“You accused me of having been with other men.” Gressa snapped her mouth shut wishing she could retrieve the words that hung in the air.
“A shame only one of us was right.” Strian turned to walk out of the room, but Gressa tumbled forward as she tried to rip the sheets out of her way. She grabbed Strian’s arm and pulled none too gently.
“I explained that. I explained I had no choice. He didn’t bed me.” Gressa looked away, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “He made me do something else. On my knees.” The last part came out as only a whisper.
“There was always a choice, Gressa. You chose to remain with the Welsh. You chose to travel with the other archers. And you chose to warm Grímr’s bed. They are not your people.”
“They are.”
Strian caught Gressa’s hand as she swung at his cheek.
“They are not. Tell me. How many other women came with you?”
“None,” Gressa’s forehead crinkled. “None are experienced fighters like I am. There are many who can shoot, but none who have fought like I have.”
“And it was vital that you go? I saw other Welsh archers as good as you. Why would your prince send you as the only woman?” Strian paused for effect. “I can tell you why he sent a beautiful woman to an evil man. You were either part of the payment or they meant you to be an enticement.” Strian leaned forward. “Unless you are a spy. Did you fuck him so you could take information back to your precious prince? Is that who you are bedding?”
Gressa wailed in anger as her knee came up and struck Strian’s groin. When he bent over double, she brought her fists down as one and struck the side of his neck.
“I’m not a whore,” she screamed. “And you have a foul mouth these days.”
She was not sure if she was angry at Strian’s insinuation or because he spoke aloud what she had deduced weeks ago. It was one thing to hear her own mind chide her, but to hear Strian voice the second greatest betrayal of her life was more than she could bear.
Strian pushed his shoulder into her middle causing her to fall backwards, but he cradled her head before she landed. He covered her body with his and groaned as she writhed and struggled beneath him. His bollocks hurt from the combination of her striking him there and the growing arousal from having her beneath him.
“Yield,” he ground out.
“Never,” she spat.
“I’m sorry.”
Gressa froze. She had not expected those being his next words.
“For what part?”
“All of it.”
Gressa’s heart broke as she saw the pain in Strian’s eyes. It was there whenever he looked at her. She had seen it disappear when he spoke to his friends and then flood back in when he saw her.
“The past is the past,” she whispered. “But I am not a spy nor was I the prince’s mistress. His wife is my friend. I realized he wasn’t mine weeks ago. You’re right. I’m sure that’s why he sent me, but I hate hearing it said aloud. It makes it real, and I can’t deny it.”
Strian stood and pulled her to her feet.
“I wish they hadn’t manipulated and used you. You don’t deserve it. Do you think your friend, the prince’s wife, knew you were being sent?”
“Of course, she did. We said our goodbyes.”
“And she didn’t warn you? Neither of you figured it out? Or did she know all along and said nothing?”
Gressa eyes widened then slammed shut. She shook her head, and when she opened them, tears streamed from them.
“She and the prince have a good marriage. She counsels him on most things. It was her idea,” Gressa choked out.
“Then who else do you have to return to? Grímr?”
Gressa bit her tongue before she said things she could not take back.
“I told you I made that choice rather than wait for him to force me. I told you I did it because he threatened to kill you. You specifically. He may have wanted Ivar, Freya, and Leif dead to claim this homestead, but he wanted you dead for the sheer pleasure of watching the life slip away from you.”
“Why would I matter that much to him? I don’t believe you.” Strian shook his head as he looked into the fathomless blue eyes he once thought he could drown in.
“It had always been your uncle Einear’s plan to kill you just as he did your father along with his wife and children. But it was his ineptitude, or at least that’s what Grímr believes, that ruined his plans. Grímr had been content to let his brother Hakin and your uncle do all the dirty work. But it was you and Leif, Freya, Tyra, and Bjorn who burned his homestead. It was Freya and Erik who discovered his wife’s slave trade. That discovery cost Grímr financially. It may have been Inga’s treachery that led to her own brother killing her. I know Rangvald had no other choice.” Gressa rushed to explain what she had learned, hoping that sharing the information would prove she was not there as a spy. What spy would give away so much?
“I still don’t see how any of this has to do with me. I wasn’t with Freya and her husband when they went scouting. I wasn’t the one to kill his bastard son. Freya was the one who caused Hakin to bleed to death. I have merely been a silent warrior through all of this.”
“You have to know that Grímr’s mind is warped. It doesn’t think like a normal person’s. He believes that you are one of Ivar’s favorites just like Tyra and Bjorn are. Ivar has always treated the three of you more like his own children than just tribe members. He wants to capture and torture you in front of the others. When I overheard two of his sons talking about all of this, I had to find out what he planned. You deduced why they sent me as the only woman before I did. Maybe I fulfilled the Welsh prince’s plans, but I didn’t do it for the prince’s alliance with Grímr.”
“Then why did you? If you really hadn’t been with another man since me, why choose Grímr?”
Gressa threw her hands up in the air.
“He gave me the choice of coming willingly or by force. Was that ever really a choice?”
