“No,” he replied firmly. “You are my wife now, and you’ll do as you’re told.”
Brigid exhaled, scampering after him as he strode back into the main chamber. “But, Jerrik!”
He spun, turning on his heel to find her exasperated expression just behind him. “Do not defy me, little Pict,” he growled. “Unless you want to find out what happens to disobedient wives.”
Brigid:
She watched him stalk out of the door, the morning light glinting in his blond, braided hair. Brigid’s heart was still hammering with all the events of the last few minutes. The shock of being found by Bram—why hadn’t she foreseen that? Her son often slipped into her bed in the mornings for comfort, and there had never been an issue, but now with a new husband, the small act of intimacy was going to be contentious. She should have spoken to Bram about Jerrik yesterday—she should have warned him, but Brigid had not been able to face the conversation. And now he had fled in fear, or disgust. She recalled the accusing look in his young eyes, the memory like a dagger to her heart.
Jerrik would find him, she told herself, Jerrik would save him. But—what if he didn’t, her mind countered? Jerrik didn’t know the land like Bram did. He wouldn’t have any idea where to start looking for him.
Brigid sighed as anxiety rose in her again. She should go—whatever Jerrik said, she should go. She was Bram’s mother, and it was her fault he had run. She should have told her son about her new husband, and she should have intervened before Jerrik was able to threaten him. What was that about, anyway, she mused, finding her shawl. Why did the man feel the need to throw so many threats around? Brigid would never allow any man to lay a finger on her child, and as for his warning to her about staying here? Clearly, the Viking knew nothing about his new wife. Brigid wasn’t going to stay put whilst her son’s life could very well be in danger.
No.
She would go after Bram. She knew where he liked to hide, and she’d wager he was already down by the beach. With one final glance around the chamber, she tightened the shawl around her shoulders, slipping on her small leather shoes as she left the house.
12
Jerrik
He cursed under his breath as he stalked around the nearby woodland. Having found no sign of the boy in the village, and not wanting to disturb anyone else after the battle the prior day, Jerrik had decided to investigate the woods before he doubled back to the beach. Bram couldn’t have gone far. He was only a child; his pace was nowhere near as fast as Jerrik’s, but Bram still had an advantage. He knew the area and would be able to slide into some tiny hiding place. He could be hiding somewhere in the woods right now, and Jerrik could easily go right by him.
It was infuriating—and not how he wanted to be spending the morning. He wanted to be curled up with his new wife, or, even better, buried inside the hot confines of her sweet cunt, not chasing around tree trunks searching for her son! Jerrik shook his head at the notion. The idea that she had a son and hadn’t even thought to mention it to him until the consummation was probably grounds for a damn good spanking as it was. The men in his tribe had always disciplined their women. They weren’t brutes—or maybe they were—but he guessed it depended on whose perspective you took, but in Jerrik’s view, it had never done the females any harm. No one was injured during the punishment spankings, although he had been known to birch a woman to the point of blood on occasion. Jerrik reserved the birch for only the most heinous offences, though, and on the whole, he enjoyed just taking a woman over his lap and tanning her bare backside with his palm. He relished the sting in his hand and the way the heat built in her bottom, eventually radiating from the curves of her upturned cheeks.
Jerrik would be more than willing to discipline Brigid that way—when it was necessary—and he’d meant what he had said to her. He expected her obedience and would certainly punish her if he found she had wilfully neglected to follow his instructions.
“Bram!”
He hollered the boy’s name around the woods as he stalked onwards. There were no obvious hiding places here, no hollowed-out trunks in which a small boy could cram himself, and no evident dens. Of course, he could be shielded inside the canopies of one of the ancient-looking trees itself. Jerrik glanced up, aware it would be near impossible to see him if he was, but for some reason, he didn’t think that was the case. He didn’t know why, but Jerrik had the feeling he should start for the beach. Perhaps he’d find the naughty little one there?
Heading back in the direction of the coast, Jerrik made long strides out of the woods and back along the grassland to the place they’d found the village the day before yesterday. It was then that he saw her. The woman was the first person he’d spotted since he’d been out on this early morning folly, so his heart leapt at the sight of her, but when he peered more closely, Jerrik was sure it was his wife he was watching scurrying down towards the sand.
She was some way ahead of him and obviously hadn’t noticed his presence, but he balled his fists at the sight of her. What in Odin’s name was she thinking? Hadn’t he made himself clear? He’d told her to wait at the house, so what was she doing? Had she just patently decided to ignore him and come searching for Bram anyhow?
“Wilful little Pict,” he muttered under his breath as he followed her path.
Brigid had no idea what the implications of her poor choices would be, but once Bram was found and they were both brought home safely, she would be finding out—by means of his palm across her bared buttocks once she was flung over his knee. He followed her in the direction of the beach, hanging back enough to scrutinise her behaviour. It was possible she knew where Bram would be, and he could utilise her knowledge and get them both back to the house sooner rather than later. It irritated him beyond reason that neither Brigid nor Bram seemed to be able to behave themselves. He’d rarely ever envisioned himself taking a bride, but Jerrik certainly hadn’t bargained for one like Brigid. One who would blatantly disobey him, and one who also came with a petulant son in tow. He rolled his eyes at the conundrum. Strangely, he had no wish to rid himself of the little Pict. She was a beauty, and coupling with her had certainly been as wonderful as he’d hoped. He just needed to train her how to please him.
