The Viking’s Captive Princess

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Use the right words. Any child should know them. You are far from being stupid, Thyre. Your mother must have taught you,’ Asa said in a furious undertone. ‘You seek to dishonour your father through your ignorance.’

  ‘I was not trying to.’ Thyre tightened her grip on the eating knife.

  Ivar’s voice boomed out, accepting the toast with great formality.

  Asa glowed triumphantly. ‘There, see, Ivar has done it properly.’

  A half-smile twitched on Ivar’s face as he raised his horn towards Asa. ‘I only repeated what Thyre had said, Asa. And do you not think the new saga that Thyre helped compose is charming? Thorkell appeared to enjoy it.’

  Two spots of colour stood out on Asa’s pale cheeks. ‘I must have misheard, then. I do beg your pardon, Ivar.’

  Thyre studied the intricate table covering as her mind reeled. Ivar was willing to stand up for her. Maybe she was not so alone.

  After the series of formal toasts, the real business of eating began as platter after platter of heavily spiced meat appeared. However, Asa refrained from making any more spiteful remarks.

  The headdress dug into Thyre’s forehead, making it ache, and the absurd shoes that Asa had insisted on her wearing pinched her toes. She longed to leave, but how and when? No doubt there would be another ceremony that Asa had forgotten to tell her about. She crumbled a soft piece of bread into the sauce and pushed it about with her knife, thinking to come up with a suitable excuse.

  ‘Do you wish to be abducted quietly or forcibly?’ Ivar asked, laying his hand on her waist and sending a warm pulse through her body. Dressed in his soft leather trousers, fine wool tunic and scarlet cape with no less than three chains about his neck, Ivar was every inch a proud Viken warrior.

  It took all of her will power not to lean her head against his chest. Standing close to him, she realised how much she had missed him and his conversation. In such a short span of time, he had become important, far more important to her than she had imagined possible.

  ‘I have no wish to be abducted.’ Thyre looked at him from under her lashes as she strove for a natural voice. ‘But I should like to leave.’

  ‘All Viken brides are abducted.’ A dimple flashed in the corner of Ivar’s mouth.

  Thyre look around at the throng of people. ‘I believe you are attempting to tease me. Asa would have said something. She spent the purification ritual telling me all the rules of marriage. What I should and should not do and how I must obey you in all things.’

  ‘Did you take the lesson to heart?’ His eyes sparkled with mischief.

  ‘After the first ten admonitions, I allowed my mind to wander back to Ranrike,’ Thyre admitted. ‘Asa has a way of making the simplest thing appear complicated.’

  ‘Then you missed the explanation.’ His eyes danced with mischief. ‘Forcible abduction will save the need for any response from you.’

  His hands went about her waist, lifting her off the ground and putting her over his shoulder. The hated headdress began to slide further down her forehead, threatening to fall off. Thyre gave into temptation and helped it along its way.

  ‘I take it the headdress did not meet with your approval.’

  ‘The headdress was Asa’s idea.’

  ‘I prefer you with your hair down. Keep still.’

  Ivar drew his sword and held it aloft. He started to advance as the crowd pressed inwards. Lots of ribald comments and helpful hints about how to pass the evening filled the air and Thyre knew her face flamed. Her hands gripped the red material of Ivar’s cloak. Beneath her fingers, his back reverberated with laughter.

  He was enjoying this! This spectacle!

  He swung her about so her feet skimmed the goblets, causing a giddy sensation in her middle as Asa and her ladies gave gasps of horror.

  ‘Mind the glass, Thyre. It comes from Byzantium.’ Asa’s voice resounded above the cheers.

  Thyre shook her head. As if she was trying to do anything except to keep from falling. She repositioned her hands, grasping Ivar’s cloak more firmly and tried to lift her legs higher.

  ‘Ivar, put me down! This gown will rip! It took me hours and is supposed to be my court dress…’ Thyre beat on his back with her fists, but he simply strode onwards towards the door.

  ‘Perhaps you should have considered the consequences…more thoroughly.’

  ‘You wanted it this way. You did not give me enough time.’

