Strian (Viking Glory Book 4)

by Celeste Barclay

  Strian’s hands roamed over Gressa’s body as she clutched his shoulders. He kneaded her breasts before lifting one to his mouth. He suckled as his hands found her backside again. His fingers spread wide as the firm flesh filled his hands. His groan vibrated through his chest as Gressa’s hands glided over the muscles until her nails raked over the ridges of his abdomen. The slight bobbing of the boat added to the rhythm of their love making until their need could no longer coincide with their leisurely pleasure. Strian lowered Gressa’s body to the deck before stretching out over her. She arched her back as his thrusts grew stronger. He drew her arm over her head as their fingers laced together. His other hand gripping her hip, his fingers surely leaving marks. Gressa sank her teeth along his shoulder, leaving her own marks. Neither of them had relinquished their possessiveness while both of them reveled in feeling so loved and desired.

  It was late into the night before they grew too tired to continue. They looked up at the stars as they had done many nights while Strian courted her then through their chamber window. Strian’s arms held Gressa against him, but once more, they joined their hands. The boat listed, and it drew their attention to the cloak that still held their newborn son’s body.

  “Once we are home, we will give him the burial he deserved.”

  “Do you think the gods will still accept him? After so long? After where he has been?” Gressa wondered.

  “They are capricious and unpredictable at times, but they do not punish the innocent.”

  Gressa turned to look at Strian, and something shifted within her belly. She could not describe the feeling, but she placed her hand over it, sure of what she prayed for over and over.

  “I don’t know if it happened this eve or if it was one of our many times over the past weeks, but Strian, I’m almost certain now that I am carrying. Something---” She trailed off, shaking her head. At his gentle kiss upon her forehead, she felt encouraged to continue. “It was like a flutter then like whatever it was landed and can’t be pulled away.”

  “Then I shall pray that you are right and give thanks to the gods when we know for sure.”

  “It will be weeks before a midwife will know, but I could ask Sigrid.”

  “No,” Strian shook his head. “Let the gods tell us when your body is ready. We don’t need to know everything about the future.”

  They drifted to sleep in one another’s arms, enjoying the last bit of intimacy before they traveled back to Scotland.

  Thirty-One

  The armada sailed back to the Mackenzie land where the clans departed ways with old and somewhat flimsy alliances now forged into partnerships that would last for several generations. The Mackays sailed alongside the Norse until they docked below Castle Varrich once more. Alex Mackay convinced his family to spend a few days resting before setting out to once more cross the North Sea. It was during those days that Gressa began to feel unusually sleepy and restless. She lost her appetite and turned away most foods. Strian watched as Gressa withdrew only seeming interested in being with him or sleeping.

  Their second day crossing the North Sea led them into choppy water that forced the oarsmen to strain to keep their boats on the right course. Strian sat at the tiller while Gressa took her turn to row. She had seemed to perk up with the sea air and insisted she was well enough to do her share. As the boat listed from one side to another, Strian watched Gressa pull her oar in before leaning her head over the side. He called to his first mate who was already rushing to take the tiller. Strian leaped across the benches until he got to Gressa’s side. She heaved over and over, but the little food in her stomach had already washed away. Strian pulled her into his arms and carried her with his cloak shielding her from the wind and spray. He huddled in the bow, trying to protect Gressa from the elements as she slept in his arms. Strian was beside him with worry and fear as the day progressed into night and the sun rose once more before Gressa’s eyes opened. She blinked several times and looked around, confused at how she ended up in Strian’s lap. Her husband was snoring and most of the crew was just awakening. She looked at the man who held the tiller, but he shrugged before looking away.

  Gressa was about to shake Strian awake when the wave of nausea threatened to capsize her. She scrambled from Strian’s lap and managed to wretch over the side rather than on the deck. She heard Strian’s panicked voice call her name. She lifted one hand behind her in some sort of wave. He was beside her in an instant.

