The Viking Warrior's Bride

by Harper St. George

  Vidar silently cursed. This was what he’d been afraid of. He might have agreed with Ivar, but seeing Gwendolyn so blatantly disrespected was infuriating. She’d pulled off a grand feat by tracking the rebels and beating them. If only she hadn’t lied to him and disobeyed him in the process. But then she never would have accomplished that feat, because he never would have allowed her to go, he reminded himself. Nevertheless, the act should have earned her some respect from the men. At the very least her demonstration should have garnered her some respect. Ivar was simply being an ass, because he couldn’t stand to take instruction from someone he perceived to be weaker.

  ‘Would you rather be taught by a woman or bested by one? Because right now, she’s besting you.’

  Ivar grimaced.

  ‘Stay,’ Vidar urged, though it was a command and not a request. ‘You’ll learn in time.’

  Ivar didn’t respond, but he didn’t walk away. The other men in the group took the crossbows Gwendolyn gave them and followed her directive to start with the targets she’d had lined up before them.

  She caught his eye and tipped her head in thanks. He smiled at her, his gaze straying to her bottom once again as she turned to continue the lesson. Perhaps one day soon, he’d convince her to thank him in bed. He couldn’t think of a better place than their bed to work out those aggressions.

  * * *

  The bristles of the comb massaged her scalp as she dragged it through her hair. Gwendolyn had spent the past few moments getting out all the tangles, so it slid through easily. Her scalp tingled as the comb gently scraped over it, so she closed her eyes and let it relax her. Vidar hadn’t returned yet from taking some of his men out looking for farmland, so it was the first time she’d had complete privacy in her chamber since their marriage. Because she’d been so accustomed to having her privacy, sharing the chamber with him was quite an adjustment. She was always worried about him barging in on her.

  And yet, even when he wasn’t here, he was in her thoughts. She’d been surprised at how he’d encouraged her crossbow lessons with his men. He’d even stepped in with Ivar, who had been close to outright defiance. She wasn’t certain how she’d expected Vidar to respond, but it wasn’t with support of her. She’d liked it more than she cared to admit, almost as much as she’d liked the way his eyes had admired her accuracy with the crossbow. It had fed her hope. If she could show her husband that she was competent, then it was possible that he’d come to accept her as she was. She could be Lady of Alvey, but she also had to be a warrior of Alvey. It was who she was. If he could come to terms with that...then perhaps there could be more for them.

  She glanced over at the bed, remembering what had happened there. Heat prickled over her skin in embarrassment all over again at the thought of his punishment. But it wasn’t due merely to the fact that he had spanked her. It was how she’d responded to him. He’d dominated her in a way that had completely gone against everything she thought she understood about herself, but she’d liked it. She’d liked his hand on her bottom even more. That place between her legs became dewy and soft as she thought of his fingers touching her there. What else could have happened had he not put her on the bed? It was a certainty that she’d had no intention of stopping his questing fingers. What would have happened had he kept rubbing? She’d felt almost like a fever had come upon her, as if the pleasure he gave her was building to something, though she had no idea what that might be.

  That delicious, twisting pleasure returned now to flicker low in her belly. It tightened her breasts and made them ache. How had she not known that her body could do this earlier? She didn’t even know what exactly it was doing, except making itself ready for him. Vidar. The mere thought of him made her entire body clench as if it were anticipating him.

  She cast a quick glance towards the door and found it still closed. Of course it was still closed. Dropping the comb to her lap, she stared down at her breasts. Her nipples pressed out against the linen of her nightdress. Slowly, as if she might get caught or as if what she did was forbidden, she cupped her full breast in her hand. Her thumb stroked over her nipple, causing it to pucker even more. She gasped at the sensation of the soft fabric moving over the sensitive flesh. Eager to experiment, she untied the string that held the neckline closed so that she could touch her own bare flesh to see if it would feel even better.

