by Mina Carter
“This way, my lady,” he murmured, opening the flap of the tent and holding it up for her so she could duck beneath. She murmured her thanks, sighing with relief as the warmer air of the tent interior washed over her. How the men stood the frigid temperatures, she’d never know, but they did, often training bare-chested outside.
“Lady Asmundr, so glad you could join us.” Scar rose from his seat on one side of the tent, surprise written on his face as he approached. “Although, I have to say I am surprised you decided to come in person.”
He stopped in front of her, dark hair falling over his shoulders and looking so…handsome. Hot. Instantly, she was taken back to the corridor and being in his arms. The memory stole her breath for a moment until she realized what he was waiting for and offered her hand. He took it, his bigger hand swallowing it up, and bowed low over it.
A larger honor than she was used to and she almost pulled it back before she remembered she was effectively clan leader now. She couldn’t afford to look weak or discomforted. Not in front of him. Especially in front of him. Despite his amiable and solicitous manner, he was as dangerous as all hell, both on and off the battlefield, and she’d be a fool not to keep that in mind.
“Given the situation, I felt it was prudent to meet you myself to ensure that we can resolve this to mutual satisfaction for both our clans,” she replied, inclining her head in thanks as he seated her in the chair opposite his. Her collected demeanor, hard-earned through years of dealing with her father, stood her in good stead as she looked up at him.
It wasn’t easy to keep the polite smiling mask in place when she was aware of every move he made, every breath he took, but she managed it. Even when he leaned over her, hands braced on the wooden arms either side of her chair. His jerkin parted, giving her a glimpse of the carved chest she’d felt pressed against her when he’d kissed her.
“Still,” he said softly, his words low, as if meant for her alone, even though she knew all the men around them had excellent hearing. “It surprises me. After all, what is to stop me simply taking what I want?”
She kept her back straight, her hands folded in her lap and looked him in the eye. “Nothing other than your honor.” Like in the corridor. “I would not have come here had I thought you a dishonorable man.”
His expression didn’t change as he looked down at her, but she thought she saw the corner of his lips quirk a little. It was the tiniest movement, but might, just might, have been the beginning of a smile.
“Well played, my lady. Well played.”
Pushing off from her chair, he stalked across the intervening space to his and sat down with careless grace. His jerkin pulled taut across his shoulders as he motioned a scribe forward.
“In that case, shall we begin?”
She’d not only surprised him, she also fascinated him.
Sat opposite the object of his desire, Scar propped his chin on his hand and watched her as she spoke. She talked with her hands, her face animated, her argument persuasive and eloquent. When he’d fought her father on the blood-soaked snow and wounded him, he’d thought that would be it…that after he allowed them to carry their fallen leader from the battlefield, the Asmundr would fold, wave the white flag and he’d ride into the keep to take what was his.
Her. She’d been his from the moment he’d seen her, a promise he’d sealed when he’d kissed her in the corridor.
Instead, a messenger had arrived to say that Analise, as the new Lady Asmundr, wished to negotiate a truce. He’d laughed at first, then realized that the message was serious, not a practical joke. Either the lady didn’t understand the rules of warfare very well or she had balls of steel. When she’d first arrived, he’d thought it was the former. After watching her in action, though, and finding himself ceding far more than he’d originally intended to, he was coming to the conclusion it was the latter.
She was playing him. And she was doing it so very, very well he almost didn’t realize it. He hid his smile behind his hand as he scrubbed at his stubbled chin. Minx.
“Enough!”
Deciding to put an end to her games, he surged to his feet with a snarl. She jumped, her eyes wide and her breath catching on a gasp, but she quickly covered her reaction and looked at him with a slightly puzzled, polite expression, as if he’d picked up the wrong soup spoon at dinner.
Scattering the scribes taking notes on the agreement, he stalked across the tent to loom over her again.
“These words are just words. Games.” He glowered. “You know exactly what I want, my lady, so quit trying my patience.”
