Vikings' Brides Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  I think about it and find it hard not to smile. The mark is light brown and shaped like a succulent peach on her arse. I love biting into it. I keep my composure.

  “It’s on her bottom, right cheek, a peach shape,” her voice croaks before coughing.

  “Oh my goddess,” Sassa stumbles back. Grim catches her before she falls over from the heavy belly.

  “Be careful, Sassa,” Grim rubs her shoulders, clear love and devotion pouring from him. I’m not jealous anymore. I have it now.

  “I’m sorry. I’m shocked. Why? Why, after all this time, did you come back? Do you know what this will do to her? And you’re a Jackal. You’re a traitor! We should kill you,” Sassa shouts.

  She doubles over, clutching her stomach. Grim reaches for her, but she pushes his hand away. “I’m fine. The baby kicked hard. Right against my ribcage.”

  “There isn’t a feeling like it in the world, is there?”

  “You don’t get to come here and act like everything is just alright,” Sassa says while taking deep, calming breaths. “She wanted a mother her entire life. And now you come back when she doesn’t need you.”

  “Sassa—”

  “No, Grim. It’s true. She has her own family now. She has us. We were here. We put her back together over and over again when she never felt like she was enough. And you made her feel like that. You.” Sassa points to the withered woman laying on the bed.

  “I know that. Please, understand, I didn’t have a choice. They, they kidnapped me. I only escaped because I was able to slide my foot from the shackle around my ankle.”

  Grim throws the bottom of the blanket off her feet, and right there, the bruises and cut skin prove her statement.

  “They don’t treat women kindly over there. I was branded the night they took me. I knew coming back would mean a death sentence, but I had to try. I missed my family. I missed my daughter and Troy.” Asta’s bright green eyes make me look into the future. This is exactly what Thyra will look like. Healthier, of course. “And Troy? Where is he?”

  “Lord Troy saw you while you were unconscious. We haven’t seen him for days. I’m afraid we can’t locate him.”

  “He is angry with me too. I don’t blame him. Life, I suppose, has not been kind to him either.”

  “It has not. He lost his wife, but then he lost his best friend. He has lived a very lonely life, and then you show up out of nowhere, he probably doesn’t know what to believe.” Sassa clutches her stomach again and grunts, “Stop bloody kicking me there.”

  Grim stands behind Sassa and wraps his hand around her belly, stroking the round abdomen. Sassa sighs and leans her head against his shoulder. “That’s better.”

  “I mean no harm. I just wanted my family again. I wanted to come home, but I see things have changed here. I heard of your father, Sassa, even shackled to the enemy, and I’m so sorry for your loss,” her old withered hand reaches out for Sassa. It shakes. The cuticles stained with dirt. Her veins protrude, but even in her debilitated state, she does not lower her arm. She waits to see if Sassa will take her hand.

  Reluctant, Sassa taker her hand, and Asta’s fingers grip around hers, tight until the flesh turns white. “I would have been here sooner if I could.”

  Sassa lets go of Asta’s hand, drops it like it is poison. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I don’t know. I can’t do this. I can’t betray my friend.”

  Sassa spins around on her heels and flees out of the room, Grim right behind her to make sure she doesn’t fall over.

  It just leaves me and the Jackal. I call her that because I don’t trust her enough to go by her name. Names are worth something. A name symbolizes who you are, what you are, your truth. And if Asta is her truth, in time, I will not see her as a Jackal. But only time will tell me if and when that can happen.

  “Why are you here? Won’t Thyra be furious with you if you stay with me?”

  The old Jackal isn’t wrong, but Thyra knows where I am. “It isn’t me she is wrestling her feelings for.” I kick up my feet and get comfortable. No way in the goddess name am I going anywhere and leaving this Jackal unattended. My gut tells me something is off. Something isn’t right, and usually, I don’t have feelings getting in the way, because I never have anything personal to cause a problem.

