The Viking's Wedding

by Jessica Knight

  “Aye, but there is time. There is no need to rush. They have given us no warning. We will remain silent for now,” I nod.

  “We need to act now!” cries Wulf, his voice twisted in anger.

  I take my sword out so fast; Wulf does not see it coming. I press the sharp tip against his neck. “You dare challenge me?”

  His pierces me with his crystal—almost sheer—blue eyes. He does not flinch. He barely blinks. Wulf never shows fear, but he does back down. His mouth may get him in trouble, but he is not a stupid man. “Nay, Warlord.”

  I sheath my sword and nod my chin down. “Good. We will prepare, fight, and train to be ready, but we shall not be the ones to make the first move. They never stay in one place long enough to attack.”

  “Fuckers,” Trident spits.

  “Agreed,” I grumble.

  Each man flanks my sides as we ride the edge of the cliff. Trident and Wulf are itching for a good fight, which reminds me, I have a fight with Grim at some point today. A little excitement floods my chest. It’s been a good while since we have had a friendly brawl.

  “What’s that?” Wulf points to the shrubbery in front of us.

  Our kingdom is quite large. It usually takes us a good few days to make sure the entire territory gets inspected. There are groups of three of us that go in the North, South, East, and West. My men and I are in the South right now.

  As the woods get closer, I notice broken branches and disturbance in the ground. I hop off Jasmine and bend down, running my fingers along the boot imprints in the dirt. “It’s fresh,” I mutter. The soil is still wet from the previous day’s rain. I wander my fingers over the broken leaves next, watching the clear fluid seep out of the damaged snap of the twig. I gather the drop on my fingertip, sticky—yet smooth. “Someone was here,” I snarl and throw myself onto Jasmine’s back. “I want every inch of these woods combed. Do you understand me?”

  Wulf smiles. It’s wicked, laced with criminal promises, and cracks his neck. “Aye, Warlord.”

  I always want to stop them from calling me that. I believe myself to be their friend first, but I understand the need to grow the boundary between friend and leader.

  We charge into the forest, leaves slapping against my face the deeper we get into the thick. We split apart. I keep straight, while Trident turns left, and Wulf turns right.

  I bring Jasmine to a hard halt, jerking the reins back. She neighs as she slides to a stop, sending dirt flying in the air, as we enter a clearing large enough to dismount her. I tie her to a nearby tree and wrap my hand around the handle of my sword, readying myself for war.

  I stay quiet. Listening. Feeling. Smelling. I use my senses. The air carries a sweet fragrance of flowers and rain. The dirt beneath my boots gives from being soft.

  Snap.

  I twist my head to the left when I hear a branch break. The telltale sign of someone failing to be stealthy. “I know you are here,” I call into the dark woods. “I hear you. Come out. Stop being a coward.”

  I spin my blade around, the metal ringing with every slice in the air.

  The bushes shake, and I point my blade, readying for the intruder to show themselves.

  “You’re surrounded,” Wulf says, his bow and arrow at the ready.

  I glance to my left to see Trident closing in, wielding two smaller blades in his hands, swinging them around like a maniac.

  “You might as well show yourself and surrender, and maybe we won’t kill you,” my voice rasps the lower I try to make it.

  After a few moments of nothing, I take a step closer. “You have until the count of three, or I’ll run my blade into this bush.”

  “Fuck this,” Wulf disregards my command and stomps through the bushes, reaching his hand down into the brush.

  “Beowulf!” I snarl. He has no idea what he is getting himself into. We do not know what the threat can be.

  But then I hear a scream. Not the throaty warcry of a Viking warrior, but a high-pitched scream, echoing in the woods. It almost sounds like…

  “It’s fine,” calls back Wulf. His arm jerks around and when he pulls it out, he has a young girl by the neck, kicking and struggling. Fat tears are rolling down her face, and she screams again.

  She has a new mark on her neck. It’s angry. It bleeds from how fresh it is. The skin bubbles, but underneath all the blood and dirt, I see the sign of the Jackals. So they are alive I see, even going as far to mark children. The lowlifes.