She had to tilt her head back to look him in the face, her warm brown eyes, almost the color of caramel, studied him carefully. “I do know what you want, my lord, but I am also not an idiot, and I have people relying on me. And for your part, surely you would prefer a bride come willingly to your bed rather than be forced?”
She had him there. He knew he could make her want him, but it would be so much sweeter to get her in his bed, under him, of her own free will, he realized. Not that he could let her know that. To do so would give her too much power over him.
He held out a hand, waiting for her to put hers in his. He kept his face hard, not softening one iota. If she agreed, she needed to know what sort of man she was promising herself to. He wanted no misunderstandings. Her expression didn’t falter, but for a moment, he saw something flicker in the back of her eyes.
“Be warned, my lady, that you do not push your advantage too far. I have compromised all I am going to. Your people will be safe, no retribution will be taken against any warrior who swears fealty to me, and those who don’t will be allowed to leave without harm. The women and children may likewise make their own choices, and I will protect them no matter the decisions made by their menfolk.”
Relief showed for a second in her eyes at his words, particularly the last ones. Given the treatment she’d received from her father, that she would make sure to protect the women of her clan was no surprise. After all, that’s what this was all about. She hadn’t asked for anything other than he call an end to the bloodshed and he treat her people kindly. She hadn’t asked for anything for herself. No jewels or fine clothing as would be her right as the bride of an alpha. Respect rolled through him. Her actions were those of a true leader.
Duty and sacrifice. The Asmundr watchwords, he reminded himself, and in that moment, as she put her hand in his, she was more an alpha than her father had ever been.
“If that is the case, my lord, then I agree to your terms.” Her voice was soft, yet firm, heard by every man in the tent. The scratch of the scribes’ pens behind him recorded the agreement as he pulled her to her feet.
“Thank you, my lady. Your decision honors me.” Triumph raged through him, his bear wanting to roar it to the skies. This tiny woman was going to be his. She’d agreed, and now there was no going back. His body reacted predictably, as it always did when he was near her, his cock as stiff as a pole-staff in the confines of his pants.
Gripping her hand, he pulled her closer.
“A kiss to seal our agreement?” At her flush, he smiled. “Come now, my lady. You’ve agreed to be my bride. You’ll come to my bed, so surely a kiss isn’t too much to ask?”
He felt the tiny shiver that rolled through her, the tension in her slender frame as he wrapped her in his embrace. Her expression carefully blanked, she lifted her chin, her lips so tempting just below his as she waited for him to kiss her.
That wasn’t what he wanted. He’d kissed her twice, and both times had to pull himself back from the brink of taking her hastily up against a wall. This time he wanted something different.
His lips curved into a small smile as he held her to him. They were betrothed, which meant by the laws of their land, there was nothing stopping him tumbling her to the furs at their feet and claiming her delicate body for his own here and now. A heavy shudder hit him, the fire in his rigid cock and balls urging him to do just that, but he resisted.
“O
h no, my sweet…this time you do the work. Kiss me. Make me believe you want me.”
He’d startled her. The tiny gasp she gave ended on a catch as her hands curled in reflex on his chest. Her gaze collided with his, the expression in her eyes wary, but also curious, dark with something that took his breath away. Unable to help himself, he bent his head to meet her halfway as she lifted on her toes.
Her lips bumped against his, the movement hesitant until they made contact. She broke away. Kissed him again. This time her soft lips clung to his. One kiss, two, more. She feathered her mouth over his as he held still for her, and time ceased to exist. There was just the two of them and her growing confidence in touching him. Kissing him.
He’d never been turned on by such a chaste kiss in all his life.
She pulled back to look at him, eyes wide, and he forgot all about making her do the work. Swooping in, he crushed her to him and claimed her mouth in a hard kiss. With one sweep of his tongue, he parted her lips and drove within. There was no softness about him now.
