by James, Elle
Konrad’s lips thinned, and he straightened without shifting his gaze from hers. “I accept your bargain,” he said, his voice cold. “The ceremony commences within the hour.” Then he turned and marched away without another word.
His second in command followed, a grin stretched across his wretched Viking face.
“Oh, Brigid.” Caitlinn grasped her hands in her. “You did not have to take my place as his bride. I would have married him to spare our people.”
“I am leader of Clan O’Ceallachain.” Her words weren’t spoken as firmly as she would have liked, but she could barely catch her breath. “It is my responsibility to protect my people. I must prepare for my wedding.”
But first, she had to dig up the herbs from beneath the fairy tree. While she was there, it wouldn’t hurt to tie another ribbon around a branch and pray.
*
Less than an hour later, he strode through the streets, washed and stripped clean of his old life and ready to begin his new one. He only hoped his comely bride wouldn’t end it before it began by slipping a knife into his throat as he slept. Somehow, he had to convince her their union would be one of mutual benefit and pleasure.
His cock swelled at the promise of the pleasure. Yes, indeed, he would have the most beautiful and strongest woman as his bride, and thus rule this land with the blessing of the people.
From experience, Konrad knew nothing was ever quite that simple. Based on his sore jaw from where Brigid had slapped him, he concluded their union would not be boring. With a grin, he met Brigid in the village commons where a large gathering of people awaited the wedding ceremony.
Dressed in a deep green gown, her raven-black hair hanging long to her waist and a wreath of flowers crowning her head, Brigid stood in the middle of a group of women who brushed her hair and plucked at imaginary flecks of dirt.
The hand fasting ceremony happened so quickly, Konrad barely recalled the words of the priest conducting it. All he knew was that once it was done they would convene in the great hall for the feast, and before the sun set, he and his bride would consummate their marriage.
Would the day never end? His men sat at the head table laughing, drinking, and toasting Konrad and his bride.
Brigid sat beside him, her head held high. She drank not a drop, nor did she eat. She stared straight ahead, her eyes narrowing when one of Konrad’s men became too amorous with the serving women.
After many toasts and much food had been consumed, Konrad turned to his new wife. “Brigid, it is time.”
She nodded, her face stripped of emotion. Her tight features and pale skin forewarned Konrad that a huge task lay ahead to woo the beautiful Brigid over to his camp. But he was confident that all he needed was to be alone with her for the night to lay siege on her heart. He’d be gentle. He’d give her pleasure. They would talk, because he knew women needed reassurance. By morning, she would understand they both wanted the same things, and that their union made sense. With so few males to protect them, she would come to realize Konrad and his men were needed, not only for their swords, but to share the workload of providing for the clan.
As he helped her to her feet, his confidence grew. By morning, they’d be truly wed. Man and wife. She’d gladly hand over the reins to one stronger than she was. The rewards, she’d see, would far outweigh any loss of pride.
Caitlinn and three other women led Brigid out of the great hall and into the master’s chamber where they stripped her of her clothing and helped her into the bed.
She allowed them to do this, but asked that they bring in food and drink for she expected her new husband would be hungry and thirsty during the night.
The women giggled and hurried away to her bidding.
Caitlinn stayed. “If you are unhappy with your husband,” she whispered, “I will help you to escape.”
Brigid shook her head. “It is my path to secure our future.” She had her own way of dealing with a man who would use a woman like a mat and wipe his feet on her. Beneath the mattress lay the bag of herbs she’d unearthed from beneath the fairy tree. Once she and her new husband were left alone, she’d offer him a beverage laced with the sleeping herb. Then she would plot his demise and her liberation.
Thorsten and five other men gave the ladies a few minutes head start before they hefted Konrad onto their shoulders and carried him up the stairs to the master chamber.
“Do you need instruction on how to bed the lady?” Thorsten asked. “I would be happy to show you where to jab your sword.”
