Vikings' Brides Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  He walks us out to the middle of the floor, where no one is dancing and whisks me away in a smooth spin before pulling me back into his arms.

  The smile on my face is large, and I’m sure everyone in the room can see it. “Why, who would have thought the big, tough Warlord knew how to do dance?”

  “There is a lot people do not know of me,” he says.

  He is the first man to ask me to dance tonight. And it only makes my decision that much easier. A man such as Einarr does not make himself vulnerable in front of people. This warrior, this beautiful man, cares for me so much, he is willing to show his vulnerable side instead of letting his scars speak for him.

  “What else do people not know about you?”

  “Hmm, perhaps I shouldn’t tell you,” he cheekily grins.

  “Do I need to earn it?” I lift my brow, hoping he sees the suggestion.

  That familiar deep rumble in his chest vibrates through mine. “You’ve already earned everything, just by being you. What is it you would like to know?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  He grunts as he spins me around again, and when I turn, I make eye contact with Father. Time seems to stand still. I expect to see anger and frustration, but instead, his brows are pinched, and he breaks eye contact as he looks away. He seems confused.

  Einarr spins me back around until my hands are on his shoulders again. “You know my parents died when I was just a wee boy.”

  My heart breaks for him.

  “I know, my love.” I kiss the side of his cheek. A few collective gasps and murmurs break through the music, but it does not stop me from being in the arms of the man I adore.

  “What I am about to tell you, I’ve never told anyone, not even Grim.”

  That captures my attention even more. He does not seem like the type to keep anything from Grim. “I’m listening. Whatever it is, I am with you.”

  “I want to look after Abram and Abigale,” he says, his eyes waiting for a reaction. “I recognize myself in them. Lost. Alone. Wanting love. Wanting to prove themselves, especially Abram. He is almost a man. He needs a man in his life. I understand if you do not want to take on that responsibility, but I pray you will, because I love you and life without you, well, just doesn’t make sense to me.”

  I blink away tears. I cannot believe this man is offering me the life I’ve always wanted. A life full of love and happiness. I adore Abigale and Abram. They are good children. And if it is meant to be, I hope to have Einarr’s children one day. I want to reply to him, but the sound of glass shattering interrupts me.

  “Take cover!” Lord Grimkael yells.

  The breath whooshes from my lungs when Einarr tackles me to the ground. His hand cradles my head, so I do not hurt myself, but my ribs ache from his weight.

  Suddenly, the room descends into chaos.

  An arrow is sticking out of Einarr’s shoulder.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Einarr

  Shite, I fucking hate arrows.

  “Einarr!” Thyra screams.

  I never want to see her cry, but her eyes fill with tears as her hands hover over my wound.

  I cup her face and press a hard, passionate kiss against her lips. When I break apart from her, I hold her face in my hands.

  “I need you to do me a favor, Thyra. I need you to pull the arrow out of my shoulder.” I never want to let her go, but I know I must fight this attack. I also must make sure Thyra gets to safety. If I had not tackled her, this arrow would have been through her back. The thought makes the beast in me arise, thirsting for a kill.

  “What? I can’t!” she yells.

  “Einarr? We need you!” Grim yells as they barricade the door, trying to buy time until we get the women situated.

  I grip her chin a bit harder. “Listen to me. Many people may die if you do not yank this arrow out of me. Yourself included. You have only half a moment before those doors give. Yank the bloody thing out, Thyra!”

  She lets out a loud cry as her hand wraps around the small wood and pulls back. I barely grunt when my shoulder is finally free. Thyra tosses the arrow to the side and tries to put pressure on the bleeding wound with her hand.

  “Thrya! Thyra!” her father yells, but he is caught in the onslaught of the crowd panicking. He cannot get through to her.

  “Listen to me. You must go. You need to hide. Do you know anywhere you can go in this castle where the Jackals won’t find you?”

  “How do you know it is them?” she gasps.

  “It’s always them. And if they know a woman here is up for grabs, they will take her. I swear to the goddesses, after this, I’m marrying you.”