He thrust and took, plundering the sweetness of her mouth like she was the very air he breathed. Stroked her tongue with his as he spread his hand over the back of her hips to press her belly against his own. Against the hardness of his thick cock constrained in his leather pants. She gasped at the contact, but he didn’t let her go, kissing her until she whimpered and clung to him, her needs as great as his own. Only then did he break away and look down at her.
“Make no mistake, my lady. I am not a nice man. If you’re looking for a genteel husband to pander to your every wish and desire, I’m not him. I take what I want, when I want…you included.”
The soft flush on her cheeks was the picture of a perfectly brought up lady, but the darkness in her eyes, the need and fire there, took his breath away. Reaching up, he stroked a finger over her cheek.
“Tomorrow,” he promised. “Tomorrow I make you mine.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, my lady?”
Analise turned at the sound of Rika’s voice and had to smile. Standing with her hands clasped and on the verge of wringing them, with a concerned look in her eyes, the woman was the picture of a concerned parent. One who was worried half to death with what their offspring was doing.
She couldn’t blame her. There were dangerous games and there were suicidal ones, and even they would be safer than the one Analise was playing at the moment. Scar thought he had the upper hand with his army on the battlefield, then kissing her half to distraction yesterday, but he’d forgotten one very important thing.
He could be distracted as well.
He thought he’d gotten the best of her, that marrying her would get him one step closer to the Elder’s chair, but he was wrong. Very wrong. While he thought her overwhelmed and distracted by his blustering and kisses, she’d made very certain that the agreements only listed her. Analise. Her as a person, not as lady and heir apparent of the Asmundr.
She looked down at the thin white gown she wore, smoothing it over non-existent hips and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
The gown and lack of ornamentation and cloak meant one thing…
Capta Sperata. Captured Bride.
It was an old custom, one steeped in antiquity. In times past, an unaccompanied woman caught out in the snow could be taken as bride by the bear-warrior who found her, a tradition that had evolved into a way for couples to elope if either family opposed the mating. But it came with a cost: a captured bride was cut off from her family, severing all ties, to become solely her husband’s. A cost she planned to turn to her advantage.
It was easy to achieve. A thin white shift, no cloak, indoor shoes… She would take nothing with her. Just as though she’d been cast out to the mercy of the elements.
Just as Aevar had been all those years ago…
Rika sighed, moving forward to push Analise’s hair back from her face and look into her eyes.
“Never let it be said that you lack courage. You have the heart and will of the strongest bear warrior, child.” Her voice was little more than a whisper, and tears filled her eyes. “Your father does not deserve your loyalty.”
She would not cry. She would not cry. Analise blinked back tears at the words and, impulsively, wrapped her arms around the older woman.
“I loved him, you know?” she whispered, even as the horns blew to announce the arrival of Scar’s men. “Aevar… He was going to ask my father for my hand. That’s why he was on that hunt. Why…why my father—”
She couldn’t get the rest of the words out, her voice choked and she simply buried her face into the curve of Rika’s shoulder.
“I know, my love.” Rika stroked her hair gently. “I’ve known for years, and he would have loved you for the rest of his days.” She pulled away, hands on Analise’s shoulders and her expression firm. “But he’s gone and you need to think of yourself now. Don’t do this. Don’t anger Scar by doing this.”
“I have to,” she whispered, hands wrapped around Rika’s wrists. She needed her to understand. Needed at least one person to understand.
“The other clans will never bow to Scar’s will. There are too many of them and they’ll tear the Asmundr apart if he takes over, even as my mate. And I can’t have that on my conscience. This way…” She shrugged and tried for a smile. It wouldn’t come. “This way it’s just me. That I can live with.”
She paused for a moment, then looked earnestly at Rika. “As soon as I’m gone, you leave as well, okay? Go to the Halvard…Mikkel is a good man and it won’t be long until he succeeds his father. Promise me!”
