Tyra spent most of the morning soaking and talking to her friends and soon-to-be family. She had been unconscious when Sigrid prepared for her wedding to Leif, and Freya refused to wait for the rituals. Tyra wondered why it was so important to Lena that Tyra and Bjorn obey the customs but allowed her own daughter to forego them.
“Bjorn, come here,” Ivar called his nephew over who stood with Leif, Erik, and Strian. They were outside, waiting their turn for the bathhouse. The women had been in there for what seemed like forever. “You need the sword.”
Bjorn froze as he looked at Ivar. He shook his head and stepped back. He had forgotten about the tradition, and now he looked around in desperation. The memories of his parents’ death flooded him. He had been awaiting a glimpse of his bride, and now he wanted to run into the hills.
“Bjorn. Bjorn, are you listening?” Ivar and Rangvald walked over to him. Ivar studied his face and pulled him in for an embrace that was more like a bear strangling him. “Bjorn, your father knew you would need the sword one day. He planned for it already. It’s waiting for you.”
Bjorn tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he nodded, trying to understand what Ivar was telling him.
“Bjorn, even if he hadn’t had the chance, I would have planned for it when I put Leif’s sword in the catacombs. You are as much my son now as Leif. Lena and I considered you ours the moment you came to live with us. I will never replace Jan, but I hope you know I love you as much as I do Leif and Freya.”
Bjorn only nodded as he returned Ivar’s embrace. He once more tried to swallow the lump in his throat, pushing it down to sit heavily in his chest.
“You have been excellent parents to me. I have benefited from your love and generosity. Sometimes it’s hard to remember their faces, but it’s yours and Aunt Lena’s that fill the void. Thank you, Uncle.”
Ivar led Bjorn and the others to the catacombs where they buried their elderly and ill. Bjorn grimaced, imagining having to dig through them to find where his father had buried his sword. He glared at Leif, who was ready to tease him in retribution for Bjorn’s comments when it was Leif’s turn for the same trial.
“I’ve just returned from battling a madman. I’d say let’s agree I’m not a boy and have been a man in my own right for years?”
“No,” Rangvald, Ivar, Leif, and Erik bellowed.
Only Strian remained quiet. He shrugged and looked at the other men.
“Get it over with, so we can all bathe and prepare for the wedding. The sooner you’re wed, the sooner we can eat.” Strian reasoned.
“You’ve always thought with your stomach.”
“Among other things.”
Bjorn paused to look at Strian.
“I shall remind you of that soon enough.” Bjorn began the climb along the uneven face of the tombs. He called over his shoulder. “Any hints to which one it might be in?”
“I’m not sure I remember,” Ivar taunted.
“You’d better hope I’m never left to decide which tomb you get,” Bjorn grumbled as he pulled away the first stone. The stench made him wobble. He peered inside and grimaced before reaching his hand in. It snagged on a bone, and he yelped but tried to swallow it as a grunt. He failed, and his friends and relatives chortled down below.
“I’m sure it’s not that one,” Ivar called up.
“Now you tell me,” Bjorn muttered.
Bjorn searched through three more tombs before his hand landed on the hilt of a sword. He pulled it free, but was unprepared for the wave of emotion that swept over him as he looked upon his father’s sword for the first time in a score of years. He landed heavily on the rock next to him as he sat with the sword across his lap. He used his sleeve to wipe the dust and dirt from it. The weapon had seemed monstrous to him as a child when he was only strong enough to lift the hilt. Now it was like his own sword that he had wielded for years. He laid his father’s sword aside as he drew his own. He placed them both on his lap. When he had his sword forged, he had instructed the blacksmith to make it as similar to his father’s as they both remembered. Looking at them side by side, they were mirror images. The only differences were the nicks and scratches on the hilt. They told different stories from battles long ago and all too recently. Bjorn ran his hand over his sword a final time and kissed the hilt before he placed his sword in the tomb and returned the rock. He slid his father’s sword into his sheath and climbed back down.