  ‘One has to seize one’s opportunities.’ He gave a low rumble of laughter as he advanced towards the doorway. ‘King Thorkell, I am taking your daughter.’

  ‘I see you are prepared to fight!’ Thorkell made a gesture with his hand and the guards unsheathed their swords.

  ‘I can and I shall,’ Ivar roared.

  ‘Then have at it.’ Thorkell lifted a finger and the guards advanced. ‘You will only take her if you are man enough to defeat my men.’

  Ivar deflected a half-hearted blow from one of the guards. He turned and clashed swords with another. ‘Is this the best you can do? I had expected a fight.’

  Amid the shrieking from some of Asa’s ladies, the other Viken warriors leapt to their feet and began to fight. The air rang with sword meeting sword.

  Ivar quickened his pace and with his sword fended off several feeble attempts to stop him. Thyre noted with amusement how much the Viken seemed to enjoy the sport. The warriors appeared to be lining up to aim a blow, making sure that Ivar’s sword crossed at least once with theirs.

  ‘Was this strictly necessary?’

  ‘You had to be abducted properly. I will not have it said that my bride was improperly wed. Your father has insisted.’

  ‘I was not party to that.’

  ‘Some day, you will start taking responsibility for your actions, Thyre.’ His eyes flashed blue fire, reminding her that this marriage had not been his idea. How much of this was to show Thorkell his independence? ‘Stop wriggling now and allow me to fight. The sooner we are through this crowd, the sooner we can go.’

  When they reached the courtyard, he dumped her on a horse with a golden mane. Then he mounted the horse behind her. One arm came about her waist and dragged her back against his chest. Her body reacted with little tongues of fire lapping at her. ‘Hang on tight. We are not yet clear of the maddening crowd.’

  Ivar pulled back sharply on the reins and the horse reared upwards. Thyre found her hands clinging to the red wool tunic. She forgot everything but the nearness of the man. The horse then pawed the ground and galloped away. The screams and shouts from the crowd echoed in her ears.

  ‘You live for moments like that,’ Thyre said as soon as her heart stopped beating in her ears.

  ‘Yes, and you do as well! Your eyes are sparkling, Thyre.’ Ivar gave a great laugh. ‘A man who is unwilling to fight for his bride does not deserve to be called a warrior.’

  ‘The customs are somewhat different than in the steading, but then it is not warriors who marry, but farmers and foresters. I have never seen the wedding of a warrior until today.’

  ‘And did it meet with your expectations?’ His warm breath tickled her ear, sending a cascade of pleasure radiating down her body.

  Thyre shifted in his arms. Every time the horse took a step, she was aware of the shifting muscles of Ivar’s thighs and body.

  ‘Hopefully the dress will not be ruined,’ she said primly, trying to keep the subject away from desire. ‘Asa already gave me a lecture about the expense. The material was supposed to be for her new gown, but she felt I had the greater need. I was not sure whether I should be insulted or flattered. She conceded on the embroidery.’

  ‘I am amazed you were able to change Asa’s mind at all. She can be very determined. My late wife and she were friends, but then Edda was Danish and never crossed her directly. Asa was very good to Edda.’

  Thyre froze. There were so many questions she wanted to ask about his wife and their relationship. ‘I had not realised.’

  ‘Asa encouraged the match. She
wanted her ladies to be happy and settled with Viken warriors.’

  ‘And was she?’

  ‘Edda said that she was happy.’

  Thyre closed her eyes. She wanted to look back and see his expression. Was he remembering the other wedding day as well as this one? She hated feeling a stab of jealousy towards the dead woman. ‘How did she die?’

  ‘I was away on a voyage. She was on my estate and liked to go for a walk in the mornings. No one was around and she tumbled down a cliff. My steward found her after several hours, but already it was far too late.’

  Thyre closed her eyes. The poor woman, and what a tragedy for Ivar to come home to. To lose someone you loved for no good reason.

  ‘Do you think you could have saved her?’ she asked, choosing her words with care.

