The Warlord's Wife

by Sandra Lake

  Magnus bent down and swept his wife into his arms. He crossed the chamber and tossed her on the bed, descending upon her in the next breath. A few short moments later, she softened to him once more. She became lost to her passion as he drove into her, giving and receiving his kiss, driving them both rapidly toward fulfillment.

  He realized he would never quench his thirst for her, not while she purred and moved beneath him in such a way. She cried out loudly, gasping with her climatic release. He plunged into her with deep strokes, arching his seed into her womb.

  Caught up in their passion, he had propelled her head over the edge of the bed. Her long silk hair was spilling to the floor, her arms spread out limply to her sides. Her eyes closed as she heaved a satisfied breath. He smiled with the knowledge that he had this effect on her. It was only right, considering how she robbed him of control.

  Immediately, he recalled the reason for their fight. He snatched the offensive bracelet, pushed off the mattress, stormed out the door and slammed it behind him. He would not leave her with the means to insult him again.

  If one small mistake could anger him so greatly, Lida needed to learn to hold her tongue. She had to resign herself to her new role as his finely garbed whore. His confusing, cruel manner proved that he did not care for her. Would she ever fully please him? Perhaps, after she was with child, he would leave her in peace.

  The next morn, she woke to the jarl spooning into her from behind. He raised her leg over his thigh and entered her. When he finished, he quickly dressed and left his chamber. Not a word had been spoken between them.

  In spite of the warm, feather-stuffed mattress, Lida rose stiff and sore. She found freshly warmed water next to the reflective glass. She touched her face. She looked as she always had, yet nothing inside her felt familiar.

  Her travel chest had been emptied, and her garments were now all missing. All that remained were a few pieces of children’s clothing and embroidered blankets. A yellow silk bliaut and a white silk under-tunic with long, beautiful bell sleeves lay spread out across the top of the privacy screen. A thick gold belt with matching armlets was neatly arranged on a dressing table. She had ignored Tero yesterday as he had presented her with the lavish assortment of foreign-made garments. She did not want to wear the ostentatious apparel. Perhaps it would be appropriate for a special occasion, but not to break fast. Still, she had little choice. It would be the ridiculous gown or nudity.

  She dressed and hurried down the corridor to Katia’s chamber but found it empty. Raising the hems of her skirts, she sprinted down the stairs, arriving in the great hall breathless. Her eyes quickly locked on her daughter, who was sitting calmly at the head table, munching berries. Her little feet swung back and forth under her chair. The jarl was seated in his throne chair, staring blankly at her daughter. Lida felt ill.

  “Good morning, my love.” She kissed her daughter’s head and blocked her from the jarl’s view. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye, Mama. Klara sings songs in Swedish like grandma.”

  “Klara is Swedish like your grandma.” Exhausted from her latest surge of panic, Lida sank into her seat next to the jarl, keeping her focus on her daughter. “It stands to reason they would know a few of the same songs.”

  “Mama, my chamber has six bear furs. Seven when my new collar is in there. And Tero gave me two more ribbons, see.” Katia uncoiled her fist and the silk fell out.

  “You must take special care not to lose them. Have you eaten without me?”

  “Aye, the porridge is not like grandma’s. It was sooo much better. Klara put honey in mine, and berries.”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  “Tero is going to show me the kittens now.” Katia hopped off her chair. “May I be excused?”

  Lida reached for a crust of bread. “Why not wait for me to have a bite to eat, and I will come with you?”

  From over her shoulder, the jarl’s voice boomed, “You will be coming with me after you finish your meal, wife.” His tone told her all she needed to know. She was in trouble. What torturous punishment would he subject her to now?

  Lida smiled falsely. “You may go if you are finished, my love.”

  Katia kissed her mother’s cheek and spun back around. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Jarl Magnus, for my ribbons and furs. Tero said you got them all just for me,” Katia said to the jarl. He scowled by way of reply but it did not seem to bother Katia. She skipped off around the table, accepting Tero’s outstretched hand.

