knew he should call her a tow truck, but it was a long tow to Owen Sound, the small city the girls lived in, and that left the problem of how her girlfriend would get home the next day.