Magnus rubbed his chin. “He’s tall for his age, but he is still ten years old. Louis looks like a fox guarding the henhouse.”
He noted his father’s nod, though Bryk didn’t turn around.
King Louis embarked on a speech detailing the horrors of the assassination, the heavy burden of leadership, the reassurance he would protect Richard.
Muffled murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd. “Everyone is aware he plans to spirit Richard away to Laon, where he can keep him under his control,” Bryk said loudly enough for anyone to hear.
For nigh on an hour Louis droned on. Magnus wondered how a man of his comparative youth could be so pedantic. He had a suspicion the attention of most in the congregation had wandered by the time he declared Richard the new duke.
Feet shuffled as the crowd continually shifted its collective weight, but the noise ceased when Louis announced, “And now, we will invest your new duke with his father’s sword.”
~*~*~
It seemed to Judith the whole of Rouen was aware of her role in the rescue of the famous Ulfberht. She was a celebrity, her blood ties to Arnulf apparently forgotten.
Magnus reassured her when she expressed her consternation. “In these difficult times, people need something good to cling to. You are the light in the darkness, Judith.”
Yet it was her betrothed who was summoned to the altar by the Archbishop to present the weapon, and she was happy to let him. She never wanted to heft the weighty blade again. The memory of it was forever embedded in her bones.
His broad back to the crowd, Magnus lifted the sword from the altar with both hands and held it up as an offering to the Almighty. People gasped when he took hold of the hilt and brandished the blade. “For justice,” he declared in a loud, strong voice.
“For justice,” came the resounding echo from the crowd as men thrust clenched fists into the air.
Filled with pride for her betrothed, Judith watched Richard, seeing again the face of Vilhelm. The boy’s gaze was fixed on the magnificent weapon. Magnus was careful to ensure the young duke didn’t have to bear the whole weight when he was presented with the sword.
“I remember the day in this very place Rollo gave the Ulfberht to Vilhelm,” Bryk rasped. “Magnus was a babe in arms. Little did we know—” Emotion choked his words.
Cathryn edged closer to her husband. “His father must be twisting in his tomb,” she whispered, as the somber procession to the sarcophagus got underway.
The memory of the horror of Vilhelm’s assassination haunted Judith, but she took comfort in the strength and perseverance of Magnus’s family who would welcome her as his wife in this historic edifice in a sennight.
WEDDING
Judith stood before Archbishop Gonthard at the door of Rouen Cathedral, listening to his words and saying the promises binding her to Magnus. It was the first smile she’d seen on the prelate’s face in the sennight since the funeral.
She was very aware of the man who stood at her side, though she didn’t dare hazard a glance at him. Their union was too good to be true. He was everything she had ever dreamed of in a husband. They stood apart and yet she basked in his strength and in the warmth of his love. She tingled in unmentionable places as he repeated his vows, his deep voice echoing to her core.
Cathryn’s eye for color had led to the creation of a stunning emerald silk gown, which made her feel truly resplendent. Magnus’s eyes widened in appreciation when she appeared at the door of the church. She thought back to the catastrophic day of her “marriage” to Theodoric. She’d believed her life over but God had granted a second chance.
Rouen was in turmoil and Magnus and his father and brothers had spent much of the past sennight in Council meetings. King Louis had spirited the young duke away to Laon. Rumor was rife he intended to give control of parts of Lower Normandie to Hugh the Great in order to obtain his support. Prayers were offered from dawn to dusk for Richard’s safety and protection.
It was imperative the Krigers return to Montdebryk to prepare the defenses, but Bryk and Cathryn insisted the marriage take place in Rouen because they had been married there. The Archbishop had offered a chamber in his house for the wedding night, but the family intended to leave for home at first light the following day.
Judith privately thought it rather amusing they would spend their wedding night in the residence of a celibate religious, but she was nervous enough about the consummation and didn’t share her amusement with Magnus. His whispered promises to taste her sent desire spiraling out of control. Her nipples were constantly hard, especially when he looked at her with lust in his eyes.