“Thank you,” Bjorn looked at the place where his father had buried the final reminder of his life with his parents.
Tyra was impatient. She was dressed and growing rapidly annoyed as Sigrid and Lena finished her hair. She wanted to be on her way to the altar, but she did not dare be rude to her new family members.
“We had better finish, Sigrid, before she runs away,” Lena teased.
“The men should be ready now. They left the longhouse a moment ago,” Lorna shared.
“They just left? Weren’t they ready for ages? Didn’t they go to the bathhouse before us?”
“No, they visited to the catacombs,” Freya supplied.
Tyra spun on the stool upon which she sat.
“What? Why would Ivar do that to him? Why would he make him remember he doesn’t have a father here today?” Tyra snapped her mouth shut as she looked up at Lena. “I’m so sorry. That was horribly unkind. You and Jarl Ivar have been wonderful to Bjorn. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Tyra, Ivar took Bjorn there for the same reason we have been keeping you here. Bjorn’s father had already accepted he was dying when he arrived back at the homestead. He buried his sword for Bjorn before he returned to his longhouse. It’s been waiting for Bjorn all this time.”
Lena stepped to a side table and picked up a dagger. Tyra gasped and shook her head as Lena walked back to her. Tyra covered her mouth with one hand as she shook her other. She was not prepared for Lena to hand her the dagger her father had always carried. It was the same one her mother had given to her father on their wedding day. She wiped her eyes and reached for the knife. She turned it over and over as she remembered the lessons her father taught her with this knife. She assumed it had gone to Valhalla with him.
“They knew to save it. After your mother died, your father brought this to me for safekeeping in case he did not return.” Lena reached into the pouch tied as her waist and pulled out two rings. She blinked away her own tears before smiling at Tyra. “Leif and Sigrid wear Ivar’s parents’ rings. Erik and Freya received Rangvald’s. These were my parents’ rings. I would like you and Bjorn to have them.”
Lena stunned Tyra. She looked between the rings and the dagger, then back again. The knife had been more than she expected, but the rings were more than she could ever have imagined.
“Do you not want to save them for your grandchildren?”
“Perhaps they will one day go to them. Tyra, you and Bjorn are as much my children as Leif and Freya. I regret not bringing you into our home like we did Bjorn. At the time, it seemed best for you to remain with your blood family. Once Ivar and I realized how wrong we were, you were involved with Knud. When that soured, we wanted to invite you to move in, but you raided so often, it seemed useless after waiting so long. My heart is overflowing now that you’ll finally make your home in this longhouse, short as that may be.”
Tyra leaped to her feet and looked at Sigrid in fear.
“Nothing is happening to you or Bjorn. I suspect you will want a farm one day when you both decide raiding is less important than having a family.” Lena pulled Tyra into a tight embrace. “I’d say it’s time we get you married.”
Tyra joined hands with Bjorn before the priestess and the altar. They exchanged their vows as their entire tribe watched. Many were in disbelief that the couple was marrying at last, while others did not understand why it took so long. Bjorn presented Tyra with his father’s sword, which she was charged to protect until their son was ready to carry it. Tyra handed her father’s dagger to Bjorn.
“Vigo’s,” he m
urmured and looked into Tyra’s bright eyes. He forgot the exchange of rings as he swam in the hazel pools he had loved since he was seven. It was not until Tyra held them up that he remembered what came next.
“Jan’s,” Tyra whispered as she handed the sword to Freya then reached out her hand as Bjorn slid the rings from the dagger’s hilt and slid one over each of Tyra’s fingers before settling it on her third finger. Tyra repeated the ritual until the ring rested on Bjorn’s finger. Neither waited for the final blessing. They pulled one another into an embrace, and their lips melded together. Tyra was sure her soul left her body and floated above them, watching as she and Bjorn sealed their marriage. She was convinced she only returned when the priestess pressed the bowl of goat’s blood into their hands. Neither Bjorn nor Tyra had noticed the goat being sacrificed.
