Sirens of the Northern Seas: A Viking Romance Collection

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “As we speak, one of my ships, manned by seasoned warriors from both my house and Jarl Rurik’s, has set sail for Hesse, to bring your family to Norway. We cannot allow our kinsmen to live in fear of the church. If your father, mother, and siblings are alive, they will be found, and brought here.”

  Mauriana turned pale and Ivar reached out and steadied her. “Are you pleased?”

  “By Odin,” she started. “I-I…”

  “At a loss for words?” Rurik said, lightening the mood. “Come and drink with me, girl. You are welcome to anything I have. My wife and sons are eager to meet you. My servants will attend you. My sword will protect you.”

  Tears streaked down Mauriana’s cheeks. “I am grateful beyond expression.” She dropped to her knees, head lowered in complete submission. “I am undeserving of your admiration and acceptance, Jarl Rurik. When Jarl Bodvar found me in Hesse, I had lost all hope and courage, and couldn’t find the strength to join my family who were guarding Thor’s holy oak. I failed them miserably. And when Bodvar took me to the slave market, I believed it was Odin’s way of punishing me.”

  “Fear makes us braver,” Rurik replied without hesitation.

  Mauriana lifted her head.

  “It is your honesty that matters more now,” he continued. “And what you do with your second chance at a better life.”

  “Yes, milord.” She rose to her feet. “Thank you.”

  “Do not be too quick to thank me, Mauriana.” Rurik motioned to Ivar. “This man saved your life.”

  Her fathomless eyes met Ivar’s, and every instinct inside him screamed. Make her yours forever. Love and protect her. Adore her. Prize her above all. Trust her with your heart. Trust her with your very life. Was Allfather speaking? It mattered not. For Ivar could no longer wait. He lowered himself to one knee and took Mauriana’s hand.

  “I have waited for this moment, sweetest Mauriana. My soul is on fire. I cannot sleep or think straight with you nearby. You are everything I want and need. I loved you the moment we met—knew our futures would be forever intertwined. I’ve already attained approval from Jarl Rurik. But it’s your answer that will decide my fate. Will you accept me as your husband? Will you let me love you? So help me, no one will ever harm you again.”

  Her body shook with emotions, but she braved a quick glance at Rurik.

  “Uniting our families will only make us stronger,” Jarl Rurik said. “You will never find a better husband.”

  Gracing Ivar with the brightest smile he’d ever seen, she nodded. “I too have loved you, Jarl Ivar. My heart is filled with joy. I never imagined we could be together, for I am but a peasant girl from the woods, even if I share blood with this great family.” She gazed at Rurik, then back at Ivar. “I have no power or wealth to offer you. Only myself. Only a promise that I will be ever faithful. And that I will always love the man I met on that ship.”

  “I am still that man,” Ivar said, immediately standing. “And you are still that beautiful girl.”

  They embraced then, and the hall exploded with cheers. Ivar had waited his whole life to find love. And though it astonished him that Allfather sent him on a long voyage with his errant cousin to find it, he’d never again question Odin’s wisdom.

  “I love you, sweet Mauriana.”

  “And I love you, milord.”

  Epilogue

  Two nights later…

  In the silence of night, Mauriana risked much visiting Ivar’s chamber alone. She parted the curtains and stepped inside, finding a single oil lamp burning. She’d never been in there before and her heart thundered with fear and need. She stepped lightly past his table and chairs, finding him asleep on his bed. The dragon heads carved into the four posts were enough to change any faint-hearted woman’s mind. But Mauriana knew she was part Viking. Their hearts were forged from the same steel—the same blood pumped through their veins.

  And right now, that’s what she craved, her future husband’s warmth and strength.

  Wearing only a linen bed robe, she walked to the side of the bed Ivar was laying on. She touched his brow, his soft lips so tempting, his naked chest chiseled from stone. As she reached for him again, he stirred and groaned, then opened his eyes.

  “Mauriana?” he sat up. “Is something amiss?”

