“A bit.”
He kissed the top of her foot and moved up to her ankle. The tightness in her leg eased as he worked. Trust me, give your whole self to me. He caressed the muscles and tendons gently as he stroked his hands up to her knee. She watched him from beneath hooded eyelids, languid as a cat basking in the sun. Whether she’d admit it out loud or not, her expression gave away her pleasure.
He repeated the ministration on her right leg from foot to knee, pleased when a little moan left her. Her thighs tempted him still, and he trailed the pads of his fingers up both. Soft skin covered her firm muscles. He intended to pore over every inch of her, know her, and show her how fortunate a wife she’d become.
Ealasaid’s stomach tightened when he rubbed his beard across her flesh then pressed a kiss directly below her navel.
He paused at a scar the length of his thumb less than a hand’s width below her navel. Raised and red, it must have been a vicious wound. “What made this?”
Sorrow clouded her eyes. “The Bloody Raven’s blade. I do not wish to speak of it tonight, m’lord.”
The truth hit him like the weight of one of his hounds. This ugly scar told the story of why she couldn’t bear him sons. The wound almost cost her life. I should have killed him with my bare hands and released her from misery years ago. She wished to ignore it. He would too—for tonight.
She sucked in a breath when he kissed beneath her breasts. Her hands bunched the blankets at her sides, and she wiggled her hips beneath him.
“All right there, little lamb?”
Color flushed her face. “Very well, m’lord.”
He laughed. “Perhaps I should stop. You seem bothered by the attention.”
“I would be more bothered without it.” Her voice barely crested the crackle of the fire. “Your skill with a sword is rivaled solely by your tongue.”
“A compliment. Surely this is a magical night.” He returned his attention to her body. It occurred to him the crafty old witch Ulrika might have used some spice or herb to flavor their mead, to make them hungry for one another. That, or Freya’s magic cast a powerful spell over him.
From her breasts to her neck, he inched along her, kissing, rubbing, kneading until she panted and moaned. He took her mouth last and explored it with his tongue. Consumed by the need to fill her, he nudged her legs apart with his knee. When he cupped her sex, he found her wet. He grazed her swollen nub and ran his thumb down her folds then teased her opening with the tip of his finger. Their years apart vanished as she lay in his bed, willing and wanting. The lies Ingvar told her about her cold, useless nature were proven wrong.
She wriggled closer to his hand. For once, her eyes didn’t sparkle with fear or anger, but they glowed with the reflection of the fire.
“Hella.” His name came out as a purr.
The call awakened a hungry beast inside his chest. He positioned himself at her entrance and pushed in, burying himself deep. Gods, she fit him as tight as his armor.
She arched against him and clutched at his sides. Her hot, searching mouth scorched his neck as she kissed him while her fingers tangled in his hair.
“Say my name again, little lamb.” He’d never get enough of hearing it caressed by her lips.
“Hella.” She pushed it through her clenched teeth a moment before he kissed her again.
I’ve been blessed by the gods tonight. Given a second chance to have this woman. He wouldn’t waste it. They joined together in a ceremony old as his gods, where the past vanished and the future forged new like their marriage decreed.
Their gazes locked. Hella pressed hard against her. “You’re mine in every possible way, Ealasaid.”
She cried his name, and it rang out in the bedchamber.
Beyond the curtain, cheers echoed in the hall. The bastards lingered on the other side of the doorway to make sure they consummated. Odin love him, perhaps they’d be satisfied enough now to return to their drinks in the main hall. If Ealasaid heard, she gave no sign of it, caught on the wave of pleasure he’d brought her.
He’d never witnessed a lovelier sight than a woman flushed with passion. A much deserved and awaited emotion. He prayed for a long life full of it.
“Enjoy yourself, wife, but don’t get the idea we’re done. I don’t plan to let you up until dawn breaks.” He smoothed hair back from her forehead and kissed the surprise from her face.
Chapter Six
Red drapery rolled in the wind. Ealasaid ran her fingers across it, expecting rough wool, but it clung to her hand, hot and liquid. The metallic stench hit her.
Blood.
