She looked at the hostile faces, none with so much as a welcoming smile or nod. They did not want her there, and in truth, she did not want to be there. But she was. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She refused to back down. She entered the kitchens and went directly to Olga, the chief cook.
“Put me to work. Please.” Gressa’s tone was soft, but it carried throughout the silent kitchen.
Olga scrutinized everything from the top of her head to the tip of her shoes. She did not appear disappointed and jerked her head in the fire's direction.
“Turn the spit.”
Gressa knew better than to say anything, even if the job was reserved for older boys who were still too young to train. She nodded and moved to the fireplace. It was not long before perspiration dripped from her nose and dribbled between her breasts and shoulder blades. The work was not strenuous after years of training as a shieldmaiden, but it was demeaning and hot. The only upside was she was out of the way of the rest of the women, so they pretended to ignore her. She sensed as much as saw many of them looking at her.
The morning creeped into midday, and Gressa’s clothes stuck to her sticky skin. The refreshed feeling from the bath the night before was a distant memory as she continued to crank the handle that spun the meat.
“Sami.” Gressa wanted to cringe. Despite the clothes she wore, she had never really identified with her mother’s people. The only day she had was when she’d worn one of her mother’s gowns to her wedding. The rest of the time, she loathed the ignominy that came with the title. They had called her it countless times over the years, but she had a sudden realization that either Strian or Freya and Tyra had always been nearby to defend her or lend silent support. She felt very much alone in every sense.
“Yes, Olga.” She turned to face the bristly cook. Gressa had known the woman her entire life and had often helped Lena in the kitchens. The cook now sneered at her like she was an unwanted foreigner. She supposed she was in many ways.
“Take these slop buckets to the swine.”
Yet another task that should have been given to an older boy. It took little effort to deduce that Olga wanted to humiliate her in the kitchens and outside. She nodded once before picking up two buckets and heading to the door. She stepped into the crisp air and realized the task was a blessing in disguise. It was later in the day than she realized, having been given a hunk of dry bread and a mug of ale for her noon meal. She breathed in the fresh air while she trudged to the pig pen. The hogs oinked and jostled one another when they smelled their meal coming. They splattered mud on the bottom of Gressa’s embroidered pants. Gressa grimaced but continued to pour the slop into the trough.
“What have we here?”
Gressa refused to acknowledge the woman’s voice. She was sure it was Soma, a woman Strian had been with before he began courting her. She had been one of the most beautiful women Gressa had ever seen. She had no interest in seeing the enchantress that never forgave her for luring Strian away.
“Are you ignoring me? A thrall ignoring a free woman? I’ll have you whipped.”
“I’m not a thrall. I am as free as you are.” She turned her head enough for her words to be clear. “You can ask Strian.”
The woman grunted before Gressa lurched forward from a powerful shove. Gressa stumbled but twisted in time to grab one of the arms that pushed her. She and Soma landed with a splash. Before she could get her bearing, someone lifted Gressa out of the mud. She thought that person had come to her aid, but instead, a ringing slap sent her head reeling back. The new woman’s other hand was in Gressa’s hair, tugging backwards. Gressa struggled to see who her new attacker was and recognized Magga, another woman from Strian’s past.
The sound of their scuffle carried, and a crowd began to form. Women from the kitchens came to join the onlookers. They were already aware the fight involved Gressa and had brought rotten food to throw at her. Gressa forced herself to shut out the onlookers and focus on the two attackers. She brought her hand down in a knife slice and connected with Magga’s inner elbow. Her reflexes made her release Gressa’s hair and opened her to Gressa’s fist slamming into the underside of her chin. Magga staggered backwards, but Gressa was already throwing her weight against Magga only to have Soma land on top of both of them. The women rolled around the sty, fists flying, and fingers bent like talons. Gressa managed to twist Soma off her back as she straddled Magga. She threw one fist after another while jabbing her elbows into Soma who tried to pull her off Magga. Gressa jerked her head back and cracked Soma’s nose. She wrapped Gressa’s hair around her hand and put a knife to her throat.
“No one wanted you here before you disappeared, and we’re all far better off without you here again.” Soma hissed.
Soma pulled Gressa to her feet and away from the other woman. Magga seized the opportunity to drive her fist into Gressa’s stomach.
Gressa had all she was willing to take for the sake of not looking guilty for fighting. Her foot lashed out and landed in Magga’s sternum. She pushed as hard as she could, hoping to break her breastbone. Magga fell to her knees holding her chest, gasping. Soma’s blade had already torn a fine line along Gressa’s skin. Gressa reached over her shoulders and estimated where Soma’s eyes were. She thrust her thumbs into them, gouging them until Soma released her hold. Gressa wasted no time swiping Soma’s knees out from under her. When she landed on the ground, Gressa picked her head up and smashed it against the ground twice.
Two more women Gressa did not recognize joined in the fight to replace the injured Soma and Magga. Gressa was prepared when they launched themselves at her and sidestepped their attack so they collided into one another.
