Strian (Viking Glory Book 4)

by Celeste Barclay

  Strian pulled the sheet from the bed and pushed Gressa’s gown up over her knees before sliding behind her.

  “Lorna will be here soon, my love.”

  “I’m here now.” The woman who had become like a second adoptive mother to the two of them over the past two and a half years entered their chamber and examined Gressa. “You’re ready to push. It’ll all be over soon.”

  The next two hours were a whirlwind as Strian supported Gressa through each contraction. Her labor was not as swift as they thought, or as Gressa hoped. But after two hours of pushing, Gressa held their daughter while Strian held their son. They did not notice when Lorna slipped away.

  “A little sister for our three boys,” Gressa crooned.

  “And she will be in charge just like her mama,” Strian kissed his son’s downy scalp before placing a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “She will be just as beautiful as her mama.”

  The dark locks their daughter possessed fascinated Strian. Their three sons were fair like Strian.

  “What shall we name them?”

  They had agreed without saying it aloud that they would name none of their sons Strian since they already had one by that name. They named their oldest living son Eindride after Strian’s father, and they named their second son Ivar after the man who had been much like a father to them both.

  “Geir?” Gressa suggested.

  Strian rolled it around in his mind before smiling.

  “What made you think of that?” he wondered.

  “I don’t know. I just rather like it.”

  “Very well. What about our daughter?”

  “I picked our son’s name. You should pick hers.”

  “Risten,” Strian whispered.

  Gressa’s smile dropped, and she shook her head.

  “We’ve named our children for my father and our jarl. Why not name our daughter after your mother?”

  “No. We are not giving her a Sami name. People may have accepted me now, but your memory must have faded if you don’t remember what it was like for me as a child. I won’t do that to her.” Gressa shook her head again. “Kari. After your mother. Strian, I have no memory of my mother. It’s not that I don’t want to honor her or that I’m ashamed of who I am, but I won’t set our daughter up for ridicule. Kari is a beautiful name.”

  Strian nodded. His heart hurting that after three years of living among her tribe again and after their victory against Grímr coming at her hands, she still knew not everyone accepted her. He looked into her earnest blue eyes and knew he could not tell her no.

  “Kari and Geir. You’ve chosen well, Gressa.” Strian moved to sit on his side of the bed and inched closer as they exchanged children so she could nurse Geir.

  “What do you think we shall call the next one?” Gressa brushed her lips over Geir’s few wisps of hair.

  “Next one? I thought you swore we wouldn’t have anymore.” Strian was incredulous.

  “You can’t believe what a woman in labor says. How do you not know that by now?”

  Gressa smothered whatever Strian was going to say next as her lips pressed against his, and her tongue flicked against his teeth, demanding entry. With their newborns in their arms, the couple kissed as though there were newlyweds.

  “And this is why our children are so close in age,” Strian muttered as he kissed his wife again. Gressa rested her head against Strian’s shoulder as they both cooed at their babies and listened to them gurgle in their sleep.

  “I love you,” they whispered to one another as they once more looked at the stars through their window.

  THANK YOU FOR READING STRIAN

  Celeste Barclay, a nom de plume, lives near the Southern California coast with her husband and sons. Growing up in the Midwest, Celeste enjoyed spending as much time in and on the water as she could. Now she lives near the beach. She’s an avid swimmer, a hopeful future surfer, and a former rower. When she’s not writing, she’s working or being a mom.

  Visit Celeste’s website, www.celestebarclay.com, for regular updates on works in progress, new releases, and her blog where she features posts about her experiences as an author and recommendations of her favorite reads.

  Are you an author who would like to guest blog or be featured in her recommendations? Visit her website for an opportunity to share your insights and experiences.

  Have you read Their Highland Beginning, The Clan Sinclair Prequel? Learn how the saga beings! This FREE novella is available to all new subscribers to Celeste’s monthly newsletter. Subscribe on her website.

  www.celestebarclay.com

  Join the fun and get exclusive insider giveaways, sneak peeks, and new release announcements in

  Celeste Barclay’s Facebook Ladies of Yore Group

  VIKING GLORY

  Leif

  BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  Leif looked around his chambers within his father’s longhouse and breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the large fur rugs spread throughout the chamber. His two favorites placed strategically before the fire and the bedside he preferred. He looked at his shield that hung on the wall near the door in a symbolic position but waiting at the ready. The chests that held his clothes and some of his finer acquisitions from voyages near and far sat beside his bed and along the far wall. And in the center was his most favorite possession. His oversized bed was one of the few that could accommodate his long and broad frame. He shook his head at his longing to climb under the pile of furs and on the stuffed mattress that beckoned him. He took in the chair placed before the fire where he longed to sit now with a cup of warm mead. It had been two months since he slept in his own bed, and he looked forward to nothing more than pulling the furs over his head and sleeping until he could no longer ignore his hunger. Alas, he would not be crawling into his bed again for several more hours. A feast awaited him to celebrate his and his crew’s return from their latest expedition to explore the isle of Britannia. He bathed and wore fresh clothes, so he had no excuse for lingering other than a bone weariness that set in during the last storm at sea. He was eager to spend time at home no matter how much he loved sailing. Their last expedition had been profitable with several raids of monasteries that yielded jewels and both silver and gold, but he was ready for respite.