It flowed from a gaping wound in her father’s throat. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. She knew what he wanted her to do. Run. Too late. Ingvar stared at her over the top of her father’s head. His sword, coated in a chief’s life force, arched through the air toward her.
She bolted upright and reached for Birgir. A handful of blankets drenched in Hella’s unique smell comforted her in the unfamiliar surroundings. She inhaled the blends of juniper, salt, the oil he used on his chainmail, and the faintest scent of leather. The metallic tang of blood only lived in her mind.
Birgir wasn’t there. Ealasaid scrambled to her knees and reached for the unadorned brown dress Ulrika laid out the night before.
The tapestry across the doorway moved, and Ulrika came through with a dish of food. “It’s late, your grace. Your husband said to let you sleep, but I think he’s in a hurry. There are dozens of horses saddled in the yard, and he’s assembled a small army of men and thralls who appear ready to travel.”
“And Birgir?” The dream lingered. Although her son hadn’t been in it, she wasn’t sure she’d ever believe them safe, even with Ingvar dead. “He’s with them, isn’t he?”
“Dancing about underfoot in the same manner as a pup. Were I you, I’d ask your husband to tell Erik to leave his hands off the boy if he wants to keep them.” Ulrika set the dish on a wooden trunk then began straightening the blankets. “He claims Birgir got in his way and deserved a cuff to the ear, but I’m old, not stupid.”
“Is he hurt?” She started for the doorway.
“Nay, didn’t shed a tear. He’s a strong lad. Where are you going? Get back here and let’s dress you properly. You’ll shame the king if you go out in such a state.”
Naked, she meant, and Ealasaid’s face burned. In her worry, she’d laid the gown aside. Her stomach growled as she dressed.
Ulrika lifted Ealasaid’s new silk hood. Two golden oval brooches sparkled within the soft linen. One bore the engraving of polled bull with its head lowered to charge—the sigil of her father’s house. The other, a hound’s head with its mouth agape and teeth bared. The sigil sure to spark fear into Hella’s enemies’ hearts.
“When did he have these created?” She traced the hound’s head as she admired the work. Between her and Hella, the smiths had been busy.
“Sometime in the last few days, I would guess. The king doesn’t pay much attention to the queries of a thrall. I didn’t ask him. Don your apron, my lady. Let’s pin these pretty things to you.”
She tied the apron around her waist and adorned the heavy brooches, then Ulrika braided her hair and pinned it up in coils while Ealasaid ate. The linen hood covered her tresses to finish her dressing routine.
“A queen all of Solstad can be proud of.” Ulrika nodded. Pride rang in her tone. “Now I’ve some packing to do.”
“You said he’s traveling. He made no mention of it to me.” They’d talked little as they enjoyed one another the previous evening.
“Away with you, curious woman. He’ll tell you everything if you get out of my hair.” Ulrika shooed her toward the doorway.
“I’m the queen,” Ealasaid said. The truth of it hit her. Until last night, she’d been a possession, not a person. “Queen.” The word sounded unfamiliar, tasted odd on her tongue.
“Now go find your husband and leave a poor old thrall to her work.” Ulrika grinned.
“I
’ll remember this, mark me. Such insolence.” Ealasaid laughed and hugged the old woman. “My thanks for your kindness.”
“Who else stood up when Ingvar treated his thralls poorly? My loyalty is not much payment for the trouble the old king gave you.” Ulrika patted her back. “I pray you find happiness with Hella.”
She hoped the same. “Is there nothing I can do to help you here?”
“Out, out, out, your grace. It’s no longer your task to pick up after the nobility.” Ulrika pushed her to the door.
“Very well. I’ll remember that too, when your back aches on cold winter nights.” She threw up her hands and left the bedchamber. In the hallway, she met a thin young thrall, who scurried ahead of her with two satchels of food hanging from his bony shoulders. He squeaked out a greeting and offered a short bow. It caused his load to unbalance, and he nearly fell over.
“Careful with that if it’s something your king commanded you to carry for him,” she warned.
“He bade me to hurry, my queen. Please forgive me.”