  She stepped back. “N-no.” Under the flickering light of the lamp, he resembled a god, his fierce, protective eyes heavy upon her.

  “Are you in need of something? Where are my sisters? The servants?” He started to get up, but Mauriana held up her hand.

  “Please, milord. Nothing is wrong.” Finding the fearlessness inside she knew it would take, she untied the laces on the front of her robe, then shrugged off the soft material. It pooled at her feet, leaving her naked body exposed to Ivar’s hungry eyes and the chilly air.

  He growled, drinking in every inch of her flesh. His hands fisted at his sides. “Are you a Valkyrie, sweetest girl, or my future wife, come to seduce me?”

  “I am anything you wish me to be, milord.”

  For two nights she struggled to sleep, and once she did, her mind was haunted by images of Ivar. His breath-stealing kisses and strong hands had enticed her too many times to wait until they were married. She wanted to share his bed now. She wanted to feel his shaft deep inside her, know what it felt like to be loved and possessed by the only man she’d ever love.

  “Do you know what you’re saying?” He stood slowly, keeping a safe distance between them.

  “Yes,” she said with conviction. “I give myself freely…”

  There was no time to finish her thought. His mouth crashed over hers, sucking the very breath from her lungs. He held her close, his powerful hands roaming freely down her spine. She moaned in response, opening her mouth to him, their tongues spiraling together with desperation.

  He tasted of everything she fantasized he would deep in the night.

  “I am yours forever,” he whispered, guiding her hand between his legs. “Feel what pleasure you give me.”

  Hard as steel, it didn’t frighten her, but awakened deeper emotions. In awe of his perfect physique, she slipped her arms around his waist, then stood on her toes to gain better access to his mouth. She kissed him this time, her tongue dominating his, her hands claiming the spots on his body she’d secretly dreamed of touching.

  When his hands slipped between their bodies, cradling her breasts, and his head dipped low enough so his tongue could spiral around her sensitive nipples, her knees wobbled. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her, tugged her against his face, and his very wicked tongue found the bud between her legs that fueled every desire she’d felt since meeting him. She cried out his name as he licked and licked. She twined her fingers through his hair, riding his face—spurred by his increasingly relentless strokes.

  Thrusting a finger, then two inside her, he gripped her arse cheeks, locking her against his face.

  “Ivar,” she screamed, unable to contain the sensations that peaked and retreated, then threatened to explode if he didn’t stop. “Please…”

  His silence was her only answer.

  He intensified the delicious assault, sucking on her bud, his fingers moving in unison with his tongue. As she shattered, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, then gently laid her down on her back.

  Their eyes met for the briefest moment, his dark with lust and need. No words were needed as he nudged her thighs apart, then began to untie the laces on his braes. She watched in utter fascination as his manhood sprang free, fully erect, and as long and thick as she’d hoped. Her body naturally wanted to be filled, the yearning as painful as it’d ever been. Wet with desire, she stretched her arms out, silently pleading for him to no longer wait.

  He covered her with his body, his shaft resting between her legs, pressing on her entrance.

  “Mauriana,” he whispered against her lips. “I would wait if you so wished. But if I push inside you one inch, I’m afraid I will not be able to stop myself. Tell me…” />
  She thrust her hips. Nothing would ever keep them apart again.

  “I love you,” he said, pumping inside her.

  A slight burning sensation spread through her body, but once she locked her ankles behind his back, welcoming him inside her, and he began to move smoothly—the pain abated, replaced by pure pleasure.

  “I belong to you,” she said breathlessly. “And you belong to me.”

  “Yes,” he said, snapping his hips. “Mine.”

  And though she didn’t know what the future held for them, she knew she belonged with Ivar, the bravest and kindest man she’d ever met.

  The End

  The Bride Prize

  A Viking Lore Novella (Book 2.5)

  By

  Emma Prince

  The Bride Prize (A Viking Lore Novella, Book 2.5)

  Copyright © 2015 by Emma Prince

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information, contact emmaprincebooks@gmail.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  808 A.D.

  Tarr caught the clinking pouch in midair.