  “That’s it. No more. Lena needs to examine you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Nothing wrong?” Strian exploded. He threw his hands into the air, curses flowing from his mouth as he looked to the heavens then to his wife before dropping to his knee and leaning his head against her middle. “How can you say nothing is wrong? You can’t stop sleeping, and your violently ill any time you’re awake. You’ve never been seasick a day in your life.”

  Gressa stroked his hair away from his face before cupping his jaw.

  “That’s because I’m not seasick, silly man. I didn’t realize what it was either because I didn’t experience this last time. Maybe because I was much younger, or maybe because I had other illnesses to disguise it.”

  “Gressa, you’re not making sense. You’ve never been ill except for when you were wounded.”

  “Exactly. Strian, I didn’t know I was pregnant then, and I was ill for two moons after the battle. Perhaps some of it was morning sickness, too. Maybe not. But this time I’m certain that it’s morning sickness that is rude enough to stick around all day.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “I told you the night before we left Anglesey that I was sure we had made a babe. Now I know.”

  “Were you going to tell me?”

  “I assumed you would remember our conversation.” Gressa shrugged. “Besides when I was awake, I was vomiting. The rest of the time I’ve been asleep. It hasn’t given us much time to talk.”

  Strian looked at his wife as though she spoke a foreign tongue. She patted his head as though he were a loyal hound before she stepped back.

  “I’m starving. Where is the pickled herring stored?”

  “To break your fast? You hate it.”

  “I know,” she shrugged once again. “But it’s the only thing that sounds good right now.”

  The rest of their voyage was a mixture of Gressa trying to reassure and calm Strian, who worried over everything, along with Gressa needing naps and discovering what food she had an aversion to and what she could not have enough of. The fortnight of sailing felt as though it rushed by for the couple, but Strian’s crew would have described it as interminable. There was an audible sigh as they sailed into their harbor.

  Gressa and Strian hung back, allowing Strian’s crew and their families to reunite. They waved to their friends and nodded as the others looked to see if they would follow. Strian picked up the bundle that remained enshrouded in his cloak. He passed it to Gressa before lifting her into his arms to protect all three of his precious cargo as he waded to shore. When he was on solid ground, he lowered Gressa to her feet. They stood looking at the homestead, and at last it felt like home to them both. Strian had dreaded it each time he sailed into the harbor without Gressa. Gressa had feared for her life when she returned weeks earlier. Now they felt as though they were where they belonged.

  Strian had spoken to Freya and Erik during the voyage when their ships floated close enough for the three of them to stand at the rails of their boats and not have their words shared with everyone. Strian shared what he and Gressa wanted once they arrived home, and Erik and Freya promised to see to the arrangements.

  Standing together as the sun sank below the horizon, Strian and Gressa looked at the remains of their son nestled in Gressa’s arms. Strian wrapped his arms around her and rested his hands over the new life that grew within her belly. They stood together in silence, both lost in thought but savoring the time together as a family. It was not long before Leif and Sigrid, Freya and
Erik, Tyra and Bjorn, Lena and Ivar, and Rangvald and Lorna joined them. The men carried a small hollowed log that had a fur pelt resting within. Gressa recognized it was a log that would have been part of the fencing, but the men were preparing it as a funeral pyre. Lena came to stand at Gressa’s side with a blanket Gressa recognized as one she had made many years ago for a baby that Lena never bore. Gressa swallowed back tears as she nodded to Lena. The two women walked to where the men had lowered the log. Gressa unwrapped Strian’s cloak until the shroud appeared. Then she placed the infant’s body upon the pelt and Lena covered it with the blanket. There was not much to send with a babe to the afterlife, but each of their friends found something to include. Tyra and Freya each included an arrow with their unique fletching. Bjorn added a small knife. Ivar and Lena had offered the pelt and the blanket while Rangvald and Lorna placed a torque and a Thor’s hammer medallion beside the remains. Leif and Sigrid were the last to come forward. Sigrid closed her eyes and passed her hand over the crib dug into the log. Her lips moved but no one could hear what she said or make out the sounds her lips formed. They knew she was ensuring baby Strian would find safe passage to the afterlife. Leif placed a fealty ring as the last gift. One day, Gressa’s and Strian’s children would grow old enough to pledge their fealty to their jarl, and by then, Leif would likely be the jarl. Leif’s gift symbolized that the babe was a member of the tribe and ensured his manhood.

