The Viking’s Wedding
Jessica Knight
Copyright © 2019 by Jessica Knight
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Description
Big, gruff, dominant… and utterly dangerous.
Einarr Thor is a beast of a man. A beautiful savage.
The fierce Viking Warlord wants me to be his bride.
And there’s nothing he won’t do to have me.
I should fear him, resist him.
Yet, I want him, and I crave his touch.
The wildest part?
I ended up saying “ I do ”, and vowing myself to him.
Marrying a brutish warrior is insane.
He’s fearsome and wild.
And not to mention we’re different in every way.
But I know there’s more to him than just a killer.
He’s a man that will do anything for me and our unborn child.
A man that will guard, protect, and defend his family, at all cost.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
Einarr
Silence.
I have never heard it in such depths before. For moments, seconds—maybe, but days? Aye, never. Every shop in the village is closed in respects for King Leif’s death. A monumental thing to happen to Sassa and the entire kingdom. They are used to his type of leadership and decisions. How will the village react to Vikings standing next to the Queen’s side after they mourn for their King?
Everyone has been very welcoming to Grim and our people, but I seem to be different. People take one look at me and fear me. They run inside with their children. They desert me when they take one glance at my face. They know we are warriors—the Vikings. I have earned every mark, scar, burn, and bead. I am not ashamed of who I am, but there is a part of me—a small part—that wishes that the monster in me did not reflect on my face.
The scar on my face is what people stare at. It’s brutal, but so was the battle. I had cut a man’s throat when at the last second, his blade cut from my forehead, down and over my eye, cheek, lips, and chin. It isn’t a pretty scar; it’s slightly pink with rough edges. I try and hide it with what’s left of my hair after I shave the sides to show my tattoos, but it only makes me seem more brooding.
I’ve fallen into the persona of deadly, vicious warrior pretty easily, but it leaves a lonely life to be lived. Aye, I have filled my bed with many women, mainly because I am the closest they could ever get to Grim, but a man has his needs, and they filled mine.
Seeing Grim with his lovely wife, Queen Sassa, makes me realize I need more in life. The emptiness in my chest isn’t getting smaller. The more I see Grim with the love of his life, the more I want what he has, but I do not know of a woman that would want to spend the rest of her life with a man like me.
My horse sighs as we enter through the gates of the kingdom. Beowulf and Trident, my two noblest warriors, are behind me, and they gasp when they see how dark the castle has become, life stolen from the very stone. The castle mourns along with Sassa for her father. Even I can feel it as I near.
A light patter of rain starts to fall, cooling my heated head.
“Ah, that feels damn good,” Wulf grunts. I imagine he is tilting his head back like he always does when it rains.
“It’s been a while since it has. The plains need it,” Trident states, trotting up next to me.
“Aye. Rain is supposed to mean luck. Perhaps, the mourning of King Leif is coming to an end, and he is saying we can move on.” I pull the reins back to stop my steed and hop off in front of Lord Troy’s home. Lord Troy Dahl was the King’s second in command. I am not sure of his authority now, but I know that Grim will respect it. He is a noble man, after all.
I notice Lord Troy moving his belongings in the rain inside the door of the castle. He is rushing, trying to beat the creation of mud beneath his feet. As Lord Troy is entering the castle, Thyra, his daughter, comes out wielding a wooden box under her arm and hitches it on her hip. The moment she steps out of the door, the rain starts to come down in sheets, heavy and pounding against the ground like falling rock.
“Lady Thyra!” I shout through the loud crack of lightning and run to her. “Wulf. Trident, come.”
She seems startled at first. Her wide green eyes blink quickly from the rain dropping onto her lashes. “Warlord Einarr.” She curtsies. So proper.
I take the box from her grasp and tell Wulf and Trident to enter the home to get the rest of their belongings.
“Oh, that is very kind of you, but it is fine. I can carry it.” She reaches for the wooden contraption again. It looks homemade. I wonder if she made it?
The rain drenches us at this point. Her dress is stuck to her body now, showing her voluptuous figure. Big breasts, curvy waist, and pouty lips. Drops of water flow between her breasts, and my tongue flicks thinking about how I want to dry her heavy mounds.
“I know you can carry it, Lady Thyra, but a woman such as yourself should never have to carry such a load.” My thick Scottish accent seems to get a bit thicker when I speak to her. Aye, that is another thing people do not know about me. I’m not Viking by blood, only by blood oath because of Grim.
