Beowulf's Claim (Viking Warriors Book 3)

by Jessica Knight

  I want my first time, all my first times, with him.

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the pile of flowers next to your bed, would it?”

  I bite my bottom lip when I take a look at the wildflowers Beowulf brought me this morning before he had to go train. Apparently, his men were starting to question his loyalty to his people. I never want him to have to choose between me and his home, and I made sure to tell him that when he laid the flowers on my nightstand.

  “It may. Can you tell me anything about him?” I ask Leiva as she rubs the light green paste against the cut on my arms. I reach for the flowers and pluck one from the bouquet. Bringing it to my nose, I inhale and smile. The sweet scent causes my eyes to roll back.

  “Beowulf? Not much to tell, I’m afraid. I do not know much of him. He stays to himself. Wulf is the best warrior we have. Warlord Einarr and Lord Grimkael depend on him greatly. That much, I know. They need him. Especially with the issues those Jackals are bringing.”

  “You don’t know anything about his previous life?” I ask, slumping my shoulders from the lack of information.

  “He and Trident were both twenty when they came to my village and saved us. I wasn’t much older, just twenty-two years young. Wulf was always a mystery, always so sad, so lonely. Not even Trident could get through to him.”

  “Why was he so sad?” I ask, holding the flower to my chest, heart broken that Beowulf has been sad for so long.

  “Sweet girl, don’t you know? You. You were the reason why he was sad. He searched for a few more years until he finally gave in to the grief. It won us wars, gained us land. His brute strength and anger slayed countless enemies. It wasn’t long before Lord Grimkael and Warlord Einarr made Wulf and Trident their generals. Their right-hand men.”

  Tears fall down my face from my heart shattering into a thousand pieces. It’s my fault he had to kill men. Countless men. He lost himself, and I can’t even do him the courtesy of remembering anything about him.

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to upset you. Beowulf is a good man, Lilith. That I know. He has some dark edges about him, but he is good.”

  “Was he ever able to find peace? After all these years of me being gone?” Tears blur my vision as they silently fall to my cheeks. “Any at all?”

  “Only recently,” Leiva explains, giving me a half-smile. “I must go get more paste. These cuts are looking better. And then we shall have lunch. I’ll be right back.” She pats my hand and bustles away, shuffling her small frame away until she is down the hall.

  “Knock, knock,” a feminine voice calls after she brings her fist to the door a few times.

  This woman looks familiar, but I have seen so many people over the last few days, that I can’t remember.

  “Come in, please,” I gesture with my hand. One seat is full since the gown Beowulf got me is laying there, just waiting for me to get well enough to put it on. Then there is the bread and animal skins. He keeps bringing gifts. Soon, I’ll have nowhere to put them.

  “My name is Lady Thyra. I’m the Warlord’s wife. You are Lilith, yes?” she asks, making sure her dress is tucked in before she sits down.

  “Yes, that’s correct.” It makes me nervous that she is here. She has authority almost as high as the Lord’s Lady. Is she going to ask me to leave? I hope not. I have nowhere else to go.

  “It’s nice to see you up and talking. I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now. My mother…” Lady Thyra’s lips tremble. “I’m sorry for whatever she did you to you. I swear, I didn’t know.”

  “Your mother? Everyone here has been so kind.” I reassure her.

  She narrows her eyes and dabs the tears away with a cloth. “Did Sir Wulf not tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “My mother is the Queen of the Jackals. She was here, captured until she recently escaped. I came by here to tell you how sorry I am, and that if you need anything at all, please, I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you feel at home.”

  Her mother is the Queen of the Jackals, run! The voice in the back of my head urges me. My fear is on overdrive. Everything in my body is telling me to get out of here. This place can’t be safe if the daughter of the Jackal Queen lives here. She is probably telling her mother everything. This poor village. These poor people! I must tell the Lord.

  “Please, I see the mistrust in your eyes. I do not wish for that. My mother abandoned me when I was just a young girl. My father raised me. I had no idea who my mother was, until she came back, pretending the Jackals had captured her all these years. Believe me; I want her dead just as much as you do.”