  The men carried the log to the water’s edge, and Strian and Gressa each grasped a side, the rings neither had ever taken off since the day they wed flashed in the moonlight as they pushed their son towards the waves and his afterlife. As the miniature funeral barge caught the tide, Sigrid’s haunting voice floated with the melody of a mourning song. Tyra and Freya dipped their arrows into a small fire Bjorn has built then launched them onto the log as it drifted further out to sea. It was only a moment after they landed that the fire sparked in the twigs and branches that filled the opening.

  Strian held Gressa as they said their final goodbye to the babe they had lost, the time stolen from them, and the life they nearly missed. Strian did not hide the tears that fell from his eyes, remembering that Ivar had never hid his when he and Lena lost a babe. Gressa gripped his arm as she leaned against her husband, counting on him to hold her up as much as she supported him. As the pyre floated out through the fjord, the others slipped away, leaving Gressa and Strian alone.

  “For so long, I refused to let myself dream that one day we would be together again.” Strian whispered. “But the dreams came, anyway. Over and over. I thought it was the gods punishing me, torturing me. I understand now that they were trying to tell me to be patient.”

  “We’ll never be able to recapture those years, but we have so very many more ahead of us. They will far outnumber the ones we missed.”

  The couple looked out at the water as they watched their past disappear. It was gone from the earth but not from their memories or their hearts. Strian once more covered Gressa’s belly with his hands, and she covered his with her own. Their present and their future were bound in the life that grew within Gressa.

  As the aurora borealis began its dazzling nightly show, they cuddled together in their bed and watched through their window as the lights dazzled between the stars, falling asleep as they had always dreamed they would.

  Epilogue

  “Gressa! Gressa! What do you think you are doing?” Gressa turned to see her husband storming through Bjorn and Tyra’s front door. “You’re not supposed to be on your feet right now. You promised.”

  “I said it so you would leave me alone. How am I supposed to stay off my feet with two children under two and another on the way with a friend just as ready to give birth as I am? Stop bellowing before you wake Tyra.” Gressa snapped at her husband.

  Everyone was tired, their nerves frazzled after a tense fortnight of long labors and births. Sigrid and Leif’s daughter had joined their son two weeks ago, and Freya delivered her first babe the same night even though she was early. Erik came close to killing the midwife for suggesting that he leave the room. He was beside himself that they were far from their home with Rangvald and Lorna, but Freya reminded him they were home with her family. Tyra and Gressa were both past due and miserable in the summer heat. One of the village women who had been helping Tyra since she passed her due date had to visit her elderly mother. Gressa’s two young children were asleep with Leif and Sigrid’s son, so she slipped out to check on Tyra.

  Apparently, she had not been stealthy enough because her overprotective ogre of a husband had chased her down.

  “You needn’t worry. I can’t get comfortable, anyway. I’ll just finish here, and Bjorn should be back from the fields soon.” Tyra put away the clothes Gressa had helped fold.

  “Gressa, you’re supposed to be resting when the children are.”

  Gressa refused to budge, knowing her husband was too terrified to manhandle her.

  “And when am I supposed to get anything done if I don’t do it while they sleep?”

  Strian opened his mouth, but the color leached from it as he watched her belly twist and shift as the babe turned over. Gressa rubbed one hand over her belly as the other tried to support some of its weight.