  “As agreed,” Ulfrik said with a nod.

  Tarr hefted the pouch a few times in his hand, once again hearing the jangling of the coins within. Then he loosened the leather strip holding the top closed and peered inside.

  The gold shone dully in the gray light of the cloud-obscured winter sky. Ulfrik had met the price they’d agreed upon. The coins seemed a small payment for all that Tarr was giving up, but then again, there was nothing left for him here.

  “I’ll show you what remains of the winter stores,” Tarr said, refastening the tie on the pouch and tucking it into his belt.

  Ulfrik, his neighbor to the east, followed him around the hut he’d lived in his entire life. Tarr led Ulfrik to the root cellar dug out by the kitchen attached to the back of the hut. He’d cleared a path through the snow for his parents and younger siblings, but they’d never gotten the chance to use it.

  Tarr tugged open the wooden hatch and stood aside for Ulfrik to squint into the darkness of the cellar.

  “There are a few sacks of barley, as well as some carrots and onions,” Tarr said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “The animal feed is long gone. You are welcome to the two surviving sheep. They are skinny but tough.”

  Ulfrik rubbed his dark blond beard for a moment, still eyeing the almost-empty cellar. When he turned his work-grizzled features back to Tarr, a hint of sadness flickered in his pale blue eyes.

  “Ja, I’ll take the sheep as well, I suppose. But I don’t have any more coin to offer you, lad.”

  Tarr waved him away, forcing the thickness from his throat. “Would you like to see the inside of the hut?”

  Ulfrik’s pale eyes scrutinized him and once again, Tarr saw a flash of pity in them. “Nei, that’s all right. I’ll take it as it is.”

  Tarr nodded. There was nothing left to do now but go.

  He extended his arm to Ulfrik, and the weathered old farmer clasped it firmly, his gnarled fingers gripping Tarr’s forearm.

  “What will you do now, lad? Where will you go?”

  Tarr exhaled slowly, a cloud of white billowing from his mouth in the cold midmorning air.

  “I am going to Dalgaard.”

  “Dalgaard?” Ulfrik’s eyes widened slightly as he considered Tarr, still grasping his arm. “The village in the south? What could you possibly hope to find there, lad?”

  “There is to be a great festival. The Jarl’s wife just bore their first child, a son. Many from the surrounding mountains and farmsteads are traveling to celebrate.”

  “Perhaps they are, but we are more than a day’s walk from Dalgaard,” Ulfrik went on. He at last released Tarr’s arm, but tugged on his blond beard in thought, clearly not ready to let Tarr go.

  Tarr had to smile a little. Ulfrik had always terrified him as a lad. As their closest neighbor in this remote, hardscrabble landscape, Tarr and his younger brother had often sought Ulfrik’s farmstead for amusement. They used to chase his old milk cow, and whenever they got close enough, they’d boost each other onto her back and ride her as if she were an ungainly Northland pony.

  Ulfrik used to chase them away, iron spade raised in his hand and shouted threats of a beating neither would soon forget echoing after them.

  Now Ulfrik stood before Tarr, clasping arms with him man to man, even as the gnarled old farmer worried after him like a father.

  But Tarr’s father was dead. And so were his mother, younger brother, and two sweet sisters.

  Pain twisted deep in Tarr’s chest, but he pushed it down, forcing his mind back to the task at hand.

  “Ja, it will be a trek, but the snow is likely not so thick in the south as it is here. I imagine I’ll reach the outskirts of the village by nightfall.”

  “And all for a festival?” Though Ulfrik’s eyes had become slightly clouded with time, they were still sharply trained on Tarr. But then the man’s gaze softened somewhat and he placed a knotted hand on Tarr’s shoulder.

  “I know this place must cause you some…pain, lad,” he said quietly. “But we could always use a stout back and a strong pair of hands. Would you consider staying on and helping me work your family’s land along with my own?”

  Tarr’s throat tightened at the kind offer, but he shook his head nonetheless. “Nei, Ulfrik, but thank you. I think my fate lies elsewhere.”