It went unspoken Hella carried the sword and therefore wielded the power of orders.
“Very well. The king is in the courtyard?”
“Yes, my queen.” He glanced at the doorway. “I must hurry.”
“Carry on. I’ll escort you in case his lordship takes issue with your tardiness.” She walked beside the boy.
He made no attempt to speak, and she didn’t try to lighten his burden. Like Ulrika, he wouldn’t have allowed it. Those chores no longer existed for her. She’d have tasks of her own to undertake in the near future.
Horses and oxen hitched to carts crowded the courtyard. People milled about, talking, organizing supplies, and checking the animals.
Hella waited near the hall door his reins in hand. A sturdy bay horse stood at his shoulder, tacked and ready to ride. Hella lifted his hand in greeting when he spotted her. The grin splitting his face made her heart topple. He appeared ready to travel, with his cloak tossed carelessly over his shoulders, his armor in place, and the sword she’d given him yesterday strapped to his side.
This man, infuriating and bold, cracked her heart during the night they shared. Weeks ago, she would have been relieved to know he’d be away. Today it wounded her that he hadn’t mentioned it sooner.
“Ulrika tells me you’re leaving.” She toyed with her new brooches and searched his face for a sign he at least carried some guilt for leaving suddenly.
He nodded and patted his horse’s neck in an affectionate way. “To Freysteinn. Two days’ ride. I haven’t visited since the Bloody Raven’s illness. Winter will be here soon. It’s best to make sure they have the proper provisions before the snows settle in.”
A prickle of jealousy stabbed her fallen heart. “The master has important things to tend away from his village. How long should your subjects wait for your return?”
If he noticed the ire in her voice, he didn’t react.
“A fortnight. There’s much to be done here to finish the harvest and stock our sheds. Winter is never easy.” He smirked. “Although it may be warmer with a wife in my bed.”
“I understand you’re anxious to go.” She rested her hand next to his on the horse’s neck. She’d pinch the beast’s rump if she thought it would run away. Let him chase it around the village a while as punishment for leaving her the day after their wedding. “I would speak to you about Erik before you depart, if you have a moment.”
“Before I depart?” His brow furrowed. “You’re coming. I refuse to hear otherwise. Oddmund has saddled a horse for you and Ulrika is preparing your garments for travel.”
“We’re leaving Solstad together? She didn’t tell me.” Ealasaid hadn’t been away from the settlement since she’d been brought here, tied on the back of a horse by a young vikingr with sky-colored eyes.
“For Freysteinn. Your morgen-gifu is an estate called Hilmir.” He spoke as though she’d taken leave of her senses. “I thought you would like to see it before we’re bound inside during the cold months.”
She threw her arms around his waist.
The horse jerked its head and took a step back.
“You’re pleased it seems.” He laughed and lifted her chin. “Aren’t you sorry for your sharp tongue, wife?”
“I didn’t think you meant to take me along.” Her heart lifted again, but a new worry took hold. “Birgir?”
“With Erland, learning the importance of riding, caring for a horse, and how to do it all properly. I would not force you to leave him behind.” Hella rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “I would never hear the end of it.”
“Be kind to him, husband. He will make you proud one day.”
He grunted. “We’ll see.”
“I wished to speak with you about Erik. Ulrika says he hit my son. I won’t abide it.” The object of her anger wasn’t in sight, and she hoped he wasn’t with Erland and Birgir. “You won’t tolerate him to insult me. Please see he doesn’t mistreat my son either.”
Color darkened Hella’s cheeks. “When did this occur?”
“You’ll have to ask Ulrika. I hadn’t left our bed yet.”
“I’ll speak to both. He won’t lay another finger on the boy.” He nodded behind her. “Ulrika’s coming with your things. She’ll secure them in the cart. Oddmund will help with your mount. We must get underway shortly. I’ll fetch Erland and the boy.”
Red-headed Oddmund appeared behind Hella with the reins to a small dapple gray gelding with a blocky head and a scraggly mane. “My lady. We call him Alfr. He’d blindly follow a wolf to its den if you wanted him to. He’s surefooted and willing to go most anywhere.”