  She isn’t her mother. She isn’t her mother, I tell myself, trying to quiet the panic screaming in my mind to get out of here. It’s not like I could leave anyway. I can’t leave Beowulf. I feel… bound to him. If I leave, I’d only be leaving a piece of myself behind—that’s what I truly believe.

  My entire body quakes with fear at the unknown. This woman could be lying to me right now. Who am I to be a good judge of character? I shake my head and cover my mouth with my hands. “Please, go,” I say. “I can’t do this. Please, not right now.”

  “Lilith, I’m so sorry,” Lady Thyra sobs. “I truly mean you no harm.”

  “Get out! Get out! Get. Out! I do not want your kind around me. Do you hear me? I hate you! I hate all of you. Leave me alone!” I scream at the top of my lungs. My voice echoes through the empty space in the tall room. I sound like I’m losing my mind.

  “No, please. I’m nothing like her. This place is safe. We are all family here.” Lady Thyra tries to defend herself and this place. This place that let an evil woman inside. They have no idea who they are up against. They have no idea just what her mother is capable of. I’ll have nightmares for the rest of my life of watching people, my friends, the family I made in those dungeons, die before me because she raised a blade and cut their heads from their bodies.

  “Please, go!” I cry. “I do not wish to speak of this. I never want to speak of this or your mother. Go away!”

  A stampede of heavy boots pound against the floor in the other room. It’s loud, and every step makes my bed vibrate the closer they get. I’m crying at this point. I just don’t know how to handle what Lady Thyra has to say right now. I’m not well enough. I’m not ready.

  “Please,” she reaches for me, but when her fingers touch my wrist, I yank it away.

  “Do not touch me. You are of her blood! I want nothing to do with you,” I seethe, tears pouring down my face.

  “What is going on here?” Beowulf’s voice booms.

  “I simply—” Lady Thyra stutters as she tries to explain herself. I know liars do that.

  “She is related to that woman,” I yell. “The woman who killed so many. Don’t come near me.” I reach for Beowulf, and he gathers me in his arms, pulling me close to his chest.

  I breathe him in. Safe. I’m safe.

  “Lilith, please,” the daughter of the traitor begs.

  “Lady Thyra, I think it’s best you go,” Beowulf says in a low tone, running his fingers through my hair. Suddenly, his fingers are gone, and Warlord Einarr has Beowulf slammed against the wall.

  “You shall not ever tell my wife what to do. Do I make myself clear?” the Warlord shouts, gripping Beowulf by the neck.

  “Lilith has asked Lady Thyra to leave, and she has not. Her presence is upsetting Lilith. I did not mean it maliciously,” Beowulf chokes, grabbing at his Warlord’s hands that are wrapped around his neck. “Warlord, you know I never mean disrespect.”

  Warlord Einarr releases his hold and curls his lip, stomping away from a coughing Beowulf, and tucks Lady Thyra against his side.

  “Let’s go. This isn’t over.” The large man with a terrifying scar down his face points at me. “We shall talk about this because this shall never happen again. Do I make myself clear?”

  “It isn’t her fault she is frightened. You don’t know what she has been through!” Beowulf com
es to my defense.

  “Beowulf,” I tell him, in a way that forces him to stop. I turn my attention to Warlord Einarr and a crying Lady Thyra. She has her mother’s eyes. I look away, unable to meet the same eyes that ruined my life. I can’t just yet. I will one day because I refuse to not heal, but until then, everything is still so fresh. A wound that still bleeds.

  He rushes over to me and takes my hand. “You do not have to say or do anything. Your job is to heal and rest. I shall take care of everything else.”

  “I know, but I’m confused. I need—” I take a deep breath through my nose and let it out of my mouth, turning my attention to Warlord Einarr. “I need time. I cannot look at Lady Thyra right now. She looks too much like her mother.”

  “You remember her mother?” Beowulf asks. Lady Thyra’s eyes widen with shock, and then she covers her mouth.

