Vikings' Brides Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  He has sweat dripping from the ends of his hair. Einarr’s eyes are still wild. He blinks a few times and those red brows furrow together for a moment. “Are you hurt?” he asks, running his hand down my body, cupping my thigh. “Did I take you too hard? I lost control. You just feel so good.” Einarr stays inside me, cock still hard and long.

  “It was perfect. Just what I needed,” I smile sleepily. I feel so much better now.

  He chuckles, kissing me on the cheek. “How about we take a short sleep, aye?”

  “Aye.” I stretch. The move causes his cock to slide out, and the beast growls.

  “I said sleep. I didn’t say I wanted to be out of you.” He turns us to our sides and guides his cock back in before he yanks one of the furs over us. “When we wake, I’ll make a fire.” His arms tighten around me until I’m as close as I can be, my back to his chest.

  I’m warm. Happy. Protected. Safe. I have the life I’ve always wanted. And it is with the man I love. In a house he built with his own two hands. Nothing has ever felt more like home. “I love you, Einarr,” I whisper quietly, on the verge of sleep and dreams.

  “I can’t wait to make you my wife. I’ve waited long enough.”

  Soon his breaths mellow out into an even, soft melody. The warm breaths puff against the spot between my neck and my shoulder, giving me a slight tickle, but nothing I ever want to stop. Einarr’s strong heartbeat pounds against my back. Between his heartbeat and his breaths, they play a lullaby, making it difficult to fight against the exhaustion pulling me under.

  I never imagined this being my life. I thought I would be the woman living with her father for the rest of her life because no one wanted a woman such as me. I’m not a fool. I know I’m not what other women look like, but I found a man that does not look like the typical man either. Together, we found our own happiness, our own love, and our journey. We found our way to each other when we needed each other most, and that makes peace settle in my soul.

  A small smile tugs my lips as I sigh, nestling further into Einarr. His arms try and pull me closer, but there is nowhere else to go. I fall sound asleep, happiness as my medication to pull me into summer night dreams, wrapped up in my warrior.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Einarr

  “How are you feeling?”

  I sit down next to Abram in the medical wing. The bandages are finally off, the stitches are out, but he will have an ugly looking scar. He matches me now, and I hate that. I do not want this life for him. I do not want him to be turned into some sort of freakshow. And that is how people will look at him now.

  “Like I got my throat slit,” he jokes.

  “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

  “Do what, Einarr?”

  “Make jokes. This isn’t funny. This would have never happened if it weren’t for me. This is my fault.” I reach for the fresh, red scar on his neck. It’s puffy; still healing. Some parts of his neck are black still from the blade burning his flesh. Ah, the smell. The smell of it burning is something I will never be able to forget.

  “Einarr, this has nothing to do with you. If I had listened to you, I would have stayed with Abigale. I shouldn’t have been brave. I just—” he swallows, his marred throat bobbing, struggling as he tries to wet his throat.

  “Shhh, it’s fine. You never have to prove anything to me. Ever. I know who you are, right here.” I point to his heart. “This is already that of a warrior.”

  Tears pool in his eyes. “I just wanted you to see I could protect you, and when I saw those Jackals coming, it was the perfect opportunity to wield the sword I made.”

  “You made that? No wonder you knew how to pick it up. That’s impressive. You’d make a good blacksmith. I’d be proud of you.”

  “I don’t want to be a blacksmith. I want to be a warrior, like you!” But the strain he put on his voice is too much. His hand flies to his throat, and he coughs.

  I lift him up and get a mug of water. He takes it greedily from my hands and gulps it down, swallowing through the pain. “It’s honorable to be a blacksmith. They make all the armor we wear. That is a proud job to have.”

  “I want to be like you.” He shakes his head, laying back down on the bed. “I don’t want to be a small boy anymore. I want to be a man. I want to be big and strong, fearless like you.”