And both her and Bram needed some Viking discipline.
Jerrik stayed back on a sandbank, watching his wife cross the beach. She was walking with purpose, suggesting that she thought she knew where her son may be, and within a moment, she was crouching in front of what could only be a hidden cave in the rocks of the natural inlet. He eyed Brigid with interest as she drew Bram from his hiding place, initially seeming to embrace him before she clearly scolded him. Her wagging finger in his face was the main indication of her displeasure, and the fact pleased him. It was good to see there were some rules and boundaries in place, even if they were lax by his own standards. He wandered closer, choosing to give the mother and son a moment alone before he made his presence known, but Bram seemed to spot his approach as he crossed the sand.
“Mother!” the boy called.
His pointing finger drew Brigid’s attention to her husband.
The way her pretty little mouth fell open had his cock throbbing beneath his trousers. Jerrik couldn’t wait to train that mouth, but first there was the matter of wilful disobedience to deal with.
Brigid:
She knew she was in trouble just by the look on his face. Jerrik didn’t even have to say a word to her as he loomed over her body. He only had to glower.
“Jerrik.” Her voice was nearly lost on the sea winds. “I have found him.”
One blond brow arched at her statement. “So I see,” he mused in a low growl, his body edging even closer towards them.
Deep down in her heart, Brigid didn’t think he would really do anything to truly harm her or Bram. If she did, then she would have taken her son and fled. She would never be able to trust him—marriage or no marriage. But that wasn’t the man she had known the last two nights—the one who had brought her patien
ce and pleasure before he’d claimed her—yet she had to admit, the dark expression he wore now furled the dread in her just the same. He was clearly smarting at the way she had left the house, effectively doing the complete opposite to what he’d told her. At that moment, his final words to her rang in her head…
“Do not defy me, little Pict. Unless you want to find out what happens to disobedient wives.”
Brigid gulped out of instinct, trying to imagine what he might have meant by that.
“Is the boy well?” Jerrik asked in an ominously soft tone.
She glanced down at her son. He knew he was in trouble, too, and had become his normal compliant self since she had admonished him. Perhaps he, too, was recalling Jerrik’s recent words?
“Well,” she huffed at Bram. “Jerrik is my husband now, and that means he is responsible for you, too, Bram. You must answer him.”
Light-brown eyes met her insistent gaze, and slowly Bram nodded. “I am well, thank you,” he murmured.
“And?” prompted Brigid. “What else do you need to say to Jerrik?”
Bram blanched. He liked to be humbled about as much as his mother, but Brigit was aware the lesson had to be taught. Jerrik was the man of their house now, and he must be respected and obeyed. She swallowed hard as the reality of that sentiment washed over her.
Obeyed.
Not that she’d obeyed him, and by the glint in his eyes, Brigid reckoned there would be a price to pay for that insolence as well. Her pulse quickened at the idea. Even though she was rueful to have upset him, she was curious to know how Jerrik would react. Whatever happened, it would set the precedence between them and establish the power dynamic in their relationship. Brigid had always yearned for a strong man—a man she could look up to—and as Jerrik glowered down at Bram, she wondered if she might finally have found one.
“My apologies, Jerrik,” Bram mumbled, wringing out his small hands in front of him. “I was wrong to flee, I just didn’t understand what was going on. I didn’t know anything about you.”
Bram lifted his chin to glance up at Brigid. “Mother has explained a little now.”
Jerrik inhaled for a moment. “I do not underestimate your confusion,” he said with a sigh. “But your mother is correct, I am responsible for you both now, and that means we must have rules and an understanding. I have never been a father before, but I vow to do my best to be your father, Bram, and in return, I expect your respect and obedience.”
She watched as her Viking crouched in front of her son. He was so tall that even now he loomed over Bram, but Jerrik’s expression softened.
“One day soon you will be a man yourself, Bram. I hope I can be a father you can aspire to.”
Brigid’s breath caught at his words. In the midst of her concern and trepidation, she hadn’t foreseen this side of her new husband, but her heart swelled at the sight of the scene. Maybe all would be well? If the two males in her life could align, then that only left her obedience to the Viking, and she had the feeling Jerrik was going to set that record straight.
“Can I expect those things from you, young Bram?” Jerrik enquired, raising his voice just a little.
Bram’s eyes widened. “Of course, Jerrik,” he replied. “Father.”
Jerrik laughed, and as he rose to his feet again, he reached forward to ruffle her son’s hair. Apparently, an accord had been negotiated.
13
Jerrik
They made their way back to the village, the three of them walking together. It was an odd scene to Jerrik. He was a man who’d never seen the need for family—he’d never seen the value in it—and yet here he was, making promises to an eight-year-old he barely knew, and for some peculiar reason, he’d actually found some serenity in the deed. As they entered the village again, young Bram turned to him.
“Should I fetch the firewood now?” he asked, evidently waiting on Jerrik’s approval.
