Vikings' Brides Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  “Wulf? What is it? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “Aye, but I need to get out. I must talk to you about something.” Trident must hear the seriousness in my voice because he doesn’t say another word. He turns around and grabs his boots and sword and ties his hair back in a leather band.

  “Are you alright?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

  “No. I want to talk about it over mead. I did something truly foul, Trident. Truly vile. I’ll lose everything if I tell Lilith. Everything.”

  Trident nods, but I can tell he wants to ask more. I can’t answer any questions without a tall glass of mead, though. I need it to drown out the hysteria of panic churning my gut. We walk quietly to the stables, nodding to Abram as he struggles to lift a heavy bucket of water.

  The night holds a bitter amount of cold. It’s like doom, almost. I can feel the knives of truth closing in on me, twisting the need to speak until I cave.

  I hop on Dire, bareback with just reins, and Trident does the same as he hops on Hank. I kick my beast’s sides and dash into the unforgiving night. Darkness swirls around me, filling my soul with pure terror. The hooves thunder against the ground, matching the pace of my pounding heart. Trident is right next to me. The strong legs of the horses carry us further away from the castle and into the village.

  We pass a few shops until we get to the run-down pub. It looks like it’s about to fall over. The wood is rotten, the steps are broken, and the only thing to tie the horses to is a nearby tree. Our feet land in the dirt after dismounting our horses, and we walk side by side in silence into the establishment. The old wood creaks under our weight, and despite the owner’s poor attempt to replace a few boards, it still isn’t enough to stop Trident’s foot from falling through.

  Splinters fly everywhere, and Trident curses, lifting his foot up along with the rotten board. It’s covered in cobwebs and dust. I can’t help but to chuckle.

  “Shut up,” Trident growls, placing his other foot on the board that’s stuck and pushes down while he pries his leg up. “Fucking cheap bastard. He needs to fix this place.”

  “Maybe your fat arse must lose some weight instead,” I say, plopping down on a stool. The legs give out, and it sends me to the floor, my tailbone burning with agony from the fall.

  Trident looks down at me, not bothering to help me up. “What were you saying about my fat arse?”

  “Shut up,” I mock him, using his exact tone of voice, and stand, wiping the dust off my clothes.

  We sit there, just the two of his in the empty pub and wait for service… for a while. “Goddess, does anyone fucking work here?” Trident leans over the bar, grabs two goblets, and dips them into the barrel of mead. He slams one down in front of me, and I take the glass in hand and chug it, letting it pour over my beard as it falls from my mouth.

  We lapse into silence again, but it isn’t because I don’t want to talk to him. I’m just thinking about what I want to say and how I want to say it. He waits patiently, filling our glasses again. It’s on the third glass where I finally open my mouth to speak.

  “I killed Lilith’s father when I was sixteen, and she has no idea.”

  It feels good to say it out loud. The weight crushing my chest lets me breathe again, in a way I haven’t really been able to breathe before.

  He turns his entire body on his stool, eyebrows raised, and takes a sip of beer. “Shite,” he chokes, spewing out the mead when it goes down the wrong way. “Run that by me one more time?”

  I chug the rest of my drink and slam the goblet on the bar, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand. “We weren’t allowed to be friends then, not while Grim’s father was the Warlord. He had strict rules, but we broke them. We were always together.”

  I take a deep breath before continuing. “Her father saw us one day, but I had no idea. He must have followed her or something because when she left the meadow to go home, he confronted me with a blade to my neck. He lifted it in the air and told me ‘You’re filling my daughter’s head with fairytales and useless hopes. You’re no good for her’. He brought the sword down, but I’m quick with my blade, always have been, and I blocked it. I can still hear the metal clanking against metal. He was so close to offing my head. I tried to explain that I loved her, and all he did was laugh. I don’t know what happened. My training, maybe? It happened so fast, and then his head was on the ground. I moved his body somewhere else, and the villagers found it, but no one discovered who did it. He was an arsehole of a man, but he was still her father.”