  Leif left his chambers and knocked on the door next to his. He heard movement on the other side, but it was only moments before his sister, Freya, opened her door. She, too, looked tired but clean. A few pieces of jewelry she confiscated from the holy houses that allegedly swore to a life of poverty and deprivation adorned her trim frame.

  “That armband suits you well. It compliments your muscles,” Leif smirked and dodged a strike from one of those muscular arms.

  Only a year younger than he, his sister was a well-known and feared shield maiden. Her lithe form was strong and agile making her a ferocious and competent opponent to any man. Freya’s beauty was stunning, but Leif had taken every opportunity since they were children to tease her about her unusual strength even among the female warriors.

  “At least one of us inherited our father’s prowess. Such a shame it wasn’t you.”

  Freya

  BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  “Does he have nothing better to do than stare?” Freya huffed as she and Tyra left the training field.

  Freya Ivarsdóttir was a renowned and much feared shieldmaiden and the daughter of a jarl. At twenty-four years old, she had already spent half of her life training and raiding with her Norse tribe.

  Tyra looked back over her shoulder and scanned the field of battling Norsemen as they trained. As Freya’s best friend, Tyra was used to Freya’s sometimes brittle disposition, and she knew when her friend was hiding something. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The ongoing skirmishes against their neighbors and the general way of life in the northern Trondelag meant the men and women tasked with defending their tribes trained daily. Tyra watched as they swung axes, swords thrust, and spears hurled. She looked around at the many longhouses that created th
e perimeter of the homestead. Women stood outside doing laundry, one woman swept dust out her front door, and several people stood around engaged in easy conversation.

  “I don’t see anyone. Well, maybe a ghost from your past, but he’s watched you for years.”

  “What? No. Wait, what do you mean he’s watched me for years?”

  “Ever since the two of you a few summers ago--- Well, you know. Skellig’s had his eye on you, and I think you broke his heart. I believe he’s hoping for more than just a reunion under the furs.”

  “Never.”

  “Then who could you have meant?” Tyra smirked before adding in a sing-song voice, “Erik?”

  Tyra & Bjorn

  BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  Bjorn watched Tyra as she trained with Freya. He had been watching her like a hawk for the past several months. For years he had a sixth sense when it came to Tyra, always knowing where she was, but an enemy injuring her in a battle against Hakin Hakinson made him even more vigilant. During that battle, she saved his life by moving between him and an axe-wielding giant who had already broken his arm. Tyra stabbed the man through the belly but took the axe to her chest before Bjorn had the chance to push her aside and sink his blade into the giant’s chest. If Tyra had not protected him, Bjorn would be dead, rather than watching over her like a nursemaid. He would admit that she impressed him with her improvements in such a short time. It had been four moons since her injury, and she was nearly back to full strength. He watched her sweep her leg against Freya’s knees and flip his cousin over her shoulder. Freya rolled and came back to her feet as she swung her shield, pushing Tyra back several steps. Both women locked swords as they bared their teeth at one another. Tyra brought her shield up between them as Freya hacked her sword into the side of Tyra’s shield where it lodged. Freya headbutted Tyra’s forehead. Both women threw down their swords and shields and launched themselves at one another as they rolled on the ground. There was no way to keep up with who had the advantage as their positions changed. A smile emerged as he watched the two women go from baring their teeth and hissing at one another to smiling, then giggling, as they tangled together.

  “It’s nice to hear my wife laugh. There were a few months when I thought she didn’t know how,” Erik Rangvaldson mused as he watched Freya pin Tyra to the dirt.

  Bjorn’s upper body lurched forward, but he forced himself not to take a step forward. He waited a heartbeat, then relaxed when Tyra’s knee pushed Freya from her.

  “We also thought Freya had forgotten how to laugh. She may have fallen in love with you, but she certainly appeared not to like you,” Bjorn laughed as he turned to look at his cousin by marriage.

  “History has a way of repeating itself, don’t you think?”

  Bjorn’s laugh died as he glared at Erik. Erik and Bjorn had become friends, and Erik had easily joined Bjorn, Leif, and Strian’s tight-knit friendship. It was not because Erik married Freya. The bonds of friendship began before that when they fought against their common enemy, Hakin Hakinson.

  “I never would have told you about Tyra if you were going to remind me. I prayed you were too drunk to remember what I said.”

  “Not nearly drunk enough, but you were definitely drunk enough to make your confessions. But don’t worry. They’re safe with me. I have said nothing even to Freya, though I’m sure she suspects the truth.”

