Vikings' Brides 4 Book Box Set

by Jessica Knight

  She cooks, too. All the other Queens in the neighboring kingdoms would never dare, but she does. She really is something special.

  My stomach grumbles, and my mouth waters from the idea of juicy potatoes and meat. I stand, pushing Grim one last time on the shoulder. I walk forward, the shallow puddle of water on the floor splashing.

  She whips the rag at me, lashing it on my arm painfully.

  “Ow, what was that for?” I rub the small red welt on my arm.

  “You know what that’s for.” She smirks with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “Sassa!”

  My breath hitches when I hear Thyra’s angelic voice. I turn left and right, looking for a place to hide, but there is nowhere I can get to in time besides the curtain.

  I run behind it to hide myself behind the long drape. I feel ridiculous. But I cannot have Thyra see me like this.

  “Thyra?” Sassa asks, with slight hesitation.

  “I want to try this new recipe for the potatoes. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. You’re an amazing cook.”

  I gulp. Thyra is cooking the food? I’ll have an erection knowing her graceful hand touched it and made it with love. My reaction to her is that strong. I inhale, pulling in the sweet scent of her, and my cock jerks in my trousers.

  “Why is it all wet in here?” Thyra asks, looking around.

  “My fault. I walked on my Lady’s newly clean floors all wet from being outside,” Grim covers for me.

  “Well, that was just foolish.” But the laughter in her voice says something else.

  “Can you do me a favor, Lady Thyra?” Grim asks, his voice closer to where I am hiding. He better not give my presence away.

  “Call me Thyra, please.”

  “Apologies. Thyra, can you please take a few towels to the upstairs and fill the tin with hot water? I wouldn’t normally ask, but it is important.”

  “Absolutely, Lord Grimkael. Right away.” Thyra’s small patter of footsteps leave the room.

  Right as I exhale, the curtain is ripped open, and standing in front of me is a wet Grim and an amused Sassa.

  “Coward,” Grim taunts and crosses his arms.

  “Oh, stop. I find it sweet. You fancy Thyra so much?” Sassa asks.

  I run my hand over my face, a little embarrassed. “Aye, very much so. But Lord Troy has made it clear not to go near his daughter. I agree with him. I come from nowhere.” I step out of my spot, but Grim’s palm slaps against my chest.

  “He said what?” Grim growls, and it is the same sound he makes right before running into battle. He is protective. “You are my family. You are Viking. You are my brother. How dare he!” he spits. Grim whips his head back and forth and stomps toward a large sword. “I’ll kill him.”

  Sassa reaches for his arm, stopping him from fleeing out the door. “You cannot kill my best friend’s father.”

  “He disrespected my family. He shall pay.” Grim’s chest heaves. He is always quick to temper.

  “It’s alright, Grimkael,” I speak up. The use of his full name brings him out of his murderous thoughts. “I know what I am. No amount of blood oath, spit, history, words can change the blood that flows through my body. Lord Troy wants his daughter with someone of relevance. I can offer her nothing.”

  “You can offer her love. You can offer her happiness. That’s all Thyra wants. She doesn’t care about the rest,” Sassa says.

  “Aye, but I do,” I admit begrudgingly. “She deserves more than a man like me.”

  “You’re the best man I know, Einarr.” Grim pounds his chest to reinforce his words.

  “It doesn’t fix—”

  “She doesn’t notice the scars.” Grim tosses his sword down and the metal rings from the blunt force of hitting the wood.

  “Everyone notices the scars!” I yell. Spit flies from my mouth, and blood rushes to my face, heating it with madness.

  “Everyone,” I lower my voice to a whisper.

  Grim and Sassa say nothing.

  I push past Grim and stomp up the steps, running away from the endless argument that tends to go in circles.

  When I get to the door of the bathroom, I hear a soft hum. Thyra is singing as she fills the tin with water. It’s a beautiful sound. One that could put me to sleep. Her voice gets closer to the door, and again, I’m finding myself looking for a hiding place. I run down the hallway and take a left, placing my back against the wall. Peeking my head around the corner, my heart races when I see her closing the door behind her.

