Loving the Norseman: Book 1: Rydar & Grier (The Hansen Series - Rydar & Grier and Eryndal & Andrew)

by Kris Tualla

  “She teach me your talk!” he objected.

  “She is beautiful…”

  Rydar shrugged. “You sae more beautiful!”

  Surprised, Grier flushed again. “But she wanted you…”

  “I’m no’ a thing she has without my say!” Rydar straightened. He towered over Grier. “I am strong man with my own plan!”

  Grier jumped back as if stung, hands framing her face. His declamation had suddenly become real in her mind.

  “Rydar! You love me!”

  “Aye!” he barked. And then his countenance shifted to disbelief. “And you love me?”

  “Aye,” Grier breathed.

  They stared at each other and the world was no longer the same.

  “We marry, then?” Rydar asked.

  Grier’s hands drooped by her side. It was happening so fast. Nothing she expected, but everything she wanted. “Aye. We marry.”

  “When?”

  Grier shrugged. “When do you wish?”

  “This day. Before we go to my home.”

  Grier tried to think of a reason why they should wait but her mind wouldn’t cooperate; the realization that Rydar loved her flooded its every corner with blinding light.

  He lifted her hands to his lips. He kissed each of her knuckles without moving his consuming gaze from hers. He carefully repeated the English words they heard at Logan and Malise’s wedding.

  “Grier MacInnes, I pledge my troth. I take you for wife. From this day, you’re mine and I’m yours.”

  Grier felt like she was in a dream. “Rydar Martin Petter-Edvard Hansen, I pledge to you my troth as well. I take you as my husband.” Grier turned his hands over and gently kissed both of his rough, healing palms.

  Rydar smiled at her with an intensity that gushed into her and warmed her from the inside out. “I go now and find priest for bless us. This night, you are my wife.”

  ***

  Rydar remembered the church well. Constructed of heavy wooden staves and standing three stories tall, the two-hundred-year-old structure was in the center of Arendal. He spoke to the priest and gave the coins necessary for the cleric to prepare the papers that would legalize their marriage. Then he headed to the boat to ask Gavin to be his witness and hoped the boys were still there.

  The boat remained tied to the pier, right where he left it. “Gavin!” he shouted.

  The young man’s face appeared over the edge and spilt in a wide grin. “Sir Hansen!” The rope ladder unrolled to meet him and Rydar climbed aboard.

  “I was afraid you might have left for Áslo!” Rydar said, slapping Gavin’s back.

  “Not yet. Lady Margoh is trying to find a lower fee for the passage.”

  “Lower than twenty-five pence?”

  Gavin snickered. “No, lower than thirty pence. Lars said that twenty-five didn’t split into three equal portions, but thirty did. So that is what we asked for.”

  Rydar nodded his amused approval. “And what has Lady Margoh discovered thus far?”

  Kristofer appeared through the hole in the deck. “Nothing below fifty pence!” he exclaimed, clambering to stand beside them. “No one wants to waste their time sailing so far.”

  “So, now we’ll ask for forty-five,” Gavin added. “Lars said fifty didn’t split well either, but forty-five does. And then we’re asking less than the others and she should be grateful.”

  Rydar tossed back his head and laughed. “Thank God for Lars!”

  Lars opened one small cabin door and emerged. He had his good arm through the sleeve of his shirt; the broken arm was still tied to his side as Grier instructed. “What are you saying about me?”

  “You figure numbers in your head very well, Lars,” Rydar complimented. “You can keep these other two from becoming destitute!” Lars blushed and smiled. Rydar gripped Gavin’s shoulder. “I’ve come to ask a rather unexpected favor.”

  “Anything,” the young fisherman answered. “You have done so many favors for us already!”

  “Will you be my witness, Gavin? I am marrying the Lady Grier.”

  Rydar wasn’t prepared for the eruption of pure joy that followed his statement. All three boys jumped and hollered. Lars punched Kristofer who in turn punched Gavin.

  “We were so afraid you might take the Lady Margoh!” Kristofer cried.

  Gavin nodded, relief written on his countenance. “And the Lady Grier is completely besotted with you!”

