Mrs. Claus and the Viking Ship

by Laura Strickland

  “Do you not think a marriage negotiation should be made with me”—she wetted her lips—“in my father’s absence?”

  His eyes gleamed; that must be avarice she saw. Protest clawed at her belly. She could not go away with him, prey to his every touch. She could not possibly offer herself to this monster in the marriage bed.

  But neither could she abandon her people, when she might be their last hope.

  “What will you give me,” she asked him, “if I agree?”

  “No—” Mairi barked yet again. “Tinnie!”

  “Hush, Mother. Master Claus?” For the life of her, she could not recall his surname.

  He tipped his head at her. Once more his gaze traveled over her, invasive as a touch. “What do you ask?”

  “My people’s safety. Their freedom. An end to the attacks.”

  “You ask too much.”

  She lifted her chin. “I am worth much.”

  Her mother drew a scandalized breath, but Tinnie did not so much as glance at her. Her worth as a bride, it seemed, was the only commodity with which they might bargain. She must make the most of it.

  Something kindled in the monster’s cold, blue eyes. “Freedom I cannot give. You are conquered. I now own this land.”

  Simple as that, was it? No doubt he had a simple mind, containing only killing and lust. Her stomach clenched over that last word.

  Could she? Only look at the size of him. It might well kill her.

  “I,” he emphasized, “am your overlord.”

  “Aye, so”—she tossed her head—“then be an overlord, a beneficent one. Do you know what that means?”

  He straightened. “I know. I am not stupid.”

  “But you do not speak our tongue very well.”

  “Well enough.”

  “If I consent to go with you”—her heart felt ready to burst—“you must give your true vow you will leave the rest of my people in peace, take no more slaves, and leave families together. The attacks stop. You demand no other tribute from them.”

  “That is a hard bargain, a…” He sought for words. “A fierce one.”

  “’Tis the only one available to you.” Before he could speak she rushed on. “Och, I know you could raze everything to the ground; your kind are very good at ruin. But then what would you have?”

  “My kind?”

  “Killers, slaughterers, savages.” She enunciated the insults clearly. “Despicable monsters.” She thought the force of her hate might take him aback. Instead he took a step toward her, then another, rattling as he came. His ice-cold gaze still held hers as he reached out and captured her chin between large fingers. She expected the grasp to hurt; instead it was careful and almost gentle. He tipped her face to the firelight and gazed deep into her eyes.

  “And if I grant you all this, you will come of your free will and be my wife?”

  Utterly breathless now, she replied, “If you make me that promise in good faith, I will.”

  “Then, Chief’s Daughter Tinnie MacAieth, you have a bargain.”

  Chapter Three

  “Tinnie, you cannot! I will not allow you to sacrifice yourself this way.”

  The monster had gone, at least for the time being, and Tinnie was left facing her mother’s wrath and grief. They stood in Tinnie’s chamber, where she packed up her belongings, which allowed them a few precious moments alone. There would be little time for farewells. A Norse warrior stood even now outside the door, and others filled the hall. Tinnie’s future husband awaited her at his longship.

  Tinnie cast Mairi a despairing look. “What then, Mother? Will you sacrifice our people instead? See bairns ripped from their mothers’ arms? Watch women dragged away to face rape?”

  “Which is precisely what you go to face.” Mairi stepped closer to her daughter and seized her arm. Mairi choked on a drawn breath. “I saw the way he looks at you. I know what he wants.”

  Tinnie began to tremble. Suddenly her knees threatened to fail her. “I have my faith, Mother, and the love of my people. Both are strong.”

  “Strong enough?”

  “I hope so.” Tinnie wished she had time to go to the tiny stone kirk and pray over this terrible thing. The prayers in her heart would just have to suffice.

  “Daughter, you are tender and whole. You have never yet lain with any man.” Mairi wiped tears from Tinnie’s cheeks. “And you can expect no mercy from a man who has behaved as this one has.”

