Sirens of the Northern Seas: A Viking Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  God willing, they’d bring babes of their own into the world. Looking up at the altar he swore to forewarn his children of the destructive power of vengeance and vendetta.

  Audra spoke her vows with great seriousness, but when the abbot declared them married, she beamed a smile at him that banished all these noble thoughts. All he could think of was getting his wife into bed.

  The Cottage

  When her broadly grinning husband carried her over the threshold of the cottage Audra gasped in delight. “Whitewash!”

  Their eyes met. Was he thinking the same thing? “Makes it clean looking,” he said. “Like in Jomsborg.”

  He put her down but held her close, nuzzling her neck. His warm breath sent chills racing up her thighs. “It reminds me of my mother’s house there,” she whispered, gladdened when he nodded.

  The memory eased some of her nervousness.

  “No fire,” he said, eyeing the cold hearth.

  She laughed. “It’s too hot for a fire anyway.”

  “And I’ll keep you warm,” he murmured, fanning the flames in her heart.

  “The bed’s rather small,” she said, instantly wishing she hadn’t mentioned it.

  He cupped her face in his warm hands. “I can always sleep on the floor.”

  She gaped at him then smiled when he winked. His mouth was suddenly on hers, his tongue coaxing. She hesitated only a moment, but then his warm lips gave her confidence and she opened for him.

  Their tongues mated. He licked her teeth. She tasted his saliva, breathed with him. When they broke apart she leaned her head against his chest, her gaze drifting to the tiny window as she listened to the steady throb of his heart. Contentment filled her when she espied a bowl of bluebells on the window-ledge. “Pixie thimbles,” she murmured. “Did you arrange for them?”

  He turned to the window. “Nej. But it’s a good memory of happy times.”

  “And a promise for the future,” she said, suddenly feeling less nervous.

  He kissed her again, more playfully this time, then pulled away. “I have to get these clothes off.”

  “Impatient,” she teased as he peeled the tunic over his head. As long as she lived she’d never get tired of the sculpted beauty of his body; hard muscles, broad shoulders, taut belly.

  “They are too small,” he complained, sitting on the edge of the bed to ease off his boots.

  “You are a big man,” she murmured, unable to take her eyes off his bare feet as he wiggled his toes. She had an insane urge to fall to her knees and suck on those long toes.

  “You’ve seen nothing yet,” he quipped, coming to his feet. He unlaced the ties at his waist and pulled the leggings down over his hips. His manhood sprang free, bigger and thicker even than she remembered. Heat surged through her body though goosebumps marched up her thighs. His masculine beauty was something else she would never tire of.

  She was glad he’d taken off his own clothes. She’d never have managed it, but the sight of his splendid nakedness made her knees tremble. She promised herself she’d have the courage to enjoy the delights of undressing him next time.

  Keenly aware she was still clothed, she fumbled to free her arms from the sleeves of the borrowed frock. He stepped forward and had the gown and the shift beneath it over her head and tossed away before she could blink.

  She grew hotter under his gaze. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to wearing gowns,” she muttered. “A wife can’t be an assassin.” It sounded inane to her own ears, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m a mother too, a mother has to wear gowns.”

  He gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “As far as I am concerned, you can stay naked all the time,” he rasped, gathering her into his embrace. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Would he understand her fear? “It’s that I don’t know how to be a woman. How to please a man.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Audra, you are the most alluring woman I have ever known. Simply looking at you pleases me. But tonight I want more. I’ve waited long enough.”

  Elation! I please him.

  “I love the warmth of your body,” she murmured.

  “I love everything about yours,” he replied. He cupped her breasts and bent his head to suckle a nipple. She purred as spasms of delight soared through her body, groaning when he brushed a thumb over the other nipple then squeezed gently.

  He danced his fingertips down her belly. His gentle touch was exhilarating and made her want to stretch like a contented cat. A craving coiled in her most private place, blossoming into a loud exclamation when he touched her there.