“What in Odin’s name is going on here?” bellowed Ivar as he approached with Strian, Rangvald, Erik, Leif, and Bjorn.
None of the women spoke.
“Very well. It doesn’t take much to understand what happened. I take it you,” he swept his arm in a wide arc to encompass the women who now huddled together, “thought to welcome Gressa home by mauling her. Damn it, the woman has been gone for ten years. How could she have wronged any of you, let alone so many? She’s been here all of twelve hours!”
Ivar finished with a roar as he made his way to where Gressa stood staring at him, her gaze shifting to Strian often. She did not know how to interpret the look on his face. There was a dangerous anger percolating, but Gressa was not sure who they directed it at.
Strian was the first of the men to catch sight of the fight. He recognized Gressa immediately. If her clothing had not given her away, her dark brown hair would have. He had pointed to the growing crowd and dashed to help Gressa. It was Erik and Leif who kept him from intervening.
“If you rescue her now, you will only make it worse. They will accuse her of weakness, of being your concubine, of stealing you away from the eligible women who have tried to catch your attention. If you butt in, you will seal her fate.”
Strian stared at Leif as he spoke. He could not believe his best friend wanted him to ignore the danger his wife faced. One word broke through the fog.
“She can’t be my concubine if she’s already my wife,” Strian spat.
“You may think that, but neither Gressa nor the other women recognize that anymore.” Bjorn cut in.
“Look. Ivar is going to intervene,” Rangvald nudged Strian.
The depth of his exhale of relief left his body feeling hollow. He pushed through the crowd that now had both women and men ogling and gossiping. He made his way to Gressa but did not reach out for her. He was not sure how she would react.
Gressa looked at Strian and wanted to burst into tears of relief that he had finally come to her side. She had seen him standing with the other men as the fight finished. She did not understand how he could watch her being assaulted. The rejection fueled her anger and strength as she took on the women she still did not recognize. Strian coming to her as soon as Ivar ended the fight gave her some relief.
Strian extended his hand to
her and waited a moment before saying, “I think you’ll need a bath before we go to the wedding. We haven’t much time.”
Gressa swallowed her gasp as she placed her hand in Strian’s. He helped her balance as the mud tried to swallow her shoes. They walked hand in hand in silence to the bathhouse.
“I don’t have any clothes,” Gressa murmured. “And I don’t want to turn around and go back. It’s already too humiliating.”
“I sent Freund, Freya’s cabin boy, to ask Lena to find clothes for you.”
“You already thought of that?”
“As soon as I saw you fighting. Freund was lurking while Bjorn went through the wedding sword ritual. He was very convenient.”
Strian pushed the bath house door open and stepped aside. He was prepared to wait outside until Gressa finished. She bit her bottom lip as she looked at the room filled with five large tubs. She looked forward to soaking in one of the tubs, but she had a more immediate concern. She looked over her shoulder at Strian.
“I need your help.” She watched as his nostrils flared, but he remained silent. “I can’t get these clothes off on my own. My ribs hurt too much.”
Strian straightened at the mention of an injury. Gressa had never voluntarily confessed to being in pain. Not in all the years he had known her, and he had seen her injured more than once. Strian scooped her into her arms, and she squeaked as he carried her inside before setting her down on one of the wooden benches. He added a ladleful of water to the smoldering rocks and waited for the steam to rise. Once he was satisfied, he turned on the tap that would fill the tub with water from the natural hot spring that ran below the building. He returned to Gressa who stood. He eased her back to the bench and went down on one knee to peel away her shoes. He watched her face as his hands skimmed her ankles. When she did not pull away, he ran a fingernail along the sole. Her foot twitched, but she did not move again. Instead she gazed at him, their eyes locked. They both remembered a time when Strian did much the same thing except it was to consummate their marriage. He had been gentle and kind to her on their wedding night, just as he was being now. Except they both knew it would not culminate in the same pleasure.
Strian stood and helped ease the tunic over Gressa’s head. She hissed as she raised her right arm, and Strian could see where a livid bruise was already forming. She stood and pushed her pants off her hips. Strian could not keep from staring. Even with the bruises, her body was the most magnificent and seductive sight he had ever beheld. The need to join his body with hers felt as though it was an all-consuming quest. He ran the back of his fingers along her arm until he could feather them over the bruises. He wanted to pull her against him and bury his head in her neck as he branded her with his kisses. Gressa shivered, but it was not from being cold. She felt raw and exposed being undressed while Strian remained in his clothes, but the touch of his fingers on her skin brought her need crashing back to the forefront of her mind.
“They hurt, but I think nothing is broken,” she murmured as Strian’s scent of pine and musk invaded her senses. She placed a hand over his heart, waiting to feel the steady thud. Her fingers seemed to be on their own quest as she slid them up to his collar and into the hair at his nape. She rose onto her toes and tilted her head in invitation. She would not kiss him, fearing rejection, but she would give him the opportunity to take what she offered.