  I nod and stare down my withered hands. “I remember everything about her mother.”

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry,” Lady Thyra says through tears, then runs out of the room, and Warlord Einarr gives us a quick look full of remorse before running after her.

  I lay my head down on the pillow and exhale. I’m tired.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you could remember anything?”

  “I didn’t remember until Lady Thyra touched my hand. Right now, her mother is the only thing I can see,” I wipe tears on the back of my hand to clean my cheek, but they are falling too fast.

  “Look at me,” he gently cups my face and tilts my head up to meet his beautiful blue eyes. “See me. I’m right here, Angel. She isn’t the only thing you can see, not when I’m right here.” He brings his lips to my forehead again, and I shut my eyes, letting the intimate moment calm me. My heart slows from the accelerated rate, and I break away, staring at the man who seems to always be at my side, no matter if I remember him or not.

  “Will you stay with me tonight?” I slide over on the bed but realize it doesn’t matter how much room I give him; it will not be enough. He is too big for the bed to hold the both of us.

  Beowulf hangs his head, breathing so heavy his shoulders are rising and falling. “I don’t know if that is a good idea.”

  “Why? I trust you.”

  Those words make him snap his head up. Beowulf’s pupils dilate to a sharp point. He stares at me like I’ve just given him the world. “You trust me?”

  “More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. Please, stay. I need to feel safe. I want to run away. I’m frightened, but I know that’s just my fear controlling me. I need you to stay, or I’m afraid I’ll run.”

  “I’d never let you run from me again.” The way he says it makes me wonder how I ran from him last time. I wouldn’t think I’d ever willingly want to run from him. If my heart is any inclination, I think I only ever wanted to be with him.

  The bed creaks when he crawls on it and flips to his side with a grunt. He shoves his massive arm under one pillow, while the other one lays on the side that isn’t touching the bed.

  “This isn’t going to work,” he grumbles.

  My hopes sink.

  “Here.” He flips until he is on his back, and then my head is resting on his chest while one of his arms is under my pillow. The other large hand comes up the other side and strokes my exposed shoulder, easing me into a relaxed state.

  I bite my lip again, feeling coy and brave at the same time. I lift my left arm until I have my hand placed in the middle of his chest. His strong warrior heart beats under it, reassuring me that my guardian is safe right next to me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into the dark.

  “It is me who should be thanking you, Lilith.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  He says nothing. The silence eases me into sleep. Before the dreams take me, his lips kiss my forehead.

  “You’ve done everything. You’re my everything.”

  And I can’t tell if that’s a dream or my reality.

  Chapter Eight

  Beowulf

  “Looks like someone’s been gone far too long,” Warlord Einarr teases, a smug smirk on his face.

  I must admit, he has gotten the best of me the first two or three times, but I’ve gotten my fair share of licks in. I twirl the blade in the air, and the sun reflects off the metal for a second, blinding me.

  “We shall see if you still think that when I put you on your back, Warlord. With all due respect,” I snarl, lifting my blade and stepping right. He thinks I’m going to bring my arm down on his shoulder, but I don’t. I sidestep him quickly, spin around, and place my sword against his throat.

  “There’s my best warrior,” he chuckles, ripping from my grasp. “Now, I want you to fight Trident.”

  “No.”

  “No? You don’t say no to me. I said, fight him.”

  “And I said no.” I heave my sword into my belt, knowing I’m being a stupid man by disobeying my Warlord’s order. I do not wish to fight Trident. He and I aren’t on the best of terms. I’m afraid, I’ll do something I’ll regret like kill him.

  “If you do not fight him like I order, you shall spend five days in the tunnels after a lashing with a silver tip. What about Lilith? Can you be without her that long?”

  My Warlord isn’t a cruel man, usually, but there has been a lot of tension in the air since Lilith arrived. Especially with what happened two nights ago when Lady Thyra came to apologize to Lilith. It sent my Angel down a dark memory, and by the end of it, Warlord had me by the throat against the wall. I’m a big man at six and a half feet tall, but the Warlord is bigger and stronger. It is the only reason he is able to get the upper hand on me. Not many can.