“And you just happened to learn all this information about your enemy. How do I know you’re not really on Grímr’s side and you’re not filling my ears with lies?” Strian pulled the door open and then slammed it shut behind him.
“Because I love you,” Gressa whispered to an empty room.
Four
Strian did not know what to do with himself. He was hurt and furious. Furious that any man might force Gressa to service him. Hurt that she had agreed. Furious at himself for being hurt when the only other option for Grímr to rape Gressa. It hurt him that she had not tried to escape or done more to turn Grímr off. And furious that she would compromise herself to protect him when he should have been protecting her all along.
He picked up a piece of crockery from his table and smashed it into the fireplace. He was tempted to go on a rampage through his home, but he knew that would solve nothing, and he would only regret later destroying things that had been his parents’ and his while Gressa lived there. He also did not want to frighten her.
Strian built up the fire and pulled the tub before the hearth. He slipped out of his home with four buckets and a yoke. He made his way to the well and filled one bucket after another before trudging home where he heated each bucket before dumping the water into the tub. When he finished, he walked to his chamber door, the room that was once more occupied by his wife, but this time without him. He knocked twice.
“There is a bath before the hearth. I will wait in my parents’ chamber.”
He did not wait for an answer before he walked to the next door down and shut himself into the room that had once been his parents’ sleeping chamber. He had not been in it for years, rather keeping it shut up and ignored. The painful memories flooded back to him, first of him as a child climbing into bed with his parents when thunder frightened him then the image of finding his mother on that same bed, brutalized and with her throat slit. He could not take another step forward, but he would not invade Gressa’s privacy.
Strian was unprepared for the d
oor to bump into his back. He turned around to see Gressa peeking in on him, her eyes wide as saucers.
“Strian,” her voice broke. “You don’t have to wait in here. I never meant for you to hide in your own home, and certainly not---” She waved her hand at the room, unable to finish.
“It’s fine,” the words slipping out from between clenched teeth.
“No, it’s not.” Gressa pushed the door open further and took Strian’s hand. She tugged, and he followed without resistance. “Thank you for my bath. I won’t take long, so hopefully there will still be some warm water left for you.”
The vacant expression on Strian’s face unnerved Gressa. It was as though he had seen a ghost.
“Strian?”
“It’s fine,” he repeated.
Gressa did not know what to do. She had caused his pain ever since they had been reunited.
“One day that was supposed to be our chamber, and our children would have had mine.” Strian spoke to thin air as though Gressa was not truly there. He did not look at her before he walked to the front door where he paused long enough to warn her to bar the door and open it for no one but him. He did not say where he was going or when he would return.
Gressa stripped out of her filthy clothes, regretting that Strian had put her in his bed on clean sheets. She stepped into the tub and slid under the water before sitting up and reaching for the bar of soap. She was quick to wash her hair then scrub her body. The water was already growing cold, and she had goosebumps. After she dried herself, she scrubbed her clothes in the murky water. She was relieved that Strian would not be using the water that she had left a shade of brown before she even dunked her clothes in. She assumed he would not be using the water. She had no idea if he would return that night. She slipped back into his chamber and had just finished dressing when there was a knock on the door.
She crept towards it and called out, “Who is it?”
“Gressa, it’s me.” Strian’s monotone voice responded.
She quickly lifted the bar and let Strian in. He did not look at her, instead going straight to the tub. He scooped a bucket of water from the tub and went outside to toss it out. Gressa watched him do it a second time before rushing to grab her own bucket of water. When the tub was empty, Strian returned it to its spot out of the way then laid down on the ground before the fire, his back turned to her.
Five
Gressa spent a fitful rest of the night unable to get uncomfortable, mainly because her mind would not quieten. She had never imagined she would be reunited with Strian let alone him finding out what she had done to try to ensure his safety. She had convinced herself that he would never learn of it, and since he would be none the wiser, he would be even safer. Guilt consumed her as she thought about breaking the pledge she had made to Strian all those years ago and for the betrayal she was sure he felt. But a part of her could not bring herself feel remorse. There was nothing she was not willing to do to protect him. She was relieved she had not had to share a bed with Grímr, but she would have. She would have sold her body to Hel if it would save Strian.
Strian woke just as the sun’s first rays poked over the horizon. He was stiff from sleeping on the floor, but he was surprisingly warm even though the fire had died. He realized that during the middle of the night, Gressa had brought two blankets out and covered him. He looked towards the door to his chamber and scrambled to his feet when he saw it wide open. There was no way Gressa would have slept with it like that. She knew it made it too easy for an enemy to slip in and kill her in her sleep. He looked around in a panic.
She fled.
That one thought was all he had time for as something or someone banged into the door of his longhouse. Gressa awkwardly pushed the door open, her arms filled with a basket that held eggs and some vegetables, and she carried firewood as well. Strian crossed the room in a few long strides and lifted everything from her arms. Where Gressa’s cheeks were stained pink from the exertion and crisp morning air, Strian’s were ash white. Gressa reached out without thinking and put the back of her hand on his forehead then cheeks.
“Are you not feeling well?” She studied him before she understood. “You thought I ran.”