“Perhaps she would prefer one of us to demonstrate the act first.” Another man pumped his hips to more laughter.
Much teasing and jostling ensued before Konrad finally reached the master chamber. The men threw open the door and marched him in, dropped him on his feet and ripped the clothes off his body. Then they lifted him yet again, dumping him on the bed already occupied by Brigid.
She lay with the furs fully covering her body, only her creamy white shoulders visible.
When Konrad landed beside her, she scooted over as far as she could, but the bed wasn’t that wide, and he still lay against her. If she leaned over any farther, she’d drop off the bed.
Konrad turned to his men. “Enough! Now out with you so that I can claim my bride in peace.”
“Not until we bear witness that this wedding has been consummated,” Thorsten said with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“Out!” Konrad bellowed.
The man grumbled, backing out.
“If you have any difficulties…” Thorsten grinned from the doorway. “Just call out.”
Konrad lifted a candleholder and flung it.
Thorsten closed the door and it clattered to the wooden floor.
Alone at last, he turned on his side and studied Brigid.
She stared at him for a moment, and then rolled from beneath the furs and stood, naked in the light filtering through the shuttered window. Her pale body glowed, the curves soft and flowing, her breasts even fuller than he’d imagined when he’d touched them through her bodice.
While he ogled her fair form, she crossed the room to a small table set against the wall laden with food and a pitcher of mead. “You must be thirsty after the meal.” As though she poured drinks while parading naked often, she took her time pouring before facing him and giving him a full view of the prize for which he’d bargained.
From her long raven hair down to the tips of her narrow feet, she was a vision, goddess-like in appearance, full-figured with milky skin and pink nipples.
His cock grew as hard as his sword’s blade.
She approached him with the cup of mead, carefully holding it out to him with meek humility and care.
Konrad had not expected her to become so submissive so quickly. He’d fully expected to have to wrestle her into his bed, and he couldn’t deny his disappointment. He liked that she had a temper and a sharp tongue. He’d worried that settling down might dull his battle skills. With a fiery woman, his senses would remain alert.
“Here,” she said handing him the cup. “Drink to our union.”
“After you.” He refused to take the cup, giving preference to her, letting her know that he respected her and would treat her fairly.
She shook her head. “I do not want to dull my senses for what is to come.”
He liked that answer, considering the plans he had to ignite her senses. Taking the cup from her hands, he set it on the table beside the bed. “Lie with me, wife.”
Her eyes widened, and she reached for the cup again. “I will after you have refreshed yourself with a drink. I fear once we start, you will need the liquid to sustain you through the long night.”
“I will drink. Later.” Again, he took the cup from her and set it on the table, capturing her hand in the process. “Come, wife. To bed.” Then with a sharp tug, he landed her on top of him, her breasts pressed to his chest. “Right now, I wish to show my wife how pleasant marriage can be.”
With a fierce frown, she struggled to free
her hands. “How can marriage be pleasant if you have to force me to it?”
Relieved there was still some fight in her, he suppressed a grin. “A wife should allow her husband the chance to prove his prowess.” He rolled her to his side and released her hands. “You are free to go,” he said. When she’d scooted toward the edge of the bed, he added, “But our bargain rests on you being my wife. If our marriage is unconsummated, the contract is broken, and I will choose a more willing woman.”
Brigid froze. The damn man wouldn’t drink his mead, and now he threatened to break their contract. Her sister’s beautiful face and the faces of the other women in her clan flashed before her. She couldn’t let them down.
That he was large and well-proportioned, his ruggedly built body attractive in ways she’d never concede to anyone out loud, certainly aided her decision.
Slowly, she lay back against the fur and closed her eyes, shutting out the tempting sight. “Do with my body what you will,” she said, keeping her tone even, and hoping he took her words as disinterest. It would never do for him to realize the sight of him caused her breath to hitch. “My body is but a vessel. You will not win my heart or soul.”
