A Warrior's Heart

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She frowned. “A kiss is the only thing I can offer, Magnus.”

  His brain reasoned it was a mistake, but his body overruled his reasoning. A kiss was better than nothing. He took hold of her shoulders. “Just a kiss then,” he rasped.

  Her lips parted slightly. He bent his head to brush his mouth over hers.

  It was as if Thor had struck him with a thunderbolt. Her sweet taste, her female scent, the little whimper that rose from her throat: all combined to send his senses reeling. His shaft hardened pleasurably, forcing a growl from deep within his chest.

  He nibbled her bottom lip, then coaxed with his tongue, venturing into her mouth when she opened for him. Tongues mated, warm saliva mingled. He tightened his grip on her shoulders like a man clinging to the edge of a precipice, his life dependent on keeping her body away from his.

  It was for naught when she whispered his name and melted into him. He moved his hands to her bottom and cupped her to his arousal. “I want you,” he breathed into her mouth as her breasts molded to his chest and desire spiraled up his spine.

  She pressed her lips to his and delved her tongue into his mouth, tangling her fingers in his hair. Lightning struck when her fingertips touched his scalp.

  It was an experience like none he’d had before. He’d liked Ida and enjoyed making love to her, but his body and his heart were ablaze with need of Judith. She drew him like the moon draws the tides.

  She pulled back a little and rubbed her nose along his, moving her hips against him.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I swear to you, Judith, I will do everything in my power to seek an end to your marriage. How can it be valid? Did you utter the vows?”

  She frowned. “It was confusing. The mud seemed to be sucking me down. My brother arrived in the middle of the ceremony.”

  He swore if he ever had the chance, he would ensure his fist made contact with Arnulf’s arrogant nose. “Making his escape from Montreuil.”

  She averted her gaze. “I was distraught, and I thought he had come to rescue me. I believed he wasn’t aware of the kind of man he’d betrothed me to.”

  His heart bled for the pain she had suffered because of her brother’s callous disregard. “But he left you there.”

  The heat emanating from her body moments ago fled. She turned to ice in his arms. “He said I’d have to remain behind because I had no horse.”

  By Odin this man will pay.

  “As I watched him ride away I realized the priest had carried on with the rite. I babbled something, then Theodoric and I were suddenly pronounced man and wife.”

  “Did he say any vows? Were there witnesses?”

  She lay her head against his chest. “Only Beatrice. I don’t recall if he said anything,” she said, her voice full of despair.

  He stroked her back, his heart filled with a desire to soothe and comfort her. He still longed to join their bodies, but other matters had to be settled first. “Judith, you must tell me one more thing, and I regret asking this, but—”

  She pecked a sweet kiss on his lips. “No. The marriage was never consummated.”

  Freyr had provided a weapon. Like a warrior with a newly forged sword he knew in his gut the battle could be won. His heart hoped it was true. The only thing his needy shaft heard was that she was still a virgin.

  ~*~*~

  It was incomprehensible to Judith she was discussing matters pertaining to the bedchamber with a man she barely knew. Yet she did know him. He was in her blood, and incredibly she trusted Magnus more than she’d ever trusted anyone.

  The brush of his lips, the intimacy of tasting his tongue, the scent of his healthy male sweat, the press of his manhood against her mons: all had turned her into a lustful wanton—she who had never known the slightest tingle of interest in a man.

  Was this God’s plan? Or was she spitting in God’s face?

  Feeling a sudden chill, she nestled into him. “I don’t understand what can be done with regard to my marriage.”

  “I have a feeling my mother is ahead of us in this,” he said. “It’s the reason Theodoric and his friend were summoned to Rouen. The previous archbishop was my mother’s uncle.”

  “There’s a lot to learn about you,” she admitted with a gasp. “I thought Normans were barbarians.”

  He laughed. “That’s what went through your mind when we met. Truth is, it’s what my mother feared when she first set eyes on my father. She is devout, and much as I would enjoy taking you as my concubine and making love to you every chance I get, she will never permit it.”