  “Why does she not put the ribbon in her hair? Have you taught her to ball up her worthless possessions in her hand?” the jarl asked.

  Lida clenched her jaw and kept her eyes focused on the table. “She does not like her hair in braids. I only insist when I must.”

  “Then she should not have the ribbon. You should braid her hair if that is your design for her.”

  “Why?” she asked, keeping her attention on her meal.

  “Why! Are you so ignorant that you do not know why?”

  “Aye, I am ignorant,” Lida said, holding her temper in control. “Why I must force her to do something so trivial as have her hair braided if she does not enjoy it?”

  “Because you are in command of her, until she has grown to an age that she will have the ability to decide for herself.” The jarl stated what he presumed to be the obvious.

  Typical male. Understands nothing from a female perspective.

  “And when will that be?” Lida fluttered her eyelashes, restraining the tide of outrage growing below the surface.

  “When she is grown. I insist you stop being insolent.”

  She turned her shoulders to face him directly. “She will never be in command of her own person. She will go from her family’s house to her husband’s house or to a house of God. She will never be without an owner to command her about and demand her submission. Letting her decide to braid or not braid her hair seems like a reasonable amount of personal freedom over her life. She obeys me in all things that matter. Explain to me then, why, Jarl Magnus? Why does she have to have her hair forcibly braided because it suits me?” This conversation had nothing to do with ribbons.

  “Eat your meal. It has grown cold.” The jarl turned away from her.

  She drank some water and pleaded with her limbs to stop quivering.

  ***

  Magnus strode into his private chamber. This madness between him and his wife would end tonight. He bolted the doors behind him. His wife was abed, the coverings yanked up high to her chin. He began to disrobe, his eyes on her as he deliberated as to how to proceed.

  For two days, as he’d inspected his holdings, storage houses, and recently completed construction projects, Magnus had insisted his wife remain at his side. He’d introduced her to his people, presenting her with a full accounting of all that she was now mistress over. Whenever the moment suited him, which it usually did several times a day, he planted his seed deep within her. This was when her true manipulative nature had become apparent to him.

  He had been dissatisfied after he took her on top of his worktable in his council chamber before the midday meal. She had not responded in a way that pleased him. She didn’t looked at him but rather turned her face away, blatantly refusing his kiss. She declined to show any sign of her pleasure, even though he could feel her channel spasm and tighten. Instead she held her breath, locking in the sounds of her arousal, stealing what he had rightfully earned.

  This eve, before he would allow her to rest, he would put an end to this pathetic display of defiance.

  “Look at me, wife.” The entire day, she had answered him with nothing more than a sharp glare. “Look at me.” He mounted her, caging her with in his limbs. She looked him dead in the eye and pushed up on her elbow. Her lips hovered beneath his, about to gift him with a kiss, a tender offering of submission and apology for her insipid behavior toward him. It was long over
due. He held still, waiting, anticipating the taste of her lips.

  She turned her head and rolled over onto her stomach, making of fool of him yet again. Damn her.

  Magnus would teach his sullen wife. If she wanted to act like a limp piece of flesh, he would treat her like one.

  Chapter 11

  Magnus reared up on his knees, yanking his wife up with him. Coiling her braid around his wrist, he pulled her head back and took her without mercy.

  A light sweat soon coated her lower back. In the reflection of the looking glass, he watched her face, searching for signs of her pleasure as her core contracted.

  She didn’t make one sound. He withdrew and she collapsed forward onto the bed and slowly drew the linen sheet over her body. She had stolen from him again, keeping locked within her what was rightfully his.

  “Your sullen manner does not please me, wife. I thought you above such pathetic displays of womanly weaknesses.”

  “Nay, husband, I am naught but a woman and naught but your whore,” she said, her face turning into the pillow.

  “You do not know the meaning of the words you have spoken.” Magnus rose from the bed to clean himself.