  THE CLAN SINCLAIR

  His Highland Lass

  BOOK 1 SNEAK PEEK

  She entered the great hall like a strong spring storm in the northern most Highlands. Tristan Mackay felt like he had been blown hither and yon. As the storm settled, she left him with the sweet scents of heather and lavender wafting towards him as she approached. She was not a classic beauty, tall and willowy like the women at court. Her face and form were not what legends were made of. But she held a unique appeal unlike any he had seen before. He could not take his eyes off of her long chestnut hair that had strands of fire and burnt copper running through them. Unlike the waves or curls he was used to, her hair was unusually straight and fine. It looked like a waterfall cascading down her back. While she was not tall, neither was she short. She had a figure that was meant for a man to grasp and hold onto, whether from the front or from behind. She had an aura of confidence and charm, but not arrogance or conceit like many good looking women he had met. She did not seem to know her own appeal. He could tell that she was many things, but one thing she was not was his.

  His Bonnie Highland Temptation

  BOOK 2 SNEAK PEEK

  The pounding in Callum’s head as he awoke made him wonder if he had been mistaken for the blacksmith’s anvil. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked over at the curvaceous blonde sleeping next to him. The previous night began to drift through his memory. His father, Liam Sinclair the chief of Clan Sinclair, had announced less than a sennight night ago that not only had he arranged a betrothal for Callum, his heir and tánaiste, but that the woman would be arriving before the sennight was over. She was expected some time late this day, so last night he had celebrated his upcoming nuptials by drowning his sorrows in more drams of whisky than he could remember and taking his current lover to bed for a night of entertainment and pleasure. He had been very sure to tell Elizabeth that this was his last night of freedom and that their short, albeit passionate, liaison was coming to an end. While Callum Sinclair may have enjoyed more than a few women’s attention and considered himself a well experienced lover, he was also a man committed to fidelity to his wife. Whomever she might be.

  His Highland Prize

  BOOK 3 SNEAK PEEK

  I just need to make it to the light. Heavenly Father, please let there be a light over this hill. I canna go much farther. I must go farther. Will there never be a village or a keep nearby? I dinna think I will last much longer. Please, in the name of the Father and all the heavenly saints, just let me find someone who can help me.

  Brighde Kerr pushed her sopping wet hair from her eyes as she stumbled onward. She had lost her shoes days ago after they had fallen apart while on the run from her pursuers. Her kirtle, which had once been a daffodil yellow was now a murky shade of beige with a ripped sleeve, frayed hem, and at least two holes that she had noticed in the skirts. Brighde ached all over. Her feet were raw from walking and running for nearly two weeks. Her legs protested taking even one more step, and her chest burned from trying to breathe through her efforts and the torrential downpour in which she once again found herself.

  Light! I’m sure of it. I can finally see it coming from a keep. Dear God above, please allow me in. I just need---

  His Highland Pledge

  BOOK 4 SNEAK PEEK

  Magnus Sinclair detested being at the royal court. There was nothing redeemable in his eyes, and his face ensured everyone knew the Highland giant was not there to exchange pleasantries. Standing at six and a half feet tall, he towered over almost every man in the king’s household and all the men who sought the monarch’s attention. Only a few visiting Highlanders mirrored him in height and physique. As though sticking out like a sore thumb from his height and his insistence upon wearing his plaid was not enough, he felt naked without his claymore. Locked away in his chamber, his two-handed broadsword was as much a part of him as either hand. For the safety of the king and his family, they allowed no one to wear or carry a sword into the main gathering hall. Magnus’s sword forged to accommodate his size, and even though custom designed, the enormous sword looked like little more than a young lad’s wooden practice sword when Magnus held it. Needless to say, it was not a welcome sight strapped to his back. When he arrived the day before, he resigned himself to just carrying his dirks, of which he had at least eight on various parts of his body.

  Arriving early the previous morning, Magnus spent all of the day and much of the evening in a passageway, standing, awaiting an audience with the king. This day came and went, just as the previous one had, with no indicator of when the king would meet with him. This only aggravated Magnus more as a represe
ntative from the Sinclair clan summoned rather than volunteered to attend court.

  His Highland Surprise

  BOOK 5 SNEAK PEEK

  Tavish Sinclair stood frozen in the Great Hall of his clan's keep as he listened to his father.

  "Ye canna be serious!" He realized his voice was quiet as he spoke to Laird Liam Sinclair, but in his head, it was a roar. "I dinna need a wife. I dinna want a wife."

  Tavish's body was so still he looked like a statue carved from marble, his expression like a death mask.

  He canna mean it. I simply flirted one too many times with the elder man's daughter, Isabella. I will stay away and then this nonsense will pass.

  "It isnae aboot Isabella or any of the local lasses ye ken so well. The king has decreed that I must make a match between our clans. Ye are the older of ma two unmarried sons. The duty falls to ye."

  "But Magnus is already at court."

  He recognized he sounded petulant, but Tavish Sinclair was a confirmed bachelor. He never intended to settle down with one woman. The Sinclair men, once their oath made, never were unfaithful to their wives. He refused to make that traditional vow, so instead he avoided marriage like it were a fire sweeping through hay.

  "Aye, Magnus is at court. And taking far longer than expected. I worry something befell him. The king's message was rather cryptic on that front. I would have ye go to court and see that yer brother fares well, and while there, ye can meet the lass. Ye ken I will force none of ye into an unhappy marriage. I ask only that ye meet her. See if ye suit."