by Sandra Lake
***
At the sound of footsteps, his eyes opened and his body hardened, instantly prepared to battle. The embers in the firepit glowed and the moonlight illuminated the short distance to his ship.
Hök said nothing, yet silently stepped in front of her to block her pathetic attempt at escape.
“Ah!” She sucked in a shallow breath. “Are you trying to free yourself of me by scaring me to death?”
He said nothing, stepping closer until his chest bumped into her, herding her back toward his ship like an errant sheep.
“Sweet husband,” she said with a heaping amount of sarcasm. “I will be but a moment. Where are the privies, if you please?”
Hök grabbed her arm and began marching through the stones, further down the beach. Sovia was inanely slow, and it took all his self-restraint not to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder to hurry the chore along.
“There.” He pointed to a collection of rocks that cut jaggedly out to sea.
“How comfortable.” She shuffled off and he turned his back.
Bedding her was out of the question, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. He would not fall victim to her again. He knew she would accept him into her bed, and he had a right to be there now, but he knew his weaknesses and his strengths. If he bedded her, he would never be able to rein in his sentiment for her. How could her touch her, kiss her without unlocking every past feeling of love and adoration that he was determined to keep buried? He was a grown man . . . a commander of men. People counted on him to keep a level head, and bedding his wife would prevent that.
A moment later she was back by his side, washing her hands in the shallow surf.
“I will need my belongings back now, if you please.”
“Prisoners surrender all right to property.”
“Hök, I saw my trunks being loaded,” she said, sounding exasperated. “I know at least half of my things are on one of your ships.”
“To distribute to the widows of your war.”
“Ugh,” she said softly. “Fine. I care not who wears my Byzantine silk, but I will require my linen supplies.”
“Nay.” He had no intention of allowing her to adorn the vibrant jewel colors that flaunted her rare beauty. The ill-fitting scullery maid’s gown was good enough. At least this way, a man couldn’t make out the shape of her hips or curve of her breasts. A dull rectangle was what she looked like . . . a rectangle with an angelic face, large green eyes, and a mouth that looked like sin itself. Nay. There would be no compliments for his cunning wife.
“Hök.” She jerked her arm, feebly attempting to escape his hold and dig in her heels. “I ask for such items out of care for your men.”
“Indeed.”
Through her clenched teeth she hissed, “’Tis my experience that men in general do not care for the sight of a woman’s menses. A puddle of blood at my feet by morning may prove distasteful.”
He released her arm immediately and stepped back.
“Have no fear, darling. It is not catching.” She smirked, clearly happy with her small victory.
***
A week later, under the cover of darkness, Hök’s ships slipped into the safe harbor of the secret wharf that his father had constructed to load Tronscar’s steel shipments. He asked Kaj to see the men rested through the night, then unloaded the ship’s cargo of food stocks and spices in the morn.
“Aye. I’ll see to it. You have enough on your hands with your little burden.” Kaj jerked his head in the direction of his wife.
In the moonlight, her features looked like those of a young girl, pure and delicate. Northmen were known throughout the world as plundering Vikings, ravishing women and taking whatever they wanted, whoever they wanted, so why not live up to the reputation? The devil on his shoulder had returned, but Hök pushed him away.
A part of him held on to the want to continue to hate Sovia, but constantly trying to hate her was taking up too much of his energy. He should be spending his time on figuring out what to do with her.
Her lean, long leg stretched and a shackle peeked out from the blanket. He fumbled on his belt to find the key. Fak! Was she still wearing the iron?
“The stars look the same,” she said, apparently awake now. She stretched her arms over her head like a cat.
“Of course they look the same.” He told himself to stop staring at her and get the bloody iron off her feet.
“I’ve traveled to many distant shores and the stars do not all appear the same, not their order or position. These stars look just like Toraslotte stars.”
“The distance from Toraslotte is not very great. That is part of the reason Tero advised me to acquire the land,” he said as he worked on the stubborn lock.
“Poor Tero. Do you think you will forgive him anytime soon for such tragic advice?”
“Tero is far from poor, or from wrong—bloody oath, Sovia! Why didn’t you tell me?” Hök was instantly enraged at the bloody mess of skin that he found under the irons.
“Dear husband, to what exactly are you referring?” Whenever his temper would flare, her returned blow would be to call him a sarcastic endearment.
“Your skin is rubbed clear off. Your ankles will scar.”
She looked down at them uninterested. “Aye. I suspect they will.”
“Why did you not tell me that you were ailing?”
“Why would I have cause to tell you that? The jailer handed you the keys right before my eyes. You seemed quite content to parade your shackled bride amongst your men.”
He pulled her close. “You should have told me. You will not conceal your ailments from me in the future.”
“Men are so hard to figure out sometimes,” she said, looking up at the stars as if she were speaking to someone absent from this world. “My father told me that men hate it when a woman complains and whines, and now you tell me that you would prefer me to voice my complaints. I am many things, but a mind reader is not one of them.”
“Hmph.” He felt like lecturing her, but what would be the point? “Can you ride?”
“Oh, I can ride. My ankles will be fine,” she said as he lifted her off his ship and onto the dock.