  “I know the term. I know what I am. I am only at a loss as to why,” she said into the pillow. Her voice was heavy with fatigue, which stirred in him a sentiment he was unfamiliar with: guilt.

  “Why do you care what my manner is?” she continued. “Why did you select me as your wife? I have nothing that cannot be had from any other of your household whores. Why not go to them? Your seed once a day is more than enough to plant your child within me.”

  “If you think I treat you as my whore, you are mistaken. Yet, if you prefer the title ‘whore’ over that of ‘mistress of this house,’ it shall be so.” Magnus tugged back the bed linen. This sullen display was nothing more than female manipulation, her weapon of choice. He had naught to be guilty for. She was attempting to control him.

  Magnus shut his eyes and slept. Leastwise, he wanted her to believe he slept.

  ***

  Lida enjoyed spending time in Katia’s chamber in the morning. Tero had been right, as he was with most things. The light in this chamber was lovely. This morn, as on many others, she sat at her daughter’s window seat embroidering, allowing her mind to wander.

  Aching for a connection with Magnus was a hopeless affair. It was astonishing that she could spend so much time with a person and yet feel more alone than ever before.

  The door burst open and Janetta, the newly appointed nurse, entered with a huff. On catching sight of her mistress, she corrected to a more sheepish expression. “Good morn, Friherrinna.” She curtsied. “I beg your pardon, I had only left the child for a moment. I went to the kitchen—”

  “Do not worry yourself, Janetta,” Lida said. “Never hesitate to summon me. I was simply sewing alone in my chamber. I thought the two of you had departed for the stables or I would have been happy to bring my embroidery to the nursery sooner,” Lida said, trying to reassure the flustered young nurse.

  The young, dark-haired nursemaid, who was dressed in an overly tight fitted bodice and belt that thrust her breasts up high, much like her mother Klara, smiled in relief. “I was gone for but a few moments. I would not think to disturb you in the master’s chamber. I only wanted to fetch Katia a few carrots to feed her favorite horses.”

  “Splendid.” Lida bounced up to her feet. “Shall I join you?”

  Janetta tilted her head down. “I beg your pardon. Master Tero requested you in his council chamber. At your convenience.”

  “Very well.” Lida patted the young nurse on the shoulder. “I shall go speak with Tero and then come find you in the stables. Have a pleasant time, you two.”

  “Mama.” Katia handed her a drawing of two kittens. “Give this to Tero for me.”

  “Lovely, Katia. How did you blend this color?” Lida asked.

  “Jarl Magnus gave Tero these.” Katia showed her mother a collection of small earthen vessels with colored ash and powders to make water paints—truly a rare treasure.

  “Oh, my love,” Lida said. “You must take extra care with this gift.”

  “I will, Mama,” Katia said.

  After Janetta had taken her daughter’s hand and led her out of the chamber, Lida wandered down the stairs to the steward’s chamber on the main level, deep in thought. Her husband continued to make no sense to her. The colored pastels were yet another rare gift . . . If Katia’s presence bothered the jarl so very much, why all the thoughtful gifts?

  Lida tapped on the frame of the open door to the large, warm, and inviting study. “Janetta said you wished to see me.”

  Tero looked up from his correspondence. Everything was neatly arranged on top of his large desk. Lida had come to understand that everything in Tronscar had its designed purpose and place, including her.

  “Thank you for coming, Mistress Lida.” Tero stood formally to greet her. “May I fetch you refreshments? Some wine, perhaps?”

  “Nay, my thanks, Tero. But do not let me stop you.”

  “Nay, I thought . . . Well, you . . . We have not spoken in many days and I . . .” Tero spoke with his tongue in knots. It was the first time Lida could remember seeing him nervous.

  “Is something the matter, Tero? Did you receive a letter from Finland? Is that why you have summoned me? Is it my mother?” Lida grew worried with the steward’s rare display of skittish behavior.

  “Nay, nay, everything is well. I wanted to have a frank discussion about your . . . your comfort in Tronscar.” The pained expression on the man’s face made no sense.