  Right now, it is a problem, because I can’t trust my instincts. I cannot tell what they are trying to say. I want this woman to be good, to be worthy of a beautiful daughter such as Thyra. I want not to be the brash warrior. My instinct is to kill anyone threatening me or my family. But I know, without a doubt, I will not be able to kill Thyra’s mother. Thyra may resent her mother, but killing her? She will end up resenting me. At the end of the day, this Jackal is her mother.

  I do not know why she and Sassa are fighting it. Thyra is the spitting image of this woman, without the aged skin and hair. Life has not been kind to her. Her teeth are yellow, almost rotted, a few missing. She looks twice her age from the saggy skin and wrinkles. But her eyes. Her eyes are still young, but I cannot tell what they say.

  People’s eyes show more than they think. Doors to the soul. At least, that’s what I think. I can read people. It’s what I am trained for. I can look a one person and tell if they are lying in a split second.

  Usually.

  This woman claiming to be Thyra’s mother is a different story. I have my emotions getting the best of me, and to make matters worse, I can see nothing behind those eyes. The same eyes as my wife. The difference is, when I look into Thyra’s eyes, I see hope, my future. I see happiness pouring out of her like the sun’s light.

  When I look at this Jackal, I see nothing.

  And I do not trust nothing. So until this woman proves herself, I’ll treat her as the Jackal she is, yet doesn’t truly claim to be. And you know what I call that?

  A liar.

  “I did the best I could. You don’t know what it’s like over there, with them.”

  I stroke my beard, playing with the beads clipped in the braid. “You aren’t wrong. I do know life without family, though. I know a life of fear. I know what it is like to battle for my life.”

  “Is that how you received those scars?” Her eyes drift down to the beads in my beard, and her eyes widen. “Why, I never thought I’d live to see the day where I meet a Warlord. I see you have fought well, Warlord.”

  “I fought to keep myself alive.” Well? If I merely fought well, I’d be dead.

  “Have you ever fought a Jackal?” she asks, twisting the blanket in her fists. “They are awful.” She drifts into a daze, staring at the wall in front of her as if it is playing a memory. “They are savages, heartless monsters. They deserve to die. Every. Single. One.”

  “Aye. One of them cut my son’s throat, so I put an arrow in his head.”

  “You and Thyra have children?” she asks with excitement, nearly coming out of her bed. “Tell me their names.”

  “No,” I say in a flat tone. “Until I can trust you, you will know nothing of my family.” Plus, I’m not going to tell her that the kids we have aren’t ours by blood. In some kingdoms, it is frowned upon to take care of a bastard child. Luckily, we do not have that judgement here.

  A flash of something darts behind her eyes. Anger. It’s gone as quick as it came though, like a shooting star. It’s all I need to see. Something isn’t right. I know I can sometimes be too protective over Thyra, but when it comes to her heart, I am the guardian, and I will fight to the death to protect it.

  “I see,” she says. “I am growing tired. Leave me.”

  My brows shoot up from the order. Another thing that is off about her. Only ones who hold power do such a thing. I laugh, a full-blown, out-of-control barking laugh. I lean my elbows on my knees and inch forward. “I don’t take orders from you. I actually don’t take orders from anyone. Only Lord Grimkael, and most of the time, he doesn’t order me because of my own position. So you will do well to remember that, mother or not, I won’t tolerate disrespect. Especially from some Jackal. Y
ou should remember where you are. You aren’t in family hands. You are what we kill. If I were you, I’d watch your tongue.” I stand, my armor scraping against the chair as I go.

  “I’ll get my daughter back. You just wait and see.”

  The words, while I should find comfort in them, do nothing to settle the apprehension roaring in the forefront of my mind. Again, if it wasn’t for my personal emotions, I’d consider that a threat. My mind and my heart scream at each other, fighting to determine which one is right.

  “I hope, for both of our sakes, you’re right, Jackal. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt Thyra. Killing you will do exactly that, no matter how much she tries to say she doesn’t care.” I give the older woman my back, something I rarely give an enemy, and walk away. The door is already open as I make my way out.

