She cringed as Inga wrenched away from her, tears falling the length of her chiseled cheeks as she declared, “Aye, I well know the sister I love and the queen I respect, more than anything. I do not know the brazen whore who would take two men to her bed.”
Her eyes flew wide as her sister met these words with a loud, rough chortle, throwing her head back as she guffawed outright.
“Well I ask ye, my sister, are ye are a virgin, as sure as ye are a maiden?” she asked, adding as she held up a firm finger for emphasis, “Before ye answer, please do remember—although ye claim not to know me, I most definitely do know ye.”
Inga snorted.
“At least I share my bed with only one man in an eve,” she snarled, adding as she pointed an accusing finger in her sister’s direction, “And I most certainly would not sail across the world on a lone boat, in the company of two warriors.”
The queen shrugged.
“Tis my boat, tis my guardsmen, tis my clan,” she reminded her sister, adding as she wagged a scolding finger sharp in her sister’s direction, “Ye of all folk should not hold your queen to different standards than ye would hold a king. We both well know of many a jarl who keeps more than one mistress, as well as a wife.” She paused here, adding as she lifted her strong chin to sharp, proud effect, “At least I plan to make honest men of both of my warrior lovers.”
Inga shook her head.
“Honest men?” she spat out, adding as she fixed her hands on what Astrid considered annoyingly slender hips, “Ye have ruined and besoiled both these fine young men.”
Astrid’s eyes flew wide.
“I assure ye, dear Inga, they were hardly virgins when I laid my hands on them,” she assured her, adding as she arched a caustic eyebrow, “And nay, I did not force myself on either.”
Inga sighed.
“Ye well know what I mean,” she insisted, adding as she gestured broadly in the direction of the men who still watched her like a hawk from their corner of the hall, “Now that ye have taken these men as your personal love toys, I am sure that no decent woman will take either of them as a wedded husband.”
Astrid nodded.
“Aye, this could be true,” she admitted, adding with a bright smile, “Tis a good thing then, I suppose, that I myself intend to take them as my dearly wedded husbands.”
It was Inga’s eyes that now flew wide; and as she sat down hard on the nearest bench and grabbed the nearest convenient ale horn, they flew wider still.
Astrid watched with some amusement as her stunned sister guzzled down a full horn of ale in one full swallow; besting the thirstiest men—and indeed the queen—who generally drank at this table.
Finally, Inga rose from the table, letting loose with a most indelicate burp as she gasped out, “Of what in the hell do ye speak, Astrid?”
Astrid chuckled.
“I speak, dearest Inga, of my upcoming hand fasting ceremony,” she told her, adding with a smile in the direction of her betrothed, “One that will pledge and bind me forever to both Magnus and Eirik.”
Inga stared at her for a long, silent moment; shaking her head from side to side as she considered these words.
“Shameful,” she said finally, adding as she waved a dismissive hand sharp in her sister’s direction, “Ye bring shame and scandal on to our clan, Astrid. The Norse god Odin is sure to condemn ye for your disrespect.”
Astrid shook her head.
“The love that I share with these two blessed men is pure and sacred, the deepest I ever have felt. They not only worship me as a queen, they love me as a woman—and, I am refreshed to learn, as an equal,” she insisted, adding as she lowered her voice to a soft, maternal tone, “I also love ye, my dear little sister. And I plead now for your understanding and blessings. I ask, above all, for you to stand at my side on the morn of my hand fasting, to serve as my attendant.”
She cringed as her sister met her words with a sharp, rude chortle.
“Never!” she cried, adding as she turned away, “I wish no part of your devil’s errand. And as far as I concern myself, ye are no longer my sister.”
Astrid said nothing, only froze in her place and watched with wide eyes as her sister left the building; throwing a last condemning look in her direction as she cleared its arched threshold.
As a queen and warrior of the Viking people, Astrid never allowed herself the luxury of weeping. She considered this expression a sign of weakness, an expression that she could not afford to display before the people who followed and needed her.