  Fuck. She is prettier than all the lands I’ve ever seen. Anything I’ve ever seen. Her hair is up in a delicate braid, pinned to her head, showing the long curve of her neck. My lips twitch to feel her skin and kiss the part of her neck that pulses with her heartbeat.

  Her footsteps find more water. She tilts her head down and laughs. “Grimkael, Sassa shall put you in time out if you keep this up,” she giggles to herself. Thyra leaves, turning down the corridor right near the staircase. I take my chance.

  I run toward the bathroom and shut the door, leaning my back against it, and sigh. This is exactly why I need my own place. Being near her is too much for me to handle.

  Steam rises from the tub, and lavender flowers float on the top. She even makes water look beautiful.

  I don’t stand a chance.

  Chapter Three

  Thyra

  “Oh, goddesses! I forgot the linens,” I mutter to myself. I knew I came down this corridor for a reason, but it slipped my mind. My dress swishes when I turn around to walk down the hallway again. I run my hand along the stone as it leads me to the closet. I always wanted to live in the castle, and now that I do, it feels like a dream come true.

  And I get to live with my best friend. Life can’t get much better than that. Unless a big strong man held me every night. A man like Einarr.

  I let out a long, dreadful sigh. That shall never happen. Grabbing a few towels, I shut the door with my foot and meander toward the bath again. I mop up the floor where Grim left a puddle of water, again. When I bend down, I see a trail leading to the right, east wing.

  “Grim.” I shake my head. I better clean it up before Sassa sees it. I don’t mind doing what they ask. I don’t see it as doing the maids work, but as a favor amongst friends.

  Despite his official title as Lord, my father never once took advantage of it, preferring instead to continue working in the castle for Sassa’s father. He taught me how to cook and clean as well.

  I follow the water trail to the wall, and then it just stops. “Huh,” I say, looking back and forth to see if there are any more wet spots, but none catch my eye. Odd. I shrug my shoulders and go back to the bathroom door.

  The stained-glass windows to my right leave dull and muted colors on the floor from the sun being covered by the storm. Every raindrop that sticks to the window looks different. Blue, red, green. It’s my favorite part of the entire castle.

  The heavy weight of the linens in my hand brings me out of my trance. Those windows get me every time. I turn the knob of the door handle, and the heat from the tub hits me in the face, along with the smell of lavender.

  I close my eyes and inhale. It’s so relaxing. When I open them again, my eyes lock on Einarr lounging in the tub. His legs are perched up on one side of the tin, and he has his arms laced behind his head. Einarr’s strip of light red hair on top of his head is slicked-back and seems darker wet. His biceps bulge. The scars on his body only make my nipples bead.

  I want to run my tongue over all of them.

  Oh, my. I’m ogling him, and he doesn’t even know I am here.

  My face turns bright red as my eyes travel down his body. It’s so beautiful. His abs glisten in the water and the thick slab of meat between his legs, lays against his thigh. It’s huge.

  “Oh, goddesses!” I screech.

  I gulp, but I do not bother looking away. I’ve never seen what a man has between his legs. I wonder how it will fit inside me, being so large and thick. It
looks… inviting.

  “Oh, shite!” he curses. Einarr’s arms and legs flail, making water go everywhere. “Lady Thyra.” He clears his throat and cups the massive, impressive member between his legs.

  I am a little sad when it’s covered. I quite like staring at it.

  “Lady Thyra, how can I help you? Do you need something?” He clears the clutter in his throat again. It yanks me out of the hypnosis I find myself in.

  I cannot help it. I have never seen a man in the nude before, and I have to say, I’m glad I haven’t because I don’t think any man can compare to Einarr. His is big, tall, muscular, rough. Einarr’s beauty needs to be appreciated. I have a feeling it isn’t. People can be cruel. I’ve heard what people say about him, and I do not believe it for a moment.

  “I’m… ummm. I just… these.” I lift the linens in the air and place them on the tabletop. I finally gain some sense and turn around, giving him my back. My face heats. My cheeks burn. I need to leave, but my feet can’t seem to move. They are stuck to the floor.