“Oh, thank you. That is very kind of you Warlord Einarr.” Her hand pushes the wet strands of hair out of her face
“Aye, it isn’t a problem. And please, call me Einarr.” I can’t take my eyes off of her. She must be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The dash of freckles across her nose invites me in, and I want to take a step closer, but her eyes dash to the long, jagged scar on my cheek. I jerk my head, so my hair covers my face, and the wet strands slap against my cheek.
“Thyra!” Troy’s loud voice booms along with the thunder. “Out of the rain. Are you mad? You can catch a cold.”
I can tell she is biting her tongue. She wants to protest and argue, but only gives me one last look before she turns around and walks back inside, soaking wet. I want to dry her body off with mine so bad. It’s an ache. I feel it in my core—the need to be close to her. My bones ache to wrap themselves around her.
Wulf and Trident come out of the house for the fifth or sixth time, soaking wet, and stand next to me as if they are preparing for battle. It is habit for them, something I wish they would not have done right at this moment. It can be interpreted as a challenge to Lord Troy, and something tells me he will not hesitate to fight, especially when it comes to his daughter.
“What do you think you are doing here? At my home, nonetheless?” he asks, ripping the wooden box
from my grasp and tucking it under his arm.
“I saw Lady Thyra coming out of the house with that box. I wanted to help. That’s all.” I hold my hand up and flick my fingers to tell Wulf and Trident to go on without me. They wait for a moment before grunting and turning back to the horses. Their armor clinks together. Their boots stick to the growing mud.
Wulf feels the Lord’s glare and peeks over his shoulder. He does not make eye contact but acknowledges the threat for what it is.
“I can help my daughter. She does not need you or any man to come to her rescue. She only needs me.”
“Of course, Lord Troy. I meant no disrespect. I only wished to help her. You are moving into the castle, I see?”
The hate slips from his eyes from a moment as he looks at the large structure his best friend used to live in. I hear King Leif had tried to get him to move in for ages, but Lord Troy preferred the chain of authority. He didn’t believe that he should live with the King.
I wonder what changed. I’m surprised Grim has not told me about it, because if Thyra is moving in, I am most definitely moving out. I know I am the kind of man to take what I want. My self-control will dwindle, and I will want her so badly, but she deserves more than a touch from a killer such as me.
“It is against my wishes, but Lord Grimkael insists,” he says with no sneer. So it isn’t Vikings he has issues with. It’s just me.
“I see. Best of luck, aye? I must be going now. Lord Grimkael is expecting me.” I turn around, nearly blinded by the downpour of rain, when Lord Troy’s hand slaps against my shoulder.
He spins me around and steps forward.
Wulf and Trident’s swords unsheathe instantly, the sound of metal scratching against metal echoing out even in the rain. I hold up my hand, telling them to stop and nod. I can handle any threat. My scars prove as much.
His lips curl as he breaches my personal space “Let me tell you this, Einarr—son of no one. You shall not go near my daughter. You are not Viking. I do not know what you are. I’ll follow Lord Grimkael’s orders, the Queen’s as well, but do not mistake my loyalty for them. It does not exceed to you. I see how you look at Thyra—like a hungry animal,” his boots touch the tips of mine. My fists clench at my sides, wanting to put this man on his arse.
He lowers his eyes coldly against mine. “As long as I breathe, a man from nowhere shall not go near her. She deserves more. She shall find a suitor at her birthday party.”
I curl my lip and turn quickly on my heel. I do not know how he knows of my past, of my background, but even knowing will not matter, because his words are the truth. She does deserve better than a man from nothing, from no one. I was raised on Viking land, with Viking people, but blood does not lie.
If someone were to cut me open, Viking blood would not stain the grass or run through the rivers.
I hop on my horse, Jasmine, and kick her sides. She rears back, kicking her front legs in the air while the thunder rumbles the ground. Jasmine lands back on her front legs and bolts to the stalls where it is warm and dry. Wulf and Trident follow behind on their mounts, the clicks and clacks of the hooves on the ground make it sound impending, as if we are heading straight into battle.
I kick my leg over the saddle and bring Jasmine inside the stable. She is soaked from the rain. Steam rises from her back. Her black mane is dripping, but her dark brown eyes are still calculating. She hates everyone. She only follows me. She only lets me ride her. I think it is because I saved her from a mudhole, but maybe it is because she senses I am different, too. Jasmine is large for a horse, bigger than all the others, and the color of a storm cloud. I wonder if she feels out of place, like me, so she sticks to me.
Jasmine has become a loyal steed, a warrior, and dare I say, part of my family.
“What was that all about, sir?” Trident asks as he leaps off his own horse. He has always been more formal while Wulf has never given a fuck.