In this rare instance, however, she allowed herself to let loose with a single sharp sob; an unbidden sound that brought her concerned future husbands immediately to her side—throwing their warm muscled arms around her and pulling her closer than close.
4
One moon later Astrid found herself in a far better humor; standing as she was before a tall crystalline mirror at the back of her royal feasting hall.
This day marked the sacred hand fasting of Queen Astrid the Good and her warrior guardsmen, Magnus and Eirik. And for the occasion the queen commanded the creation of a stunning bridal gown; one culled from the silks, ruby and lace she had accrued during the course of her recent journey.
She beamed in approval at the sight of the resulting work: a swaying, shimmering flow of scarlet red fabric emblazoned with the image of a swan across the skirt, and trimmed with lace at the cuffs and high collar.
Although she allowed the lengths of her chestnut hair to fall free and unbound for the day’s festivities, Astrid still wore the tall golden helmet that symbolized her role as Viking queen. And she clutched in her hands a fragrant bouquet of pearl pink Queen Roses—luminous flowers handpicked and named in her honor by her adoring future husbands.
Lost in the reverie of the happiness she felt on this, one of the most blissful days in the earthly lives of her and her beloveds, she barely noticed when the door opened behind her. And when she saw the angelic vision that now filled her doorway, she gasped outright.
Adorned in a long, silk mint green gown that flattered her fall of golden blonde hair and fair, carved features, Princess Inga the Radiant more than lived up to her moniker. Yet in the eyes of her adoring sister, nothing shone brighter than the sight of a smile she hadn’t seen in many a moon.
“Sister!” Inga choked out, racing forward to clasp her relation in a fond maternal embrace. “Do forgive me, I beg ye. Do allow me to stand beside ye on this, the day of your hand fast.”
Shutting her eyes tight, Astrid choked back some unbidden tears as she clutched her sister to her.
“Thank ye, Inga, so very much,” she told her, adding as she drew back to pin her sister with a warm, meaningful look, “I know all too well the oddity and novelty of this, my marriage of three. Yet I rejoice that you are able to accept….”
“Nay, my sister,” Inga interrupted her, stilling her words with a delicate hand. “I never was truly repulsed by your life, but only envious.” She paused here, adding on a long sigh, “As we grew together, my dear, I always did accept our roles in this existence. Ye were strong and bright of mind, while I was merely beautiful. I stood back and watched as ye were crowned queen, and as ye continued to rule our land, a woman of power and acclaim that I could never be. And then I saw ye take as a lover the man I wished to claim as my own.”
Astrid froze.
“What are ye sayin’, Inga?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Inga sighed.
“I’ve fancied Eirik,” she confessed, bowing her head at this shameful admission. “I’ve coveted him since we were teens. I thought that with his golden hair and bright eyes, he would make an ideal mate for me.”
Astrid chuckled.
“Tis all right, dear sister,” she assured her, patting Inga’s shoulder with great understanding. “Eirik and Magnus are beautiful men that any maiden would covet. And while I am sorry to hurt your dear heart, I do have good tidings for ye. Eirik, it turns out, has a handsome younger cousi
n who remains unwed. And he has taken leave of his clan in Denmark to join us for today’s ceremony.”
Inga smiled. And wide.
“Aye!” she exclaimed, clasping hands with her sister. “Tis a blessed day, in more ways than one.”
These words echoed in Astrid’s mind moments later, as she and her sister stepped into the emerald-hued grasses of rolling meadows; vast Swedish green spaces lined and dotted with exotic growths of pearl pink roses, lavender violets and pure ivory daffodils.
Yet in her eyes the most radiant florals took the form of the climbing vine of Queen Roses that mirrored the buds of her ethereal bouquet; entwining through the pure ivory arches of the pristine trellis that stood in the dew-glistened grasses of a nearby bank bordering a crystalline pond.