  “I am comfortable, Tero. As you see. I have more ridiculous gowns than any woman could possibly wear.” She held up the side of her dark blue silk gown, a luxurious garment with fur-lined cuffs and collar. It was a gown more fit for a royal wedding than selecting the fish menu for the evening ahead. “So why not tell me what is bothering you, my friend?”

  Tero was a silver-tongued devil to be sure, but he genuinely cared for Katia and continually plied them both with additions to their wardrobes, soap selection, and jewelry collections, plus hair combs and all the other useless bits. He was thoughtful to the point of obsessed.

  “Well, you have been wed to the jarl for over a full moon cycle and I only wish . . . to be of service in supplying any special requests. Perhaps a specific sweet cake from the kitchen?” Tero no longer looked her in the eye.

  “Tero, are you trying to ask me when my female courses are to begin? Is this your important assignment of the day?” She lost the softness in her voice, replacing it with impatience. Not for poor, hardworking Tero, but for the barbarian that employed the fine steward.

  “Apologies, Friherrinna,” he muttered.

  “Lida, Tero. Simply Lida, if you please. My thanks, but you can shove the Friherrinna bit up your . . . your . . . nose. You may tell your almighty jarl that if he wishes to know his wife’s monthly schedule that he may ask me himself. I do not need his steward to log down my cycle’s dates in his ledger.” Lida began to storm out.

  “I shan’t record it,” Tero said meekly.

  “I have a hard time believing that, Tero,” Lida said. She turned to the exit, only to find the jarl filling the door frame. She stared blankly at him. She was beginning to get very good at that.

  “So?” He raised his eyebrow, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited.

  “So?” she answered.

  “My whores make mention of when they bleed, so that I may make other arrangements.”

  “Is that so,” she said, borrowing a healthy portion of Klara’s sarcasm. She stepped to the side to walk around him.

  “We have been wed for more than a month.” His words stopped her. At the opposite end of the room, poor Tero was trying to look busy with papers.

  “I have slept little,” she said in a low, even tone, a
ttempting to hold on to a small measure of privacy. “And I traveled a most taxing voyage across the gulf, away from my homeland forever. My body is trying to adjust to my new situation.”

  “You will tell me when you are expected to bleed,” he growled at her.

  “I dare say, Jarl Magnus,” she said, her frustration getting the better of her sound judgment, “one morn soon enough you will see evidence of it yourself after you rut on top of me.” She swept her skirts aside to step around him.

  He grabbed her shoulders and pinned her in place, his nostrils rapidly taking air in and out.

  Magnus had never wanted to shake a woman more in his life. “You will learn to tame your disrespectful tongue, wife. Or shall I cut it out for you?” Her cold indifference was infecting him with her wretchedness.

  “I recall once hearing you say you did not harm weaker vessels. Or was I mistaken?”

  “I have never found a woman in need of so much discipline before. Even in my best stable, a whip is needed to tame a vicious nag.”

  “Do it then,” she said, her voice even but her cheeks flaming red with her rising rage. “Who cares for the added strain it will inflict on my system? Be done with it. You are the master; whatever brings you pleasure.” She spoke in her cursedly serene tone. He had liked the sound of her voice when they first wed, but now he wished to prevent her from ever making words again.

  Magnus grabbed Lida’s arm and pulled her from his steward’s chamber. He marched her across the hall and began to drag his misbehaving wife up the stairs. “Serviceable and submissive,” he muttered, “that was all I asked.”

  “I sooner believe in faeries than the fable of a submissive wife,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “Aye, you will find them with the spirit creature known as the rational husband,” she murmured in return.

  He tossed her over his shoulder, taking the steps two by two.

  She made not a sound.

  He dropped her to the floor of their private chamber and followed her, bending down on one knee. Reaching over her, he pulled the ties out of her hair, yanked off her gold belt, and tore her silk gown down the center of the bodice.