  “I shall pray for mercy also, and that I may come to terms with him.” Tinnie could not hope for anything approaching affection, but for acceptance, perhaps. Bravely, she added, “Someday there will be bairns. You know how I love babies.”

  “Please reconsider this thing.”

  “And stay here to watch what happens after? Witness the pain I might have prevented?” Tinnie shoved the last item—her prayer book—into her bundle and said, before her courage could fail, “I am ready.”

  ****

  And did she need to look so much as if she walked to the slaughter? Claus wondered inwardly as he watched his bride approach. She came with her mother at her side—the woman already wept openly—and a trail of clansfolk in her wake, mostly women, with a passel of children.

  The men at his back grumbled. They wanted prizes for themselves, wives and riches, and were not best pleased with this return on their hard fighting. Claus would have to pay them off handsomely, and that just raised the price on this tender maid. Yet he had wealth in plenty, back home. And he could not convince himself but that she was worth it.

  Even now, just looking at her, his blood sang in his veins. Claus rarely felt helpless, had no liking for the sensation, but indeed so he did feel, in Tinnie’s presence. The very prospect of her slender, white hands moving over his body stole every bit of sense from him.

  But first he would have to do something about the hate he saw in her eyes. Women could be won, even reluctant ones. He had seen it many times—by and large practical creatures, female slaves would settle with their new men, especially once the babes came.

  He would win her with kindness and gifts. There would be many sons.

  “Welcome,” he said, and reached out to take her hand. She hesitated before placing her fingers in his, but then he had possession of her.

  He had her, by Odin’s eye.

  She trembled and shrank from his touch.

  “Have you said your farewells?” he asked.

  She turned back and fell into her mother’s arms. A storm of weeping ensued. Nels, who stood beside Claus, rolled his eyes.

  Nels had already lectured Claus long and vociferously on the error he made. “Would you throw away two summers’ fighting on one woman? Women may be had anywhere.”

  “Not like this one.”

  “They are all much the same in the dark.”

  “She has beauty,” Claus said, precisely like a green lad.

  “But no love for you. You must be mad as a berserker to do this thing.”

  Perhaps so. But Claus reached out now and gently drew the woman away. “Time to go. We must not miss the tide.”

  She turned and stared at him with eyes that had never looked stormier, filled with tears. “Will I ever see my home again?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Will you keep your promises?” she pressed him. “You do so vow?”

  “I do so vow,” he assured her solemnly.

  She turned to the skiff. He extended his hand to assist her, but this time she avoided his touch and boarded on her own, head high, lips tight with pain.

  For an instant, doubt flooded Claus’ heart. Could he ever make such a woman accept him?

  That question reentered his mind many times: when they boarded the longship, when they drifted away from shore on a silver sea still as a scrap of mirror, when they were far out upon the bosom of the ocean and headed home.

  She would not so much as look at him, nor take a drink or morsel of food from his hand. She sat where he put her and did not look about to admire his fi
ne ship as might any right-thinking woman.

  Claus had seen heartbroken females hauled away from their homes before. Usually they wailed or fought. This one sat like a mere shadow of the woman he had first seen in her father’s hall.

  Perhaps he just needed to talk to her, lend some reassurance. He crouched down beside her, careful not to touch.

  “Are you warm enough? The wind from the water, it is not too cold. A fine day it is for sailing.”

  No response. She did not betray she heard him by so much as the flicker of an eyelash.

  “You will be curious about the place we are bound. I have a fine and wealthy holding on the north coast, called Jarlsgrell. A good, deep fjord there is that will accept my ships. Everything you could ever wish is there.”

  She did turn her gaze on him then, dark as a storm-tossed sea. “My mother?”

  “Eh?”

  She enunciated clearly as if she thought him simple, “Is my mother there?”

  “Nei.”

  “Then everything for which I could wish is not there. What can you possibly give to me?” And she dismissed him as if he did not exist.