For a long moment, nothing stirred on the bed. Then Konrad slid next to her.
So tense was she, that the first touch made her flinch. Then the heat from his large body warmed her chilled skin.
“Is that a challenge, wife?” he whispered.
His sweet breath stirred the hair around her ear. She shivered, her body reacting strangely at his nearness—softening, warming. With a jolt, she realized she liked the feel of his solid body against hers. “Not a challenge,” she said grumpily. “The truth.”
“Challenge accepted.” His lips captured the lobe of her ear and pulled softly.
Until that moment, Brigid had never realized how sensitive her ears were. She steeled herself against the pleasure, reminding herself he was only readying for an assault.
But when it came, she was unprepared.
His lips brushed across her eyelids as soft as thistledown.
Her belly tightened and her nipples ached. What was wrong with her? How could this brute arouse her?
Weathered fingertips glided across her cheekbone and down the length of her neck, scraping ever so lightly. When he pressed his lips to hers, he demanded nothing, his tongue leisurely tracing the seam.
Her lips tingled so much she gasped, parting her teeth.
His tongue slipped between and caressed hers.
Curling as if of its own reflex, her tongue dueled with his, thrusting when he thrust and swirling in a desperate battle of wills, taking her mind off where his fingers went until they flicked the tip of a hard nipple. He trapped the nipple between thumb and forefinger, and a moan escaped her lips on a soft puff of air. Deep in her center, blood stirred, flowing thick and hot, spreading fire to every inch of her body.
Where he was tweaking her nipple, she could picture him taking it into his mouth and suckling until she cried out. Instead, his fingers only toyed with the tip until she thought she might scream. “Get on with the bedding,” she whispered harshly, frustrated and needy like she’d never been before.
“These things take patience,” he murmured.
“Patience be damned.” She shoved his hand from her nipple and cupped her breast, squeezing it tight enough to hurt a little, hoping that little bit of pain would bring her back from the insane edge upon which she teetered so precariously.
His hand massaged her breast and moved to the other.
Brigid’s breathing grew more rapid, and she twisted against the furs, the soft furry friction causing her to squirm.
Konrad’s hand slid lower, skimming across her belly, ever closer to the center of her desire, that warm, wet channel aching to be filled. Rough fingers wove into her mound, parting her to slide across her center strip, flicking it gently.
Brigid dug her feet into the fur and lifted her hips, crying out. When he flicked again, touching her nubbin, her world shattered into a million tiny points of light, each prickling across every inch of her skin. Her hips rocked, and she rode the sensation like waves crashing against the seashore.
At last, she fell back to earth, that place between her legs wet and ready to receive her husband. He slipped a finger inside her and swirled in her juices. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her throbbing ache. She wanted more. No, she needed more, or surely she would die.
She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him over her, parting her legs for him to settle between. The sooner they consummated their union, the sooner she could regain her composure and follow through with her plan.
“No,” he whispered, capturing her earlobe between his teeth and nibbling. “Not until you are ready.”
“Do it!” Her fingertips dug into his hips, urging him to take her.
He resisted, his buttocks tight in her hands. “Only if it is what you truly want it,” he said, his voice even.
Why was his not as ragged as hers? Didn’t he feel the same keen agony? “It is what I want,” she ground out, her mind chaotic with feverish longing.
A kiss brushed her cheek. “Beg me…and I will consider it.”
That hint of amusement only spiked her need. Past pride, past the stubborn need to control her world, Brigid cried, “Please. Take me.”
“Since you asked so sweetly…” Konrad pressed inward, his cock stretching her entrance. At the bump of his length against the thin barrier of her maidenhead, she winced, well beyond caring and willing to accept the pain to quench her thirst.
Konrad bent to kiss her swollen lips, his tongue pushing past her teeth as his cock breached her barrier and filled her. The sensation was astounding—full, oddly complete—and then she was rushing over the edge again, lights exploding behind her lids.