  “I knew you wouldn’t, Sir!” Lars stated confidently. “I knew you wouldn’t make such a foolish choice!”

  Stunned, Rydar wondered if his own feelings had been so evident. “Well, then…”

  “I’m honored, Sir. When will you marry?” Gavin asked.

  “Now.”

  Their jaws dropped.

  “Will you come?” Rydar teased. “Or shall I hire the innkeeper to stand beside me?”

  In the rush for the ladder, Rydar was the last one off the boat.

  When Grier opened the door to her room, she was dressed in the brown velvet gown, silver belt and silver-embroidered snood that she wore the day Lord Andrew arrived. Rydar ignored that particular memory.

  “Å min Gud, Grier. You so beautiful!” Rydar murmured. He looked down at his own apparel, dismayed. “I’m not.”

  “But you’re wearing the tunic I made for you, Rydar. The one you wore at Logan’s wedding. The one that matches your eyes and your hair,” she countered. “And I thought you were the most beautiful man attending that day.”

  Rydar was skeptical. “No. No’ more ‘beautiful’ man than Logan.”

  Grier stepped forward and slid her hands around his waist. She lifted her smiling face to his. “Are you calling your bride a liar?” she challenged playfully. “You better kiss her quickly, then, and reassure her!”

  ***

  Grier pinched herself. Twice.

  It was so hard to believe that she had truly left Durness and was here in Arendal, Norway. In this soaring, dark wooden church. With the Viking she was so completely in love with standing tall and straight by her side. Listening to the priest perform her wedding mass.

  Both she and Rydar understood the Latin service. When the vows were spoken, his deep voice echoed in the large building and vibrated through her soul. Grier’s heart was so overfull with joy she wondered that it could still beat.

  Gavin stood beside Rydar and, when the sacrament was completed, he signed the papers witnessing their legal marriage. The brothers, Kristofer and Lars, stood behind them, shoving each other and grinning like madmen.

  When everything was finished, Rydar pulled her close and kissed her very well. She kissed him very well in return, until the priest abruptly cleared his throat and slapped Rydar’s shoulder with enough force to make his point clear.

  “Rikelig med gang for,” he declared.

  Grier looked to Rydar, the question clear in her expression.

  “Much time for that,” Rydar murmured in her ear.

  “Oh!” Grier was horrified. And embarrassed. And surprisingly aroused.

  The wedding party left the church and wound back through Arendal to the inn, where Rydar promised them all a celebratory supper. He held Grier close to him, as if she might dissolve were he to loosen his grasp. To the northwest, the sun hid behind distant coastal mountains that cast long purple shadows over the town. Glorious pink and orange streaks shot across a pale turquoise sky. Everything was so perfect.

  Everything, except for the slim figure standing at the door to the inn, arms crossed over her breast and her mouth pursed under storm-gray eyes. Margoh blurted something in Norse. Her gaze flitted with disdain over the five celebrants.

  Rydar gestured for the three boys to go on inside but his grip on Grier’s waist tightened. She didn’t attempt to move away. In truth, she was quite curious about the source of Margoh’s extreme irritation.

  “Alone!” Margoh added in English.

  Rydar answered in kind. “What you say, Margoh, you say in front of my wife.”

  Grier
startled to hear herself called a wife for the first time, especially in such a cold, cautionary tone. She daren’t look to Rydar; instead she faced her foe, confident in this, her most decisive victory.

  “Wife! Since when?” Margoh considered them more carefully then. Her gaze swept over Grier’s velvet gown and silver trappings, Rydar’s tunic worn at Logan’s wedding. His arm tightly around her waist. Her triumphant smile. Grier watched Margoh’s expression slide from anger to surprise to despair.

  “When?” she cried.

  “We come from church now,” Rydar continued in English. Grier kent that was for her sake and she loved him for it. “What you need?”

  Margoh spoke defiantly in rapid Norse, refusing to look at Grier.

  He answered in English. “And no one here sails you for less. Only more.”

  She babbled again, and Rydar said, “Is what you say you do. I finish now.”