  Ah then, Claus thought, this might be harder than he anticipated. For an instant frustration touched him, but he fought it back determinedly. Anger would benefit him not at all, and he was no child who could not wait for what he desired. He needed to win her. He wanted her affection.

  And the best of things, as his father had taught him, were always well worth the hardest fight.

  Chapter Four

  “The woman cannot be pleased. No matter what I do for her, she will not so much as smile at me.”

  Claus spoke the words bitterly while standing high upon the headland, surveying his kingdom. Nearly a fortnight had they been home at Jarlsgrell, and still he had not taken his new wife to his bed. Waiting, he had been, for her to give some sign she would accept him.

  Frustration—which once he had sworn to conquer—now rode him hard, and not just the physical kind.

  “I have given her everything of which I can think,” he exploded now into the ears of Nels, who stood beside him. Her own chamber. A beautiful, fur-lined cloak from Russia, a golden flagon from the far Mediterranean. All she wanted to do was pray. She prayed day and night, in fact, with that damned little book in her hands. So he had offered even to build her a little chapel on the headland. He had a crew busy at it now.

  “I did try and warn you,” Nels said regretfully. “I think you have bitten off more than you can chew this time.”

  Claus spread his hands. “Am I not a man to please any woman? Am I not strong and handsome? A good warrior? Do I not have an abundance of riches to bestow upon her? Have I not treated her kindly? Half the women along this coast wanted me.”

  Nels snorted. “You have treated her far too kindly, to my mind. Toss her on her back and have your way with her. That is what you need to do.”

  But she would never forgive him such a thing, and he wanted her favor.

  “You would have been far better with any of those good Norse women who eyed you,” Nels went on, “rather than this delicate southern flower.”

  But none of them was Tinnie, Claus’ heart protested.

  She could not even say they were not wed according to her faith. Claus had fetched an Irish priest to perform the sacred rite and cite the vows to which Tinnie had agreed in a clear, firm voice. True, the man had been a slave, captured during a raid by Claus’ nearest neighbor, but still it showed consideration on his part, did it not?

  What more could she ask?

  “Go to her and lay down your law,” Nels advised. “Either that or sell her and stop with torturing yourself.”

  ****

  Tinnie looked up when she heard a soft sound at the door of her chamber. Even before she raised her gaze, she knew what she would see. He came every night about this time when the dark descended on this wild, northern place, and inquired after her.

  She sighed and set herself for yet another encounter. She knew full well what he wanted. To tell the truth, she was amazed he had not just taken it by now, barbarian that he was.

  He entered her chamber and closed the leather curtain behind him. She knew what a gift it was, this privacy he afforded her away from the rest of his household and the rough warriors so often in residence. She never would have endured this past fortnight without such refuge.

  And her husband—she supposed she must grant him that title, since they had been joined by a priest of her faith—was not an ill-favored man. In all fairness she had to give him that. He came to her now with that fair hair of his all loose and flowing over his shoulders, wearing one of the soft, woolen tunics he chose when not bristling with armor and weapons. The sheer size of him invariably took Tinnie’s breath away. He had that great height, a pair of shoulders like a bull, and strong, broad hands. And he moved always with controlled power.

  “Missus,” he greeted her. Since their wedding he had taken to calling her that in his deep, heavily accented voice. “How does this evening find you?”

  “Well enough.” Her standard response. She added, because she must, “Will you come in?” In truth he could go anywhere he chose, ask anything he wished.

  He stepped farther in. Tinnie had lit two rush lights against the descending night, and they caught the glint of gold at his throat, visible along with an expanse of tanned skin at the open neck of his tunic.

  He moved softly for such a big man. “How have you passed your day?”

  What to say? That her day had been endless? That she had wept when she arose and longed without cease for home? That she had prayed long hours that acceptance might come into her heart?

  None of that did he want to hear. She said instead, “Tolerably well.”