  “Your father mentioned the idea of becoming a concubine,” she told him, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks, “but—”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “It’s not what you want, or deserve. But if anyone can push the Archbishop to annul your marriage, it’s my mother.”

  She stifled the strange urge to suck his finger into her mouth. “But what of your daughters? How will they feel?”

  He sighed, resting his chin atop her head. “I am a man, Judith. I need a woman. You are that woman. My girls will come to accept you.”

  But will they like me?

  MEMENTOS

  Magnus recognized there was scant chance of ever marrying the woman he loved without the support of his parents. After a soak in the tub and change of clothes, he sought them out in the gallery. This addition to the fortress had been under construction when he’d left and he was anxious to see it.

  Bryk Kriger rose from his chair when Magnus entered. “Come in, come in. What do you think?”

  Magnus let his gaze wander around the new space. “Cozier than the hall.”

  “Exactly,” his father replied, beaming with pride. “It’s good for large gatherings and meals, but this is more comfortable for just family.”

  “And because it overlooks the Great Hall, in winter we’ll benefit from the warm air rising,” his mother added from her seat by the empty hearth. “But it’s cool now in summer.”

  Magnus held open the drapery and looked down at servants preparing the tables for the evening meal. No one glanced up. He fingered the fabric. “This should be heavy enough to ensure anyone down there doesn’t overhear our conversation up here.”

  His mother patted the new chair next to hers. “There’s a comfortable place for everyone. Even the girls,” she said, nodding towards two smaller chairs. “I’ve set one for you and Dag and the others are for Katarina, Torstein and Sonja. The joiners are making more for your brothers when they return from Montreuil.”

  Irritation prickled Magnus’s nape. His mother hadn’t mentioned Judith. Evidently, no provision had been made for her, but an idea took hold in the back of his mind. “I have a request,” he said, tapping his finger against his chin.

  His mother looked at him curiously. “You’ve a strange look in your eye. Will I approve of this request?”

  He pecked a kiss on the top of her head. “Judith’s belongings haven’t arrived yet.”

  His mother bristled. “Surely she didn’t bring much?”

  Resolved not to raise her ire, he carried on as if she hadn’t spoken. “A few chests, clothing I would guess, but she has brought one thing that means a lot to her.”

  His father took a sip of his apple brandy. “Do you recall, Cathryn, when you and I first met and I showed you the little treasures I had brought with me from Norway?”

  Magnus groaned inwardly. Much as he enjoyed hearing about the tiny flute, the comb and the mirror, and always chuckled at mention of the miniature silver ear cleaner, he didn’t want his father to repeat the tale at this moment.

  His mother came to the rescue. “Yes, yes, Bryk, but not now. What is it Judith has brought, Magnus?”

  His mother’s curiosity pleased him. “She never met her father; Baldwin of Flandres died before she was born. But the keepsake she has brought from Bruggen belonged to him.”

  His mother fidgeted impatiently. “What is it?”

  He arched his brows, savoring the moment. �
��A chair.”

  Utter silence reigned for several minutes as the conflict played out on his mother’s face.

  He waited, but it was his father who spoke first. “No choice now, Cathryn. You walked into the trap.”

  His mother pursed her lips. “And I suppose you want this chair brought up here? It must be ancient if it belonged to her father.”

  “It’s very old, and well worn.”

  Cathryn squirmed. “We built this space as a refuge for family.”

  As he’d hoped, she had handed him the opportunity he sought. He sat in the chair she’d indicated and took her hand. “I intend to make Judith a member of this family.”

  His father quietly put the tumbler on a nearby pedestal and bent forward to lean his forearms on his thighs. He looked directly at his wife.

  Cathryn Kriger stared at Magnus’s hand. “Your father and I suspected as much.”

  Magnus got to his feet. “Why do you fight it then? I love her.”

  “Any fool can see it,” his father said.

  “Bryk,” his mother admonished. “You know why I am resistant, Magnus. She seems like a wonderful woman, but she is married to another.”