  “You’re already wet for me,” he breathed, scooping her up and laying her on the bed. “Lavender,” she whispered, inhaling the fragrance of the linens. She resumed her cat-like behavior when warm lips suckled a startlingly rigid nipple and clever fingers wove a spell between her legs.

  She held her breath when he trailed kisses along the path where his fingers had led then put his warm mouth on her throbbing need. She cooed with delight when he suckled and licked and suckled again. “Your nub is getter bigger,” he rasped. She wasn’t sure what he meant, all her concentration on nearing the top of the catapult tower in Jomsborg’s harbor. Finally, Sigmar helped her reach the pinnacle and she dove off into the deliciously warm welcoming waters of the harbor, basking in the ecstatic glow of euphoria.

  She was lazily swimming with whales, giggling when they nipped playfully at her nipples, but then Sigmar’s voice penetrated her trance. “Taste me,” he growled.

  She came to her knees. He was lying on his back, legs apart, his manhood red and swollen, his blue eyes dark with need.

  She’d heard tell of women taking men’s shafts into their mouths and found the notion repugnant, but now she was consumed with a desire to kiss and lick and suck, to fill her mouth with his magnificence.

  He took her hand and put it around the base of his male part, showing her how to move it up and down on him. “You can play while you suck,” he rasped.

  Emboldened by his crooked smile, she swirled her tongue over the tip of his member. He tasted sweet and salty at the same time. “My salo,” she whispered in a sultry voice she didn’t recognise.

  He laughed but the laughter quickly turned to a groan of pleasure when she took him fully into her mouth, moving her hand up and down as he’d shown her while she sucked and licked. He held her hair off her face, his fingers gently pressing her scalp. The aching need in her woman’s place grew as she caressed him—a pulling, a longing, an intense urge to be…

  Suddenly he sprang up and loomed over her. “I have to join with you now, Audra.”

  Then his thick manhood was inside her, satisfying the throbbing, pulsing need. She’d feared he would be too big, but they came together easily, without the pain she’d expected. She sifted her fingers through his soft hair, looking forward to plaiting his war braids.

  The bed creaked but she hardly noticed, relishing the guttural grunts coming from deep within his chest as he thrust and thrust and thrust. His hot seed erupted into her body, his shout of release filling her heart as he collapsed onto her.

  Relishing his weight, she ran her fingers over the sheen of sweat on his back. “I like being a woman,” she whispered.

  *

  Sigmar prayed they’d made a child this night. Joining with Audra was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Love had turned the act of satisfying his male urges into a euphoric journey to a previously unknown land of bliss and contentment.

  Since childhood, Audra had called to him. When he entered her tight moist sheath he knew why. They were destined to be one.

  It came to him as his wits returned that he had collapsed on top of her. He raised up on his elbows, awed by the sated expression of a woman well-bedded. His woman, her golden hair fanned around her head like an angelic halo.

  He’d told Sandor of his feelings for his wife. Had he told her? “I love you, Audra. You are my life.”

  She smiled, confirmin
g his belief he was in bed with an angel.

  “I had no life until we met again,” she whispered.

  Holding her tightly, trying carefully to keep their bodies joined, he turned onto his side, and gathered the linens over them. “What did you say this fragrance is?” he asked.

  “Lavender,” she replied sleepily. “Do you like it?”

  How to tell her he would never smell the aroma again without remembering every wonderful moment of this night, especially the elation of feeling her maidenhead tear. The tiny nagging doubt that it was unlikely a female soldier was still a virgin had been silenced forever. She had saved herself—for him. “Ja, I like it,” he crooned.

  Epilogue

  Jomsborg. One year later.

  Sigmar scanned the horizon impatiently. “You’re certain the message said the longboat would arrive today?” he asked Fingal.

  “For the tenth time, ja!” his father-by-marriage replied. “Be patient.”

  The change in Fingal’s temperament since he’d shocked everyone by marrying Vasha was nothing short of miraculous. He doted on his young wife and seemed content to spend his days tending the farm he’d re-established in Jomsborg.