He had fallen into the habit of winking at her whenever his brothers teased them about the wedding night. She supposed he was looking forward to their first night as man and wife. Or was there something he wasn’t telling her?
Messages had been sent to Torstein, and Bryk was confident of his nephew’s ability to get preparations underway, but Judith’s mind wandered to the journey they faced. Whirlpools swirled in her head. The threat to Montdebryk gripped her belly like a cold hand, especially given her brother’s part in it. Even if he’d not known of the plot to kill Vilhelm, the decades of scheming and land grabbing and suspicion among the Frankish nobility had led to the murder. Arnulf was as guilty as anyone.
She thought of Aleksandra and Brynhild. Would they blame her if their home was lost?
The Archbishop’s sonorous voice jolted her back to the cathedral. “Pronuncio vobis vir et uxor. You are now man and wife.”
Magnus took her hand in his. The fire of love in his smoldering eyes reduced her fear and doubt to ashes.
~*~*~
Magnus stared into Judith’s green eyes, scarcely able to believe she was his. He had only to look at the rich warmth of her hair for his shaft to respond predictably. Tonight he’d sift his fingers through those wayward chestnut tresses and wrap them around his body. Incredible as her gown was, he wanted it off.
He chuckled inwardly, remembering the shock on her mud-smeared face when he’d first come across her in Ponthieu. Even dirty and disheveled she had bewitched him.
The cathedral filled with people who smiled and passed on good wishes as they entered the church for the nuptial mass. He was glad a family banquet at the Archbishop’s residence had been prepared in celebration. Rouen was in mourning and a lavish feast deemed inappropriate.
The sooner the meal was over, the faster he might get Judith to the chamber they would share. She was nervous about consummating their marriage, but he sensed she was a passionate woman and was confident all would be well. He wondered if she’d guessed the secret of the chamber.
As he knelt beside his beautiful new wife to receive the Holy Eucharist, his thoughts went back to the evening in the abbey at Saint Riquier. He’d wanted her then, consumed by a longing he’d never felt for Ida, God rest her soul.
Vilhelm’s murder had rendered life for him and his fellow Norsemen dangerous and unpredictable. But Viking blood ran in their veins, blood he hoped to pass on to the many sons Judith would bear. He doubted Normandie’s enemies fully understood what they faced.
He closed his eyes, committing to memory the sights and sounds of these moments when Judith became his. He would tell his children of the events of this day, as his father and mother had recounted to him and his siblings the stories of their meeting and marriage. He’d no doubt Brynhild and Aleksandra would be impatient to hear every detail of the ceremony, furious they’d been far away.
Only Odin knew what life held in store for his daughters, but with Judith’s love Magnus was confident they would thrive.
He rose from his knees and helped his bride to her feet, nodding to Gonthard as he intoned the Pax vobiscum.
“Peace be with you, also,” he murmured to the prelate, grinning broadly. He took his wife’s hand and led her from the church.
BEDDING
The aroma of the roasted pheasant was tempting, but Judith could eat only a small portion of t
he choice morsel Magnus cut for her.
“Nervous?” he asked, chewing on the hearty chunk he’d chosen for himself.
His teasing smile didn’t ease her fears. “A little,” she admitted. “I know nothing of how a wife pleases a husband.”
“Judith,” he replied with a lustful grin, “simply looking at you pleases me.”
She affected impatience, but a worry gnawed at her. “I am ignorant of your wedding customs in Normandie. In Bruggen—”
She didn’t know how to explain. “Everyone…no, I don’t mean everyone…what I mean is, many of the guests… mostly family…when the bride and groom…”
He watched her intently, and she got the feeling he was playing with her. She pushed the uneaten pheasant around the trencher with her finger. “You know what I am trying to ask.”
