Viking Wolf: dark and steamy alpha warrior romance (Viking Warriors Book 2)

by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

  “Her husband knew, I think, but perhaps not.” Astrid went on. “She weaves and sews well. There was a time when she was often at the longhouse, making clothes for Gunnolf and Asta.”

  “And for Eirik, too?”

  Astrid’s eyes told me all.

  I kept to the other side of the way as I hurried past, but try as I might, I couldn’t avoid the burning of her gaze. As I drew level, she spat fiercely upon the ground and hissed a fevered curse.

  I knew not the words of her venomous oath, but their meaning couldn’t have been clearer.

  When Eirik took me in his arms that night, I thought of Bodil. She must have lain in this very bed, Eirik’s weight above her as he uttered his deep groan of pleasure, shuddering to his release inside her. I imagined the imprint of her kisses, of her hands that had stroked and explored his body.

  She must have looked for his longship even more eagerly than the others — anxious for the return of her lover. What jealousies she must feel. I wondered with what words Eirik had parted from her and whether he’d been to visit her since his homecoming. It would be too cruel for him to have said naught, allowing her to discover by word of mouth that I’d taken her place.

  And what of the child? Did Eirik know him for his own? All these weeks I’d waited to feel his seed growing in me. I’d surrendered to his love-making countless times, but where was my baby?

  My heart ached. I would have struck him, but he clasped me to his chest and murmured with his usual ardour. I was his love, his goddess, his enchantress, more precious than silver or gold, my beauty surpassing all other treasures.

  His lips were soft and gentle and his body hard. I shivered under his touch and cried as I rode the waves of my ecstasy.

  I wished there to be no past, for either of us.

  Little good it would do me to think on Bodil or the other Svolvaen women who must have writhed in Eirik’s embrace. How many, like Bodil, might follow me with ill-thoughts, borne of resentful rivalry? I could have spoken but I kept silent. To speak of my fears would be to make them real.

  It was late into the night when I woke to a cool draught upon my skin and a figure looming above. I thought at first that it was Bodil, come to claim Eirik for her own and pull me from the bed. Her face twisted in malice and, to my half-wakened state, I saw her as some malevolent wraith. The horror of it choked me. Only when she spoke did I realize that it was no phantom beside me, but the ghost of another, living, lover: one who’d shared Eirik’s bed even more recently than Bodil.

  “I’m here for him,” she said. “If he wishes it.”

  My anger overtook any fear I’d felt. Was there to be no peace for me, for us!

  “Eirik is asleep, Faline, as you can see.” I reached for the covers, which she’d thrown from me as I slept. “Go back to your own bed. You aren’t needed here.”

  “Another time, then.” She gave no apology. If anything, I sensed her amusement.

  How long had she stood over me?

  5

  The next day, as Helka and I set out, it reminded me of the first days of our acquaintance, when I’d led her into my own woodlands, her Northmen wanting to find the best oak with which to make new oars. My heart quickened as we left the bright sun of the open sky, entering the half-light of the forest, canopied over with lush foliage. The season was turning but only a few trees had begun to alter colour and shed. The forest was alive, its uppermost reaches touched by the wind and the birds while small creatures moved beneath the leaves underfoot.

  It had been some time since Helka and I had been alone, and I was gladdened to have her to myself. Upon less trodden paths, we walked briskly, Helka directing me to where dark sloes ripened on the bushes and the densest clutches of hazelnuts grew, for roasting.

  It was upon the tip of my tongue to confide in her my meeting with Astrid, to seek her advice, but I kept the events of the previous day to myself. I’d tell her, perhaps, when I’d affected a cure; it would bring me greater pleasure to detail the challenge and my solving of it within the same story. Of Bodil, I resolved to make no mention, for I wished to hear no confirmation of what pained me.

  Our sacks were soon brimming with docks, nettles and lambs-quarters, milk thistle, figwort and heart of the earth.