The feasting carried on well into the early morning, but Bjorn was only patient enough to sit through one round of toasts before he ordered a thrall to follow him with a tray of food and several pitchers of mead. He swept Tyra into his arms and ignoring the hoots and calls, he carried his bride to their chamber. Once the thrall left, Bjorn locked and barred the door. He even carried a table to place in front of it.
“You are mine for at least the next sennight,” he pulled her into his arms.
“Do you have somewhere else to be? I had planned for a fortnight.”
Bjorn nipped at her neck as his hands gathered the material of her gown. He groaned as he found the satiny skin of her thighs and bottom. He let go, careful with the gown, aware it was Tyra’s mothers. He eased the gown from her body and draped it over a chair. He looked at Tyra’s naked body and was certain he was the luckiest man alive. His wife was beyond beautiful, but she was also intelligent and brave, loyal to a fault, and the only woman for him.
Tyra was not as careful about undressing Bjorn as he had been with her. She yanked his clothes and strew them across the floor. Bjorn lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
“Wife, I intend to make you weep with pleasure.”
“Husband, I shall hold you to that.”
“I can think of something I’d like you to hold.”
“And I can think of something else that will weep.”
“Could you be referring to my cock?”
“I don’t plan to make you cry, though the ecstasy I bring you may move you to tears.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
Bjorn followed Tyra onto the bed and sank into her as she dug her fingers into his back. They made love throughout the night, dropping off to sleep as sunlight drifted through their window. They slept late into the morning, then woke to make love and talk throughout the rest of the day. They opened the door once a day to receive a loaded platter of food until a sennight night passed. Neither was ready to leave their love nest, but neither missed the fact no one had alerted them to what was happening with Grímr. They had duties they no longer dared to ignore, so they returned to the land of the living in time to continue preparing for their next round with Grímr.
Epilogue
“Bjorn,” Tyra groaned.
“Bjorn!” This time it was a scream. “Bjorn!”
The door crashed open as Bjorn charged into their longhouse. He caught Tyra as she doubled over in pain.
“Where is that woman? She was not to leave you alone,” he growled as he eased Tyra into a chair, but she would not let go when Bjorn tried to stand up.
“No! You can't go. I need you.”
“I have to fetch the midwife. You weren’t supposed to be by yourself,” Bjorn repeated.
“Bjorn, stop. She needs the rest as much as I do. Strian practically carried her away. You know she’s had a hard time with this one.”
“And you’re overdue. Someone’s supposed to be with you at all times, so I could fetch the midwife without worry.” Bjorn pulled away despite Tyra clutching to him. He opened the door to their longhouse and looked to the fields. He spotted the boys who helped him on their farm.
“Sven, Harold! Fetch the midwife!” He watched as the boys dropped their tools and hurtled over the fence, running back to the homestead.
“Bjorn,” Tyra moaned. He rushed back to her side. “Hold me. This hurts far worse than that axe wound ever did, and that nearly killed me.”
Bjorn’s face drained of all color as he looked down at his stalwart wife.
“Don’t say that. Don’t remind me and don’t scare me,” he choked as he lifted her into his lap.
“It hurts, Bjorn. Far worse than I imagined. I believed Sigrid when she told me since it was her second babe and definitely Freya since it was her first. I was there for them both a fortnight ago, but I know now that I could not understand until experiencing it for myself.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but pain ripped through her, and Bjorn felt her belly tighten. He ran his hand over her back and tried to comfort her.
“Should I move you to our bed?”
Tyra nodded and clung to him as he carried her to their chamber. He struggled, but managed to pull back the bedcover. He laid Tyra down but once more she reached for him.
“Don’t go,” she struggled to speak around the pain.
“I’m not. I’m not going anywhere until our babe is resting in your arms.”
“You’ll stay through it all? You won’t let the midwife chase you away?”
“The old bat learned her lesson with Leif and Erik. She’ll never try to tell any of the men in this family to leave their wives while they deliver. I was sure Leif scared years off the woman’s life, but I heard Erik from down the hall.”
Tyra laid back against the pillows, enjoying a brief reprieve.