  “Please, stay alive,” she cries, pulling her hand away from the wound. It isn’t that bad. I’ve had worse. I know I’ll survive.

  “I will, I promise.” I give her one last kiss before standing up and bring her with me. “Go,” I order, but she doesn’t move.

  The doors burst down with a heavy crack. In mere seconds, the ballroom gets infiltrated with Jackals. Foul men swinging their swords and bellowing. The guests scream and scramble in panic.

  “Go, Thyra! Go now!” I unsheathe my sword just in time to block one Jackal’s swinging attack, and I stab him through the stomach, kicking him away.

  “You need to go right now!” I shout, wielding my blade all around her.

  “I love you,” she cries out, grabbing her beautiful purple gown with her bloodied hands, and starts to back away.

  “And I love you, now go. Go, woman!” I repeat, with a bit of anger. I love how stubborn my woman is, but she is taking too long.

  She finally turns away and starts running to the nearest corridor. Once I see where she goes, I do the one thing that hurts me most, I turn my back on her and walk into danger. These damn Jackals are everywhere. I look around to see if I can spot Grim or Sassa, but they are gone. He must be getting her to safety.

  “You call yourselves Princes? You can’t even fight?” I say to the princes huddled behind a table like pussies. I’d be embarrassed to be from their countries.

  Something hits my back, and a knife is pressed to my neck. I grab the little tyrant forward, throwing him off me until his back hits the table the princes are behind. I grab the knife that fell out of the Jackal’s hands and throw it between his eyes, pinning him to the table.

  I turn around just in time to block another blade. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Kievan fighting with his bare hands. The crazy bastard. But he is defeating all the Jackals that come for him. I don’t want to like him, but I respect him for fighting like that.

  “Einarr!” Grim yells my name over the screams and grunts. Many men have fallen, but luckily, they are all Jackals.

  I swing my sword around again, clipping a Jackal in the side, but it doesn’t cause him to fall. His hand covers the wound, and he chooses to come at me with sheer determination. I suppose he wants to die.

  With a war cry, I slice my blade in the air. He falls to the ground, but it only leaves me to deal with the next Jackal. I turn to my left to see Troy fending off a Jackal with quick, nimble swordplay. At least the man can handle himself in a fight. I turn to my right to see Wulf and Trident back to back, battling four Jackals at once. The two men are winning, but I am worried their endurance will fail.

  “How is this happening?” Grim says as he aligns his back with mine, mimicking Trident and Wulf.

  “I don’t know,” I bellow, cutting my sword in the air. My shoulder is starting to ache from the arrow that penetrated my shoulder earlier, right between the divots of the chest and shoulder vest. Damn it; I should have worn my armor. “They have been quiet for a while. It only makes sense they act now. They want what we are celebrating.”

  “Where is she?” Grim asks, shoving his blade into a Jackal’s gut.

  “Hopefully safe. She had to run away on her own.” I don’t want to seem like I did not care for her safety. It kills me that I did not go with her, but I had to protect her. I must protect h
er.

  “You’re bleeding,” he says, slamming the butt of his sword down on someone’s head.

  “Aye. Thyra pulled an arrow out of me.”

  “Arrows? Again?”

  I roll my eyes and lift my leg, grunting, and knee a Jackal in the face. “I know.”

  My elbow hits across the man’s jaw next, and he falls to the floor unconscious.

  Grim and I roar out together in another battle cry. Our blades clash with those of the Jackals, and we move in quick motion, covering each other’s weak spots, turning and dodging together. We have fought so many battles together; we don’t even need to speak. Each of us knows exactly what the other is doing.

  The Jackals keep pouring in from the doors. While we are fighting well and putting down their men, they are sending in fresh warriors, ones not tired from fighting.

  The smell of smoke grabs our attention, and Grim and I look to our right. The Kievan Rus’ Prince is setting the curtains on fire and throwing it at the group of Jackals. I didn’t think it would work, but then he tosses something else on it, and it ignites in huge flames.

  The mad man is cackling while the Jackals’ screams get lower until they are nothing but a wee whisper. Downright demonic.