  I’d always felt most content in the forest. It was where my childhood adventures had taken place, where I was free to climb and muddy my clothes, with none to tell me how a girl should behave. With the boys as my playmates, I’d learnt to be brave and to delight in the freedom of running wild. My grandmother had indulged me until I began the path to womanhood. With that change, my liberty had ended. How quickly my grandmother had placed me in my uncle’s bed, a man three times my age. I’d cursed the day my aunt had followed my mother to the grave and left me to take her place.

  “You’ve become quiet, Elswyth.” Helka placed a handful of lingonberries into her basket. “Does ought ail you?”

  I popped a berry in my mouth, wincing at the bittersweet taste on my tongue. “Just remembering.”

  “You miss your village?”

  I watched her fingers pluck the crimson fruit. “Only my grandmother. Not much else.”

  “And how do you settle?” she asked.

  I gave a small shrug. “I don’t yet belong, but I will, I know. I must find my own way to being accepted.”

  “And Eirik is good to you?”

  I nodded, squeezing a berry so that its juice ran over my fingers. As a bed companion, I was fulfilled; his prowess continued to leave me breathless.

  “As it should be.” Helka smiled. “I see that you make him happy.”

  She hesitated before continuing. “You know that others have shared his bed.”

  My chest tightened. Of course, I was aware, especially after my recent encounter with Bodil. It had been plain, too, from our first meeting when Eirik had carried me over his shoulder into the Great Hall of my husband and had taunted me before his men. I’d thought he would strip and display me for all to see as he fucked me. Instead, he’d chosen another way, taking me to the chamber I’d shared with my husband until that morning, his blood still damp on the floor.

  “Among the thralls, there are few he hasn’t bedded, but there are others too… though their husbands may not perceive it.”

  Thinking of the child upon Bodil’s hip and how Bodil had looked at me with such malice, I knew perhaps more than Helka realized. It made me wonder at the purpose of her conversation because she didn’t usually speak in this rambling fashion.

  Helka indicated a fallen trunk nearby and, brushing away damp leaves, invited me to sit. “I see that you wish to be more than Eirik’s companion.” She turned to look at me. “You wish to be his only one, his wife?”

  I plucked at some soft moss growing on the rotting wood and sat quietly. As the weeks had passed, I’d become aware of my deepening feelings for Eirik. I saw him not as my master, nor captor, but as the husband that I yearned for: the man I wished to father my children. I fell asleep with the smell of him and woke to the pleasure of his kisses and the insistence of his morning desire.

  I’d agreed to accompany Eirik to Svolvaen without promise of marriage. I’d asked for nothing beyond what he’d already given me. Nevertheless, it was true; I did want more.

  “None has kept his interest as you do, but I say this to prepare you, Elswyth.” Helka leaned forward, touching my arm. “It may never be.”

  As kindly as she meant the words, my heart gave a bruised leap. The wind rose at that moment and sent a wave through the branches, rippling the leaves, making it seem that they breathed with rustling sighs.

  “His marriage is long overdue and, when it’s made, it should be to a woman who brings not only a dowry but the promise of alliance. Svolvaen is prosperous, but we must grow stronger. As the ruling family, it’s our duty.”

  I thought of Asta’s arranged betrothal to Gunnolf. Was there already a woman of noble birth promised to Eirik? My stomach churned at the thought.

  Helka drew me
closer. “I see that you understand and that it hurts you, for I know the love that you harbour for him.” She took my hand. “It’s best for you to put these feelings aside. Eirik will let you go when the time comes, but he will behave honourably. You’re strong, Elswyth, and will endure.”

  It seemed to grow quieter, as if the trees pressed close about were listening to us: not just to our conversation but to the whirl of my own thoughts.

  “When the time comes, you may continue serving Asta, keeping Eirik’s bed when he desires it, or he’ll find another man to be your husband.”

  Helka’s face was all concern. I could see that she took no joy in telling me this. Nevertheless, a surge of heat and anger took hold of me. “And what of you, Helka? Where is your alliance? Your husband is gone, and you have no children. Where is your marriage of duty?”