  The exiles had discovered on their return that local folk believed the Andreassen and Haraldsen farms were cursed because of the feud. The lands had been left untended and it had taken a considerable amount of work to set them to rights.

  For Sigmar it had been a labor of love. He couldn’t wait to carry Audra over the threshold of the newly whitewashed cottage on his father’s old farm.

  “That’s all very well for you to say, Fader,” he retorted to Fingal. “You have your wife here to warm your bed. I haven’t seen mine for five months.”

  “The lot of a warrior,” Fingal muttered. “You and I had to accompany Canute to Denmark when his brother died, obliged to support his claim to the Danish throne. My daughter knew she wouldn’t be able to leave Sandor.”

  It wasn’t just for Sandor’s sake Audra had remained in England. He forbade his wife’s involvement in the Danish campaign once she told him she was with child—a child he’d never seen but hoped to hold in his arms if the overdue longboat ever arrived.

  He’d assumed once Canute secured the Danish throne they’d all be sent home to England, but then the king turned his attention south to Jomsborg and rumors of a revolt that simmered there. The monarch dismissed Fingal and Sigmar’s worries about returning as exiles. These were different times and the feud had been laid to rest.

  An overwhelming feeling of homecoming swept over him as his longboat sailed past the towers guarding Jomsborg’s harbor. The catapults had fallen into disrepair, but many things were unchanged. He marveled that as children they had attempted to climb the nearly vertical towers.

  He and Fingal were greeted warmly by those who remembered them; folk seemed overjoyed to hear of his marriage to Audra. In the end all it took to bring the populace into the fold was a show of strength and the king’s convincing charm.

  However, Canute’s decision to appoint him Ealdorman of Jomsborg, with Fingal as his Second-in-Command, took him completely by surprise. But he didn’t hesitate to accept. It was where he and Audra belonged, had always belonged; and it meant they would no longer be involved in clandestine assassinations. They could raise their children as a normal family.

  “There,” Fingal shouted, pointing out to sea.

  Sigmar shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun, his heart doing peculiar flips inside his chest when he caught sight of his wife near the prow, waving wildly, blonde curls streaming behind her like a banner. Sandor stood at her side. Then he espied Praxia, a bundle clutched to her chest.

  Sigmar had endured years of banishment with a volatile father, fought fierce warriors in pitched battles, taken part in dangerous secret missions, sailed the perilous seas, but the responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood suddenly seemed even more daunting.

  The boat had barely nudged the dock when Audra, clad he noted with amusement in leggings, tunic and gambeson, scrambled onto the gunwale and leapt into his arms. He crushed her to his body, burying his nose in the windswept ringlets, savoring the scent of salt and woman.

  “Wife,” he breathed. “Welcome home.”

  She rocked against him, keening softly. Then she stepped back, wiped away tears and held out her arms to Praxia, still on the boat. Grinning, the thrall handed over the bundle and Audra came to stand beside Sigmar. She opened the outer wrappings and he beheld his child for the first time. “Your son,” she murmured, passing the boy into his arms.

  Sigmar had never cradled a babe. Smiling blue eyes stared at him. A tiny hand waved. Sturdy legs kicked. Joy consumed his heart, robbing him of words. Audra leaned into his arm and lifted the swaddling to reveal the child’s maleness. “As you see, he is your son,” she teased.

  Fingal hugged Audra. “Well done, daughter.”

  Sandor jumped from the boat and slapped Sigmar on the back. “Fader,” he exclaimed.

  A peaceful certainty stole over Sigmar. He had been blessed with greater happiness than most men dared dream of. “What is his name?” he rasped.

  “It is for a father to choose a son’s name,” Audra replied.

  He looked again at the babe. “This boy will grow up to be strong, a protector of people and things that are dear to him.” He turned to Sandor. “What was your father’s name?” he asked.

  “Wulfram,” the boy replied, his eyes wide.

  Sigmar looked at his son. “Welcome to Jomsborg, Wulfram Sigmarsen.”

  The End

  Fact or Fiction

  WHERE IS JOMSBORG?