  “Fearless? You think I am fearless? That’s how I know you are just a boy.” I lean back in the seat and give a chuckle. “Fearless.” I click my tongue and run my hand over the scar on my face. “Abram, I’m always frightened.”

  He snorts, “No, you aren’t. You’re always brave. You always know what to do.”

  “Abram, that’s years of training. That’s years of being alone on my own. I lived a lonely life, in a cave, waiting for Grim to come give me bread or anything left over. I didn’t care if I died in battle because I had nothing to lose, but I was frightened every second, even if I didn’t show it. I was frightened when your throat was cut. I was so afraid.”

  “You were?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  I clear my throat and cross my arms when emotion seems to be getting the best of me, again. It isn’t ever easy to admit one’s vulnerabilities. Abram is that for me now. It’s an adjustment. I seem to be scared all the time now for the people I love.

  “I was scared out of my mind. I’ve never had to worry about anyone else before. And then here comes you, Abigale, and Thyra. I never knew I had such a capacity to care for something. And when you were lying there, bleeding—” I blink away the tears “—I just knew I failed you. I knew. You were just a boy, and you were going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was frozen in fear. If it wasn’t for Alexie thinking so quick on his feet, you wouldn’t be here. Instead, I’d be mourning over your grave.”

  “I’m alive. I’m alright.”

  I stare at him with disbelief. “You aren’t alright. Look at you. This isn’t what I wanted for you. I wanted you to be scar-free. I did not want you to live a life of ridicule, of harsh stares, of being considered a monster. You deserve none of those things. You understand me? None of them.” I start to get angrier. Just the thought of him going through that makes me want to kill. The beast in me starts to rise. I could go to battle right now and slay a hundred men.

  “I don’t mind the scar. It makes me like you. A survivor. A warrior,” he whispers, twisting the blanket in his hands.

  A survivor. I have never thought of it like that before. Leave it up to a seventeen-year-old child to put me in my place and make me feel confident about who I am.

  “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars, Einarr. People who judge you, don’t know you, and they aren’t worth your effort. I’m proud of who you are.”

  I wipe my eyes. I can’t let him see me cry. I’ve done that enough lately. “You should rest up.”

  “Can’t I go to my room yet? I’ll be careful. I just lay here all day. I can do that in my room.”

  “Your room?”

  “The one in the castle,” he says, as though the answer is obvious.

  “You’re coming home with me. To the cabin I’ve built.”

  The biggest smile graces his young face. “Really? I can go home with you?”

  “Aye. Your home is with me now, and Abigale. And Thyra.”

  “Like a family?”

  “Just like a family. A big one.” Something I’ve always wanted.

  “Can I go home then; with you?” he pleads, giving me a boyish look that I suspect children do when they really want something.

  I want to, but Leiva may have my hide if I take him away without asking. She may be young, but she has a bite. I do not want to find myself on the receiving end of it. “That’s on Leiva, Abram.”

  “She’ll never let me leave. If I have to smell that herbal paste anymore, I’ll never smell anything I like again.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Abram. It isn’t that bad,” Leiva bustles to the side of the bed with a small tub of herbal paste. She grabs a wet
washcloth and cleans off the old paste on his neck, careful to be gentle. “If you can promise to clean this three times a day with this paste, I’ll let you go home.”

  “Really?” He shoots off the bed into a sitting position.

  Her hands push against his shoulders to lay him down. “You are going to end up just like Einarr. You know, you can’t rush the healing process. Or it will take that much longer to get better. That’s why some of Einarr’s scars are so bad.”

  “I don’t mind. I want to be like him.”

  “Boys,” she mocks with a roll of her eyes.

  She moves her dress out of the way with a hard swish, gathering paste again and plopping it on his neck. “Now—”

  “I know Leiva, I know. Don’t touch it or rub it. And I have to make sure it stays on for the majority of the day,” he finishes her sentence.

  My chest puffs out with pride. He knows how to take care of himself. I have nothing to worry about.