  ‘I do not know. She was six months pregnant and I was determined that our son would be born on the estate. I told her that she had to go and her fears were foolish. I overruled Asa as well. Edda went. She became convinced that walking was good for the baby she carried. Normally I think she would have been more agile. It was simply a terrible accident. They found her at the base of a cliff overlooking the bay.’

  ‘And you came back to an empty house.’ Thyre resisted the temptation to turn around and examine his face. The bleakness of his tone told her all she wanted to know. He did blame himself. Even if he had been there, there was no guarantee. And yet, the stab of jealousy inside her increased.

  ‘It is one of the reasons I prefer being on the sea. The estate holds too many memories.’

  ‘New ones can be made. Ones that do not replace the old ones, but ones you can hold in your heart alongside.’ Thyre fought to keep her voice from trembling. ‘It is a matter of how you drank at the well of Mirmir.’

  His breath kissed her temple. ‘The well of Mirmir. Do you believe in such things?’

  ‘Sometimes. Believing the improbable means you can accomplish the impossible. My mother used to say that.’

  ‘And is it true?’

  ‘She thought so.’ Thyre leaned forwards and twisted the horse’s mane about her fingers. She had missed more than she had thought possible. ‘It always made sense to me.’

  ‘I find it is deeds that are rewarded and not sayings.’

  He reined in the horse as they came around the bend, and a crystal blue lake appeared below them. The still waters seemed to reach up to her.

  ‘I think it is time to wash away the feast.’ He spurred the horse onwards until they reached the edge of the lake. Jumping down, he looped the reins of the horse about a pine tree.

  ‘You have been here before.’

  ‘Yes. After every feast. I find the smoke and the sweat makes my skin crawl.’

  He divested his garments, laying them in a neat pile on the rock, and then dove into the crystal-blue water. For an instant, his body hung in the air, strong and masculine. Enticing.

  ‘Come bathe with me,’ he called, rising up out of the water. ‘It will refresh your temper.’

  ‘I cannot get out of this gown without assistance.’

  Thyre regarded the lake with longing. After the noise and the crowds of the wedding feast, she wanted to wash away everything. She wanted it to go back to being just Ivar and her without any need for court protocol or other people. When they were alone, a current of energy ran between them.

  ‘And…have you tried?’

  She tried to ease her way out of the dress, but the sleeves did not permit movement. Thyre gave a loud exclamation that echoed across the lake, mocking her. ‘Please…Ivar.’

  ‘I take that as a plea for help,’ he murmured, coming towards her. He came up out of the water, the droplets rolling off his muscular chest like glistening diamonds. Thyre wet her lips, remembering what his skin tasted like. ‘Asking solves many problems.’

  She nodded, unable to speak. She clasped her hands together, torn between the desire to touch and the desire to keep looking.

  His hands reached out and tore the gown down the back seam. The heavy silk cascaded to the ground, making a pool of scarlet and silver. The late afternoon sun caressed her skin and a light breeze blew her shift against her legs. She stood savouring it.

  ‘You are free to swim in the water, if you know how.’ Ivar’s breath tickled her ear, fanning the primitive heat that grew within her.

  She pivoted and her breasts encountered his wet chest, turning the linen of her shift translucent. The peaks of her nipples showed dusky rose through the damp cloth. And under his hooded gaze, they hardened further.

  He raised an eyebrow, but made no move to touch her. Steam rose from his body.

  ‘I missed you. I want to feel your arms about me,’ she said, putting her hands on his bare chest. Her finger trapped one of the droplets of water. She brought it to her lips and tasted it. The fresh water contrasted with the warm masculinity of his body. She leant forwards and captured another drop, this time with her tongue lapping his skin.

  His response was to gather her in his arm and swoop down to steal a kiss. It was hard and fierce, creating a maelstrom of desire that called to her inner being. Their tongues met and warred, tangling and twisting, as the heat grew within her. He tightened his grip and pulled her firmly against him, leaving her in no doubt of his desire for her.

  Her damp linen shift moved against her breasts, causing a tantalising friction over her nipples. And she knew as they stood there, feasting and devouring, that it was not the strictures of the Viken court that had caused her restlessness, but her desire to touch him and to be with him. The knowledge swamped her, scaring her with its intensity.