  “Let me ask you this, then. Is it your doing that Judith’s so-called husband is now residing at the Archbishop’s house?”

  His parents exchanged a furtive glance. Bryk stood to face his son. “It was in reality Duke Vilhelm’s doing. He informed us of Judith and her marriage. He sensed you were growing fond of the woman. I believe he would like to see an alliance between you and Judith in order to foil her brother. One thing led to another and we decided to ask the Archbishop to look into the matter.”

  Magnus let out a long, slow breath and fell to his knees before his mother. “I would never do anything to hurt you, and while I might call upon Papa’s Norse gods once in a while, you have passed on to me your strong Christian faith.”

  His mother squeezed his hand. “Magnus, if her marriage can be declared null, I will give my consent most willingly.”

  He lifted his mother’s knuckles to his lips, his hopes higher than they’d ever been. “Thank you. I take it we can put the chair in here?”

  ~*~*~

  Two days later, Bendik and his men arrived with the horses and Judith’s wagon. She watched it roll into the courtyard, keenly aware of Magnus at her side. His hair was still damp from his morning ablutions, and he smelled of some sort of fragrant herb. Keeping her hands off him had been a trial. “I have mixed feelings,” she admitted in a whisper.

  He frowned. “I thought you would be happy.”

  She fidgeted with her soiled cuffs. “I do need more garments to wear and I look forward to enjoying the well-worn comfort of my father’s chair, but the journey has likely made it look more decrepit. What will your parents think of such a piece of furniture?”

  He leaned over to whisper in her ear, sending a shiver of delight up her thighs and into her most intimate place. “Don’t worry. They’ll think it charming you have kept it for the sake of your father’s memory.”

  She shrugged, hoping her blush wasn’t evident to his perceptive daughters. It had been easier to keep her longing hidden before he’d told her he loved her. “It’s not even a memory. He died before my birth.”

  She was optimistic about her relationship with Brynhild. The child treated her with respect and was outwardly friendly, though Judith suspected grief still lurked in the child’s heart. In her opinion, both daughters were intelligent enough to realize their father would one day marry again. For Brynhild such a possibility was probably a source of uncertainty, and the reason for her slight reticence.

  Aleksandra on the other hand seemed determined to pretend Judith didn’t exist. However, a chink manifested itself in the armor of the eldest daughter’s enmity as the wagon rolled into the courtyard and Aleksandra appeared. “I’m surprised she has come to watch,” she said softly.

  Magnus glanced at his daughter. “Curiosity has evidently got the better of her.”

  Judith hoped such was the case, but—“Or perhaps she has come to find fault.”

  Magnus supervised the unloading of the iron chests. One by one they were trundled into the fortress by servants. Beatrice was in the chamber to receive them, no doubt enjoying issuing commands to other servants.

  Only the chair remained. Judith recognized its shape under the canvas.

  As two servants lifted it off the cart, Brynhild asked, “What’s that?”

  Magnus winked at Judith. “It’s a chair,” he replied.

  “A chair,” Aleksandra blurted out, blushing fiercely when everyone turned to look at her. “I mean…why would a hostage bring a chair such a distance?”

  Judith’s heart fell, but perhaps if she explained. “The chair belonged to my father. It’s a memento of him.”

  “What’s a mento?” Brynhild asked.

  Magnus crouched before his youngest and replied before Aleksandra had a chance to. “A me-men-to is something to remember someone by. You and your sister have your mother’s beads, and when you’re older I’ll give you her rings.

  “But Judith’s father died before she was born. She knows he loved this chair. It’s a remembrance of him.”

  Both girls gaped, but it was Brynhild who nestled into Judith, her small hands clinging tightly to the skirts of her gown, and whispered, “I’m sorry you never met your Papa.”

  Judith stroked the girl’s hair, her heart bursting with love for this bright child who felt the pain of others. “Thank you, Brynhild. I miss him.”

  She risked a glance at Aleksandra, who stood like a statue, fists clenched at her sides, her face tight with misery. She hesitated, not sure whether to speak to the child.