  “Good goddess, Wulf.” Trident rubs his temples, taking in the information. “I don’t know how to help. What can I do?”

  “I needed to tell someone. She’s asking questions. She’s remembering everything, and she brought up her father today, and it was a punch in the gut. I don’t deserve this woman, Trident, but I can’t be without her.”

  “You have to tell her, Wulf. You must.”

  “I’ll lose her.” My voice is but a soft hush.

  “Probably. I can’t give you the answer you want to hear, but you’ll be an honest man again. You were defending yourself. You were defending her. Maybe she will understand. You have to risk the love you have for her, for her to finally have peace, Wulf. You can’t keep this from her because it shall eventually eat you alive.”

  “I know.” He is right.

  “The amount of guilt you must be carrying. I’m sorry, brother. Your secret is safe with me, I swear it.”

  I slap his shoulder and drink down one more goblet of mead, my brain numb and my heart sore. “Let’s go.”

  “What are you going to do?” Trident asks. We do not bother leaving any money since no one helped us.

  “I don’t know, Trident.”

  “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to do it.”

  I get up and sway a bit, stumbling out the door to where Dire is. His hoof is up, his eyes shut. He seems to be asleep. I grunt as I get on his back. We have to trust out beasts to make it back home since we can’t keep our heads up—mead will do that to a man. The entire way home, I wonder if I should just blurt the truth out and have her love turn to hate once and for all.

  The journey back home isn’t long enough. I’m not ready to face the confusion in her golden eyes. My departure from the cabin came from nowhere, but she doesn’t understand the demons eating away at me. I had to get out, and it wasn’t fair to leave her to take care of Rian. Rian doesn’t know her well yet and is probably wondering where I went. It’s just another thing to add to the long list of ways I’ve fucked up.

  The last time I remember life being this hard was when Lilith was missing, and I searched for her for five years. When I came to the conclusion that she was dead, I buried my guilt along with her because I didn’t think I had to face it. Well, she isn’t dead, and now I must do this. I have the love of my life back, but with that comes the guilt I must face.

  “You going to be okay, Wulf?”

  “Aye; don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” Another lie. I’ll live, yes, but once she heads out that door, I’ll have to learn how to be okay again. I’ve done it once before; surely, I can do it again.

  “Thanks for coming with me, brother. I really needed that.” I turn the reins to the left and enter the stables. They are spotless. Abram’s done well.

  It has started to snow again, so tonight I’ll have to put a fur on Dire to make sure he doesn’t get too cold. I’m taking my time, brushing his gray hide and silver hair. I don’t remember Trident leaving, but when I go to say goodbye, that’s when I realize I’m alone. “It may just be me and you again for a while, old friend.”

  I pat Dire’s neck, and he blows out a breath before nudging my shoulder. Tossing a fur over his back, I lock the stable, dragging my feet to make the short walk home a bit longer.

  Impending doom is the only thing I know that is waiting for me. It’s time I be a man and face up to it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Lilith

  I thre
ad the needle through the cloth, careful not to prick my finger as I make Rian a new shirt. The boy is still sleeping. Who knows how long he wandered in the forest for? His clothes are a tattered mess, so I decided to make him an outfit. The pants are already done, and the shirt is about halfway finished. I’ve been working nonstop in a rocking chair that sits directly in front of the door. I had to do something to keep me busy while Beowulf was away. Thinking about what he is doing, who he is with, if he will come home is driving me mad.

  Every small sound outside makes my heart jump, thinking he is home, but it ends up being the wind or a small animal running by. It’s late. Well past mid of the night, and Beowulf is nowhere to be seen. I hold the tears at bay, wondering if having Rian and me here is too much for him.

  Perhaps I should go? No. The thought of leaving makes my stomach turn. Rian needs a mother figure in his life, and I can easily see myself slipping into the role. Beowulf shall have to talk to me. It’s the only way this can work.