  “Don’t kill me,” she pleads. “I—I promise I’m not bad.”

  Wulf’s eyes soften, and he sets her on her feet. She crosses her arms over her body. The young girl cannot be older than five, maybe six. Her dress is ripped and tethered, old from the looks of it. She is filthy; dirt covers her face and body. Her hair is a tangled mess with twigs and leaves. She has deep brown eyes, full of tears, and fear.

  “Please, don’t kill me. Please,” she wails. Her entire body shaking. “I just wanted to get away. I promise. I just want to go home.”

  Wulf puts his bow behind his back, hanging it on the strap he made for it. Even unarmed, he seems pretty intimidating. All of us must. We are three huge men. She does not know us. She darts her head back and forth between the three of us, tears racing down her cheek, leaving streaks in the dirt on her face.

  I squat down to become eye-level with her. Wulf grabs her hand and brings her closer. The wee thing is shaking.

  I don’t know what to do, so I hold a finger up to my mouth and make a shhh noise.

  It seems to do the trick. She stops crying and looks me in the eye.

  “I know we seem pretty scary, don’t we?” I ask, in the softest tone I can muster.

  She nods, sending her wild brown hair in her face. She isn’t from this country. She seems Mediterranean from her skin tone, but she has the accent of this land. Another lost soul.

  “We aren’t going to kill ye, sweetheart,” I whisper, sheathing my sword. “We thought you were a big bad man coming to start a war with us. We are only protecting our home. But ye’re safe with us.”

  She sniffles, “So I can go home?”

  “What is your name, wee one?” I tilt my head and soften my gaze. I know I seem scary, no matter what I do. She probably thinks I’m some type of monster from the scars on my face. I will only have to work that much harder to convince her I’m not here to harm her.

  “Abigale,” she answers, taking a step forward. Abigale points at my scar. “Did you get that protecting your home?”

  “Aye, I did.”

  “He is the best warrior in this entire country,” Trident whispers with awe.

  Her eyes widen. “Really?”

  I chuckle, “No. Lord Grimkael is. You have heard of him, right?”

  She folds in on herself again. “They say he is a bad man and kills anyone he sees. They say he is evil.”

  “Who says this, Abigale?”

  She hisses as her fingers brush the mark on her neck. “The Jackals.”

  “I see. And how long have you been with the Jackals, Abigale?” I ask.

  “For as long as I can remember. I don’t know where home is, but it must be somewhere, right?”

  “Aye. Abigale, the Jackals are very bad people who lie, steal, and kill. They have hurt many of our people. We are at war with them. But Lord Grimkael is a good man. You have no need to fear him.”

  “Will you be there?” Her little voice shakes from emotion.

  “I will, aye. You are safe with us.” I want to kill the Jackals even more for taking this child away from her parents, probably killing them first. They hurt her, marked her, and now in order to cover the mark, we must sear the skin with a hot blade. It will only cause her more pain.

  “What is your name?” she asks me, taking a small step toward me again.

  I place my hand on my chest, “I am Warlord Einarr Thor. These are my men. The very best of warriors. The big man that pulled you out of the bush without my consent,” I growl as I slide my gaze to him, and the brute jus
t shrugs his shoulders. “That is Beowulf. We call him Wulf for short. The other man is Trident.”

  “They scare me,” she starts crying again and slams into me so hard the breath whooshes out of my lungs.

  Her little arms wrap around my neck, nearly choking me. Here is this embrace again. People really do love this. Wulf snorts, and I narrow my eyes at him. He clears his throat and starts whistling.

  “No need to be frightened, wee one. You are safe,” I pat her back softly. “Let’s get you to the castle. A warm bath, fresh clothes, and some food will set you right.” I try and pull away from her, but she only holds on tighter and starts screaming. “It’s alright. Up we go.” I pick her up, her tiny legs wrap around my waist, and she starts to hiccup from the tears. “You’re fine, wee one. Nothing to fear.”

  She must be exhausted, hungry, and in pain. It’s a good thing we found her.

  “Are ye sure about this, Warlord?” Trident whispers. “She could be a spy.”

