Vikings' Brides Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  “I can’t help you. Where are you?” I spin around. The voice swirls around in all directions of me. The lavender stems part in front of us. My men and I assume our stance. My blade is ready to dip itself into the blood of our enemies again.

  An older woman stumbles from the field. Barefoot. Dirty clothes, torn. Dirt smudges her skin. Dark circles are under her eyes. Dull, red-graying hair is a mess with twigs and leaves. “Help,” her voice cracks as she teeters on her weak legs. She turns her head, and we hiss.

  Jackal.

  “Your kind are not welcome here. I shall kill you if you take a step closer.”

  She reaches for me as she falls to her knees. “Please, water. I mean, no harm,” the stranger struggles to croak between swallows.

  “Taken. Many years.” The woman falls to her side; arm stretched for me still.

  “Shite,” I run to her, hesitant to touch an enemy, but she looks like she needs assistance. It may be a ploy, to distract us, and then that is when they will attack. I’m tempted to throw her in the dungeon. I try to pull away, but her hand clutches my ankle, tight with desperation.

  “Please.”

  When I glance down, her eyes shed tears, cleaning streaks down her filthy face. I cock my head. Something is familiar about her. Have I seen her before? Have we met? Her green eyes remind me of someone. I check the scar on her neck. It isn’t fresh. The skin has healed and faded to white, but it’s a Jackal’s symbol. I’ve seen one too many of them.

  It dawns on me who this Jackal is. “My goddess, you’re Thyra’s mother.”

  The woman starts to sob so hard her body shakes. “My baby.”

  “She is here. Your daughter. She’s my wife,” I whisper, hoping it will calm her.

  “Thyra?” she whispers with a smile, and then the woman passes out, unconscious.

  “Shite! Go, run. Tell Grim. Tell everyone. Get to Leiva. Tell her to prepare a bed.”

  Abram runs, but turns around and yells, “What do I say?”

  I pick the woman up in my arms, holding her close to make sure no other harm comes to her. “Tell them a woman claiming to be Thyra’s mother is here. And she’s a Jackal.”

  I stare down at the aged face. I can see the similarities. I don’t want to tell Thyra this because the pain that will overcome her is something I cannot protect her from. Why? Why after all this time, is she here?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Thyra

  “Thyra.”

  Einarr’s voice brings a smile to my face. “How has your day—”

  My smile falls when I see the worry in his eyes.

  “What happened? Is it Abigale? Abram? Did something go wrong?”

  “No, no. They are fine. It is nothing like that. I have news to share with you, and I’m not sure how you are going to take it.”

  This all sounds ominous. “Right, then.” The laundry basin of dry clothes is in my hand. I sit down in the rocking chair, smoothing my hands down my dress before I take a shirt linen and start folding. “What’s wrong?”

  “When did your mother go missing?”

  The question makes me pause what I’m doing, “Why are you bringing this up now?”

  “Just tell me, Thyra.”

  His tone is clipped and short, making it known there is no time for questions.

  “I don’t know. I was just a baby. She was gone one morning, and I haven’t seen her since. If you want actual answers, I’d ask my father. Perhaps, he knows. Honestly, I doubt he would tell you since he never told me, and still refuses to talk about it. You know, I really don’t understand—”

  “—Thyra,” he interrupts.

  I continue on as if I don’t even hear him, “I don’t understand why he won’t tell me. I think I have a right to know about my mother—”

  “—Thyra.”

  “---But no, he refuses to tell me anything about her. I’m lucky I know her name—”

  “Thyra!” he yells, and the shirt in my hand falls to my lap.

  He never yells at me.

  “I’m sorry, but you weren’t listening to me. Thyra, a woman stumbled through the lavender fields. She has the Jackal symbol on her neck, but it is faded as if it has been there for many, many years.”

  “Oh, that’s sad. I had no idea the Jackals have been around that long. Is the woman, hurt?” I ask, folding the shirt again.

  “The woman…” He takes a deep breath. “She claims to be your mother.”