  Grim and Sassa are at the bottom of the steps, whispering heatedly to one another. When they hear my pounding footsteps, they stop, making sure it wasn’t someone else. Grim exhales, relieved that it is me. “Brother, what do you think? I do not know. I would kill the woman, but Sassa believes this is really Thyra’s mother.”

  “I do, too.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re holding something back. You know something.”

  “I know nothing.”

  “Nothing is always something with you. Tell me,” he growls.

  I scrub my hand over my face, trying to wake myself up from this fucking nightmare, but when I blink, I’m still here, debating on whether we dub this Jackal safe, or kill her, living with Thyra’s agony forever.

  “Grim, I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know? You always know.”

  “I’ve never had personal emotions conflict before. It was easier to fight, to kill, to not think, but trying to listen to my instinct is impossible right now.”

  “Damn it, that is not what I wanted to hear, brother.” Grim drops his face in his hands, groaning from the stress and indecision. When he resurfaces, he seems older. Wrinkles surround his eyes. He seems tired. I wish I could help bear the responsibilities he deals with. It is only right. All this kingdom is too much for one man to carry on his own.

  I slap my hand on his shoulder and keep it there. “I know. It isn’t what I want, either. It is a very confusing feeling, not knowing if I can trust someone or not. I can tell you this; I don’t think I would feel like this if something didn’t feel… off.”

  “Thank you, Einarr.”

  “I will always do what I can to help.”

  “Einarr! Einarr!”

  The sound of Abram’s voice screaming makes me sprint toward the open castle doors. I see him, running over to me, waving his hands in the air. I meet him halfway, the poor boy sweating to death and gasping for air. He tries to speak, but I can’t understand him through broken sentences and stuttering.

  “Abram, breathe. What is it?”

  “Thyra. She isn’t home. I can’t find her. She’s gone.”

  Gone.

  The world falls around me as I run, cutting through the courtyard, dashing through the field of lavender while calling out her name. I can’t smell the lavender. The boiling sun can hardly be felt because all I feel is fear. It’s taken over every part of me.

  The Warlord, a fearless fighter, succumbed to love. While it makes me stronger, it acts as my own catalyst, creating my own enemy. She can’t be gone. I’m going to check the one place I know she can be, and if she isn’t there, her Jackal of a mother will have some questions to answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Thyra

  I needed to get away.

  Away from the decisions. Away from the castle. Away. I couldn’t handle it anymore. The presence of my mother being there, the looks from the other villagers, the worry in Einarr’s eyes. I needed a break.

  And what better place to go than the secret place Einarr built for us? It’s so beautiful here. It’s peaceful and calm, unlike the castle. I have no eyes staring at me with judgement. It’s just me. No pressure. No anxiety. It’s just me and the small cabin with the sound of the bubbling water from the hot spring. Something I most definitely plan to use again.

  Right now, as a matter of fact.

  I undress, untying the ribbon on the dress. It falls to my feet in a puddle. I step out from the material, leaving it here for me to pick up later. I test the water first with the tip of my toe. Oh, it’s hot. Just the way I like it.

  I step in all the way, the water rushing all around me, forming to the curves of my body. The lower I get, the more the hot water relaxes my muscles. I sit on a flat rock underneath the water’s surface, sticking out of the wall.

  Perfect. This. This is everything I needed. The more I think about it, the more I don’t want to know if it is my mother at the castle. I’ve lived without her for twenty-four years. I can go another twenty-four. I lean the back of my head against the ground and shut my eyes. I clear my head. I do not think of anything. Everything is black.

  Sighing, my body becomes weightless in the water, almost floating. I’ve lost track of time because I for one, don’t care right now. I keep my eyes shut until something makes my darkness a little darker. I could feel the sun before, trying to sear my eyes through my lids, but something is blocking it.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how worried I was? People have been looking for you Thyra.”

  This time when I sigh, it isn’t relaxed. Instead, I’m annoyed. “Einarr, I’m fine.” I don’t bother opening my eyes. I won’t let his protectiveness ruin this for me. My relaxation time. I believe every woman deserves it.