  Another reason why I sit in front of the door is to see if Beowulf stumbles home with another woman in his arms or locked to his lips. Or both. My heart would shatter. He has had plenty of experience before, maybe only being with one woman isn’t enough for him.

  Thunder shakes the small cabin. I place the needle and thread down, watching as a cold rain begins to pour, clattering against the roof. Even if he doesn’t want me, I worry about him in this weather. Winter can be brutal here. Cold rain could mean sickness, and it can turn to ice, endangering him even further.

  The temperature in the house lowers, and I throw another log in the fireplace to keep the flames blazing hot. I rub my arms to warm myself and drape a fur over me, running my hands down the soft pelt of the deer Beowulf killed a few weeks ago. Rian stirs in his sleep but doesn’t wake. When I see his sweet, innocent face, I start to get angry with Beowulf for leaving his nephew how he did. What if the boy woke up and found himself in a cabin with a woman he barely knows? He would be frightened.

  Oh, just wait until that big brute comes home. I shall give him a piece of my mind. If he doesn’t want anything to do with me, fine, but the least he can do is be here for his nephew. The more I think about it, the angrier I become. Beowulf is a better man than this. What in the world is going on with him?

  I grab the needle and thread and try to finish the shirt I was working on. My movements are jerky and frustrated. I’m taking it out on the poor material, and it didn’t do anything to me. The truth is, Rian can wait for clothes, but it is the only excuse I have to stay up to see if Beowulf comes home with another woman.

  Boots pound heavy on the steps, and I rock the chair I’m sitting in and get back to work. I don’t want him to think I’m waiting up for him. When the door opens, I immediately smell mead. My nose crinkles, and that familiar spark of anger returns. He left me and Rian here to go get drunk? Unbelievable.

  “What are you still doing up?” he asks. He may reek of mead, but his head seems to be on straight.

  I lift one shoulder and shrug, pushing the needle through the shirt. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m making clothes for Rian.” It isn’t a full out lie, but I wanted to see if Beowulf came home alone, and he did. Why does that give me hope?

  “You are still beautiful, even when you lie.”

  My mouth drops open on his accusation. “I’m not lying. He needs new clothes.”

  “I can buy him clothes from the tailor,” Beowulf says, and it strikes a chord with me.

  “Yes, I forgot. The warrior, so well-off, and the poor little servant girl that can’t do anything because everything she touches is sullied. Isn’t that how it always was?” I spit, throwing the damn shirt on the ground. It isn’t even a shirt anymore with how many times I’ve messed up.

  His silence speaks a thousand words. I scoff. “Of course it was.”

  “Stop being so damn stubborn. Who cares if I have money? I want to take care of Rian. I want to take care of you. Fucking stop being mad, woman. Accept what is,” he barks at me, and the loud boom of his voice causes Rian to stir.

  “What is? Please. It’s your way of controlling me.”

  He stomps forward, bending down until his nose is touching mine. “Damn right it is. I lost you once. I’m not going to lose you again. Do you know what that did to me?” he pounds his chest with his fist. “Searching for you all those years destroyed me, Lilith. You were my best friend. You are my best friend. I shall never do anything to jeopardize that. Ever.”

  Something in his eyes, a flash of regret moves behind his clear blue eyes, but he masks it with how angry he is a second later.

  “You’re going to stay in this fucking house, safe, well-fed, love me, be with me, and do whatever the fuck you please as long as you stay in the kingdom because I can’t go another day if I lost you again. Sit down. Shut up. And accept it!”

  His voice shakes with how irate he is. His chest heaves, and the fire glistens off the sheen of sweat coating his face.

  Rian mumbles something in his sleep and flips over in the bed. I have had it with the fighting with him, and I’ve had it with the sinking feeling in my gut when I look at Beowulf lately.

  “What are you hiding from me? Tell me the truth. If not for me, then for Rian because I won’t let him be around this tension. He has had enough trauma in his life!” I snap, my voice weak and on the edge of breaking. “Just tell me before it drives me mad.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I place my hands on his chest and stare at him with teary eyes. “Stop lying to me, Beowulf. Just stop.”