  Before I can answer, Trident comes sauntering into the middle of the circle, the long golden handle of his sword grasped in his hand. The warriors surround us, murmuring, and whispering questions behind my back. Trident and I never fight. We have always been teammates. When we combine our strengths, we are unstoppable. Pitting us against each other? It could be deadly.

  “Anything for precious Lilith, am I right?” Trident goads, making me grit my teeth. He is angry, but so am I. He doesn’t agree with what I’ve been doing and how I’ve been spending my time.

  The difference between Trident and me is that I’ve known there is more to life than war and blood. I’ve known goodness. I’ve known love. I’ve known what it is like to be truly happy, and to have something worth coming home to. Trident has not.

  For us not to be on the same page is expected. For him to not have my back this one time, is not.

  “If you know what’s good for your health, you’ll turn around and walk away, Trident.”

  “Why? Unlike you, I don’t waiver from my responsibilities. I do what my Warlord commands. I don’t rebel.”

  Rebel. Please. It’s the last thing I’ve done. All the time spent with Lilith has been approved by Warlord Einarr, but Trident won’t hear of that. He only sees what he wants to see. And right now, he sees someone disloyal.

  A heavy sigh leaves my throat and puffs into the cold air. It’s been getting colder every day, and it won’t be long before the first snow falls, barricading us to our homes. The thought of being stuck behind closed doors with Lilith has me unfocused. Trident attacks, but my mind is lost in the clouds of just what she and I could do when we are alone.

  His fist slams against my stomach, and I stumble back, knocked back into reality.

  “Wake the fuck up, Wulf!” he roars, rearing his fist in the air again, aiming for my face. I duck my head just in time before his big fist makes supper out of my skull.

  I need to get my shit together. I need to clear my mind. In ten years, I haven’t had this kind of trouble focusing, and I know it is because if Lilith. That’s why I’m so mad at Trident, for calling me out on my shit. I want him to be wrong. I’ve tried to convince myself that he is wrong, but his knuckles to in my stomach just proved just how right he really is.

  And it really pisses me off.

  “Back off now, Trident. If y
ou know what’s good for you,” I warn, tossing my sword on the ground. The blade gets buried in the muddy grass, near the feet of our onlookers. Trident does the same with his.

  The only weapons required today are our fists. We’ll settle this like men.

  I’m fifty pounds heavier than Trident and about two inches taller, but where I have strength over him, he has speed. He has always been quick, so I must be extra aware of the way his feet move.

  He has a tendency to dance.

  I’m only doing this because I have been ordered. I do not want to. After everything, I still think of Trident as a friend. I expected him to be more understanding. I won’t lie and say it doesn’t hurt and disappoint me, but I am counting on his support.

  His green eyes lock with mine. What I see makes me lower my fists for a moment, a chance for him to take advantage of my weakened position. He doesn’t want to do this either.

  Envy swims in his stare. Jealously, but no hatred.

  “Giving up already?”

  I shake my head and let my hands fall to my sides. “I’m not fighting you, Trident. A week ago, you were my friend. I don’t know what happened.”

  “You know what happened,” he lunges forward to strike, but I dodge it, grabbing his wrist with my hand and yanking his arm behind his back. I put stress on the bone, threatening to cause it to break. Trident falls to his knees, shouting in pain from the tendons stretching.

  “I know. My past came back. I had something in my life other than you and war. I have something worth fighting for now. And make no mistake, I shall fight to the death for it.”

  I toss him on the ground, face first. He flips over, wiping mud off his cheek. “I won’t apologize!” I roar at him and spin in a circle, staring at all the men surrounding us. “Let it be known; I shall not apologize for my absence. I shall not leave someone who has been a part of my life longer than any of you have. If you have a problem with that, take it up with our Warlord to speak about my rank. If you wish to challenge, do it, and I’ll kill you!”