He mounted his horse Nobel and reached his hand down to help her onto the rear of his stallion, but she bit her lip and shook her head.
“I believe I will feel much more safe to be in the front, secure in your arms.” She stepped on his foot and hoisted herself into his lap, wrapping her arm around his middle, resting her head against his chest. “Yes, my ankles feel much better in this position.”
His body began to betray him, hardening, traitorously, reacting to her heat and closeness. Hök cursed and set off into the night.
“You enjoy tormenting me, don’t you?” he snarled at her.
“Quite,” she said with a giggle as she snuggled in closer still.
***
When they reached the castle, Hök lifted Sovia in his arms to spare her ankles the climb up the staircase of his family’s private tower.
Fatigue from three years of living in a constant state of high alert seemed to catch up with him instantly upon closing his chamber door. Home. He could close his eyes and truly sleep, without having to stay alert for the smallest sounds of danger, other than the danger of losing his mind over the hellcat he had brought home with him.
His body wanted her, which had been made tormentingly clear by having her firm bottom bouncing upon his thigh for the last three hours. The entire ride had been a test of endurance.
Hök was not a rutting stag that could not control his urges. To bed her would be easy and momentarily satisfying, but it would mean nothing to her and everything to him. From the second she had entered the king’s hall in Bergen, Hök knew he was in danger of becoming lost to her again. She would never love him, never see their marriage as anything more than a politic
al arrangement. If he took her to bed, he would be making love to her. He would become helpless to keep from falling back in love with her. Distance from her was the safest course.
When his brain and body were rested enough, he would form a strategy on how best to face his family and find suitable living arrangements for Sovia.
It appeared his mother had kept her maids on high alert for his arrival. He took in a deep breath and smelled his mother’s touches in all corners of his chamber. The silver braziers were polished to a high shine, the linens were freshly washed, extra water pitchers had been left full, candles were poised and ready for use on every surface, and there was a hint of rosemary and lavender in the air.
Hök began peeling off layers of his leather travel garments while Sovia stood hesitantly in the doorway behind him. He picked up a pillow off his bed, several cushions from the window seat, and tossed them on the floor, where a black bear fur lay in front of the cold hearth. He would sleep there in order to avoid the close contact he’d suffered through for the past few hours.
Though she had not uttered one word of complaint, his bride looked pitiful. She was haggard from their fast-paced journey, too thin, and her constant presence robbed him of any mental peace.
He flopped down onto a chair and began unlacing his boots.
Sovia began shuffling through the contents of one of the wardrobes.
Irritated, he said, “Be off to bed with you.” She ignored him, as she was in the habit of doing, and approached him with a linen towel draped over her arm. “Give us a night of peace and save your scheming.”
Even dirty and exhausted she somehow seemed to move with the sensual grace of a courtesan as she sunk to her knees. “Is it not custom in Tronscar for the women to bathe and tend the returning champions?” Her hands moved with speed and purpose, unwrapping the leather ties to his shin plate and tugging at the back of his heel to free him of a boot. He leaned down to pull off the other boot. Their lips came within inches of each other, and his hands stilled as he gazed mindlessly upon her face—her nose was so perfectly formed, small and softly rounded at the end. Her eyelids delicate and pink, as the petal of a flower. He had never given a thought to the beauty of an ear before, but hers were perfect. He imagined they were velvety soft to touch and he craved to capture a delicate lobe between his teeth.
The moment one of his boots came loose, the spell broke. He shoved her hands aside and grabbed the chunk of pine soap she had brought with the towel. “Leave me.”
She ignored him and began removing his other boot.
“Do you need a cuff to the head to remind you to listen?”
“Quit your barking, Hök. There is no one here that you need to impress.” She pushed the cuff of his trousers up to his knee, placed his foot in the center of a basin she had dragged over, and lathered her hands with soap. With a firm, soothing touch she rubbed his calf muscles, rinsing down to his ankle, and raised his soaking foot out of the water, slathering his foot with soft soap. The scent of pine filled his lungs and he closed his eyes; the scent of home.
Hök gave up his fight, for now. Tronscar was safe. He sighed in relief and his shoulders lowered a little more with every breath. He rolled his head to the left and right, releasing the contracted muscles in his stiff neck.
She washed his other foot, placed the towel on the floor, and dried them both with care.
“Your wiles will not work on me again,” he quietly said. She didn’t respond or even look up from her task.
With the basin of soiled water in hand, she floated back across the chamber. Only one candle was lit, but still, Hök watched her closely. Using a fresh bucket of water, she washed her face, hands, and feet. Her movement seemed almost rehearsed, every turn of her hands fluid and full of grace. It reminded him of the first night he had watched her, across the crowded feast in Polska, dancing in the center of the hall with a group of young maids, twirling and laughing, her arms raised above her head, her hands caressing the air in seductive waves. She’d been the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon. He lay on the bed, with his battled-callused hands behind his head, and watched her. He hated her for taking up so much space in his head after the way she had betrayed him. Tomorrow he would find her a distant corner in the fortress and rid himself of her. Foolishly, he tried to convince himself that once she was out of his sight, she would be out of his mind . . . but that wasn’t true. He hadn’t seen her for years and yet her smile and scent had never left him.