  She pulled the sides back, her fingers finding her nipple and plucking. A dart of pleasure drove straight to her centre where she ached from remembering Vidar’s touch. She wanted to touch herself there to see if she could recreate the feeling he’d given her or if his fingers held a special sort of magic. She had a feeling her touch would pale in comparison to his. Pinching her nipple a bit tighter this time, she shivered in response and a hollow opened up inside her. It felt nice, but she wanted it to be Vidar’s fingers on her. She wanted his hard body near hers as he showed her more of the pleasure to be found between them. She wanted his rough voice and his strong hands to guide her. Her free hand moved up her thigh, bringing the nightdress up with it. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that his hands were on her.

  The scrape of the latch turning warned her just as the door came open. Her eyes flew open and both hands came to rest in her lap, grasping the comb in a white-knuckled grip. Vidar stood in the frame of the doorway, his broad shoulders filling it nearly from one side to the other. The top half of his hair was pulled back in his customary top knot while the rest hung around his shoulders. Her heart thundered in her chest at how close she’d come to being caught. Or had he caught her? How much had he seen?

  He’d stopped and was staring at her. His brilliant blue gaze swept her from the top of her head to her bare toes. One foot was peeking out from beneath her nightdress, but she hadn’t been able to arrange it properly when she’d yanked her hand out from under it, leaving the other side exposing her from the knee down. His gaze caught on that bit of exposed limb and lingered. Then it moved up over her hips, going so slowly that she was certain he must be able to see right through her nightdress. When it settled on her breasts, he took in a deep breath, making his nostrils flare as he took a step into the room and closed the door behind him.

  She didn’t know if it was the power he brought with him, or the strange power he had over her, but the man had presence. When he entered a room, it suddenly seemed small and he became the focal point...at least as far as she was concerned.

  ‘How was your excursion?’ She sounded so breathless that she was certain he must know exactly what she’d been doing.

  ‘The sites Rodor showed us will do well.’ His eyes were intense as he walked over to her. He didn’t bother to offer further explanation and she didn’t ask. Belatedly, she thought she should chastise him for barging in without knocking, but he’d never knocked and to say anything now would only be an admission of guilt.

  Only when he’d come to a stop before her did she realise that he held the ceremonial tankard. The corner of his mouth ticked up as he brought it to her lips, silently commanding her to drink. She obeyed, all the while puzzling over why exactly it excited her so much to obey his commands in their chamber, while outside of it, she bristled at them.

  He was still smiling when she finished, his eyes a bit heavy lidded. Taking his own drink, he set the tankard on the table beside her. His smile wasn’t mocking or smug. It actually seemed very admiring.

  His reached out and touched her hair. ‘I’ve not seen your hair down since the ceremony. It’s beautiful.’

  She didn’t bother to remind him that it had fallen down during their scuffle before the spanking. She could feel herself blushing, because she didn’t quite know how to accept a compliment from him. That heavy-lidded gaze was making her feel warm inside and as if this moment was somehow more intimate than it should be. Instead of addressing it, she asked, ‘Why do we need to drink this every night together? Where did the tradition come from?’
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  He shrugged and his fingertips dropped to the curve of her jaw. She fought not to turn into the warmth of his touch. The pine and leather scent that lingered on his skin was affecting her. It fed the desire coursing through her body so that she had to force herself to pay attention to his words. ‘Some say it refers to when men would steal their brides. He’d go to the next village and look until he saw one who caught his eye. Then he’d wait...and watch...until she was alone. He’d take her and hide her away. If no one found them, he’d emerge with her after a month and she’d be his bride by right.’

  ‘That’s barbaric,’ she said. It was disturbing that as barbaric as it sounded, she was imagining how she and Vidar would be spending that time. She had a suspicion that it would be a very enjoyable month indeed. If they’d met in a different way, would she feel differently about him? He was arrogant and commanding, and she probably wouldn’t like him very much at all under any circumstances, she decided. So then why did her body respond to him?