  “In Dalgaard?” Ulfrik frowned, but Tarr knew he was only concerned for him. “The festival will be over in a handful of days, lad, and then what?”

  Tarr let his eyes drift toward the hut he had lived in all his life. The wooden planks and thatched roof were in good repair, but the hut sat eerily still and silent. Gone were the squeals of his younger sister, the boasts and easy smile of his brother, his mother’s warmth and his father’s gruff pride.

  “I know not,” he replied to Ulfrik, though it wasn’t entirely true. He had a deeper hope than simply escaping the farmstead and all its painful memories, but he knew Ulfrik would disapprove of his plan.

  Tarr could feel Ulfrik’s gaze on him, but the old man remained silent for a spell. At last, he spoke quietly.

  “You are always welcome here.”

  Emotion burned in Tarr’s throat, but he forced it down. If he were to become a warrior—a true Viking voyager—he had to let his past, with all its pain, go.

  “Thank you,” he said simply, extending his hand once more to Ulfrik. The old farmer took his forearm in another hard squeeze.

  When he at last broke off his grasp, Tarr stepped to the hut’s threshold, where he’d left a satchel containing a spare tunic and trousers along with the few trinkets that would fit. This satchel, and the pouch of gold Ulfrik had just given him, were all he owned in the world.

  A mere fortnight ago, he’d been in possession of a loving, happy family. Though times had been hard, they had each other. But as if to remind Tarr that the gods were the ones to choose mortals’ fate, his entire family had been snatched from him by a swift-moving pox.

  For some reason, the gods had spared him. “Spared” seemed like the wrong word, though, for he had been stripped of everyone he loved and saddled with an already struggling farmstead in one fell blow.

  He couldn’t work the land on his own. By Odin, if his family had lived, they might not have made it through the long and brutal winter anyway, for they had been clinging by their nails to life already. The Northlands were harsh and unforgiving, but Tarr’s father said he had never seen a string of winters like these.

 
“Good luck,” Tarr said, slinging the satchel over his shoulder and stepping away from the hut.

  Ulfrik nodded, his face set grimly. If anyone could wring a living from this rocky, frozen ground, it was Ulfrik. But Tarr felt the stirring of a different fate.

  Tarr trudged through the snow and out of the little clearing made in the trees by his former home. He’d dreamed for several years of leaving the farmstead, but he’d never imagined it would be like this.

  As Tarr crested the first of many hills separating him from Dalgaard, he paused to look back. Ulfrik moved around the clearing below, likely taking stock of the purchase he’d just made. Emotion once again rose in his throat, but this time, it wasn’t pure grief for his family and the end to the hard but content years he’d spent working the land here.

  Nei, this time, the sorrow was tinged with something else—hope. Hope for a new opportunity, a new life that awaited in Dalgaard.

  How many times had he begged his father to let him spend more time training to be a warrior and less working in the fields? Even before Tarr had been big enough to guide the ard through the soil by himself, tales about the newly discovered lands to the west had reaching even their remote corner of the Northlands. And the summer before last, Jarl Eirik of Dalgaard sailed to the lands himself. Though Tarr didn’t know Jarl Eirik personally, the very fact that a man who lived a day’s walk from Tarr’s farmstead had set foot on that storied terrain only added fuel to Tarr’s burning desire to see it himself.

  That desire had risen to a fever pitch when Tarr had begun to hear rumors around Yuletide a little more than two moons ago that Dalgaard’s Jarl was planning another voyage to the west come summer. But this time, the voyagers would not simply raid and return home—nei, they were going to settle there. Those mysterious, bountiful lands promised riches and opportunity for a hardworking man like Tarr.

  And now, just a sennight after the greatest loss of his life, he’d gotten word that Dalgaard was hosting a festival to celebrate the birth of the Jarl’s son. If it was anything like most festivals in the Northlands, there would be feats of strength and skill aplenty for Tarr to compete in—the perfect opportunity to prove his mettle. And perhaps, if the gods smiled upon him, he would earn himself a spot on the voyage to the western lands.