Eventually, his eyes drifted closed but his heart was still pounding. He heard her lie down in the feather bed, and remembered the feeling of her small, strong hands stroking his legs. His loins tightened and he turned over on his side to conceal his arousal. He shouldn’t have let her ride with him, or bathe his feet. That was a mistake that would not be repeated.
***
Loud chewing sounds invaded Hök’s dreamless sleep. He cracked an eyelid. His youngest brother, Ansgar, was perched on the arm of the chair by the hearth, eating an apple.
The twerp smiled, smug as an overfed house cat. Hök could not help but return the grin. Now that the war was over, his younger brothers were safe from being dragged off into battle, and Hök allowed himself to bask for a moment in a healing sense of relief.
It was official. Next to his burden of a bride, his baby brother Ansgar, whom everyone called Pike, was the most handsome and most annoying creature on the face of the earth. “Mother said I wasn’t allowed to wake you.” Crunch. Pike bit and loudly sucked the dripping juice from the fruit.
“Rot off.” Hök kicked Pike in the leg, toppling him off his perch and sending him cursing to the floor.
Hök covered his head with a pillow, but the blankets around him dipped, signaling another invader.
“Who’s the imp?” Stål asked.
Hök pulled the pillow off and found all four of his brothers in the room around him. “Stål, get these whelps out of my room. I haven’t slept in a month.”
“Tero was concerned that your friend might be ill tempered toward you,” his twin said. “We were checking that you’re still breathing.” Hök pried his eyes open and looked at Stål. Dressed like a true ruler in training, Stål was clean-shaven, his hair freshly washed and tucked neatly behind his ears. He almost resembled their father more than his own twin.
Hök glanced over his shoulder and saw his brother Aron nudging the bundle of sheets in the bed. A small foot stuck out from the bottom of a fur blanket, a wisp of a red silk curl from the top.
“It’s an elf—either that or a scrawny lad. What are you doing with a scrawny lad in your chamber?” Aron kicked the fur.
“Ow!” A very female groan came from under the fur.
Hök sat up. “Get out!” All eyes fixed on the wiggling lump of fur, and Sovia’s red-gold head peeked out.
Bloody oath. Hök flopped back on his pillow. Now she’d gone and done it. Stål wouldn’t forget those eyes, nor that sinful head of hair, no matter how cropped it was. Sovia’s cursed beauty was the kind a man never forgets, not in a lifetime.
“It’s not an elf. It’s a girl. Hök’s hiding a girl in his room—” Pike darted toward Sovia to get a closer look, but Hök thrust out his leg and tripped the little bugger.
“Why go to the trouble of sneaking a girl into your chamber if you are on the floor and not in—” Zander—short for Alexander—started to say before Hök cut him off.
“Out, now!” Hök roared and tossed off his blanket.
“What’s your name, sweetling?” Aron asked. Hök flew out of his warm nest. “Don’t let our soft-skulled brother give you the wrong impression. The rest of us Magnussons know how to treat a lady.”
His wife smiled and his three younger brothers smiled back . . . all but Stål.
Chapter 10
“Lay one finger on her and I’ll take your hand for it.” Hök said. He turned back to his brothers. �
�Out.” He thrust his arm out toward the open door. Not one of them moved. Zander stood by the window, picking his teeth. Aron lazily examined Hök’s new sword belt and clasp. Pike craned his neck to get a look at Sovia, his features bright with excitement. Unlike Stål, whose face was white with rage, seconds from erupting.
“Out. Now,” Stål said, his tone cold. His brothers snapped their heads toward Stål and instantly began making a slow procession to the door. With two words, his twin had control of the chamber—further proof of why he was the better leader. He’d cleared a room peacefully with two words, while Hök had been seconds from murdering his younger brothers.
“What is she doing here?” Stål asked, with a deep growl in his throat, his jaw locked and teeth clenched.
“Sleeping before you sods woke us.” Hök crossed his chamber and began digging in his trunk for a fresh change of clothing. “I’m in need of a sauna. Join me?” He strode to the door. His brother hadn’t moved an inch since Sovia’s head had been revealed. “Stål! Join me.”
Stål stepped in Hök’s bride’s direction. Hatred emanated from his entire body. Hök couldn’t remember ever seeing him so angry before.
Sovia squared her shoulders and returned his brother’s cold stare. He slowly turned back to Hök.
“We need to speak, privately, before I must face Mother and Father,” Hök said quietly.
Stål’s expression instantly softened. He turned his back to Sovia and walked out the door.
Hök stepped out into the corridor and stopped dead when he realized no one in Tronscar, bar Tero and now his brothers, knew Sovia was here. Until he had made proper introductions, and made her untrustworthiness known to all, he’d best keep her under lock and key . . . only for the day, he reassured himself. A day locked in a comfortable room did not make him a monster like Ludvik . . . or at least he hoped it didn’t.
Curse my soft heart, he scolded himself. Husbands could lock their wives in their chamber if they bloody well wanted.