Jerrik gazed down at his expectant face. “That would be helpful, thank you, Bram,” he answered. “I do not suppose your mother had time to do so, since she managed to find you before I did.”
His gaze flitted to his wife’s face, and it was with some satisfaction that he registered her blanching complexion. She looked sorry, as she very well might, but that wouldn’t save her from the fate that awaited her. He recalled the exact words he had left Brigid with, and still, she had seen fit to defy him. She had as much to learn as her son, and she needed to learn just as fast.
“Thank you for being so kind to him,” Brigid murmured, meeting his eye. “It has been some time since he has had a father in his life.”
Jerrik nodded. “He seems like a good boy,” he replied. “He just needs a little structure and guidance.”
He paused, allowing her time to relax at his words before he finished his sentence. “And discipline, of course.”
Brigid’s gaze widened—just like her son’s had done on the sand below. “You won’t really birch him, will you?”
Her voice was barely even a whisper. “He is not used to a punishment like that.”
“I will give him the benefit of the doubt this time,” Jerrik replied, watching her expression to see if Brigid had heard the emphasis he’d placed on the word him. The way she swallowed told him that she almost certainly had done.
“And me?” she enquired with obvious trepidation. “What fate awaits me, husband?”
“For the woman who now shares my life, my worldly goods and my bed—the one who intentionally chose to flout the simple instruction she had been given—I have a particular fate in mind.”
The way Brigid gasped suggested his words had done nothing to reassure her.
Good, he mused. She didn’t deserve to be soothed at the moment. Let her think on her sins. Let her stew in them. The more contrite he found her when it was time for punishment, the better.
They reached the dwelling they now shared, the community just starting to come to life around them. Jerrik didn’t look for any of his kin amongst the throng of daily activity, though. He only had one thing on his mind, and that was bringing his unruly family to order. Guiding Brigid through the entrance, he left the front door ajar to allow some light into the main chamber. Without the fire, the place was naturally dark, and Bram hadn’t returned from the woodpile yet.
He turned, finding Brigid in the centre of the space. She was kneeling by the ashes of the previous day’s fire, busying herself with a large pot. Distracting herself, he pondered as he watched her work, and Jerrik’s lips curled at the idea. His threats had rattled Brigid, and it pleased him.
“Do you like turnips?” she asked in a tentative voice.
“For breakfast?” he quipped, throwing her an inquisitive glance.
Brigid chuckled, the tension in her shoulders visibly relaxing. “No,” she replied with a small laugh. “For supper. We grow a lot of them here.”
“With some meat, I’m sure they’ll suffice,” Jerrik answered from his place near the entrance.
He glanced out into the village. Where was Bram with that wood?
“We have rabbit,” Brigit went on, demonstrating her nervous energy by her inability to stop talking. “And I have some bread to fill you now.”
Jerrik turned back towards his wife. “It is I who should be filling you,” he growled in Brigid’s direction. “And seeing you on your knees that way does nothing to quell my fervour, wife.”
She gulped at that, those hazel eyes widening at his statement. “I am sorry about Bram,” she mumbled. “I am sure you did not want to spend this morning chasing him around the headland.”
He closed his eyes at her words. Brigid was entirely right—it had not been what he had in mind at all, and based on the lustful glint in her gaze, it would not have been her first choice either.
“You can make it up to me later,” he demanded as he sauntered towards the place where she was still kneeling. “After I have punished you for defying me.”
Brigid panted at Jerrik’s assertions, and she drew in a d
eep breath, as if to compose herself. “I know I am your wife now,” she murmured in response. “But I am also a grown woman, Jerrik, and a mother. I cannot have you punishing me, especially in front of Bram.”
Her tone was laced with just a hint of insolence, and it was enough to stir his already unsatisfied cock.
“You no longer have the choice,” he reminded her flatly. “You’re my responsibility now, Brigid, and our children will be of my heritage. Your defiance will be punished. It is how us Vikings deal with such things.”
She dropped the vegetables and rose unsteadily to her feet. Brigid was trembling, and Jerrik wondered if it was fear that inspired the gesture, or something else. It had been some time since Brigid had been mastered, and he was starting to wonder if her first husband had ever truly done the job. He sensed there was a part of her that wanted to yield to someone stronger than herself, but the woman had spent so long being responsible for herself and Bram, she seemed to be struggling with the new power dynamic. Jerrik could understand that. He needed to guide her.
“What will you do?” she whispered, gazing up at him with anxious eyes.
Jerrik smiled, moving towards her and taking one of those small, cold palms in his hands. “Nothing severe,” he promised. “Just enough to remind you of your place.”
“The b-birch?” she stammered, barely able to articulate the final word.
Evidently, his little wife had quite the fear of the birch, and he mused that it would be worth remembering that for future misdemeanours, of which he was sure they would be a great many.
“No,” he assured her. “Not this time.”
Brigit exhaled in apparent relief. “Then what?”
Jerrik shook his head with a grin. “I had intended to surprise you with the penance later,” he said, dropping his tone as he inched towards her body.
“Please,” she replied, craning her neck to look up into his eyes. “I’ve never done this before, Jerrik. Bram’s father never…”
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