  I love it.

  “Einarr, watch it,” Grim shouts at me, and I turn my head to the right. The cold steel of a blade kisses my cheek. If he hadn’t told me to move, I would have had another scar to accompany the original.

  I step on the Jackal’s foot with all my might. He cries out in pain, and I stomp on him again, feeling the bone shatter. I laugh as I push him back with my arm and plunge my sword into his gut.

  After he falls, everything starts to die down. There are a few moans and groans coming from the enemy, but the guards are hauling the Jackals that survived down to the dungeons.

  They will wish for death once we get done with them.

  We all take a look around, seeing who we all have lost. “Is everyone accounted for?” Grim yells, his voice booming off the stone.

  Trident is helping Wulf walk. The poor man has a wound on his thigh, but it isn’t a death sentence.

  A shadow is cast near the open doors, and a whimper grabs my attention. All of us turn our heads to the entrance, waiting to see who comes through. We are armed and ready.

  “To death,” I call out.

  “To death,” everyone echoes around me.

  But what I see takes me by surprise, and I’m frozen to the ground. “No.”

  “Well, well, well, look at the brave soul I found outside,” a Jackal comes in holding Abram, a sword to his throat.

  “Abram!” I scream, ready to charge, but Grim and the Kievan hold me back.

  “Ah, ah, ah. Another move and I slice the kid until he bleeds to death. You know, he came at me with a sword. This one in fact.”

  I stare at the blade threatening Abram’s life. It seems smaller, lighter. A sword I have never seen before. Why would he try and battle? He is not ready. We had this conversation. “Let him go. Fight me. He is just a boy,” I try and reason.

  “A boy? I don’t think you give him enough credit. He has the heart of a man!”

  I take a step forward, but a fresh wave of Jackals flank his side. They have us beat in numbers. But we won once; we can win again.

  “I’m not here to fight you anymore. I’m here to warn you.”

  Abram has tears running out of his eyes. “Einarr,” he cries. He is asking for me. I have to do something.

  I twirl my sword in my hand and take a step forward, but the Jackal pushes the blade harder against Abram’s neck. I pause. “All shall be well, Abram. I promise.”

  “Aw, look. A moment,” the man holding Abram laughs, and the rest of Jackals join in.

  “I’m warning you,” I say through clenched teeth. “I shall kill all of you if you do not let him go.”

  “And I’m warning you, Warlords. The Jackals are back, stronger than ever. And we don’t take kindly to traitors.” He runs the blade over the scar on Abram’s neck. “And we don’t rest until they are all found.”

  At the same time he slices the blade through Abram’s neck, I let out my deepest warrior cry and charge with my blade. I barely skin his arm before he flees with the rest of his crew. “Go! Find them. Kill them all,” I yell through a strangled voice.

  Abram is choking on his blood. I pinch the skin of his neck together. “You’re going to be fine.”

  “I wanted to brave like you,” he coughs. So much blood. So much fucking blood.

  “Oh, you’re the bravest boy I know. You can’t die, aye? I’m building a room for you in my cabin.”

  He smiles. “Like a family?” A tear escapes his eyes and flows down his face, puddling with the blood around his mouth.

  “Just like a family. We are a family. We are.” I situate him in my arms as I hold the wound closed the best I can. This can’t be happening. Not Abram. It should have been me. He is just a boy. He deserves life. I’ve lived. I’ve lived terrible things.

  It should have been me.

  “A life with you would have been good,” Abram whispers. “You are the only father I’ve ever known.”

  Something falls from my eyes, wet, and stings my face. I’ve never cried. I don’t ever remember crying. “You don’t go. You can’t leave me. Not when you’ve made the worthless in me go away,” I say, another drop falling from my eyes.

  “Out of the way. Move!” The thick Kievan accent can’t be mistaken. He has a bottle in his hand. “This is going to hurt, boy. Brace yourself.”