She shook Rika’s shoulders until the woman nodded.
“I promise.”
“Thank you.” Analise smiled, turning as the doors in front of them opened and the Einar warriors entered the room.
Time to meet her fate.
Chapter 6
He never thought he’d get married, but here he was, kitted out in his best leathers, a new cloak about his shoulders as he waited for the first glimpse of his bride.
Analise.
Her name conjured up her image and for a moment he allowed himself to crack the door to his past and remember another time. A time when bitterness and hatred had no stranglehold on him. A time when everything had seemed possible and a childhood friendship had started to blossom into something else. The memory made him smile, the walls around his heart cracking a little to allow in the possibility of…what?…happiness?
He kept his gaze on the outline of the Asmundr hold. Arick and his most trusted warriors had gone to claim his bride and bring her to him. He’d backed her into a corner, yet she’d still agreed to marry him. A decision she’d made with a calmness and fortitude that both surprised and gave him a newfound respect for her. She was far more than the pawn clan gossip had painted her.
And she was his…
The thought overwhelmed all else. Since the moment he’d met her, he’d tried to hate her, tried to see her as the entitled, stuck-up bitch most women of her rank and status as a bear-mate were. But he couldn’t. As soon as she’d stood up to him in her father’s hall, chiding him for violence, he’d been unable to get her out of his mind. Hell, he’d wanted to claim her then and there, crushing her delicate body against his as he plundered her mouth. Wanted other, more carnal things…
He shuddered, rolling his shoulders as the warriors ahead of him shouted a warning that someone approached. Instantly, the group around him was on alert. The Asmundr might have been defeated in battle, and leadership ceded to Analise when her father hovered on the brink of death, but he wouldn’t put it past some of Magnus’ loyal men to mount an attack.
Then the familiar broad shoulders of Arick came into view, and Scar breathed a sigh of relief. For all of a couple of seconds as the group emerged out of the lightly falling snow and he saw his bride clearly for the first time.
His heart stuttered for a moment, a chill settling over him.
He hadn’t thought much on what she would wear to their wedding
. As the daughter of the Elder, he’d assumed her wedding gown would have been of the finest quality, exquisitely made and a testament to her status as the Elder’s daughter. Her hair would be piled up on top of her head, displaying the graceful arch of her neck, jewels woven between the locks…
None of it. Nothing. Instead, she wore a simple gown, her arms wrapped around her for warmth and her head was unadorned, blonde curls tangled by the snowy breeze.
“Oh, shit… she hasn’t.”
“She’s…that’s…”
Capta Sperata.
The chill invading his bones turned to rage, simmering through him dangerously. Instead of honoring their agreement, the one that would see her and her people safe, she’d chosen to cut herself off from her clan, to become a captive bride instead. She’d turned the tables on him, taking what he offered and giving the minimum, herself, in return.
As a tactical move, it was outstanding. She had totally screwed him over, and he hadn’t seen it coming.
The simmer became white hot, explosive, and he strode forward. Arick tried to stop him, but he waved the bigger man off with a snarl.
“What the fuck do you think you’re playing at?” he demanded, looming over his bride.
She looked up, her expression a calm mask in the face of his anger. “My lord?”
He grabbed her by the upper arms, ignoring her wince. “Don’t you fucking ‘my lord’ me! You know exactly what I mean,” he growled and raked her slender form with a hard gaze.
Already she was chilled to the bone, her body trembling as the cold tried to claim her. Her lips were turning white and the slippers on her feet were soaked through by the snow. He should put her from him. She’d chosen this path to turn her back on her clan and come out into the snow, so he should make her walk back to the encampment as she was. It would fucking serve her right.
His fingers wouldn’t release. Instead, he hauled her closer. There was no gentleness in his touch now. That was over, had been over the moment she’d thrown his goodwill back in his face. He knew his expression was murderous, but didn’t do anything to alter it as he leaned down to whisper in her ear.