  Historians are divided on the question of whether Jomsborg actually existed. The stronghold, the Jomsviking brotherhood, and the catapult towers guarding its harbor are mentioned in more than one Viking saga, but no trace of it has ever been found by archaeologists.

  If it existed, it’s thought to have been located close to the present day island of Wolin in the Oder estuary, or on a nearby island swept away by storm tides in the 14th century.

  Google JOMSBORG and JOMSVIKINGS for more information.

  I like to think it did exist.

  KING CANUTE

  Also spelled Knut or Cnut. A Dane who ruled as King of England, Denmark, Norway and parts of Sweden, and who is generally thought of as a good monarch. It’s suggested that if the sons of Canute hadn’t died within ten years of his death in 1035, Edward the Confessor, his stepson, wouldn’t have been crowned king. England would have become an integral part of a Scandinavian union and the Norman Conquest might never have come about.

  Again Google will provide lots of sites if you’d like to learn more.

  WOMEN AS WARRIORS

  Recent excavations of burial sites have proven that many Viking warriors were women.

  HUSCARLS

  From 1013 to 1051 the Kings of England had a standing army called The Thingmen. Canute decided to select the most prominent in origin or wealth from among those who had helped him regain the throne to become permanent members of his Thingmen. He proclaimed that only those who had especially valuable weapons would have the distinction of counting themselves among the king’s housecarls. Many of the wealthier warriors then embellished their weapons with gold and silver. And you thought I made it up!

  KIEVAN RUS

  Was a loose federation of tribes in Eastern Europe. It stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea. It is usually spelled Kievan Rus’, but I dispensed with the apostrophe in my story.

  SALO

  Was and still is a traditional Eastern European food. It consists of cured slabs of fatback, salted or brine fermented.

  TWEAKING HISTORY

  This story is based on actual historical figures and events. Eadric Streona and his brothers died at Canute’s table, though it was on Christmas Day, not Easter Sunday. I changed it to accommodate a trek across Dartmoor in spring, not winter. (They wouldn’t have found bluebells in winter). Canute’s words regarding paying Streona
what he was owed are reputed to be fact. The bodies were indeed thrown over London’s fortified wall and Streona’s head displayed on a pole.

  Torkild (Thorkell the Tall) is mentioned in one of the sagas as the head of the Jomsviking brotherhood. He did exist and had a reputation for switching sides and amassing enormous amounts of Danegeld. (Gold and silver for ransom).

  Canute married Emma of Normandy and thus became stepfather to her son Edward who was later crowned King of England. (The Confessor)

  Edmund Ironside died suddenly in mysterious circumstances as did Eadwig of Wessex who was buried in Tavistock Abbey. Eadwig’s high-pitched voice and effeminate ways have no basis in fact and are creations of my imagination.

  The Abbeys and Abbots mentioned in my story were real. Boiling salt from seawater was Sherborne’s main source of revenue.

  DARTMOOR

  This desolate Devon moorland still abounds with spine-chilling tales of the weird and unexplained, including pixies, baying black hounds as big as calves, skeletal horsemen, and giant stones falling on the guilty, etc. There are good videos of the treacherous landscape on YouTube.

  SPELLINGS

  Many historical Anglo-Saxon names began with Æ. For example, Elfgifu should be Ælfgifu, Ethelred should be Æthelred, etc. I dropped the Æ so readers wouldn’t have to worry about how to pronounce it.

  SCANDINAVIAN NAMING CONVENTIONS

  Sigmar is called Alvarsen because he is the son of Alvar. Fingal is the son of Andreas, hence Andreassen. Audra is Fingalsdatter because she is the daughter of Fingal. When Sigmar and Audra have a little girl, her family name will be Sigmarsdatter.

  ROMAN RUINS

  Ruined Roman baths can still be found in Britain today, so it occurred to me it was even more likely those ruins would be accessible to people of the 11th century. The Roman army may have left Britain, but Roman villas continued to be occupied by the wealthy.

  EALDORMAN

  Position of responsibility in the English governing hierarchy.