Gressa backed away and turned her back to him, stung by his assumption. She gathered the eggs and reached for a bowl to crack them into, but she did not make it before strong hands gripped her waist and pulled her back against a wall of muscle. Strian inhaled the fresh scent of her clean hair. He had slipped into the bathhouse the night before, but he was sure he did not smell as tempting as she did. He kissed her temple as his hands slid over her belly, pausing before wrapping around her. She did not resist, the comfort feeling so familiar. Strian felt her give in and lean against him, but it was not enough. He turned her and lifted her chin, his mouth descending before either of them realized they both hungered for a kiss. Gressa opened her mouth before their lips met and welcomed Strian’s invading tongue. They dueled as the kiss intensified. Gressa’s hands roamed over Strian’s body. He was well-built and handsome when they married, but he was still young at the time. Now his body was one of a fully-grown man. His shoulders were broader and felt as though they could carry the weight of ten men. His chest and stomach were chiseled, and she moaned at the feel of the muscles rippling in his back and the firmness of his backside.
Strian was starved for contact with the only woman he had ever loved, and the only woman he had desired since he was nineteen. Gressa had not been the first woman he coupled with. He had gained his experience with some of the most beautiful women in their tribe, having put forth little effort to gain their attention. But Strian would never forget the day he noticed Gressa had gone from a spindly girl to a well-developed woman. There had been no others since. He had allowed his friends to think he had moved on from Gressa. Their attempts to distract him had upset him, but he realized carrying on a charade was the best way to appease them.
He lifted the hem of her tunic and brushed his fingers against her satiny skin, eliciting a deep rumble from his chest. The sound amplified Gressa’s own need to be skin to skin. She tugged at his tunic until she could slide her fingernails along the notches of muscle on his stomach. Strian’s lips burned a scalding trail to her ear where his tongue grazed the whorl of her ear before nipping her earlobe. Gressa felt desire pool at the bottom of her belly as his iron length pressed against her mound. She rocked her hips as her hands moved to grip his buttocks. She pressed his hips forward to grind against hers.
Reason and sense crashed into Strian’s mind, and he pulled away. He was sure Gressa would regret this, and he did not want her to believe he took advantage of her.
“We have to stop. We can’t do this,” he panted.
Gressa whimpered as the unspent lust ached within her core. She clung to Strian as her body began to tremble. Strian watched the confusion wash over her and need still shown in her eyes. He felt like a cad for making them both so aroused and then breaking off what he started. He did not know if walking away now, before they got more carried away, would be better or if he should bring her to release and risk her wrath after. When she whimpered again, his mind was made up.
“Shh, little one. I know. I feel the same. I will make the ache go away.” Gressa’s look of relief did little to convince him this was the right choice, but his hand dipped within the waist of her pants, and his fingers worked their way to her sheath. Her dew coated his fingers as he slid two into her. Memories of making love to her and what she enjoyed flooded him. His other hand traveled to find her breast under her tunic.
“Strian,” she moaned. The sound of his name from her voice made him leak within his leather pants.
He pressed a third finger into her as her hips rocked, and she tried to gain the friction she needed. He kneaded her plump breast before pinching her nipple hard. It was all she needed to fall over the cliff, her climax surging through her as she threw her head back, eyes squeezed closed. A moment later, she yanked the front of his tunic and strained to
meet his mouth. The kiss was brief but powerful and possessive. Strian drew his hands away to pull her against his body, but she had other plans. Her nimble fingers were already unfastening his belt, then she pushed his pants over his hips and dropped to her knees. She stroked him twice before her mouth encased his cock. Strian could not control his need to thrust, and she did not draw back, but rather sucked harder. Her moan vibrated against his cock, and he was sure this would be over before he could savor it. He looked down at her as she moved her lips over him, eyes still closed.
An image formed in Strian’s mind, and it was the last thing he wanted to see. He pictured Gressa doing the same thing to Grímr. His arousal evaporated in an instant. He pushed back on Gressa’s shoulders and pulled away.
“No.”
“What? I thought you enjoyed this.”
“I do, and you know that.”
“Then why not let me pleasure you as you did me?”
“Because I know you had recent practice.”
Gressa gasped and fell backwards, the power of his words feeling like a punch.
“I can’t believe you said that,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you were thinking about that.”
She looked up at Strian as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“You’re going to punish me. Punish us for that.” She rose to her feet. “You should have listened to me. I never should have come here. Not with you.”
She spun around and stormed out of the longhouse, and all Strian could do was stare at the door. His physical discomfort paled in comparison to his heart’s. It ached for thinking of Gressa with another man, for the hurt he caused, and for the damage he had done to their tenuous truce.
Six
Gressa was not sure where she was headed until she opened the door to the jarl’s longhouse kitchens. She regretted it immediately. Every woman froze and stared at her, stared at her Sami clothing. She had not intended to leave Strian’s home dressed in the clothes of her mother’s people. She had stormed out without thinking. Now she regretted coming to a place where she would already be unwanted. She scanned the faces but did not see Lena, Freya, or Tyra. She remembered in an instant that they would be preparing for Tyra’s wedding.
Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Page 3