  The water spills from the bath. He clears his throat. “I’m decent, Lady Thyra.”

  I turn around and avert my eyes again. He has a thin towel wrapped around his hips. Since his body is wet, the material sticks to his skin, and also, against his long cock pressing on his thigh. I can see every ridge of it. The vein. The thick ridge around the tip.

  He is far from decent.

  “Um, I…my apologies. I hadn’t a clue you were in here. I would have knocked.” My voice is low, barely a whisper. I’m embarrassed that I walked in on him bathing. “I truly had no idea. I thought the bath was for Lord Grimkael.” Then I realize how that sounds. “Not that I want to walk in on him—I don’t. Ever. I just thought he was walking around from the trail of water out the door, but I guess that was you,” I ramble, twisting my hands in front of me.

  He shuffles his feet. “Aye, it was me.”

  When I glance up again, I gasp. The linen that covers his cock is tenting. I’ve never seen a man hard before. “I, um, I better go. I… you… need to bathe, apparently. I’m interrupting.”

  I hurry to the door, but I’m too flustered. I cannot seem to grip the handle. Wetness pools between my legs the longer I am in the same room as Einarr. I need out.

  “Wait!” he calls, reaching forward to grab me by the shoulder before I leave.

  My breath is stolen from me from his touch. His fingers wrap fully around my shoulder. I tilt my head down to stare at the wide fingers, easily wrapping around me. I imagine what it would be like for his arms to hold me as we entangle in each other’s bodies and the blankets.

  “I’m sorry, Lady Thyra. I should never have touched you without asking.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. I accept your apology. I’m the one who is sorry. I barged in on you. Please, continue with your bath.”

  His hold weakens. Einarr’s rough, callused fingertips run down my arm. My body shivers as if it is cold, but I am far from it. My hand lay flat against the wood. The rough grooves scratch against my hand. Einarr is behind me, and as I lean my body against the door, he takes a step forward.

  I no longer reach for the door handle. I enjoy the heat of his body near mine. Water drips on the floor, splashing against my ankles. My cheek lays against the door, and my breath leaves my lungs in short bursts. I’ve never been so close to a man before. Especially a man such as Einarr.

  “Thank you for my bath.”

  His deep voice reverberates through my body, shaking my core, vibrating the heat between my thighs. I want to whimper, but I hold it back in my throat. I do not want him to know how he affects me. A man like that probably has women throwing themselves left and right at him. What could he ever want with me?

  “Yo—you’re welcome,” I stutter.

  He takes another step forward, and the towel brushes against me. A thousand thoughts flash through my mind. Thoughts of him dropping that towel and taking me into the bath with him. Thoughts of him wrapping those muscular arms around me and having his way with me.

  But they are just thoughts.

  He must notice how close he is to me because he takes a step back. A low growl comes from behind me, and for a moment, I forget where I am, and spin around thinking I am in the same room as a wild animal.

  When I see his eyes, I realize I am not with a wild animal. I am with a man. I do not fear him. I feel everything and anything, except fear.

  He keeps walking back until he is near the tin again. He gives me his back and finally drops the towel. I’m left with the view of his pert bottom. I try and avert my eyes, I really do, but the muscular backside keeps my eyes locked. He steps into the bath again and sinks down, covering his body.

  Disappointment courses through me. I want him to stay above water. I want to stare at him again. Ogle him. Appreciate him.

  “Can you hand me more lavender, please?” he asks, with nothing but kindness in his voice.

  “Of course.” The basin is next to me, full of the beautiful, purple flowers. My hands shake as I reach for them. It’s just a man. It’s just a naked man. A naked, beautiful, Viking warrior.

  I take a few steps and still keep my distance from the tin a I toss them in the water.

  “Thank you, Lady Thyra.”

  “You’re welcome, Warlord.”

  “May I tell you something, Lady Thyra?”

  “Aye.” I nod, taking a step back toward the door.

  “You’re a beautiful woman. I just wanted you to know.”