Standing in the shadow of this radiant, floral-adorned structure were the men of her heart; themselves adorned this day in chain mail shirts of pure, rich gold, shining helmets that matched this glorious hue, and tight black leather pantaloons.
Handing her bouquet to a beaming Inga and stepping forward beneath the trellis to meet her lovers in full, the queen stood between her two most loyal subjects as nearly 90 others stood in witness.
The grooms immediately offered her some symbols of livelihood and honor, as was dictated by the ritual of the hand fasting. With beaming pride, they handed her the gold hilted swords they had brought with them to the altar; their beams widening as she presented them in turn with gold cast, ruby encased crowns that served, not only as symbols of her own station in life, but of their new status in her kingdom as well. A single tear creased each of their cheeks as she named them the kings of their land.
Then the brothers exchanged a glittering set of red diamond rings with their queen—thus commencing the ritual of the hand fast.
“Magnus and Eirik,” she declared loud and proudly, “On this day we perform the timeless rite of the handiest, which means to strike a bargain by joining hands. And at this hour, my lovers and friends, the bargain that we strike will bind us for eternity, as wife and husband…and husband,” she finished awkward, adding with a warm beam, “I love ye both, so very much, and am proud to claim ye as my kings and wedded mates.”
Pressing her hands to their full, moist lips for the echo of a sweetest kiss, Magnus and Eirik stared deep into her eyes as Magnus declared, “To this day, milady, our lives with you have been nothing short of a blissful adventure. On this day, my queen, we embark on the greatest adventure of all. On this day, you do us the honor of becoming our wife.”
“We love ye, Astrid,” Eirik offered, joining his brother in bowing deep and low before their queen. “Forever and eternal.”
After clutching her hands and kissing her lips as the crowd roared forth in approval, they bound their wrists briefly with a scarlet satin band; then watched as Inga retrieved a honey cake from a nearby feasting table and brought it forth beneath the trellis.
“Did she bake the cake?” Eirik whispered to Astrid, tone taut and nervous as he grinned through gritted teeth.
“Nay, my love,” Astrid reassured her husbands, chuckling in spite of herself as they sighed relieved.
Soon the bride and her grooms each sampled a bite of the sweet, symbolic cake, with Astrid hand feeding two choice morsels to her beaming, abiding mates. Then she herself received a token morning gift from the hands of her adoring men: a sparkling necklace of gold-linked scarlet rubies that they secured around her neck.
“We are as one,” they whispered together, clutching their hands as the crowd around them roared with approval of a union sealed.
5
An hour later the newly wed trio stood alone at the heart of the meadow; all three staring in pure, wide eyed wonder at the nature made mecca of rainbow hued floral and sparkling, crystalline waters that played such a significant role in their lives.
“This is the place we first made love,” Astrid reminded her grooms, holding her arms open to them as they raced to stand at her side, “This is the place where we sealed that love. And this, my darlings, is the place that we will celebrate that same love.”
She sighed contented as her handsome husbands wrapped their arms around her body, showering her cheeks and neck with adoring kisses as they rubbed and massaged her back and stomach and pressed their hard, muscular bodies against her silk clad sides.
She shut her eyes tight as they held and clutched her to them, stroking her hair, kissing her face and rubbing every inch of her body.
These same eyes flew wide moments later, as with a hearty growl her flame haired husband swept her from her feet; carrying her to the grassy knoll that bordered their favorite pond. Setting her body down slow and tender in the dew glistened grasses beneath them, he covered her body with his as their lips met and meld in a strong, binding kiss.
Sweeping her up in two strong muscled arms, Magnus held her closer than close as he stripped her dress nice and slow off her shoulders; his hands following the path of his sumptuous mouth as he kissed and suckled her heaving breasts and planed stomach—at the same time tossing the dress behind him to his waiting brother, who rose to his feet and lay it on the bench that adjoined the nearby feasting table.
Then, standing tall and proud to his impressive height, her fair haired husband pulled his gold chain mail over his head in a smooth, deliberate manner—revealing in full the massive bronzed chest and flawless abdominals she so adored and flexing both for her sublime pleasure.