  She breathed and tried to cling to her last ounce of common sense. Her hands cupped his face, holding his entrancing mouth away from her. Even the smallest distance made her body scream with frustration, but she knew she had to do something or she would be completely lost. ‘Are we going for the swim? I am dressed for it now.’

  ‘Later. There are other things that need to be attended to first.’ His voice had become a husky rasp as he lowered his mouth to hers again. This time, the kiss was lazy, tantalising her senses, playing across her as his hand slowly drifted downwards, caressing her buttocks, holding her against him.

  Her legs gave way, and she clung to his shoulders, trying to stay upright, but also seeking to keep their bodies joined. A moan escaped the back of her throat. He raised a hand and traced the line of her cheekbone. ‘Patience.’

  ‘Must we?’

  His laugh echoed over the lake. Supreme, male and confident. ‘Yes, wife, we must.’

  He eased her backwards so that she was lying on the warm stone. She held out her arms, bringing him with her. His heavy weight covered her, moulding her curves against the hard muscle. Her hands ran down his sculpted back. At the base of his spine, a tiny pool of water had gathered. Her fingers dipped in and spread it out over his back, making his skin slick and supple.

  His lips lazily moved down her throat and over the material to capture one erect nipple. His tongue lapped at it, making the fabric wet. He blew cold air on it, which contrasted with the heat. Her body arched up towards him, and the shift seemed to imprison her. Her hands tore at it until he lifted it over her and her body was revealed to him.

  Thyre had thought that after their earlier encounters she must know everything about pleasure, but she realised that she had not even begun to dream.

  Ivar’s hands skimmed her body, barely touching but following the contours of her curves. Her body buckled, anticipating his next move, but he caught her foot and slowly pushed off her boot. He held the foot in his hand and with his knuckle traced her instep. Then he took each toe in turn into his mouth and suckled.

  Her entire being quivered and the burgeoning heat within her demanded more. She wanted all of him, right here, right now. She reached up with her arms and drew him towards her. Little noises came from her throat. He appeared to understand. His masculine sigh of pleasure echoed out over the darkening lake.

  He wedged open her thi
ghs and settled between them, his arousal pushing at her innermost core. She wrapped her legs about him and pulled him in, and felt her body give way and welcome him. This was about more than the meeting of bodies; this was a melding, a true joining.

  Together they rocked as the water lapped on the shore and the sun beat down on them.

  Ivar eased his body from Thyre’s. Their joining had been every bit as passionate as in his dreams of the last few nights. How he was going to be able to be away from her, he did not know, but it had to be done. There was no one else that he would trust to lead the felag to Ranrike. And when he had finished, the Ranrike would understand the folly of menacing Viken shipping and the necessity of providing hospitality according to custom.

  ‘Time to go back to Kaupang. There is just time for a wash.’ He pressed a kiss to Thyre’s temple. ‘The sun will be up soon. We have spent the entire night here.’

  Her eyes opened, pools of blue mirroring the blueness of the lake. She stretched, thrusting her breasts up towards his chest. ‘I can think of worse places. You, me and the fresh air.’

  ‘But we need to go.’

  ‘To your house? The bed is piled high with fur. I wonder—is it better to sleep out under the stars or to be enveloped in luxury?’ Her eyes held a wicked glint, beckoning to him.

  ‘No.’ Ivar forced his body to ignore the blatant invitation and reached for his trousers. The responsibilities of the felag beckoned. A week ago it had seemed the perfect solution—marry and then leave. He would demonstrate that he was not to be manipulated. But now, after last night, he knew how hard it would be to leave Thyre. She would be safe and well cared for. Both Thorkell and Asa had given their word.

  ‘Where, then?’ Her eyes shone with passion’s promise. Ivar felt his body respond. Despite what they had shared, he wanted her again, under him, and above him.

  ‘You will return to court. The felag sails later this morning for Ranrike.’

  ‘Felag? Why did no one tell me? I have been so worried. All Thorkell did was to pat my hand and change the subject.’ Her brow knitted. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, the sleepy passion vanishing to be replaced by something hard and speculative. Ivar winced. ‘Who is in the felag?’