  Out of habit, I scoff and shake my head. “I’ll leave you to your bath. Good day, Warlord.”

  I rush to the door, and this time, my hands are not numb from his body heat.

  I slam the door behind me and lean against it. Sweat is covering every inch of my body. It isn’t from the bath. It’s from him. I place my hand on my chest. My skin is heated. My heart is racing. I can’t get the image of him naked from my mind.

  He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen, and he thinks I am beautiful? He is just being nice. There is no way a man of that strength, of that caliber, could ever want a woman such as me.

  I make a right and run toward my room, gripping the skirt of my dress as I run. I reach my door, panting from the exertion. My breasts are sore from bouncing from the sprint.

  “Thyra?” my father’s voice calls from down the hall.

  My eyes shut from the horrible timing. I take a deep breath in. I can still smell the wildness of the lavender hovering over my skin, like his breath, like his body, like him.

  I plaster a big smile on my face.

  “Father, hello,” I greet. I run my hands over my dress and make sure my hair is in place. I act as though I’ve done something where the consequence is guilt, but I haven’t.

  The only thing I feel is aroused from seeing Einarr in the buff.

  “What is wrong, sweetheart? You’re all flushed and sweating. Are you ill?”

  He puts the back of his hand against my forehead, making me feel like a child again.

  I lie. For the first time in my entire life, I successfully lie to my father. “I actually am feeling a bit under the weather. It isn’t a big deal. I think I may need rest. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re sure? Do you need anything?”

  “A nice cup of water would be fantastic,” I say.

  “I’ll bring my daughter an entire bucket to quench her thirst. I’ll be right back.” He places a quick kiss on my forehead. “Go lay down. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Thank you, Father.” I give him a small smile as he leaves.

  I open my bedroom door and slam it shut. I huff a breath, blowing a piece of hair out of the way. Never in my life have I felt so scatter-brained. I cannot breathe. All of this is too much. I need to be free of this clothing. I unlace the ribbons in the back of my dress and let it fall, until all that is left are my undergarments.

  My lungs expand, dragging in a deep breath for the first time in what feels like hours, but I know it’s only been a few mi
nutes. I plop on the bed, still feeling out of place and hot. My heart is still throbbing underneath the bone of my chest, pounding against it, as if it begs for freedom, for satisfaction, for release.

  Spreading my arms out, I fall back, letting the feathers catch me and the blanket hold me. Flashes of Einarr berate my mind. All I see is him lounging, standing there with nothing but a thin linen covering his privates, his wet hair slicked back, his body drenched from water running down his muscular chest like a waterfall, and his large, thick cock tenting the front of the towel.

  Why was he hard? It could not have been for me. I must have interrupted him. But he wasn’t hard when I first got a look at him.

  I shake my head. I’m a fool for thinking that it could have been me.

  A knock on my door erases my insecurity, but not the naked images of Einarr. I lean against the headboard and bite my lip before calling out, “Come in.”

  I laugh. My father really did bring me a bucket of water.

  “Only the best for my girl.” He smiles, placing the water next to my bed.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Are you sure you are alright? You seem frazzled, a little glassy-eyed. Shall I send for the nurse?” he asks, his brows pinching with worry.

  I place my hand on his. “No, Father. I must have eaten a bad piece of fruit. I just need to lay down for a while.”

  “I’ll make sure to tell Sassa you will not be coming down to dinner. I hate that you aren’t feeling well, but I’m glad you won’t be near Einarr. I don’t like how he looks at you.”

  “How is that?” I ask, with a little more curiosity than I should have.

  “Like you’re a piece of meat,” he sneers.

  Oh, father. If you had any idea of how I looked at him moments ago, you’d rethink that.

  “I’ve never noticed,” I lie. Again.

  “Good. You deserve better.” He kisses my cheek this time.

  I bite my tongue. He knows nothing of Einarr, and yet, paints him with a bad brush. It isn’t right. I love my father, but his dislike for people that are different bothers me. As he leaves, I take the ladle and scoop water up to my mouth and sip.