  “Good. Good. Work goes well on your chapel. Mayhap tomorrow you will walk out with me and see.”

  “Aye.”

  His expression brightened, and he regarded her in that particular way he had, with careful desire. Fine eyes he had, so blue and clear. What would it be like if he did stay the night? Yet Tinnie could not forget what he was, or all he had done.

  Aye, and what had he done, after destroying her home, but turn around and keep the bargain they had made?

  “Missus, I meant to speak with you of something. Nearly a fortnight have we been here, and wed, yet you have not welcomed me as a wife welcomes her husband.”

  There, he had said it. The breath caught in Tinnie’s throat so fiercely it hurt, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Of course he grew impatient.

  She knew full well that women—especially the daughters of chiefs—went to marriage beds with men they neither knew nor loved. But those men were rarely savage barbarians.

  Yet this savage barbarian had kept his word in their agreement. Should she not then also keep hers?

  The very thought made her tingle all over. What would it be like to be held in his great arms? To hear that voice in her ears and be touched everywhere by those hands?

  She got to her feet. “Have you come this night to claim your rights?”

  He frowned and his clear, blue eyes clouded. “This I would like to do. But I have no wish to force you. I would have you accept me willingly.”

  Tinnie trembled where she stood, and the color burned bright in her face. “That is impossible for me.”

  She saw the disappointment come. Ah, and what did he expect? Did he think the gifts he had given or even this fine chamber could make up for her having lost her whole world?

  He nodded and began to turn away.

  Something in the set of his shoulders made Tinnie add, “But I am willing to do my duty. That is the bargain we made.”

  He froze where he stood, and she could almost see him thinking. He said, his eyes on her face, “The nights grow cold, Missus, and I would bring you comfort. I do not wish it to be your duty.”

  “Still, that is all I can offer you.” Yet she did offer.

  He nodded again and stood still while Tinnie’s entire fate hung in th
e balance. Then slowly—so slowly—he pulled the fine wool tunic over his head.

  Chapter Five

  Snow fell outside the window of Tinnie’s chamber, the first of the season. She lay in her bed within the warmth of her husband’s arms and watched the lazy, fat flakes spin down. One thing she had learned of her husband: he was very good at keeping her warm through the long, northern nights.

  Nearly a month had passed since that evening he had come to her chamber and won her leave to stay. He had returned almost every night since, and Tinnie had learned to accept him. An honest woman at heart, she had to admit it would be difficult not to accept such a man.

  Thinking on that now, she turned her gaze from the window to look at him. He slept still, the blue eyes that seemed to see so much safely closed. The rest of him she found fully pleasing to look upon.

  From that moment he had drawn his tunic over his head, Tinnie had stood in awe of him. True enough, she had observed the warriors of her father’s clan all her life, but none like this. Kissed by the sun of far climes, presumably garnered on his voyages, his skin was golden everywhere—nearly everywhere. The blond-white hair, even that of his beard and that on his chest, curled in interesting patterns. The gold chain he wore around his neck, the only thing he left on when he removed all else, bore a small, beautifully worked reindeer, and he had another such beast—this one tattooed—on his left shoulder, just above his heart.

  She had not asked about them then. She had been too overwhelmed—too frightened—to focus upon such things. For she saw also the weapon of his manhood, and understood what he meant to do with it.

  Yet he had been gentle with her, incredibly gentle, that night and each he had come to her since.

  And she endured.

  Nay, but that was not fair—she understood now the intimacies that passed between husband and wife and knew some brought a form of pleasure. She refused, however, to allow herself to indulge in that—much.

  As if her regard had the power to wake him, he stirred and the golden eyelashes fluttered. His eyes came open.

  Windows to the soul, someone had said. That was true of Claus. She had learned to read his emotions, the confidence when he looked at his warriors, pride when he looked upon this wealthy place he had built. Doubt and caution, most times, when he looked at her.