“We were alone three times while I was supposed to be courting her. She tried to kiss me each time and once succeeded. I kissed her back, wondering if I could move on. It took only a moment for me to realize how wrong it felt. I pushed her so hard she fell. That’s when she swore she would burn all of your belongings once I married her. Since we arrived home, I haven’t been alone with her once. She has tried to flirt with me in front of Ivar, even hinted that my marriage to you was over when you didn’t return and that her claim to marrying me stood. She tried to brush against me or flaunt her breasts, but she only became angry when I ignored her. Gressa, I never wanted her, and I can’t say I regret she’s dead. But I won’t let a dead woman come between us.”
“Then you should have told me all of this.”
“Just like you told me all of your secrets?”
They stood staring at one another now that they were dressed, neither willing to say something they could not retract, but both furious at the other. Gressa dropped the hands from her hips and looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath to clear her anger. She was the first to capitulate as she leaned towards Strian. He did not pause and encircled her in his arms.
“I kept my secrets to protect you, Strian. I know you did the same. But it hurts to know another woman touched you, nearly had you.”
“No woman has nearly had me. Never. We have to stop. We can’t keep blaming one another nor questioning one another. The secrets end now. Betje is the only woman who kissed me, and I never attempted to kiss another woman. You know I let the others think I’d moved on, and I flirted with other women to make it seem convincing. There were feasts when I was drunk, and women offered themselves to me. Their hands were faster than mine, and they touched me. They tempted me to imagine they were you, to ease my loneliness with them, but they weren’t you. It didn’t feel right, and I saw what pretending did to Bjorn before Tyra gave in. Ten years is a long time to be alone, to avoid temptation, to refuse to let go of the past. But Gressa, there has been no one since the first time I noticed you were a woman. My heat, my mind, and my body refuse anyone else. They questioned my manhood more than once because my cock didn’t stir. It couldn’t, and I wondered if I was less of a man without you. But the moment I saw you at the Ross keep, there was no doubt in my mind that my body still worked. It just only works for you.”
Gressa listened to everything Strian said. Parts had made her feel ill, parts had made her feel guilty, but most of it told her of a man devoted to her, who shared the same commitment she did.
“Strian, my story isn’t that different from yours. Dafydd pursued me, but I couldn’t imagine being with another man that soon after being taken from you. As the years progressed, other men approached me, some even tried to touch me. There were moments where it felt good to not be alone, but it was never you. It was never the same. I couldn’t let it get past a brushing of the hand or a quick press of a body against mine before I grew so angry it tempted me to kill any man who thought to seduce me. I was angry that it wasn’t you, I was angry that I couldn’t move on, sentenced to a life alone, and I was angry that I couldn’t have you. When Rhys started pursuing me, I wondered if I should put the past behind me and make the most of my life in Wales if that was where I would stay. He caught me one morning in the garden. Now I realize that Enfys most likely arranged it since he found me just after she left. He pressed me against a wall and kissed me. I wanted, needed, to know if I could move one. And for a heartbeat I thought I could, that at least my body could. But as he pressed himself against me, none of it felt right. None of it felt like you. I knew then that nothing would ever replace the feel of us together, and if it couldn’t be you, then it would be no one. My rejection only made Rhys more insistent. It was his pride that led him. He wanted to command me, to control me, and he wanted to brag that he was the man to tame me. But other than that, there was no one else. I swear to you, Strian. That is the last of my secrets. There is nothing left for me to keep from you, nothing else I want to protect you from.”
Strian swept Gressa into his arms and started towards the keep.
“There is nothing left from our time apart to keep from you either. I won’t stop trying to protect you, but the danger won’t come from things I’ve hidden from you.” Strian kissed her cheek, and Gressa turned her head to rest against his chest. They had finally put the past behind them, neither of them looking back at Betje’s body but both remembering the love they shared.