  “That’s it. You’re going to bed. Now.” Strian lifted Gressa as though she weighed as little as a feather. He turned to Tyra and nodded. “I’m sorry. I know Bjorn will be livid, but I’m taking my wife home.”

  Tyra waved them away as she closed the door behind the still bickering couple. Gressa waited until they were within their home before she began blistering Strian’s ears. He ignored her and moved towards the chamber they had claimed after their first son was born. With a growing family, Gressa and Strian braved the raw emotions that came with opening Strian’s parents’ chamber and moved in. They had since made it their own, but a few of Strian’s parents’ belongings lingered as fond reminders of happier times when the four of them had lived there.

  Gressa gave up when Strian just started talking over her. She allowed him to pull her boots from her feet and peel down her wool stockings. He helped her settle on the bed with the pillows arranged as he knew she preferred. She stopped her own thoughts to watch her husband move about their chamber ensuring she had everything she could need within reach. It reminded her of the many ways Strian cared for her. The next time he walked past, she snagged his hand.

  “Thank you for always taking care of me.”

  Strian sat on the side of the bed as he leaned in for a kiss. As it always did, the most innocent kiss roared their passion to life. Gressa’s desire did not diminish with the advancements in her pregnancies, and Strian marveled at every change in Gressa’s body whether before, during, or after having a child. Neither could keep their hands off one another. This time a sharp kick that they both felt made Strian pull back.

  “That’s why you need to rest. You are growing our child within you.”

  “And this is how we ended up with three babes one after another. You need only look in my direction and I seem to find myself with child.”

  “It that’s the case, we shall have babes until we are old and white haired because I have no intention of stopping looking at you.”

  Gressa had a retort ready, but a pain seized her middle. She bit back the moan and tried to relax her face, but she knew she already alarmed Strian.

  “Gressa, please just stay in bed this afternoon. This pregnancy isn’t like the other two. We both know that. This one has been much harder since the beginning. If you won’t do it for my sake, or even your own, then for the babe. Please.”

  Gressa nodded and tried to smile, but another pain seized her.

  “Damn it,” she muttered.

  “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’d just hoped to have supper cooking before this started.”

  “Before what star-- Damn it, Gressa! Are you in labor?”

  She scrunched her eyes closed as she nodded.

  “For
how long?” Strian pulled Gressa to lean against him as he rubbed her lower back.

  “Last night,” she whimpered.

  “Gressa,” he moaned. “When did the pains get worse?”

  “A few hours ago, but I thought I had plenty of time. They were far apart and not very regular. But now—ugh,” Gressa could not finish as a contraction stole her breath.

  Strian eased her back against the pillow once the pain subsided. He ran to the door of their longhouse and almost wrenched it from its hinges. He scanned the passersby and thanked the goddess Freya when he saw Leif and Erik heading towards the jarl’s longhouse.

  “Leif! Erik! Get your mothers. It’s Gressa’s time.”

  “I can’t! My mother’s gone to attend Tyra!” Leif called back, but Erik was already running towards the home where his parents were also staying, having come to visit with Freya and Erik in anticipation of Sigrid’s delivery and staying on through Freya’s and now both Tyra’s and Gressa’s.

  “Strian!”

  Strian crashed through their living space not caring what he pushed aside as he ran back to Gressa’s side.

  “This is happening too fast. It all seemed fine when I walked over to Tyra’s, but now I feel like I need to push already. It’s too soon. My waters haven’t even broken.” Gressa froze as she felt a puddle surround her hips. She leaned her head back and cried. “I’m all wet now.”

  Strian understood what she meant after sitting with her through the last two deliveries. He also knew she was right that things were moving far faster than in the past.

  “What do you need me to do, Gressa?”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t know. I can’t think right now. Oh gods, Strian, it hurts. I’m not doing this again. I’ll take pennyroyal like Tyra and Freya did. I won’t stop bedding you, but I’m not doing this again either. It hurts too much.”