  “I’m not a spy! They hurt me. I don’t want to hurt anymore,” she wails again.

  I sigh, narrowing my eyes at Trident for not speaking lower. “Look what you did.”

  “I didn’t know it would make it cry,” he says.

  “I’ll worry about what you just said later,” I tell him. “Right, Abigale? I shall hand you off to Wulf, get on my saddle, and then he shall place you behind me. Then you must hold on tight, aye?”

  “No! No. I don’t want to go to him. I don’t want to!” she cries so hard spit starts to travel down her chin.

  “I swear on my life; he will not hurt you. It’s only for a moment.”

  She looks back up at me with terror in her eyes.

  “Do you trust me, Abigale?”

  A long moment passes between us, but finally, she nods. My heart breaks as I pull her arms and legs off me and hand her over to Wulf. He hitches her on his hip.

  “Aye, see? I ain’t so bad,” he says, softly chuckling and bopping her nose with his finger.

  He seems more suited to take care of a child— a natural. Unlike me. She stops crying so hard, but tears still fall. I hop on Jasmine and grab the reins.

  “Alright,” I say.

  Wulf sits her behind me, and she wraps her arms around me tight, laying her head against my back.

  “Warlord Einarr. The collector of lost souls. Who would have thought?” Wulf jokes.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, turning Jasmine around until we are all on our way back to the castle.

  “There’s Abram too,” Trident points out. “Maybe they can relate to you. They can feel the same feeling you have.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” I grumble, peeking my head over my shoulder to check on the wee one.

  “She’s asleep,” Wulf says.

  “I can’t imagine what she has gone through.”

  Wulf clears his throat. “Warlord, what if she is a spy? It’s easy to trust a child.”

  “Then I guess it is my head on the chopping block.”

  “You’re willing to risk your life?” Trident asks.

  “I remember a time where Grim didn’t give up on me. He risked his life for me. Sometimes, not everyone is bad,” I say it on a soft sigh, remembering the time when I lived in the cave. I wasn’t much older than Abigale. If it hadn’t been for Grim, I would have died.

  “You put a lot of faith into the unknown, Warlord.”

  I turn my head to Wulf, giving him my full attention. “What is this life without a little faith, brother?”

  “Faith has not been kind to me. I left it behind many years ago.” Wulf stares off into the distance, almost as if he is lost in a memory. He cocks his head. “Who is that?”

  I slide my eyes to where he is looking and see a man coming at us full speed. I groan when I recognize the steed.

  “Take Abigale and go back to the castle. Look for Lady Sassa. Make sure you tell her what happened.”

  “You want us to leave you with this man? And what of the girl? She shall wake up and see you aren’t around. She’ll be upset.”

  “I know, Wulf. But I do not want her to see this. She has seen enough fighting for the rest of her life. Take her,” I command, and Wulf leans over, picks her up, sets her in his lap. She does not wake.

  “Go,” I say, before it’s too late.

  Wulf curls his lips at me, showing how he disdains my order, but he and Trident run forward, staring at Lord Troy as they ride by. I lean forward on the saddle horn, waiting for him to come to a stop. I am tired of his protective father antics. I am tired of being painted as the bad guy when he is the one that is being so unreasonable.

  “You,” he sneers as he pulls on the reins to stop his horse.

  “Me. Here I am. How can I help you, Sir Troy?” My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’ll miss supper because of this arsehole.

  I hate missing supper.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thyra

  I do not know what to do with myself. I’m worried. All I know is Einarr patrols the South today. I don’t know how far south he is. It could take Grim hours to get to him, and by then it would be too late. My father will have already done the damage he wants to inflict.

  “It will be fine,” Sassa comforts me, gathering her dress to the side as she sits next to me on the steps.

  “Why do I not feel like it is, then? My father has had it out for Einarr since the moment he saw him. It’s made the past few days miserable, to say the least,” I mutter, looking out onto the open fields, just waiting to see Einarr ride back to the castle.

  I miss him. I miss the way he looks at me. I miss the way he talks. I miss his beautiful body and soul.