  Margoh pleaded with him then. Grier didn’t need to know her words; she clearly understood the woman’s tone. She looked older, suddenly. Worn out and desperate. Grier felt a little sorry for the Old Aunt.

  Rydar interrupted her. “Margoh, you come for supper?”

  Margoh stepped back as if struck. The color drained from her face leaving purple smudges under her blue-gray eyes.

  “No. Takk du,” she whispered.

  Rydar dipped his chin in acknowledgement, and then faced Grier. “Come, my love.”

  He pulled her into the building leaving Margoh alone on the stoop.

  ***

  Rydar stood outside Grier’s door with his satchel. He paid for their wedding supper and this room with the last of his coins, after convincing the innkeeper that he was honestly mistaken when he asked for two rooms this morning. He ordered Grier a hot bath during supper. He expected she was experiencing that luxury right now.

  He told himself there was no reason to delay. He had every right to enjoy his new wife’s body while she bathed. He prayed that she agreed.

  Rydar pushed the door open and stepped into Valhalla.

  Grier lounged in the steaming tub beside the hearth, her russet curls tied on top of her head. A few strands straggled around her neck and pointed to the valley between her breasts. She smiled at him, a smile that was unlike any he had ever seen on her. It was sleepy, sultry, and seductive.

  “Good eve, husband.”

  “Good eve, wife,” he answered. He dropped the satchel where he stood. And he latched the door.

  Her voice was husky. “How do I call you in Norse?”

  “Kone is wife and mann is husband. Du er min means ‘you are my’…”

  “Du er min mann, Viking,” Grier whispered.

  “Og du er min kone,” he replied.

  Grier placed her hands on the edges of the tub and rose. Water sluiced off her pink skin in a multitude of tiny waterfalls. Light from the fire slid over her curves. Her narrow waist widened to luscious hips and a firm arse. Her breasts rounded from her chest in matching perfection and he imagined the taste of their deep auburn tips on his tongue.

  “Hand me a towel?”

  Rydar moved as in a dream. He could hardly comprehend that this magnificent woman was his wife. His gaze fell to the triangle of copper curls, the imagining of which had tormented so many of his nights. He gave her the towel.

  Grier began to dry herself. She stepped from the tub without any discernable shyness. “Would ye care to use the water?” she asked. “It’s still quite warm.”

  Rydar nodded and began to tug at his clothes. The pieces tumbled, forgotten, to the floor. When he pushed his braies down, he hesitated. He was fully erect and he didn’t want to frighten her.

  “Go on,” she murmured. “I’m curious.”

  He looked up at her to determine whether her curiosity held any fear.

  Her smile did tremble a little. “I saw men limp when I prepared them for burial during the Death,” she said softly. “I understand that tonight I will experience something much more enticing.”

  Rydar grinned at her bravery and nodded. He pushed his braies over his feet and stepped away from them. Then he straightened and stood naked and rigid for her to inspect. Grier gasped. But there was no fear in her expression, only amazement. He closed the distance between them.

  “Can I touch it?” she asked.

  “I bath first, aye?” he suggested. He stepped into the bathwater before she could answer. He was so aroused by her eagerness, that one brush of her fingers and he might have erupted all over her hand.

  Grier finished drying herself and she brought towels for him. She sat on a small stool beside the tub and combed her hair while he bathed.

  “Du er slik vakker, min kone,” he said.

  “Du er slik vakker, min mann,” she repeated.

  Rydar chuckled. “Do you ken what you say?”

  Grier’s sapphire eyes glittered with laughter in the firelight. “You are ‘something something’ my husband.”

  He chuckled, and then translated, “So beautiful.”

  “Ah. And I was right, was I no’?” She put her comb down and leaned closer. “So, Viking, will you please come love me now?”

  It was Rydar’s turn to gasp. He stood and allowed Grier to dry him. Every inch of him. Her fingers explored his length and slid around the ridge of his tip. He struggled to keep control. His jaw clenched, and his muscles strained.

  “What is amiss?” she asked, her brow puckered with concern.