I take the reins off Jasmine and pat her neck. She dives her nose into the barrel and gulps large swallows of water. “Just a father concerned for his daughter. That’s all.”
“You want to fuck Lady Thyra?” Wulf plucks a piece of hay from the stack and starts picking his teeth.
Pure rage floods my veins from how he speaks of her. I throw the saddle down and grip Wulf by the front of his armor, bringing him close to my face.
“If I ever hear you talk about her like that again, I’ll give you a scar to match mine. Are we clear?” I tilt my head and curl my lip as Wulf’s eyes calculate me.
He is a big man and shows no fear. Wulf only nods.
“Aye. Apologies. I meant no harm.”
I let him go. Even with the cold rain, I feel hot from anger, and it is making me sweat. I want to admit to someone that I want to do more than fuck her. I want to claim her. I want her to be mine in every sense a woman can belong to a man. I want her to have my last name.
But why would a woman like that ever want a man like me?
“Make sure Jasmine gets fed,” I order. My teeth hurt from clenching my jaw so tight. I slam the doors of the stable open and step out into the rain, hoping it will cool not only my temper but the lust scorching my body.
I have less than a month to make her mine, or I can lose her to the men wanting to take her hand at her birthday party.
And I’m not a man that loses.
Chapter One
Thyra
I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to decide if I like what I see. The dress is absolute perfection. I shouldn’t be trying it on again. I just tried it on yesterday, and it fits the same. I’m not sure what I am looking to gain from trying it on for the millionth time. The more at stare at myself, the more I want approval—within myself.
So I try on my dress every day to make sure it looks the same. I try it on to see the beauty past the gorgeous dress, but all I see are the differences in my body compared to the other women. I seem to be the only one in the whole kingdom that has wide hips, thick thighs, and big breasts.
Running my hands down my torso, my waist is smooth. My curves are apparent. There is no getting rid of them. What I would give to be the size of Sassa. She is slim and lean. She has the body I dream of having, but she also doesn’t have breasts the size of mine either, or hips, but at least she does not have to get clothes specially tailored to fit because her chest is so big. It is embarrassing.
Speaking of embarrassing, with every inhale my breasts push against the material of my corset. They are pushed up and so tight that I feel as though if I move the wrong way, the seam shall split right down the middle, not only falling open and tearing the purple material and ruining the dress but freeing my breasts for the world to see.
Which may be quite freeing…
I debate for a moment which option would be better, when a knock at the door draws my attention from my reflection. The large wood creaks open as my father steps inside, closing it behind him with a soft click. As always, his eyes soften when he sees me, and love pours off him in waves.
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, and a small, yet, proud smile on his face. “You look lovely, Thyra. You remind me of your mother right now. The prettiest woman in all the land.”
My hands grab the material of my dress. I avert my eyes down, and I spin from side to side, watching the gown fan outward. “Thank you, father.”
I can always count on him to make me feel better. When he mentions my mother, which isn’t often, my heart stresses a little, but not to the point of sadness. I just miss what I never got to know.
I let out a large exhale, trying to learn to breathe in this too-tight contraption, but my ribs ache. My body wants to be free of the imprisonment. The dress is perfect, but this damn corset is horrid.
Turning back around, I catch my eyes in the mirror again. My father’s reflection is in it as well, and he is behind me, still grinning. My hands run down the front again, out of habit, as I twist and turn. It must be perfect.
But something is not adding up. So
mething feels like it needs to change. Something about me being in this dress for a party surrounded by men feels wrong. I am not happy with it anymore. Any of it. The men. The party. The corset. The gown. I’m tired of all these expectations. The dress is gorgeous. I cannot ask for a better or prettier gown.
But it is myself that I have a problem with.
And the fact that Father is allowing so many men to come and ask for my hand? A snort rips through my mind. A man asking for my hand. How ridiculous does it sound?
Maybe my father is losing hope for me. He has never been interested in a man asking for my hand, and it makes sense if he thinks no one wants me, so he is trying his hardest to make sure I feel wanted.
His hands land on my shoulders, and our eyes meet in the mirror. “Alright, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My cheeks heat from the lie. The damn pale skin gets me every time.
“Right. You always blush when you lie, sweetheart. I’ve had nearly twenty-four years of getting to know you, so you can’t hide anything from me.”
I know. Nothing I feel is private, because it always shows all over my face. “Nothing is wrong.”
I do not want to worry him. He is my best friend, besides Sassa. It has been the two of us since I was born. Soon after I was born, my mother either left in the middle of the night, or she was taken. Either way she left behind a newborn baby with a man that had to work and raise a child. A man who would soon be promoted to Lord and fight bravely alongside the King.
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