  He places his hands around my wrist, and his shoulders sag. Pulling me away from the furs Rian is sleeping on; he takes me to the room where the basin is for baths. “Promise you won’t leave me. Promise you’ll stay. Promise you’ll love me. Please. Please, Angel. I’m so sorry.”

  I’ve not known Beowulf to beg for much, and the fact that he is, it makes ice flow through my veins. “What did you do?”

  “Something I know you’ll never forgive me for.”

  I know in my heart of hearts, there is nothing he could do that I couldn’t forgive him for. “Just tell me, my love.”

  He shakes his head and drops it in his hands. I’ve never seen him so out of sorts. “I can’t. I can’t say the words.” Beowulf sits on the edge of the basin, and I insert myself between his legs, stroking his face with my hand to try and calm him.

  He wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight to his body. It’s too tight, and it almost makes it hard to breathe, but I don’t say anything.

  “One last time before you go,” he mutters, breaking my heart. “Give me one last time. I beg you.”

  “Beowulf, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “Beowulf—”

  “Please. I need to feel your lips.”

  My resolve crumbles, and I lean forward, pressing my lips against his. He still tastes of mead, but I find it delicious since it’s mixed with his natural flavor. He kisses me as if it is the last time. His lips caress mine in a way that I have never felt from him before. It’s tender, gentle, and soft. My hands clutch his shoulders, and a whimper escapes me from the heartache pouring off him.

  “Beowulf,” I say, trying to snap him back to reality.

  “Not yet.”

  Instead of arguing with him, I give in to what he wants. Because despite myself, I want it too. The need pouring off of him is my last resolve, and I meet his kiss again. His hands stroke my face, my neck, and slide down my body until his wide palms land on my hips. He ignites a carnal desire in my body with the simplest touch. I try and hold on to what we must talk about, but the more his lips are on me, the further it drifts away.

  I’m straddling his waist now, rocking my hips back and forth over the long length in his pants. His fingers tug the strings that hold my dress together, slowly loosening the tight hold the material had on my body. The dress falls to my hips, exposing my breasts to Beowulf. A low rumble sounds from hi
s chest when he sees them. His large hands grope and knead, plucking my hardened nipples, and it causes my sheath to get even wetter—something I didn’t know was possible.

  “Beowulf,” I moan as he takes one of my pink beads into his mouth.

  He doesn’t say a word. I have a feeling he is on the edge of breaking, so we continue our exploration of each other. I tug his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere behind me. Breaking the kiss, I rub my hands over the mountainous shoulders. The soft, thick hair tickles my palms as I marvel over how beautiful this man is beneath me. His skin is marred from years of battle. Pure strength and power exude from him. But the way his eyes pierce me suggests I’m his one true weakness.

  With one arm curled around my back and the other one pulling the dress down over my hips, he lays me down on the ground, the rough scratch of the hardwood floors imprint on my back.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, kissing his way down my body. “I love you. Never forget how much I love you.”

  “I could never,” I gasp as his fingers slide through my drenched folds.

  Soon we are naked; our bodies pressed tight against one another. His cock rests against my pussy, getting wet with every moment. His lips find mine again, and he changes the position of his hips, adding a slight curl to his thrust. He sinks his long cock inside me until the tip hits my fertile womb. One of his hands clutches onto mine for dear life as he rocks into me. Thunder shakes the cabin at the same time my first orgasm electrifies me.

  I intake a sharp breath. Rain slams against the windows.

  Beowulf lifts me up until my legs are straddling his thighs, and we are face to face. Our breath mixes. We are together in perfect harmony, pelvis to pelvis, chest to chest, and his fingers dig into my hair until his blunt nails scrape my scalp. With every whimper I make, he moans. Beowulf keeps me close as we make love, keep every part of our bodies connected.