  A snort of laughter escapes me. I place my palm over my mouth to stop myself, but the undying laughter will not stop. All these years later and a mad woman from the Jackals pretends to be my mother.

  “You must be wrong. My mother is probably dead, buried beneath the very soil we walk on. It’s alright. Oh, Einarr. What a laugh.” I wipe my eyes and start my task again. “Now, if you are done with this joke, I have chores that must be done and dinner to put on.” Standing, I grab the basin and head to go inside when Einarr’s hand grabs my wrist.

  “My love, I’d never lie to you. Your father has confirmed it is her.”

  The world around me darkens. All my memories without her seem cruel now. All this time she has been alive and didn’t come back? Why now?

  “I do not care. My father has no idea what he is talking about, and that woman is a liar. My mother is dead. Dead.”

  “Thyra, she—”

  “I do not wish to speak another work of this, Einarr. Whoever that woman is, she is a liar.” I run inside the cabin to get away from the conversation. I fall to my knees on the furs and hide my face in my hands.

  And cry.

  My shoulders shake along with the shake of my head. So many years of wondering. So many years of yearning for my mother, to be held and loved by her. So many dreams of her telling me a bedtime story. So many questions.

  The familiar warmth of Einarr’s hand lands on my shoulder. It’s heavy. Comforting like one of these furs on a cool night. “I never meant to upset you. I thought this would be good news. I thought you’d want to see her.”

  “It isn’t your fault.” I rub my hand over his, my thumb grazing over his knuckles. “I just… it is so much to take in. I want to believe you. I do, Einarr. I just… I don’t. I can’t.”

  “Why not? I have seen her, Thyra. She is here. She is weak and tired, but your mother is here at the castle. After all these years you can ask her what happened. She has not spoken a word. She refuses to speak to anyone else but you.”

  I turn my head to the side and snap. “Then she will be waiting a long time like she has kept me waiting.”

  “Thyra, she has not meant to—”

  “You don’t know that. We know nothing of this woman. I will never be so quick to jump into her motherly arms when she shows up out of nowhere.” I sniffle, staring into the roaring fire in the pit. The smoke climbs up the chimney. The flames sway and flicker, calming me just as well as lavender.

  Einarr turns me by the shoulder. His hands land on either side of my neck, his thumbs brushing over the curve of my jaw. “You do not have to do anything, my love. If you do not wish to see her, you won’t, and I will support you.”

  I lean further into his touch, grateful to have a man such as Einarr. “I love you, Einarr. I love you so much. I do not need anyone else. I will be happy for the rest of my life, even if it is just you and I forever.”

  “I know, but I also know that a space in your heart is empty because of the yearning you feel. And it makes you a little sad each day.”

  His hand moves from my jaw to my heart. “I can only fill it so much. It doesn’t change the unknown. And now, the unknown is here. You can ask her. You can fill this void. You can finally put it behind you.”

  “And my father? What has my father done?”

  Einarr’s sigh tells me all I need to know, but I wait for him to speak. He leans back on his feet and rubs a hand over his face. “He looked at her once, while she was asleep, and he hasn’t been seen since. We do not know where he is.”

  “What
?” I tilt my head up in order to look at him. “What do you mean, you haven’t seen him?”

  “He’s just gone.”

  “He can’t be gone. He would never leave me. He must be here!”

  “Thyra—”

  “No, you do not understand. He would never leave me. The shock of seeing my mother must have done something to him, but he would never leave.”

  “Then where is he, Thyra?” He lifts my face, staring his copper eyes into mine.

  “I don’t know.” I clutch his hand as if it is the only thing grounding me on this earth. “Will you just hold me? I need you right now.”

  “I’d love to.”

  Einarr brings me relief to the distress unnerving me. His arms wrap around me and bring me to the side. My mind is whirling with possibilities. I hate that I’m even considering that this woman, this stranger, is my mother. It’s impossible. It’s been twenty-four years.