  “Goddess, you’re a stubborn woman,” Einarr says before placing his hands under my arms and lifting me up out of the hot, stress free, water.

  My eyes snap open when the air wraps around my body, giving me a chill. “Einarr, just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trying to make you see that you aren’t relaxing. You are running.”

  “I’m not running.” I roll my eyes at how ridiculous that sounds.

  “No? Then why didn’t you tell anyone where you were going? It sounds an awful lot like running to me.”

  He wraps a towel around my body and starts drying me off by hand. He skims down my arms, stomach, legs, and then turns me around to do the same thing down the back. “She knows about this,” he grunts, patting the birthmark on my arse.

  “She is a liar. Someone must have told her.”

  “She looks just like you, Thyra. Come to your senses and talk to her.”

  “Why?!” I scream, turning around to look him in the eye. “I do not want to see her!”

  “You must! You must tell me if you trust her because if you don’t, I will kill her for being a Jackal. I will kill her to protect you.”

  “I just want to be away from it all.” My bottom lip starts to tremble. “I don’t want it to be her. I don’t want my mother to be a Jackal.”

  He yanks me to his chest, damp body and all, and holds me close. “I know you don’t. I know. I don’t want her to be either.”

  I lean back, his hands still resting on my back. “Can’t we just stay here for a few days? Go get Abram and Abigale. Everything shall be fine here. We shall be fine. We are allowed to be away from the kingdom for a break.”

  “Now is not the time for this. It is not the time to cower. You must face the fear. You must face the fear that’s been haunting you, or you will run from it forever.”

  “I’m not afraid of her,” I protest. “I’m not a coward. How dare you.”

  “I think you’re afraid of what she is and what she may be. All your hopes and dreams of having a mother, dead and gone. And I love you, but how you are acting is like a coward, and I know you better than that, Thyra. You killed a Jackal yourself, so tell me, why run from this?”

  I maneuver out of his hold and grab my dress from the ground, sliding it back up my body. “It’s different. I didn’t know that Jackal. It made it—”

&nb
sp; “Easier to kill?”

  I’m not proud of the answer. “Yes.”

  “I know. It’s how I lived every single day until I fell in love with you, and now I can’t decide whether your mother has good or bad intentions. Our love clouds my judgement when it comes to her. If it wasn’t for you, I would have killed her. Just for being a Jackal.”

  “Abram was a Jackal. You can’t paint them all with a bad brush. So was Abigale.”

  “You’re defending her now?” He lifts a brow at me.

  “No. Yes. No.” I shake my head. “No, I’m just saying, we can’t say who is good and bad when we don’t know the situation. Abram and Abigale are proof of that.”

  He holds out his hand, waiting for me to take it. “Let us see if your mother has that proof.”

  I don’t want to go, but I know Einarr is right. I must face this. I must know for sure what is going on. The stress of it all has my stomach unsettled. “Einarr? I do not feel well.” I take his hand in mine, and he picks me up to get me off my feet, but that is an even worse idea. I lurch out of his hold, landing on my hands and knees, vomiting my breakfast and anxiety.

  “My love, what is it? Do you need anything?”

  “Can you take me back? I don’t think I can walk.” Everything is fuzzy. The taste of bile in my throat has me gagging again.

  “Anything you want.” He doesn’t grunt as he lifts me up.

  My head finds its way to his shoulder, and I leave it there. I feel feverish. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone into the hot spring. Do you think it did this?”

  “No, my love. I don’t. Perhaps, you ate something? Leiva shall get it all sorted.”

  I let out a sickly moan and close my eyes, waiting for the rough ride to be over. Everything is a blur going back to the castle. I barely remember cutting through the woods and the lavender, and the next thing I know, I’m being put into a comfortable bed with a cold cloth on my forehead.

  “Dear goddess, Thyra. You look paler than a northerner,” Leiva’s voice pulls me out from the haze. I cannot focus on her. She tilts to the side, blurry. “When did this start, Einarr?”