  “Right, you can go. Be careful when you bathe. You can’t—”

  Abram grins cutting her off again, “Get it wet. Leiva, I know. Thank you.” He throws his legs over the side of the bed and takes a deep breath.

  “Mister know-it-all you are. I want to see you in a few days. Alright?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I wrap one of my arms around his waist to help him up, but he slaps my hand away. “I got it.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “You got it.”

  When we walk out of the medical wing, his movements are a little slow, and his breathing sounds a bit harsh. The voice in the back of my head screams at me that this is my fault. He wouldn’t be so weak if he wasn’t trying to prove himself to me. Maybe it is me that made him feel so weak. I did say we had to get some muscle on him before he could hold my sword.

  “Stop,” he wheezes.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “I can hear the wheels turning in your head. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”

  When I open the castle doors, bright sunlight beams in. Abram raises his hand to block his eyes. He blinks a few times, letting his eyes adjust. When they do, he takes his hand down and stands in the doorway, letting the light beam down on him.

  “Abram?”

  “I haven’t felt the sun in weeks. It feels good. The warmth. On my skin. Heating my cold, thin blood. I just need a moment.”

  I sit down on the steps and pull him down with me. “You can have all the moments. If you wish, I’ll build something for you outside that will let you enjoy the simple things such as the sun, aye?”

  Abram closes his eyes, but when he tries to tilt his head back, the skin on his neck tightens. Abram stops himself from going any further. I want to put a bandage on it. The skin looks so thin and fragile. “That would be nice,” he says.

  I’m not sure how much time passes, but Wulf, Trident, and Abigale stroll out of the woods. Abigale is holding up a dead rabbit, and Wulf and Trident are filthy from head to toe. My laughter booms across the plains when they come closer. What in the world happened to them?

  Even Abram starts to laugh.

  “Abram!” Abigale screams with joy. She drops the dead rabbit on the ground and Wulf bends to the side, awkward, almost as if he has hurt himself, and picks up the small creature still hanging from an arrow.

  “Careful,” I warn, but it’s too late.

  I watch in horror as she slams against his chest and wraps her arms around his neck, squeezing tight.

  “Abigale, no!” My voice is hoarse from how loud I yell. Fear. There is that fear again. It was a small buzz under my skin; now it is burning like a million suns.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” Abram pulls back from her strong embrace and smiles. “I missed you too, Abby.”

  “Does this mean you can come home now?” her childish voice squeaks.

  “Yeah, I’m coming home.”

  “But we must be careful with him. He is still healing,” I explain, plucking a small yellow flower off the steps and giving it to her, so she knows I’m not mad at her.

  “I’m sorry, Abram. I didn’t meant to hurt you.”

  “It’s fine, Abby. I still love you.”

  A big grin takes over her face, showing her adult teeth. It looks a little silly, a child with grown-up teeth, but she will grow into them.

  Abigale slides it over the tip of her ear. “Do I look pretty, like mama?”

  My heart falls. This is the first time I have heard about her talk of her mother. I glance around at everyone else, Wulf, Trident, and Abram. All of us are wearing the same expression. Wulf even looks… sad. I think he has been connecting with Abigale. They have a bond. And to hear her talk of her family, well, I cannot have her be away from her family if she wants them.

  “Your mama? Do you know where your mama is?” I ask, heart-pounding with anticipation and dread. I never want to keep a little girl away from her mother.

  She points to the cabin, and my throat goes dry. Her mother is here? She found Abigale? How? Who else is with her mother? Thyra is home alone. I stand quickly, and my urgency has Wulf and Trident unsheathing their blades. I grab Abigale, throw her over my shoulder, and look down at Abram, who stands, but has sweat dripping off his forehead. He won’t be able to run.

  “Trident, carry Abram.”

  “Yes, Warlord.” He slides his blade back into hits holster and jogs up the stone steps.

  “I can run on my own!”

  I narrow my eyes at him until they are slits shooting arrows of anger. “You will not disobey me. You will listen. You will not harm yourself.” My voice travels for miles until the forest swallows it whole. “Do you understand?”