Twenty-Five
There was little time over the next week for any of the couples to slip off on their own. When the Norsemen were not in the lists training with their Highland allies, they were preparing supplies and making plans. Alex Mackay sent messengers to the Sutherlands, the MacLeods, and Mackenzies notifying them that the Norsemen had returned, and that the battle with Grímr would end one way or another before the weather turned for good. The days had already grown colder, and a few snow flurries hinted at the winter that was swiftly approaching. There was no time to waste otherwise it would trap the Norsemen in Scotland for the winter, and Grímr would continue on unpunished. Neither fate appealed to anyone, so they worked until the weak sunlight kept them from being able to see.
Alex was a hospitable host, and none of Rangvald’s family or friends suffered discomfort. He gave Gressa and Strian a large chamber with a bed bigger than either had ever seen.
“I shall make one just like this for our chamber at home.”
“But what if you lose me? It’s so big, you shall spend more time searching and chasing me.”
“Not at all. It just gives me more space for all the wicked things I intend to do,” Strian covered Gressa’s gasp with his mouth as he flung them onto the bed one evening and proceeded to show her many of those wicked things. By morning, exhaustion plagued them because Gressa had an idea to match each of his. They missed the morning meal, and the knowing looks when they arrived at training told them no one misunderstood what had kept them.
Neither could muster any guilt each morning when they appeared just as tired as they had when they retired. Their reunion appeared to make most of the Norsemen happy. Once the reason Gressa remained in Wales became known, much of the hostility had ended. Ivar understood the outcome of Gressa’s showdown with Betje and even apologized for creating the problem. Only a few still turned their backs on her, but Ivar and Rangvald both echoed Strian’s warning about mistreating Gressa. By the time they rode out with the Mackay forces, it seemed like they had fully accepted Gressa for the first time in her life. Still vigilant, Gressa no longer feared an attack from her rear as much as she did one from the front.
With such a large force of mounted and foot warriors, it took the Norsemen and Mackays several more days to reach the meeting point than it had in the past. The Sutherlands, MacLeods, and Mackenzies showed up with full contingents, having brought all the warriors they could without leaving their homes unprotected and having called upon their lesser septs to show their fealty.
Ivar and Rangvald charged Tyra and Bjorn will sailing their fleet around the north coast of Scotland until they reached the part of the coast the Mackenzies controlled. Once the four clans and the Norsemen reunited, they rode back to the Mackenzies’ shore where the MacLeods had also docked their fleet. With the full fighting force ready, the Highlanders consulted Gressa about where Grímr had anchored when she arrived in Scotland. She described the place and pointed to where she believed it was when they showed her a map. It was still on Mackenzie land, but the most southern portion.
The fleet left the harbor, and as they sailed south, the horizon Scottish birlinns and Norse longboats seemed to overtake the horizon. Gressa and Strian stood at the bow of his boat and watched as Tyra issued orders and the armada traveled with the waves. They had shared a laugh when the MacLeod captains initially refused to follow a Norsewoman’s commands, and Tyra had turned her nose up at their smaller boats, but within a day at sea, they had come to a truce. The Highlanders were in awe of Tyra’s sailing prowess
, and she was willing to admit that their smaller boats were nimble and just as seaworthy as the Norse longboats.
The first leg of their voyage only took three days, the wind dying at times, necessitating turns at the oars. Strian’s crew had taken note on their first voyage with Gressa that she was more than willing and able to sit her turn at the oar. Many had gained respect for her before they landed at the homestead. This mission had confirmed their feelings, and without Betje present to poison the water, the crew accepted Gressa. It was not long before the other crews noticed that Gressa fit in with Strian’s crew, and that it had nothing to do with him interfering. Betje’s death had soured several until Freya and Leif reminded them of the things Betje had said about Gressa. Strian had not known the extent of Betje’s malice or how her words had instigated the early incidents with Gressa upon her return to their homestead. It was Betje who had planted the seeds of violence in Magga and Soma.