He took her hand and sucked her fingertips into his mouth. It was at once strangely calming and exciting. “We sometimes follow the same custom here,” he replied, never taking his eyes from her face. “However, the chamber you and I will occupy this night is too small for a crowd of boisterous brothers and cousins.”
He winked in the special way she’d learned was just for her, and was feeling better until he said, “This is one time when I wish I didn’t have so many relatives.”
She returned his gaze. “Does this mean—?”
He laughed. “No, Judith, I don’t intend for anyone else to see my beautiful bride’s nakedness but me, and I doubt the Archbishop will allow bloodied sheets to billow from his rooftop.”
“My face must be as red as my hair,” she exclaimed, using her hand as a fan, trying to recall if the house had a flagpole.
The smile left his face. “There is one person who will accompany us.”
She held her breath. Perhaps his father? But why—?
“The Archbishop will bless our bed, but we won’t be in it.” He took her hand and pulled her up. His arms went round her waist and he hugged her tightly. “And we should go now,” he rasped.
She melted into him, the prospect of soon seeing his hard body completely naked sending the air whooshing from her lungs.
~*~*~
Magnus ignored his mother’s protestations that Judith had hardly eaten anything. His father grinned when Magnus scooped up his giggling wife and beckoned the Archbishop.
Dag and Bastian got to their feet, but quickly regained their seats when he glared at them. Much as he loved his brothers, he had no intention of embarrassing Judith with their presence. There was no space as it was. He had avoided speaking of the chamber and made sure Beatrice kept Judith out of it when she went to lay out his bride’s nightclothes in readiness. She wouldn’t need a nightgown, but he wanted to be the one to explain its significance.
Gonthard opened the door and Magnus carried Judith over the threshold. The bed wasn’t big, but it took up nearly the whole chamber. He sat his wife on the edge of the mattress, and took the space next to her, bowing his head. Judith seemed to understand and fixed her gaze on her knees.
The Archbishop looked at them curiously for a moment then cleared his throat and proceeded with the blessing. “In nomine Patris, et Filii…”
They followed the cleric’s lead and made the required sign of the cross, but Magnus heard only the beating of his heart in his ears and the quick shallow breaths of his bride. He’d been pleasantly hard since the ceremony at the cathedral and the scent of female arousal in his nostrils elated him.
Thankfully, the prelate seemed to sense his presence was superfluous and left quickly.
“Judith,” Magnus rasped, brushing the backs of his fingers along her warm cheek.
She leaned into him, but his heart stopped when someone coughed loudly. He had completely forgotten her servant.
“Beatrice,” Judith cried.
The maid sidled out from behind the privacy screen. “I waited…to assist my lady…”
Magnus looked at Judith, wishing he hadn’t. She was struggling not to laugh. “Thank you, Beatrice. Your lady needs no assistance. I myself intend to give her the help she requires.”
“But the nightgown,” the maid pleaded.
“Goodnight,” he said more firmly.
She shuffled past them to exit the chamber.
Judith collapsed backwards onto the mattress, shaking with laughter. “There’s not enough room in here for the two of us, never mind Beatrice,” she said.
He lay beside her, propped on one elbow. “I agree we definitely don’t need her. It’s tiny, and the bride of a future comte should spend her wedding night in a lavish chamber—”
She snuggled into him. “I don’t care. I’m with you.”
He fiddled with the front laces of her gown. “You look magnificent in this, but it has to come off.”
She watched his hands pull the fastenings loose and came readily to her feet when he eased her off the bed. She raised her arms and he pulled the gown over her head, laying it carefully atop the armoire. The fine linen chemise molded to her lovely curves but failed to hide the shadow of the dark curls at her mons. He raked his gaze up over her shapely hips and flat belly, finally fixing on her breasts. “Your nipples want my mouth on them,” he whispered.
She made no effort to fold her arms across her breasts.
He decided he should reveal the secret now before he became too excited by the prospect of bedding her. “I was conceived in this chamber, Judith.”