  “Aye,” he says with shame.

  The boy confuses me. He does not care about the scar, but cares if he can’t run and someone will need to pick him up… unbelievable.

  “Glad to see you out and about, Abram,” Trident says as he scoops Abram up.

  “So embarrassing,” Abram mutters.

  I waste no more time. I bolt toward the cabin. One hand carrying Abigale, and the other carrying my sword, ready for the attack. I will never leave Thyra alone again. Abigale is screaming, crying in my ear. My heart leads me. I will never fail my family. I am their protector. I am who they count on.

  I jump from the ground to the top step in one leap and kick down the door. Wood splinters into a thousand pieces.

  “Goddess!” Thyra screams, covering her face from the wood chips flying in her direction. She’s by the woodstove, making stew. I fucking love her stew.

  “Where are they?” I pound through the house, kicking down every door I built, carrying a child on my hip.

  “Who? You are acting mad, Einarr. Who are you speaking of?”

  “Abigale. She said her mama was here and pointed to the house. I was worried someone was here with you. No one is here?” My chest heaving from the exertion.

  Wulf scopes out the rest of the house. Trident lays Abram on the furs on the floor, freshly washed, of course.

  “Abram,” Thyra smiles, kneeling down on the floor. “Poor boy, you’re sweating. I’ll get you a wet cloth, and then Einarr can explain himself.”

  I cringe when I see ‘the look’ thrown my way. It’s what I call it when I know I am in trouble. She bumps into my shoulder on her way back, causing my lips to curve, and she places the rag on Abram’s head, but he is already sound asleep.

  “So glad you are back,” she leans down and kisses his forehead, making my heart beat for her even more. When she stands, she wipes her hands on the apron.

  “Someone want to explain to me why you ruined every door in the house?”

  She stops her gaze on each and every one of us and then her face softens when she lands on a crying Abigale. “Goddess, give her to me.” she stomps forward and rips Abigale out of my arms.

  Abigale is so small for being six. She looks four. “Mama,” she cries.

  “Where? Where is your mother?” I ask.

  She lays her hea
d on Thyra’s shoulder and points. “Mama.”

  “Oh.” A light of realization suddenly dawns on Thyra’s face. I’m sure it’s on mine, too. “Ohhh.”

  If happiness is heaven, then I must be living it, because this is the best moment I’ve ever known. Thyra holds Abigale to her, telling her everything is going to be fine. Thyra’s lashes are wet as she sways with Abigale. The perfect picture.

  I do not know how I am blessed with such a life when I have caused so much destruction.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Thyra

  Finally, time alone.

  Tonight will be the first night Einarr has taken me out, and I am very excited. We live together, have sex, and raise a teen and a small child, but we have yet to have time to ourselves. Abram, goddess bless him, is watching Abigale, who he calls his sister. We really have molded together to be a family, and nothing can make me happier.

  Besides marrying Einarr and my father seeing his grandchildren. Well, I suppose in his eyes they are not his grandchildren, but they are my family, and if he cannot respect that, then he is not welcome.

  “What are you thinking about; my love?” Einarr squeezes my hand as we walk side by side through the courtyard.

  “How much my life has changed, and how much I love it.” I place my head on his shoulder, and when we take a left turn, we run smack dab into Alexie.

  Drinking that foul vodka again.

  “Lady Thyra, you look ravishing as always.” He lifts my hand to kiss it, but Einarr slaps it away.

  “Einarr, my friend, I see you have not changed. I don’t blame you.” He takes a swig of that awful beverage again.

  “Are you enjoying your visit?” I slap Einarr across the arm to get him to back down. The brute. Every single time he thinks someone is trying to take me from him, he gets defensive.

  “I love it here. I almost want to leave my country and stay here forever. So much violence over there. So much anger. It is better here. And the women? Well, the women are masterpieces obviously,” he slurs a bit, pointing to me.