  “You touch more, I can no’ stop,” he groaned.

  “Oh!” Grier jerked her hand away. She dropped the towel and moved to the tall bed. She pulled the covers all the way back. Climbing onto the mattress, she turned to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes smoky.

  Rydar followed and lay alongside her. He kissed her while his hand roamed over the curved landscape of her pale skin. She touched him in imitation, learning as he led. He wanted to be gentle this first time, but urgency quickened his pace. He rolled over and held himself above her, working one knee then the other between her legs.

  “I try and no’ hurt you,” he rasped.

  “I ken. Do no’ worry.” She spread her thighs. Her breaths came in quick bursts. “Let’s do this quickly, so we may do it again later.”

  Å min Gud. His virgin bride was the most eager lover he had ever encountered. Rydar pressed his hardness against her.

  “Help me,” he whispered. “Put me right…”

  Grier took hold and worked the tip of him into her. “There…”

  She kept her hand on him until he pushed, easing himself into her slippery depth. Her entire body tensed for a moment. She winced and bit her lip when he began to move, pulling back gently and sliding in again. Then with a deep sigh, she relaxed.

  When he stroked her again, she wrapped her legs around him. His movement gained rhythm, and his rhythm gained speed. Small grunts escaped her as she gave herself over to his welcomed intrusion. Before he would have counted it possible, her back arched, her grunts became gasping cries and her body twisted under him.

  Rydar closed his eyes then, and let himself go, pushing deep and releasing inside her. He moaned as pulsating ripples tingled through him from the point of their joining out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He twitched and pressed hard against her, unable and unwilling to let this most astonishing coupling reach an end.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  July 28, 1354

  Grier opened her eyes to find that her dream was real. Rydar lay behind her, one hand loosely cupping her breast. He was hard against her bottom but she kent that was common for men in the morning. She rolled toward him and his eyes were open, pale green ponds that submerged her completely.

  “Jeg er din kone,” she whispered. I am your wife.

  “Og jeg er din mann,” he replied in kind. Then he kissed her with moist lips and a teasing tongue. She hummed a little moan of happiness.

  Grier stretched long and lazily, and then re-curled against Rydar’s warm, muscular length. Memories of their
night’s activities made her smile. The pleasure she found at Rydar’s touch went far beyond her most imaginative expectations. All three times.

  “I do no’ wish to ever leave this room,” she sighed. “Might we stay another night?”

  Rydar combed his fingers through his hair and his smile evaporated.

  She touched his cheek, tracing the thin pink scar that was again visible with his beard gone. “Rydar? What’s amiss?”

  He sighed. “You ken why I no’ ask you to come with me?”

  Grier tensed and her pulse quickened; why would he bring that up now? They were married and consummated. Thoroughly consummated.

  She shook her head.

  Rydar’s cheeks seemed to fall inward and his gaze intensified. “I lost all and first boat sinks, aye?”

  “Aye…”

  “I hunt and get coins. I use coins for new boat, aye?”

  Grier propped herself on one elbow, relieved at the direction of his explanation. “And ye do no’ ken if you have family or money or position here. I kent that afore we sailed.”

  He flashed a rueful grin. “And ye—declined—Lord Andrew. He has all money and all power.”

  “I declined him because I was in love with you!” Grier exclaimed.

  Rydar frowned. “But—but I ask Logan why you declined. And he say—”

  “—That I was unwilling to leave Durness?” Grier interrupted. She smacked her forehead in realization. “That’s the reason I gave him because I could no’ tell him that I hoped for you! And you gave me sae little to hang those hopes on!”

  Rydar’s eyes widened. “You and I kent wrong things!”

  That was an understatement in its extreme.

  “Aye!” Grier gave a frustrated chuckle and stroked her hand across Rydar’s chest, the curly light brown hairs tickling her palm. “I loved you when ye first looked at me. I do no’ care how wealthy ye are, or how wealthy ye are not. I only wish to sleep beside you for the rest of my life.”

  Rydar lifted her chin and took her mouth. This kiss was slow and tender, with reminders of the past night and promise of more. Much more.