~*~*~
It was obvious. Bryk and Cathryn had lived in the house when they were first married. If she needed proof of the depth of Magnus’s love it was there in the intent written on his face and the pride in his voice. She held out her hands to him. “It is already blessed then.”
He smiled, arching his brows. “Indeed, perhaps you’ll conceive a son this night.”
A child of my own.
The dream emboldened her. His eyes darkened when she returned his smile and whispered, “May I undress you, my lord husband?”
He spread his arms wide. “You may,” he growled.
She lifted the saffron dyed tunic over his head. “Your aunt Hannelore promised to show me how to create the traditional Viking embroidery edging your tunic, but she won’t get a chance now.”
“You’ll figure it out yourself,” he murmured, taking the garment from her hands and tossing it aside. He brushed a kiss on her neck, though she had a feeling he wasn’t listening.
She flattened her palms on his chiseled chest. “You take my breath away.”
He put his hands on her bottom and held her against his body. “As you can tell, looking at you does things to me.”
In the blink of an eye, he bent to lift the hem of the chemise and tugged the garment over her head, throwing it atop his tunic. Standing still while he perused her naked body was difficult, but knowing she excited him made her feel beautiful.
“Here you are without clothing, and I’m still wearing my leggings,” he teased, arms open wide once more.
She lowered her gaze to his legs. “I’d best get them off before you burst the seams,” she said.
He laughed. “By the gods, I’ve married a passionate innocent.”
She untied the laces and tucked her thumbs into the waistband, but he put his hands on hers. “I didn’t have a chance to forewarn you before about my size. But you’ve got me very aroused, and I don’t want you to be afraid…well…that I won’t fit inside you.”
If her heart beat any faster, she feared she might swoon. Her body was on fire, ignited by his words. He freed her hands and she eased his leggings down. His male part sprang free. “I don’t recall it being so big, and thick,” she murmured. “It looks painful.”
He chuckled but sucked in a breath when she bent to swirl her tongue over the swollen tip, then kissed him. “It’s a pleasant pain,” he rasped, holding her head. “Your kiss eases the discomfort.”
This pleased her. “I’m not sure what came over me,” she confessed. “I wanted to taste you again. I’m happy you like it.”
; He seemed to stop breathing as he lifted her head. “There is nothing I would love more than to plunge into your wet heat, Judith, but we must slow down and kindle our passion further. Then you’ll be ready and it won’t be as painful the first time I enter you.”
She thanked God and his saints for this considerate man who was concerned for her feelings and needs. Most noblewomen were not as fortunate. She doubted Arnulf paid much heed to Adela’s wants.
Magnus knelt on the mattress and patted the space in front of him. “Sit,” he whispered.
She obeyed and he pulled her back to lean against his chest. Slowly he pressed his fingertips into the side of her neck, causing her to stretch like a cat. He massaged her scalp and his lips followed where his fingers had left off.
His touch sparked an echo in the private place between her legs. Her nipples tightened. Any more of this and she’d be purring.
“I love to feel your hair on my chest,” he rasped. “You’re purring.”
Her wantonness would have embarrassed Judith of Valognes, proud descendant of Charlemagne, half sister of Arnulf, Comte of Flandres.
Judith, the wife of Magnus Kriger, reveled in the sensations. His manhood swelled, hard against her lower back. An insistent need tugging deep in her core penetrated the fog of her arousal. “I want you,” she whispered.
“Patience,” he said huskily, resuming the sensuous massage of her neck.
~*~*~
Magnus urged patience, but soon the kneeling position became uncomfortable. He uncurled his legs and stretched out on his side, pulling her against him. “Still feeling the after effects of Brede’s pig,” he admitted.
She sat up and put her hands on his hip. “Turn on your belly. I’ll take away the pain. It’s a trick Beatrice taught me.”
He wasn’t sure how his rock hard shaft might react to lying on his belly, but her promise intrigued him. Seeming to sense his hesitation she said, “I’ll try to kindle your passion.”
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