  Her expression grew cold, and she drew back as if I’d attempted to strike her. At once, I regretted my sharp tongue. I knew well enough that she mourned Vigrid, though he’d died a full two years before.

  I reached for her, wishing to put right my unkindness, but Helka stood and moved several steps away, presenting her back to me.

  My eyes pricked with frustrated tears.

  “Forgive me, Helka,” I begged. My disappointment had made me cruel, and I was ashamed. She spoke, I knew, only to warn me — to protect my heart.

  It was some moments before she turned again. Her lashes were wet but there was steel in her voice. “You say this because you don’t know…”

  I was suddenly small and out of place, sitting among the dark ferns and twining roots. It had grown colder, and I felt myself an unwelcome intrusion in this ancient place. These were not the oaks and elms of my childhood forest, those I’d climbed, and under which, I’d hunted for berries. Their shadows fell differently; even the far-off birdcalls seemed strange to me.

  Helka gave a rueful smile. “Vigrid is gone, yet he lies beside me at night. I sense him though I cannot see him.” She looked at me directly. “How, then, can I bring another into my bed?”

  I knew not what to say. Though I’d seen my husband murdered in front of me, I hadn’t grieved for him. I’d given him little thought since leaving my village. Helka’s devotion was altogether different, more akin to mine for Eirik. Should I lose him, I would lose part of myself.

  “It’s only a feeling…” Helka wiped her sleeve to her face. “There are many things that may be felt, though they pass unseen.”

  “There’s no… malevolence?” I asked, suddenly fearful. If my own husband were to return to me, it would be in revenge or anger, not for love.

  She shook her head. “I’m in no danger.”

  We walked on without speaking for a while, neither of us wishing to return to the subject. Whatever had passed between us, it appeared to have been set aside.

  At last, Helka advised that we turn back, for it was growing dim. The autumn was fully upon us, and the light fading earlier each day.

  I agreed, but we had gone only a few steps when I saw some funghi growing upon a nearby tree and beckoned Helka back for the use of her knife in collecting them.

  Whether it was the ghost of our former conversation that lingered or something else that made her speak, Helka became serious again. “Elswyth, you feel an affinity with the forest, I know, but I must warn you not to venture too deeply, and never on your own, especially after dusk.”

  Nearby, an owl hooted, and I thought of the wild creatures that must live here: bears and boar. I knew there to be stag and wolves. Helka had brought her crossbow, though we’d come across nothing larger than a rabbit.

  Helka took my arm, urging me to keep walking. “There are parts of the forest in which I would never wander for fear of what I might find.”

  “Or, what may find you,” I ventured. I gave a half-smile, wishing to show I was unafraid, but her manner, so earnest, sent a shiver through me. The forest grew greatly darker, and it seemed that the trees pushed closer than before, twisting towards us in distorted shapes. Where there had been the noise of birds, it appeared eerily quiet.

  Helka must have sensed this, too, for she lowered her voice. “It’s said that there are mysterious lights in the forest; lights that will lure you to danger.”

  My own people had a similar tale but I’d never seen anything in our woods to frighten me. I’d hidden between the shadows of trees since I was very little. “I don’t believe in such things,” I said firmly.

  “Whether we believe them or not doesn’t mean they may not be true.” Helka pulled her cloak tighter. “Our people have passed down stories through the generations, and the skalds tell them to those who will listen, as they travel from place to place. They tell of deeds brave and foolish, and the downfall of those who think themselves invulnerable.”

  She continued to hurry me onwards, and before long, we saw the forest’s edge. Helka indicated for us to put down our sacks and baskets and rest. The pale daylight was within sight, and the strange terrors that had risen up around us receded.

  “There’s something else I wish to say before we return,” said Helka. “Among the things which live in the forest is a seductive, secretive creature. She hides her true nature, to lure men. Showing them only what is beautiful and enticing, she is the huldra: deceptive and vengeful.”

  “Many women must be part huldra, then,” I added wryly.

  “Does this creature not remind you of someone?” asked Helka.

  I lifted my brows in response and invited her to speak.