Strian’s arms wrapped around Gressa as he swooped in for the kiss she offered. Their kiss was a firestorm of need, hurt, memories, and familiarity. Gressa pressed her body against Strian as his hold tightened. She was sure he would fuse their body into one if he could; however, there was only one way to do that. She used the hand not tangled in his hair to pull at the laces to his leather pants. Once they were loose, her hand curled around his length. The heat coming from his cock singed her as she stroked him. Her moan was one of pure pleasure, holding him as his tongue filled her mouth. She stroked his tongue with her own in the same rhythm that her hand pleasured him. She found the position frustrating and awkward with Strian’s pants still over his hips. She released his hair long enough to use both hands to push his pants low enough to reveal his muscular backside. Her fingers bit into the taut flesh as her other hand resumed its mission.
Strian was sure his vision would be blurred if he could have kept his eyes open long enough to see. The feel of Gressa’s hand on him was bringing him to release far faster than he wanted. A small voice niggled at the back of his mind warning him that she would regret this later. It screamed that he should stop before they went too far. But his heart and his body were not strong enough to deny the craving that grew. He wanted to be fully reunited with his wife. He wanted what they once had, and he knew her body, if not her heart, wanted the same.
“I need more,” they both whispered.
A lopsided smile on Strian’s face took Gressa’s breath away. She had dreamed of that smile night after night while they were apart. It was one she knew he reserved only for her. He lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist before walking to the nearby wall. Her back pressed against it as he slid into her.
Both of them froze, enjoying the sensation of their bodies becoming one, but it was not long before need overcame them. They moved in unison as only a couple familiar with one another can. It may have been ten years since they last made love, but their erotic dance picked up where they left off. Gressa squeezed her legs each time Strian thrust into her, tilting her hips to meet him.
“I won’t break,” she whispered as he lips scorched the skin along her neck.
“I don’t want this to end,” he admitted. He waited for her to come to her senses, but instead, she lifted his chin to kiss him. Love, desire, need, and acceptance flowed between them in that single kiss.
Gressa could not get close enough as she clung to Strian. Each surge of his sword into her sheath made her body quiver. Her mind had blocked out just how good making love to Strian felt. It had been one of the many compromises she made with herself to survive their separation, but now her body taunted her as it remembered how satisfying it was to join with Strian. She moved in ways she knew he enjoyed, and her soft mewls of pleasure drove him to pound his length into her over and over until she cried out his name.
“Strian! Oh, gods!”
Strian returned his lips to the sensitive skin behind her ear as his seed filled her.
“Gressa,” reverence filled his whisper, but she did not hear it over the pounding in her head.
“You didn’t pull out,” she choked.
Strian leaned back far enough to look in her eyes.
“Of course not. I never pulled out of you.”
“That was when I was your wife.”
Strian felt his mind freeze at the same time his heart broke. It was a long moment before he could find words.
“You are my wife. Still. I didn’t pull out because I have never stopped thinking of you like that. It didn’t even cross my mind that I might need to.”
“And now what? What if you’ve gotten me with child?”
“Then we will finally have the family we already planned for.”
Strian watched as a look of sheer agony flashed in Gressa’s eyes before she let go and tried to push him away.
They both groaned as Strian’s cock slipped free, and Strian’s glare told Gressa he knew what that sound meant. She missed their connection just as much as he did. She pushed past him to the tub that was now overflowing. She rushed to turn off the water and hopped in before Strian could say anything. She sat with her back turned to him as she scrubbed her body with soap that sat on a nearby tray.
Strian was in shock. There was no other way to describe it. It shocked him He was shocked that they had made love. He was shocked at how it felt like no time had passed since they were last together, that making love to Gressa was still the most earth-shattering experience he had ever had. He was shocked at her reaction, and he was shocked at how deeply it reopened the wound that never fully healed when his friends and ja
rl forced him to leave without her.
He stood mute as she washed her hair, sliding back under the water to rinse the suds from it. She did not look at him as she stepped from the tub and grabbed a drying cloth before walking to the door that led to the cold-water pool. Her head tilted, as though she might look at him, but she pushed the door open.
As she passed into the part of the bathhouse where she would take a plunge into an icy bath, someone knocked at the door. Strian broke free of his stupor and pulled his pants back into place before opening the door a crack. Freund stood there will a stack of clean clothes.
“Frú Lena gave these to me.”
Strian looked at the neatly folded gown along with a chemise, hose, and slippers, but he saw nothing.
“Thank you,” he murmured before closing the door.
He turned around in time to see Gressa step back into the steam room. She had a drying cloth wrapped around her and was eyeing the stack of clothing he held. They were at an impasse.
Gressa took a few tentative steps forward before Strian moved towards her. He handed her the clothes, but he could not let go before he tried to set things right.
“Gressa, I can’t force you to remain my wife. You have every right to leave this marriage if you want, and I wouldn’t want you to feel trapped with me. But know that I will never turn you away. There will never be another.”
Strian spun around and left the bath house before he humiliated himself further by bursting into tears. Gressa watched him go. She even ran to the door before she remembered she did not have any clothes on. She did not want him to go, but she was not sure if she could stay.
Seven
Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Page 4