As he moved in and out of her, she rose to meet him, matching his rhythm until he came to a shuddering stop, his body rigid, his jaw taut as he shot his seed.
Brigid wrapped her legs around his waist and held him there, rejoicing in the newfound sensations so powerful they shook the very foundation of her world.
When at last he collapsed beside her, he pulled her into his arms and held her, his lips pressed to her temple, a hand cupping her breast.
Brigid felt she could die then and there, convinced she would never feel as incredible again. He’d confounded her, choosing a gentle, teasing seduction over force. Perhaps, she’d been hasty in her assessment of his other qualities.
She reminded herself this strong and worthy warrior was her husband, a man who could protect her people. And she could have him in her bed for the rest of her life, doing those things he’d done that night. A warm glow of happiness threatened to make her giddy with delight. One she found impossible to tamp down.
His whiskered face scraped against her cheek. “Making love with a Northman is not so bad after all, is it?”
She lay still in his arms, schooling her expression to boredom. “I could grow to tolerate it.”
He chuckled. “Tolerate?” Konrad squeezed her breast and flicked the tip of her nipple.
Her back arched automatically, pressing her flesh deeper into his palm. “I suppose I could learn to like it,” she admitted grudgingly. No sense in letting him grow too smug. “Given time.”
“Then you are in luck, for I plan to be here for a very long time.” He rolled to his side and reached for the cup on the table beside the bed. “You were thoughtful to provide a drink. I find myself quite thirsty after bedding my beautiful wife.”
She lay in the heat of his regard, satiated and drowsy.
When Konrad lifted the cup to his lips, memory crawled out from the fog of lust, and Brigid’s eyes widened. Without thought, she flung herself across him, knocking the cup from his hand. It flew across the room, spilling its contents across the wooden floor.
“If you were thirsty, all you had to do was tell me. I would have let you drink first.” He laughed softly and pulled her into his arms. “Ah well, I can drink o
f my wife and slake my earthly thirst in the morning.”
Lying across the Viking, Brigid found she liked lying on top of this warm mass of muscle and sinew. Perhaps being married to the beast wouldn’t be so bad. She could always poison him later if she grew bored or tired of him. But for now, she would partake of what the marriage bed offered and enjoy it. And take her time assessing his many attributes and usefulness before making any hasty decisions.
Brigid slid her hand across her husband’s chest and down his belly to his hardening cock. Ah yes. She could think of many uses for such a Viking.
The Oak and the Ale
Beatrix Ellroy
Aarhus, the coast of Jutland, 912 AD
I watched her get off the ship. She stumbled slightly but moved slowly and steadily once ashore. Slowly enough that Bersi gave her a shove. She turned on him with a snarl, and he raised his hand to hit her. But she raised her own, a nasty little glint in one hand and said something.
As he went very still, I smiled and limped over, cursing the gnarled oak beneath my arm even as it held me up. “Bersi, I thought you’d have known to take knives off your captures.”
“No capture, One-Leg,” the woman answered. “I’m no thrall. My father gave me over for trade routes. I was guaranteed good treatment.”
Bersi snarled back at her. “You stabbed one of my men.”
“He made to treat me ill. I thought you’d be used to women defending themselves.” She looked over at the shieldmaidens coming off the ship, and a few of them grinned at her. “I’m a valued guest, and I’ll thank you for treating me as such.”
“She has a point, Bersi,” I said over his sputtering. “Come, woman, I’ll take you to the Jarl.”
She gave a regal nod and walked beside me, leaving Bersi to continue unloading his ship. A grievous breach of courtesy, but no more so than his. Within two strides, she’d outpaced me, and within five, she realized it and slowed.
As it was, the Jarl didn’t seem surprised at Bersi’s poor treatment, but offered her no apology. Once he heard she had knowledge of weaving and ale-making, he frowned mightily. “We’ve no huts for you, Aridhe, daughter of Eagher. Would you stay in the great hall?”