  “There’s something in Faline which causes strife. I cannot trust her, and I wish she were not under our roof.”

  I couldn’t deny that I’d often thought the same myself, but for some reason, I found myself unwilling to condemn her. After all, she was only looking after her own interests. I couldn’t blame her for that.

  She’d been the daughter of our chieftain. How different her life might have been had her promised betrothed not fallen from his horse. It seemed so long ago that I’d been married and suffered violence at my husband’s hand. In Eirik, I’d found someone to give my love to, and received love in return, even if I were not his wife. What was Faline’s lot without the benefit of tenderness or affection?

  I remembered as a child her asking to join us in our play. We’d found a tree which enabled us to climb higher than ever we’d climbed before. The boys laughed at her, so small she barely reached their waists, and told her to go home to her father. Had I mocked her, too, and sent her, tearful, back to the village? Perhaps I had.

  Helka picked up her basket once more. “It was a mistake to bring her.”

  6

  Sylvi watched as I crushed valerian root in the mortar with petals of chamomile, cowslip and vervain I’d collected from the meadow. I steeped the mixture in hot water to create a draught.

  “It’s important not to use too much valerian,” I warned, seeing her interest. “Jarl Gunnolf only wants to sleep well through the night, not fail to wake up altogether.”

  She nodded her understanding. If Sylvi ever wanted revenge on the Jarl for the liberties he’d taken with her, I’d shown her the way. I hoped I wouldn’t regret it.

  Gunnolf had called me to him on my return from the forest. Eyes dark with exhaustion, he’d asked for something to bring dreamless rest. His need appeared genuine. I knew what it was to be troubled by perturbing dreams.

  Eirik was also weary, but from physical labour rather than mental disquiet. He’d endured a long day in the fields, stacking the last of the hay into the barn. The harvest was drawing to its end: the fields dusty yellow and scattered with broken straw, the fruit trees stripped almost bare. The weather looked set to turn. The winter fodder for our livestock had to be harvested before it began to rot.

  After we’d eaten the evening nattmal — a thick stew of mutton and root vegetables served with bread and mead — Lady Asta took her bath in the main hall of the longhouse, discreetly behind a folding screen, Faline ladling steaming water into the tub from the cauldron ov
er the firepit.

  When I approached Gunnolf, he’d already begun to undress, having retired to the boxbed he shared with my Lady. Seeing Gunnolf in his under-tunic, I did my best not to stare at his muscular thighs. His long hair, usually braided, hung loose about his shoulders.

  He drank the sleeping draught down without hesitation, inclining his head in thanks. As I took the cup from him, he extended his finger to stroke mine. It was the lightest of touches, but I jerked away.

  His cool eyes surveyed me. “What a nervous creature you are, as if waiting for me to pounce.”

  With that, he pulled off his remaining garment and cast it to the floor so that he stood before me naked.

  I found that I wished to look. Like Eirik, he wore ink on his skin; so closely were the designs worked, I could barely make them out. I’d never seen a man with body hair so dense and dark, covering his shoulders and arms and down his back. It grew the full width of his chest and curled down the hardness of his stomach, joining his groin, so abundant it would have covered his manhood entirely had it been at rest.

  There was no doubt that Gunnolf intended for me to admire him.

  “If you wish to see my cock at full attention, you’ll need to apply yourself with a warm hand… or mouth.” He sat on the edge of the bed and opened his thighs in languid invitation. “Or sit upon it, if you prefer.”

  His lips twitched in amusement. I could not deny there was a wildness about him that was alluring. His mouth was full and sensuous, framed by his beard. His teeth, revealed as he smiled, were sharp; teeth made for biting.

  I felt heat in my cheek, though from my own thoughts or from the Jarl’s forwardness I couldn’t have said. I drew my eyes away, stepping back. Whatever I was thinking, it would be a dangerous game to play. Eirik had told me that he’d shared women with his brother when they were younger. He’d think less favourably of it now, I believed, as would Asta. I’d no wish to take that path.