Strian could feel how much more at ease Gressa was aboard his longboat and around the other crews. The tension seemed to have dissipated, and Strian noticed she did not look over her shoulder as often as she had. They had come to a new point in their relationship where neither wondered nor doubted what was being withheld. They had little privacy aboard the boat, but they continued their long talks well into the night. The past having firmly been put in its place, their conversations focused on their future. They avoided discussing where they would live, but focused upon the children they hoped to have one day, and what they wished for their family. Gressa experienced happiness without reservation for the first time since the fateful raid that turned her life upside down. Gressa marveled at how unguarded Strian was with her when they huddled together, whispering well into predawn hours. She would drift off against his shoulder as he held her in his snug embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat even more powerful to lull her to sleep than the bobbing of the boat and the waves lapping against the wood.
Strian ordered the anchor be dropped as Gressa stood at the prow looking out at the coastline. She was certain this was the same place Grímr had stopped just before they had all gone ashore. Gressa had not been permitted to leave the boat, but she had seen the additional men who returned with Grímr’s scouting party. Once more she was forced to remain with the ship, and she bristled at first until she realized only Rangvald, Lorna, Alex, and Tormod Mackenzie disembarked from their boats. They even forced Erik to remain behind, his parents explaining that he and the others would only alert anyone lurking near the coast. They needed a small team, and they could not look too Norse lest they frighten away a potential informant.
It was nearing nightfall on the fourth day after the Norse and Highland fleets merged that the small scouting group rode toward the shore. Lorna’s pleased expression gave everyone hope.
“They werenae that far from here,” Lorna’s brogue returned with ease each time she was around the other Highlanders. “They stopped for fresh meat the day before yesterday, and the farmer we met heard a few speaking Welsh. He hadnae kenned what language it was, but when Rangvald and I spoke Norse, he was adamant it wasna the same. We are hot on their heels.”
“If we sail now before the tide changes, we won’t be far behind them as they arrive in Gwynedd.”
Gressa stepped forward once the leaders of the alliance gathered on the shore.
“Gwynedd is large. It’s one of the largest areas of land owned by one prince. I think Grímr will want to arrive looking victorious rather than a dog with its tail between its legs. I don’t think he’ll sail into the harbor near Dafydd’s home. I think he’ll put ashore before Dafydd’s sentries can spot him, and he’ll march the men in while he rides. It’s like how he arrived the first time. It made him seem like he had a much larger force than was there. It will also help hide the fact that neither Rhys nor Rowan are with him. Dafydd will not react well to losing his brothers. The men were very close. Enfys will seek her brothers for the truth and won’t find them either. Our best bet is to sail past where Grímr anchors and go directly to Dafydd’s home.”
“And what do we say when we arrive? Excuse us, we’ve killed one brother and keep the other a prisoner. Could we kill your friend?” Leif questioned. He threw his hands up in surrender as Strian growled at him for his tone. Gressa laid a hand on Strian’s arm, making him pause.
“Yes. The second half of that is what we do. We let Dafydd know that Grímr is responsible for losing Dafydd’s men in Scotland and in Wales, but we don’t say who. We stoke the fire, and when Grímr arrives, the seeds of anger and distrust will have taken root already. Let Dafydd see the size of our fleet before he has a chance to call upon any allies. If we wait, and Grímr gets to him first, he will have time to summon the other princes to his side. We can’t afford that,” Gressa explained.
She looked around at the group of faces, a mixture of Norse and Highlander. She could see doubt in a few eyes, but many, and most importantly Ivar and Rangvald, supported her plan. She needed to see it through if she hoped she and Strian would have a chance to at least visit their child’s grave. That was her motive. She did not care for the outcome of the ensuing battle except for how it would affect her husband’s chance to meet their son, even if it was only a small marker in the ground. She was not sure how she would feel being back in Wales, the appeal not so great as it had been when she first stepped foot on Strian’s boat.
“We should be on our way before the tide changes,” Ivar called out.