“And I was so sure you would be the worst of them all.”
They both looked over as Lena walked in. She spotted them and came to the chamber.
“Where’s the midwife? Why isn’t she here? What’s taking her so long? If you’re here, doesn’t she realize my wife is in labor?”
Bjorn rattled off question after question as he kept looking around Lena’s shoulder.
“You are going to be worse,” Tyra choked the words out before another spasm contracted her belly. She moaned and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Bjorn,” she whimpered, her eyes still squeezed shut.
He looked to his aunt, pleading for help. Lena smiled and pointed to his side of the bed.
“Ty, let go long enough for me to go to my side of the bed.”
His wife shook her head, her grip proving she had lost none of her strength despite being away from the training field for months. Bjorn looked back at Lena again. She raised her eyebrows, but came to stand next to him. Bjorn kicked off his boots, then carefully climbed over his wife to his side of the bed.
“Tyra, we need to count how far apart your contractions are,” Lena stroked the hair away from Tyra’s perspiring brow.
“Too close,” Tyra cried as another wave of pain made her curl around her belly.
“Will you let me check?” Lena asked as she continued to stroke Tyra’s hair.
Bjorn noticed it calmed Tyra more than squeezing his hand in her vice-like grip. She made a sound that seemed like consent. Lena moved to the end of the bed and pushed back Tyra’s gown to examine her. When she finished, she walked back to stand beside Tyra’s head.
“It won’t be long. We need to get you out of that gown. Bjorn, help me.” The last was not a request but a softly spoken order. Bjorn helped Tyra sit forward as he and Lena worked the gown over her head, leaving her in just a shift. She had taken to wearing gowns when none of her leather pants would fit. Bjorn teased that he preferred the gowns because they were far more convenient when he came home for the midday meal. Rarely did they have time for him to eat, preferring to find interesting and creative ways to make love throughout their home. As Tyra’s time drew closer and she grew more awkward, she grew shy about Bjorn seeing her. He put her fears to rest when she realized he craved making love to her just as much, if not more, now that she was preg
nant.
“Bjorn!” She squeezed his hand as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “I need to push. The midwife isn’t here, and I need to push. I’m scared.”
Bjorn’s heart twisted to witness his wife in pain and confessing to it. She was in agony if she admitted it. She never complained of the pain while she recovered from the axe wound or any of the smaller injuries she had suffered.
“It’s all right to push. You’re ready. Your pains must have started much earlier today,” Lena moved to stand at the foot of the bed.
Bjorn looked at Tyra as Lena’s words registered with him.
“You were in pain, and you didn’t tell me?” It was not an accusation, but a question riddled with guilt.
“What could you have done? You have fields to tend. The boys need you to tell them what to do. You know they’re lost without your instructions.”
Tyra groaned and bore down as her belly contracted yet again.
“I could’ve gone for help sooner. I could’ve made sure you were not alone.”
Tyra opened her eyes long enough to glimpse Bjorn’s tortured expression. She waved him closer and gave him a gentle kiss.
“You’re the best husband I could ever hope for. You take better care of me than I deserve most of the time. I was uncomfortable all day, but the pain only started just before I called for you. I was alone for maybe ten minutes.”
She kissed him again but drew away when her body demanded she push again. They repeated the pattern of Tyra pushing and then resting against Bjorn who cradled her against his chest. Tyra’s pains seemed to go on forever, but their son was born less than two hours after Tyra began to labor.
“For a first child, that was quick,” Lena cleaned their babe before handing him to Tyra.
“Quick? That was a lifetime,” Bjorn was incredulous that Lena said such a thing.
“It really wasn’t that long, Bjorn.”
Bjorn looked down at his wife as though she had lost her mind, but he watched as their babe nursed, his tiny fist resting against Tyra’s bare breast. He reached out and ran his finger over the hand. It opened, and Bjorn placed his finger within his son’s grasp. The fist tightened around it, and Bjorn was mesmerized.
Tyra & Bjorn (Viking Glory Book 3) Page 26