  ‘It is,’ he agreed and his fingertips made their way down the curve of her neck. She couldn’t help but tilt her head a little to give him better access. ‘But if I were such a man and I had come to Alvey, you are the woman I would’ve taken.’

  She shifted, pressing her thighs together to extinguish that ache between them. Her hands tightened around each other to keep from reaching out to him. ‘So we drink together to symbolise that?’

  He raised a brow as he sank to his haunches before her so that they were at eye level. ‘Aye, to celebrate our joining. To celebrate our first month together. It’s also said to ensure a healthy child.’

  How did everything with him come back to them in bed together? ‘So it’s ceremonial then.’ She smiled.

  He chuckled and took his fingers from her skin, only to reach down and grab the strings that should hold the top of her nightdress together. She hadn’t had time to tie it closed and she hadn’t noticed how far it had fallen open. She gasped as she looked down to see that the entire tops of her breasts were exposed. Each side was barely held up over her nipples and the hint of the pink of her areolas was revealed. He didn’t even try to pretend that he didn’t see them as he stared down at her, gently tying the nightdress closed above them. The rougher backs of his fingers brushing the soft skin of her breasts.

  ‘That brings up what I wanted to talk to you about. My warriors will need women soon.’

  Her blush deepened and she pushed away from him, but his hands went to her thighs to keep her seated. ‘I’m not certain how to help you with that. They will have to manage just like every other warrior.’

  He grinned at her. ‘The problem is the women seem to be timid of them. And the women from the farms who don’t seem to be as afraid still won’t approach them. I think perhaps someone has warned them away.’

  ‘Do you...do you mean that your men want wives or...?’ She couldn’t make herself say the word in front of them.

  ‘Some want wives, others want bedmates.’

  ‘Vidar... I can help them find wives, but I cannot condone...bedmates.’

  His fingers tightened on her thighs. ‘Do you suppose your warriors have never taken a woman to bed who wasn’t his wife?’

  It was one thing she’d never spoken to Rodor about when it came to managing the warriors. Perhaps they did. She had no idea.

  ‘They’re becoming anxious,’ Vidar continued. ‘They’ve been months without women due to our trip. If we don’t fix it, they may resort to drastic means.’

  Was he becoming anxious? He’d been without a woman just as long as they had. A memory of how aroused he’d been their first morning together flashed through her mind. It made her blush deepen, if that were even possible, but it also made her realise that if she didn’t intend to bed him... Was it possible that he might bed someone more willing? On the night of their marriage, she would have welcomed that, but now...now the idea filled her with rage and jealousy.

  ‘Do you mean the barbary you described?’ Would they actually steal wives? ‘But you said that was legend and it happened in the past?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nay, I never said it was in the past. Just that it referred to when men would do that.’

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. What sort of heathens had her father invited into their home? And why did she want to bed this particular heathen so badly? ‘They would steal Saxon women to bed them and force them to become brides? I cannot allow for that to happen, Vidar. Surely you’re not saying that you would force some maiden to submit to the demands of a brute?’

  He shook his head, but he didn’t release her. ‘Of course not. But it’s a problem we may have to face. To be fair, the only incidents of bridal theft I’ve seen have been when the bride was willing, but her parents were not. A month away with her chosen mate tends to smooth over things with her parents. If there’s a chance of a child, then they’d prefer her to stay with the man, regardless of their initial reluctance on the matter.’

  That sounded much more palatable, but also risked causing the rift between the Dane warriors and the Saxons becoming that much deeper. ‘Then we need to make certain everyone knows that we support these matches.’

  He nodded. ‘Agreed. I think the farm land will help. Most of my men are wealthy in their own right, but their wealth won’t increase from trade and plunder in Alvey.’