It was a short time later that the flotilla was underway, leaving the Scottish coast and sailing much farther south than most of the Norsemen and any of the Highlanders had ever been.
Twenty-Six
The sun beat down overhead as the armada sailed towards the natural harbor Gressa recognized as the major port and home of Dafydd and Enfys. Tyra continued to navigate, but Strian’s boat pulled ahead, ensuring Gressa would be one of the first to step foot in Wales. She stood next to Strian as docks came into sight. The leaders had agreed that bringing all the ships into port would only set off warning bells and make their soon-to-be hosts assume the worst. They did not want to meet at sword point.
Gressa felt the tension rising within her as her shoulders crept closer to her ears. She threaded her arm through Strian’s, in need of his comfort and relishing his size when he pulled her against his side. It was as if the mountain of a man next to her could block out any of the ensuing turmoil. As they drew nearer, Gressa recognized several of the warriors coming to greet them, and by that, their swords were drawn.
“I have to say something before they launch their own attack.” Gressa murmured.
Gressa went to stand at the prow with Strian following her, a shield on his arm. He did not trust the renowned bowmen not to shoot first and ask questions later. He would protect Gressa at all costs. She attempted to climb onto the dragonhead, but Strian drew the limit at purposely making herself a target.
“They need to see and hear me,” she argued.
“And I need my wife to stay alive.” Strian’s tone and hard stare told Gressa she would not have time to change his mind as his words sounded etched in stone.
“Fine,” she huffed before taking a deep breath to prepare to yell.
“Rydyn ni yma i weld y tywysog. Dychwelaf mewn heddwch,” she called out letting the people on the dock know that she wanted to see the prince and that she returned in peace.
“If you are returning and in peace, then why do you bring so many warriors to our shores?” a fisherman called out.
“These are the people of my homeland. The ones the Norseman pursues. We bring news to the prince and princess of their brothers.” Gressa had not planned to share that piece of information so soon, but the hostility in the crowd forced her. It was one of the few things, short of saying she had married Rhys, that would guarantee her safe passage beyond the dock.
“What news have you?” called a booming voice that Gressa recognized. “You are on a boat that doesn’t belong to the right man. That is not the right man who st
ands at your side.”
“Prince Dafydd,” Gressa dipped her head. “The right man stands at my side as he’s my husband.”
“The long lost one and the one to avoid the men you belong to?”
Gressa sucked in air and clenched her teeth to keep from saying the first words that came to mind. Strian was watching her, feeling how her body tensed then went rigid at the last thing the man said.
“You made me a free woman. I belonged to neither of those men despite your bargaining me away. The only man I have ever belonged to stands beside me. He’s the one they stole me from.”
“And you thought to bring him here? You thought to return with an enemy I was paid to fight?” Dafydd’s voice held the tone of command, and those on the dock recognized it as one that meant the man was on the verge of erupting.
“I brought you news of your brothers and those of the princess.” Gressa prayed she was not giving up her hand too soon.
Dafydd approached the boats and cast a wary and assessing gaze over them. He took in the men, Ivar and Rangvald in particular, obvious that they were men in positions of authority. Then his gaze swept the women, his eyebrows rising as he noticed how many women travelled among the crews.
“I see now that you were not exaggerating when you said your people believe women should fight.” Dafydd shielded his eyes from the sun as he tilted his head from side to side as he attempted to see the birlinns that floated beyond the longboats. “You brought Scots with you, too. You came prepared for a fight.”
“I wouldn’t call them Scots to their faces. They are Highlanders. And we came end this battle with Grímr. He has failed in his attempts to seize my jarl’s land, he has failed to bring the glory and wealth he promised you, and he failed to protect your brothers as he swore.” Gressa took a leap of faith and leaped to the dock with Strian following. He landed so close that the toes of his boots grazed the heels of Gressa’s. He held the arm with his shield bent, ready to thrust it in front of Gressa if he felt they threatened her.
Strian (Viking Glory Book 4) Page 19