  “He kissed me,” I blush, remembering his lips on my cheek, almost close to my mouth.

  “What? And you are just now telling me? When did this happen! Tell me everything,” she gushes, looping her arm through mine.

  My eyes almost water from how hot my face turns. “Do you remember when Grim asked me to run him a hot bath?”

  “Yes, but it was never for Grim. By the way, Einarr was hiding behind the curtain the entire time. He didn’t want you to see him in such a mess.” A small chuckle escapes her lips.

  “That’s where all the water on the floor came from. That makes so much sense now. Well, I entered the bathroom to drop off the linens, and there he was, in the nude, Sassa!”

  She gasps. “You saw Einarr naked!” Sassa says it a little loud.

  “Shhh,” I laugh. “I don’t want everyone to know.”

  “You must start talking!” she whispers.

  I place my hand on my forehead, nearly overcome with embarrassment and lust. “Oh, I was stunned. He is so beautiful, Sassa. And… big,” I cough.

  It makes her giggle. “You minx. He kissed you then?”

  “No, but he did get out of the tub. And he got… hard, you know. I had never seen anything like it before. I ran out of that room like the devil was nipping at my heels. And then a few days after that, he and Grim got into the fight at the pub. I bandaged him up and made a bath for him.”

  “You saw him naked again! My goodness.” She fans herself. “Grim would lose his mind if he knew I was hearing this.” She leans forward. “Continue.”

  “He asked me to join him. I said no. I tried to leave him in privacy, but I couldn’t move my feet, then suddenly, he pulled me to the edge of the tub, and his lips lingered on my cheek. Right here.” I point to the spot right next to my mouth. “It seems silly to call it my first kiss since it wasn’t on the mouth, but the way he made my stomach flip. I don’t know how else to consider it.”

  “It is. Oh, that is so wonderful, Thyra. I’m so happy for you.”

  I sigh, “Don’t be, just yet. Father seems to want to crush my happiness.”

  She pats my shoulder. “He is just worried. He’s trying to protect you. That’s all. He isn’t handling it right, I agree, but I think he is doing the best he can. Lord Troy is a good man.”

  “If t
his is his best, it is a poor effort.”

  “I know, but in time you and Einarr shall finally come together if the goddess sees it is the right fit. And I think it is. Sparks fire in the air when you two are around each other.”

  “Really?” The silly thing called hope makes my voice rise.

  “Really.”

  The sound of hooves thundering on the ground steals our attention. It’s Wulf and Trident. And Einarr is nowhere near to be found.

  “Sassa,” I gasp, reaching for her hand with shock. Is he hurt? What happened? What did my father do? So many questions run through my mind as they come forward.

  “Oh, my goddesses,” Sassa gasps.

  And I see why.

  Wulf is carrying a small child. A young girl. The poor thing has the Jackal symbol on her neck. She is sleeping. Filthy and too skinny.

  “What happened?” I run to the right of Wulf’s steed.

  “We were patrolling the South border when we noticed a disturbance in the tree line. We followed it and found her. She has attached herself to Einarr. She will not be happy when she wakes up and he is not here.”

  I swallow, thinking the worst possible thing. “And where is he?”

  “Your father found us, and Einarr sent us away,” Trident grunts as he slides off his horse. “I know he is your father, Lady Thyra, but if he keeps acting this way, Einarr won’t care if he is your father. And neither will Lord Grimkael.”

  Tears brim my eyes. “I know. I wish I knew what to do. Father and I got into a fight earlier because of Einarr.”

  Wulf lifts the sleeping girl effortlessly and places her in my arms. “Einarr wants her protected and taken care of. He will be back soon, Lady Thyra.”

  “Thank you, Beowulf. Trident.” I nod to each of them.

  They take their horses to the stable, leaving me with the small child. I look at Sassa for help. I have no idea what to do. The poor child is so small, so fragile. I’m afraid I will break her.

  “Come, get her inside,” Sassa says. The guard at the door opens it for us, looking at the small girl with questions and a slight amount of judgement.

  So many questions as to why Einarr would bring a Jackal here. I understand she is a young girl, but can she really be trusted?