Sensing her arousal, Magnus applied his touch to his wife’s sensitive arousal points; rubbing and kneading her nipples with one hand until they were hard and erect, while dipping his free hand between her legs to tease open her feminine folds.
As she let loose with an ecstatic moan, Astrid’s eyes rolled heavenward as each of her senses was ignited. She basked in the vision of a teasing Eirik as he swayed to and fro in a seductive motion, all the while gyrating his hard, trim hips and baring his massive, muscular body for her pleasure. And she basked in the sublime feeling of touch and sensation, as an attentive Magnus kneaded her clit as he buried his head in her chest—licking her nipples as his agile fingers continued to work her fevered nub.
She gasped outright as his hand shifted downward to slip inside the confines of her soaking wet pussy—touching and rubbing a sensitive spot as spasms of hard, exquisite pleasure spiraled upward throughout her entire body.
“On this, my love, the day of our hand fasting,” Magnus whispered in her ear, “We seek to show you the ultimate pleasure—to show you the way that a wife will be loved.”
He accented these words by rubbing and stroking the inner wall of her feminine garden. And while his brother flexed his pectorals and danced naked for the pleasure of their wife, gyrating wild from head to toe as he flaunted his long, erect shaft before her, Magnus continued to kiss and lick her breasts and neck--and to stroke that special place deep inside her core.
Just then, he hit the spot.
The queen screamed outright as her entire body erupted in a firestorm of indescribable pleasure; a feeling so intense that she trembled and quaked as her pussy gushed forth with its sweetest juices.
“By Valhalla,” she cried out, collapsing in the arms of a waiting Eirik as he knelt on the grass beside her.
“This, my love, is the brand of pleasure that we can offer you every single night,” he cooed, falling with her into the cushion of dew glistened grass as his massive, muscular body covered hers.
Her breasts crushed against his chest as he cradled her trembling body, seizing her lips in a tender kiss as he rubbed and massaged her quaking shoulders.
Finally, she relaxed in the cocoon of his arms, the remaining spasms of her special climax finally subsiding as she wrapped her arms around the shoulders of her fair-haired husband.
Their thighs and hips locked between them as her still hard nipples grazed his hard bronzed chest.
Enclosing her in the folds of a tight, warm embrace, Eirik whipped the whisper soft lengths of his long golden hair across her b
uxom chest as he continued to kiss her senseless. Their tongues entangled and their mouths joined as she ran two loving hands down the length of his planed, firm back.
Although both thrilled and satiated by the heat of her exquisite pleasuring, the passionate queen still hungered for more. And as she and her golden haired lover rolled free in the grasses beneath them, she wrapped her long legs around his trim waist and opened herself to him; writhing wild in his strong embrace as he pulled her closer to him.
As Eirik’s warm, sweet lips rubbed and massaged hers, his long, hard shaft rose to tease her tender feminine cleft; finally plunging inward to fill her to the core as his perfect abs flexed wild against her stomach.
Spreading her thighs wide and slapping his hard behind to deepen and enhance his penetration, Astrid stroked her lover’s golden hair as they came to lay still and sweet in the softness of the meadow—facing each other as she felt the presence of another man at her back.
She sighed contented as a now naked Magnus ran his hands down her back—tickling and kneading her sensitive spine as his massive body writhed against hers.
Ensnared content in the cocoon of her two eternal mates, she shut her eyes and once again pictured them at the table of Valhalla. And as an impassioned Eirik surged forth clear to her core, and Magnus continued to touch her body soft and gentle with his own, she saw in her mind’s eye that their life forces merged into a constant, radiant whole. She now knew beyond a doubt that her beloved Freya, the Norse goddess of both love and war, blessed and graced their union.
And she knew that by the grace of her union with these two magnificent men, her heart would always be full.
A LADY AND HER LORDS (VICTORIAN THREESOME)
ENSLAVED BY SHIFTERS Page 64