  “I miss my mother,” Aleksandra suddenly shrieked, before rushing into the fortress.

  Magnus scratched his head. “I should go to her.”

  Judith put a hand on his arm. “It’s a good sign. Leave her for now. Let’s get my chair indoors. It looks like we’re in for a summer shower.”

  Magnus turned to the servants who had deposited the chair on the ground and were looking uncertain. “Off with the canvas,” he told them.

  They obeyed, revealing the chair’s worn out glory.

  “It’s old,” Brynhild exclaimed. “Can I sit in it?”

  At Judith’s nod, she scrambled into the chair and was borne into the fortress like a haughty queen upon her throne.

  ~*~*~

  On their way into the hall, the entourage bumped into Cathryn Kriger whose mouth fell open when she set eyes on the chair. Judith expected some remark about its condition, but then the comtesse laughed heartily at her granddaughter. She winked at Magnus, raising suspicions they shared a jest.

  Mayhap they plotted to do away with the chair. Magnus had been tight lipped concerning where it would be placed when she’d asked if it might be put in her chamber.

  To her surprise, Cathryn took her by the arm. “Come, Judith, I want to be the one to show you my chapel.”

  They walked into the courtyard and bent to enter a small arched door to the side of the main entryway. At the front of the cramped space stood an altar covered by a linen cloth. Atop it was a three-paneled altarpiece. A dozen padded kneelers were stored against one wall. The crushed red velvet indicated they’d been well used for years. Two kneelers had been placed in front of the altar.

  Cathryn knelt on one of them and beckoned Judith to take the other. She made the Sign of the Crucifix across her body and Judith followed suit as she gazed at the triptych.

  “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

  “You’ve probably guessed it’s made of hammered copper,” Cathryn Kriger replied. “My husband looted it from a church in Rouen when the Norsemen first came with Rollo.”

  Judith was certain her surprise was etched on her face. “Looted?”

  Cathryn smiled. “He is a Viking.”

  “But you kept it?”

  “I had no choice in the matter at first. I was Bryk’s captive.�
�

  “He captured you?”

  “I suppose, though he took me away from the abbey at Jumièges to protect me from a monk who attempted to violate me.”

  Judith blurted out her shock. “What?”

  “His name was Sprig and the mention of his name sickens me to this day,” Cathryn whispered. “But I have forgiven him as our Lord teaches.”

  There was much Judith had to learn about the Kriger family. These revelations whirled in her mind like the maelstrom Magnus had skillfully navigated. She wished he were present to guide her now. A glint of sunlight on the copper triptych caught her eye. She recognized the significance of the figures on the center panel. “It’s Saint Catherine of Alexandria,” she gasped.

  “Now you understand why we treasured it. I was left on the doorstep of the convent of Saint Catherine when I was a baby. The nuns raised me. The triptych was a sign.”

  Judith stared at the altarpiece, trying to fit this new information together, hoping desperately she too might receive some revelation of what the future held.

  “Do you love my son, Judith?”

  Taken aback by the unexpected question, she swiveled her head to see Cathryn’s gaze fixed on her. “I am married, my lady. It is a sin to love another who is not my husband.”

  “I am aware of the circumstances of your marriage, Judith and I will strive to have it annulled, if I can be sure you love Magnus.”

  “With all my heart,” she replied hoarsely, her hopes soaring that this woman might prove to be a strong ally.

  Cathryn came to her feet. “It’s settled then, though you still have Aleksandra to convince.”

  Judith stood, elated by the notion she may have won over Magnus’s mother. She wondered what he had divulged of their growing attraction. For some reason her eyes wandered to the altar cloth. “Does your granddaughter like to sew?”

  Cathryn looked at her curiously. “Yes, she does, but neither I nor Sonja have the patience to instruct her. We both detest sewing.”

  “Forgive me, my lady, but I notice your altar cloth is plain. With your permission, I can show her and Brynhild how to embroider a more decorative one. I love sewing.”