  And another thing that worries me is that she is a Jackal now. So if it is her, she must be here under false pretenses. And that means she is not my mother. My mother is dead to me

  Despite my father insisting she was taken I don’t believe she was. Surely if she was just taken, she would have escaped by now and tried to come back. But she didn’t, and I’ve come to believe she just left. So for me, she died the day she decided to abandon me. I’ve put my pain behind me. I’ve put the questions behind me. Yes, Einarr is right. I have this gaping hole that leaks in my heart, leaks questions and fake memories, scenarios I’ve made up along the way. Now that she is here, I’m more than happy to keep trudging forward and keep those fake memories as they are. Fake.

  I’m angry, hurt, and sad. But the thing I cannot stand most is that I’m hopeful. Even though I know it isn’t her, a part of me hopes it is. I want it to be here. I want to be able to run to her and hug her, cry with her, ask her what happened, why she abandoned my father and I. Were we so awful? Was I so awful?

  “Relax, love. The world will be there tomorrow. Your mother will be there tomorrow.”

  “I do not care. I’m not seeing her, Einarr. I want to go on with my life like I have been.”

  “You aren’t curious?”

  A single tear falls from my cheek and hits my arm. I stare at the wall, debating if seeing her is really the best option. “I don’t know,” I whisper into the furs, rubbing my wet cheek on it at the same time.

  A light kiss on my shoulder brings a ray of light into my dark thoughts and feelings. Flipping over, I run my hand down his cheek, petting his beard. He growls, but not with lust, with contentment. His eyes shut, enjoying my touch, enjoying my fingers running through the coarse hairs.

  “If I see her, will you go with me?”

  His eyes snap open, and the fire warms his cinnamon red eyes, creating a neon glow. “You shall never have to go without me to do anything, Thyra. I am here, always. By your side is the only place you shall ever find me.”

  I run my hand down his chest. His impressive, wide, defined muscles, and try to take my mind off my emotions.

  “Only my side?” I lower my voice to a purr, scratching my nails down his ridged abdomen.

  “Thyra,” he warns, snagging my wrist in a tight hold with his hand. “You aren’t in the right state of mind. You have a lot going on.”

  I press my lips against his chest. “Get me in the right state.”

  “Thyra,” he groans as I flatten my tongue over his nipple. “No.”

  I gasp as he yanks my head back, a fresh sting of pleasure and pain over my scalp making my mind go exactly where I want it to—to lust. I grab his cock with my hand, hard and wanting. “Do this for me, my husband. It doesn’t feel like a no.”

  “You know what you do to me.”

  I take his hand and run it down my body, his coarse fingers igniting every nerve. I shove him between my legs to feel how wet I am. “And look what you do to me.”

  “You aren’t fighting fair.”

  “If I fight right, the fight should never be fair.”

  A deep vibration rumbles his chest, and before I know it, I’m on my back, staring into wild eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m always sure when it comes to you. Take me.”

  “You want to be taken?” he growls, running his hands down my body, gripping my flesh at the same time. “You want my cock?”

  “I always want you.”

  “You want it so bad; you’ll fucking get it.” He manhandles me to my stomach, lifting me to my hands and knees. “You want to act like a savage? I’ll treat you as such.”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  He doesn’t bother taking off my dress. He bunches it over my arse, and a deep appreciative moan comes from him. “Your arse is a thing of beauty.”

  He lifts up a hand and brings it down hard.

  “Einarr!” I scream, my eyes rolling back into my head. My skin screams, tingles, and burns.

  “I should spank you for every single time you’ve driven me mad.”

  I wiggle my arse, begging him to do just that. “Please.”

  He brings his other hand down on the opposite side, taking turns on each cheek until I’m writhing in pain and pleasure. I’m sweating. Every part of my body is hot. I can’t take anymore, but I want more.

  My mind is fuzzy. My body is floating high. I tingle everywhere, from my head to my fingertips to my toes. I bite my bottom lip into my mouth. An out-of-my-mind chuckle leaves my mouth, but it soon comes to an end when he rams his cock to the hilt.

  “Oh!” I scream, my body trembling with the overwhelming lust and love.