  His eyes looked wistful for a moment and she wondered what life he had given up to come to Alvey. ‘Perhaps over the next days we can pay visits to the villages and farms.’ She rose and this time he let her, rising to his feet and moving back to lean a hip against her table. She paced towards the bed as she planned. ‘We can bring a few of the Danes and let the people see that they’re not monsters bent on destruction. Perhaps we can even come up with an incentive. For every family that allows a daughter to marry a Dane, they’ll receive a token of gratitude. Coin or a few sheep.’

  Vidar nodded, but he was frowning. ‘That’s good, but don’t you think the Saxon warriors will feel resentful? They’ll already feel as though they’re in competition with the Danes. If their own marriages aren’t rewarded thusly, it could cause problems.’

  She was impressed with his foresight. ‘You’re right. We should encourage all marriages in the coming months.’ When she turned, his gaze was in the general vicinity of her backside. She blushed as she realised that he’d been staring at it while she’d walked away from him. It made her remember how he’d seen her there, naked, and how he’d touched her. She could tell he was remembering it, too, as his gaze slowly worked its way up her body. Everything inside her turned to molten honey. He came towards her and her heart leapt and then fluttered in excitement.

  ‘Excellent suggestion. We’ll start tomorrow.’

  She was inordinately pleased with his approval and forced herself to calm down. Pleasing him and preening for his approval wasn’t something she was interested in pursuing. If he happened to think an idea of hers was valid, then that was wonderful. If not, then she would not care. She refused. ‘Thank you.’

  He came to a stop before her and touched her hair where it fell at her waist, giving it a gentle tug. Her scalp prickled with pleasure. ‘We can work well together, you and I.’

  She nodded and chewed her bottom lip, because he was gazing at her mouth as he spoke. Looking down to escape his gaze, her own caught on his fingers as he played with her hair. The dark length of a strand twirled around his thick finger and it was mesmerising to watch. That was one of the fingers that had touched her so intimately. ‘I think we’ll have to find a way. It will be best for everyone.’

  She thought he leaned forward, but it was such a slight movement that she couldn’t be certain. He breathed in and she had the distinct feeling that he was smelling her. He seemed to do that a lot and something about it appealed to her, if the way her pulse fluttered wildly was any indication.

  ‘I have
to go down and arrange for our trip tomorrow,’ he said.

  She nodded, still not daring to look up at him.

  ‘Gwendolyn.’ He spoke in a near whisper, a husk in his voice and need so plainly evident that her knees felt weak. ‘Your body is willing to submit to me now, just as you were the other night.’ She closed her eyes, prepared to deny it, but he sucked in a deep breath. ‘Will you allow me to give us what we both want? Will you wait up for me?’

  He was asking if she would bed him tonight. Her whole body pulsed once as an intense need wound its way through her. God help her, she wanted to say aye. Who would she be if she allowed it to happen? Nay, not simply allow. If it was a question of consent, it would be much simpler. Who would she be if she indulged in the pleasure he was offering her? This man had usurped her authority in her own home and he’d had the audacity to punish her as he would a child. Her. A warrior who had fought for her people. She didn’t know the answer to that question.

  ‘Not yet.’ It was the only truth she could verbalise to him.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, he removed his hands from her hair, but his hand caressed her hip as he walked past her and out the door.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Gwendolyn dressed the part of the Lady of Alvey. She pulled out one of her favourite long tunics, a moss-green velvet that fell to her feet. Around her waist, she wore a gold link belt her mother had given her for her tenth year. She even wore a hair cloth that concealed much of her hair, though she left the mass to fall down her back. Her mother would be pleased with her, she thought. She’d spent many hours trying to force her youngest out of her trousers.

  Gwendolyn had never missed her mother as much as she’d missed her since her wedding. When she’d died during Gwendolyn’s twelfth year, Gwendolyn had mourned her, but it was only after she’d made her way into womanhood that she truly felt the loss. She’d never found a use for the womanly things her mother had tried to teach her, but she could certainly use a lesson or two now. Though she’d been the only Lady of Alvey for a short while, she’d always simply been Gwendolyn. Marriage had changed that and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of that change. Or her new husband.