  He pours something all over the wound that makes Abram scream. He starts thrashing from the pain, and my hands lose their grip. “Hold his fucking skin if you want him to survive. He may not even make it throughout the night anyway. Give me a blade!” he yells. Someone brings a sword into his hand, glowing orange from heat.

  “Your fingers will get burned in the process.”

  “I don’t fucking care. On with it,” I snap.

  “Sorry, boy,” the Kievan mutters, before placing the blade against his throat.

  The garbled scream from Abram’s throat kills me. The smell of burnt flesh and blood tickles my nose. My own fingers burn, but I grit my teeth. I watch as the Kievan cauterizes the wound around his neck, my fingers burning just as bad. But I do not care. What is another scar to the collection? Plus, it is for Abram. A boy that says I’ve been his only father figure. The pain I feel, is it that of a father? Even though he is not my child?

  I feel as though he is.

  Abram goes limp in my arms. “He has passed out,” I say, wiping the water off my face.

  “A small blessing.”

  “Thyra! Thyra!” Lord Troy roars, tossing over wooden tables. “Where is my daughter?”

  Abram is taken from my arms. I stand to snag him back, but Grim stops me. “Thyra needs you now. I have Abram. I’m taking him to Leiva. She’s the best.”

  “Aye,” I nod. Grim is right. Thyra needs me now. “Take care of him.”

  “With my life, brother,” Grim says, running out of the ballroom toward the medical wing.

  “Where. Is. She!” Lord Troy screams, this time, stabbing his sword into an already dead body. Everyone surrounds him. The wimps of Princes, the Kievan Rus’, and me.

  “Find her. The one that finds her can have her hand. Bring her back to me!” The agony in his voice is relatable.

  I do not have a lifetime of memories with Abram, just a few months, but a bond has grown in the short amount of time. Thyra and her father have twenty-four years’ worth of memories. He must be out of his mind with worry.

  The men that Troy calls ‘worthy’, after traveling hundreds and thousands of miles, do not move an inch. I’m not a stupid man. I’m noble, a bit impulsive—yes. I grab my blade from off the floor and keep it in my hand. It feels heavier than usual. My arm is killing me from the arrow, but only death will be able to stop me from finding Thyra.

  The other men start to follow suit, but instead, they walk outs
ide. I roll my eyes. They obviously do not care for her at all. If they had been paying attention, they would have seen that she went into the West corridor near the window that shattered earlier.

  The Kievan comes to my side. “I come with you. I do not want her hand.”

  I lift a brow, the glass crunching under my feet.

  “My name is Alexie Ivanov. I do not desire the hand of a woman whose heart is already taken. I am here as a friend,” he puts his hand over his heart and bows.

  “Get up, ye fool,” I grunt. “Let’s find her.”

  “Da,” he nods.

  Once we get to the corridor, I spin around at the last minute, standing toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Alexie. It is rare that I find someone of my size. “Thank you for doing what you did back there. For Abram. For the first time in my life, I was blinded by emotion, and I could not help him.”

  I hold my hand out. For truce, friendship, thanks, I’m not really sure which one. Maybe all of them.

  He grabs it with a hard squeeze. “You were fearful of losing your son. I hope what I did helps. He may not make it; I am sorry.”

  That burning emotion wells up in my throat again, but this time, I push it down. “He has survived being a Jackal. He can survive this.”

  “I pray you are right, Warlord.”

  After we walk deeper into the corridor, the only light we have are torches on the wall, illuminating the dark hallway. It’s full of cobwebs and rats.

  “What is it that you poured on him? It smelled strong,” I ask.

  “You mean the vodka I put on him? It is the Kievan drink, but also a good way to clean a wound. I wanted to give him the best chance.”

  “You are a good man, Alexie. Thank you.”

  We come to a stop when the corridor forks into three tunnels before us.

  “You think she came this way?” His deep, voice booms down the tunnels.

  “I’m sure she came this way, but I’m wondering which way she took.” I dart my eyes around the black tunnels. I really must let Grim know the shape these halls are in. The stone is old, crumbled, and should be replaced. Water is leaking down one of the tunnels, probably from the nearby river.