  I claw at the furs from how much he stretches me. He’s so big, filling every corner of my body up. His hand spreads in the middle of my back and pushes me down. My head is turned, cheek to the fur, and he grips my arse and thrusts forward.

  “Is this what you wanted?”

  He rams into me like a wild man. It only makes me cry out more. I claw at the ground, trying to get away, but needing more. Everything he makes me feel is overwhelming. I’m on the brink of exploding.

  “Tell me, is this what you wanted?” His hands lock onto my shoulders, driving into me rough and wild.

  “Yes! Yes, more. Don’t stop.”

  “I’ll stop when I want to stop.” He pulls me by my hair to bring my lips close to his.

  My eyes linger on the curve of his strong nose as his lips hover over mine. His sweat drips off his hair onto my shoulder, mixing with my own, searing with heat into our skin, and creating our own personal brand. He brands me with his tongue, lashing the inside of my mouth like a wild serpent. I suck his tongue into my mouth, yanking a moan from his soul.

  “You like that?” I break away from his lips, licking the outer rim.

  “It’s like a direct line to my cock.”

  The urgency, the fast pounding, the relentless rhythm and motion of his hips starts to slow. I push back, I try to push against him, to get the fast, hard pace back again, but he squeezes my hips in warning. “You had it your way. Now, I want it mine. “

  He curls his hips, redirecting his cock until he is hitting a different spot inside me. It makes a new noise come out of my mouth that I have never heard before.

  “Yes, that’s what I want. Give me all your sounds. They are mine.”

  “I’m going to come, Einarr. I’m close.”

  “Me too.”

  His arm wraps around my chest. He pulls my back to him until we are pressed together from top to bottom. We can’t get closer, but it is all I want. His breath starts to puff against my ear in heavy pants, a sign that he is about to come.

  “This is the night,” he grunts against my ear, his voice broken and distorted.

  Half delirious, I barely form a word, “Hmm?”

  “Tonight, tonight is the night we make a child.”

  I’m not sure what it is about those words. They make me feel owned, claimed, and possessed. Things that I love to feel from him. We hit our climaxes at the same time, gasping each other’s names as we brea
the in each other’s breaths. He is consuming me. Every inch of me. Every part of me. Einarr is in my blood, my bones, my flesh, just like our vows said.

  We fall to floor together in a sweaty, hot heap, gasping for breath together, tangling up our linens.

  I clutch onto his hand, hard and tight. Tears spring to my eyes, and at first, I blame it on the orgasm, but then as the tears get stronger, I know it is my emotions.

  “I have you. It’s alright.” Einarr holds me, blanketing me with his strength. “I’ll always have you,” he whispers into my sweat-soaked hair.

  Leaning my cheek against his chest, I cry until I fall asleep, hoping when I wake up, the news of my mother will be all but a dream, and I can move on with my life. My life with Einarr, my life with the children.

  Because looking back will only cause me to trip and land face down.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Einarr

  “She doesn’t want to see me?”

  I sigh, leaning back in the chair next to Thyra’s mother. I’m surrounded by Grim and Sassa. Both of whom do not have a trusting expression on their faces. I do not blame them. I cannot figure out this situation either. Thyra’s mother is a Jackal. It explains why Lord Troy is not here. I can’t fathom what he must be feeling.

  “I’m sorry, but she does not believe you are her mother.”

  I can see every muscle, every tendon, and every bone in this woman’s body. As she swallows, her throat bobs. The column of her throat is almost translucent. I’m happy Thyra is not here because, if this is her mother, I do not want her to see this. It is… disturbing how malnourished this stranger is.

  “I understand her hesitancy and anger. I would be too, after so long.” She averts her watery gaze to Sassa and then her belly, a happy smile blooming over her face. “Lady Sassa, you look beautiful. So grown up. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you,” she steps behind Grim, but I can see the hope in her eyes.

  Everyone hopes.

  “What’s your name?” Grim asks.

  “Asta. Asta Dahl.”

  Sassa’s gasp is loud. She creeps around from Grim, still clutching his hand. A tear falls to her cheek. “If it is really you, where is Thyra’s birthmark?”