The animal didn’t look like much. His mane and tail were nubby, probably chewed short by more dominant horses. “You mean I can’t be trusted on a spirited horse.”
“I mean the king said, ‘give the lady a mount that won’t break her neck. Even if she protests’.” He smirked and looked toward the thralls packing supplies into a wooden conveyance. “Unless you prefer to ride in the oxcart?”
She imagined the discomfort of hitting every rock and hole on the road. “I think I prefer to ride the horse.”
“Your safety is King Hella’s first concern. It would not do to lose his bride as soon as he got her.” Oddmund rubbed his beard as though uncomfortable with the conversation.
“Very well. I’m to ride the tamest horse in all the world.” She scratched Alfr’s muzzle. “He may have been better suited for Birgir.”
“The king has provided a good, solid pony for the boy. Don’t fret for him.” Oddmund scratched the horse’s nose. “A leg up, my queen?”
“If you please.”
Oddmund helped her settle into the saddle and gave her the reins. When he moved away, Alfr followed. She drew back on the braided straps and the horse stayed. He might not be the fastest, prettiest, or most regal horse suited for a queen, but he obeyed. Good enough for a woman who hadn’t ridden in years. No matter how gentle the horse, she’d be sore at the end of their journey. Pity. Or perhaps she could convince Hella she needed his skilled hands to attend her sore muscles.
A pair of riders pushed into the courtyard and pulled their horses out of their gaits.
Birgir stopped in front of her. His grin gave away his pleasure. “Look, Ma. It’s my own pony. Hella gave him to me.” He sat tall in the saddle, obviously fearless of the little roan animal. “I named him Skjótr.”
“You’ll be careful for me, won’t you? No riding fast, no matter how swift he is.”
The pony appeared as bored as Alfr, not a bit bothered by the noise and activity in the courtyard.
“Yes, Ma. Hella said I must respect him, treat him as carefully as a sword, because he might be the one thing between me and trouble someday. Someday, when I’m a warrior lord too.” Birgir’s grin widened. “Erland is helping me learn about horses.”
She nodded at the young man. “You have my thanks, Erland.”
“Hella said to watch him, or I’d get an earf
ul from you, your grace.” Erland grinned. “Blade Tongue, they call you, and I don’t have any desire to earn a strike from you.”
“Keep my son safe and you’ll never have to fear Blade Tongue.”
“I’ll do my best, my queen.” He inclined his head. “I’ll keep watch over him. Precious jewels could not be safer.”
Hella’s horse cantered into the courtyard, mane and tail streaming.
Erik followed behind Hella. He sneered at her.
A little knot of dread grew in Ealasaid’s heart.
“We ride to Freysteinn, our brothers in the west.” Hella rode to her and took her hand. He lifted it, and the gathered men and women cheered. “Let’s away, wife.”
The look he gave her reminded her of their first night together. It contained the same desire he’d shown her then. A thrill of excitement rushed through her.
Chapter Seven
Hella called the group to a stop as the sun touched the horizon. Ealasaid’s legs and back ached from Alfr’s gait on the rough road little wider than a cow path. Beside her on Skjótr, Birgir slouched in his saddle and his eyelids drooped. He hadn’t complained about the length of the journey nor any aches, but he’d never been on a horse for more than a few minutes. Her son blinked and frowned at their surroundings.
She slid down Alfr’s side and groaned as her muscles stretched.
“Are we in Freysteinn, Ma?” He sounded doubtful.
“Not until tomorrow. We’re stopping to sleep here tonight. Let me help you down. Then I’ll have Ulrika lay out your bedding. You’ll need plenty of rest to finish the ride.” She took him by the waist and lifted him off the saddle. Soon he would be too heavy for her to carry. Too old for her hugs, too much of a man for her help.
“Hella will keep us safe, so wolves and wildcats don’t sneak up on us in the night.”
She admired his conviction. “You’re right. He wouldn’t let anything hurt us. Go on and find Ulrika. She’ll be in one of the carts.”
“Can I sleep near Erland tonight?” His lower lip slipped out and his eyes widened. “I won’t be a pest.”
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