Harper St. George - The Viking Warrior's Bride

Her warriors didn’t move a muscle. They stood in their places, watching her and Vidar until the last strains of the ringing had died out. ‘Go about your work,’ she said in a quiet voice.

For a moment no one moved and then eventually, one by one, they slowly filed away, leaving the sparring field. The last to leave was Wulf. The Danes at the edges of the field hadn’t left, but their postures relaxed and a few even sat on their haunches, though they hadn’t looked away. Vidar hadn’t looked away, either. He stared her down with that cold savagery that only he could manage to pull off.

When all of her men had gone away, he took the few steps that would put him in front of her. In a low voice laced with steel, he said, ‘You will not defy me.’

‘I have not defied you...yet.’

Chapter Four

The woman hadn’t so much as blinked at a tone that made most men tremble. With her shoulders squared and her chin raised, Gwendolyn of Alvey stared him down. Her eyes shimmered like deep blue pools beneath the long fringe of her lashes.

The woman was mad. Everyone had seen how she’d stormed out on to the sparring field and tried to usurp his authority. There was no denying it and the fact that she tried to deny it only made him angrier. ‘You came out here with the implicit goal of interfering in my work.’

She gave a quick nod of her head. ‘Aye, because your work was interfering with the training of my warriors.’

‘Ah, I see your confusion.’ He smiled as it became clear to him where the misunderstanding lay. ‘They are my warriors now. I was training my warriors and you interfered.’

If he’d have struck her across the face, he couldn’t imagine her becoming any angrier. Her cheeks flushed red and he had to admit that it made her even more attractive. Her eyes flashed with heat and she drew herself up to stand even straighter. It was only then that he realised how tall she was for a woman. The top of her head reached his chin. ‘These men are not your warriors.’ She was so angry that her voice shook.

‘The agreement your father signed makes you mine along with all that comes with you.’

She swallowed, as if only remembering that pesky document. ‘Not yet. There has been no wedding. We haven’t spoken the words.’

‘Recall the words of the Jarl—your Jarl now—from last night. You became mine with the signing. It is binding and legal and the words left to be spoken are only ceremony. I could bed you now and no man would stand in my way.’

‘If you try to bed me now there would be no need for a man to stand in your way, because I would fight you myself.’

She really was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She was full of fire and a wildness that drew him in. He had no doubt that she would fight him at every turn and for some reason he was starting to enjoy it. Some long-hidden part of him admired her strength and a tiny thread of respect wound its way through him. He grinned and felt the tension leave his shoulders as he settled into verbally sparring with her. ‘There’s no need to fight me. I’m content to wait. It’s only three nights.’

Her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth. ‘I will never submit to you.’

He had no doubt that she meant the words now, but he had every confidence in being able to overcome her resistance. She’d come to see that he was in command now. Not her. And she’d realise her new place in this world. He’d met warriors like her before. They came under his command and saw his youth as something to be challenged, but they didn’t realise he’d been on a ship with one brother or another from the time of his tenth winter. He had more experience than most of them.

He’d overcome them and he had confidence that he’d change her mind as well. ‘Then I look forward to taming you.’

She wanted to strike him, he could see it in her eyes, but much to her credit she didn’t. Instead, she took a step back and took in a deep breath, running her palms down her tunic to smooth out imaginary wrinkles in a visible attempt to calm herself. Finally, she said, ‘Then you’ll be disappointed. I look forward to fighting you at every attempt.’ Then she walked off across the sparring field from the direction she’d come, her back as straight as the blade of his sword.

Her legs were long and lean, eating up the distance with ease. He’d bet they were just as shapely as the lightly muscled curve of her shoulder that he could make out beneath the lightweight wool covering it. Her entire body seemed firm and strong. Yet, it was the sway of her hips that called his gaze as he watched her go. They were pleasantly rounded, as were her buttocks from what he could tell. He found her body appealing. Firm and soft all at the same time. The wedding night would be interesting.

With a smile on his lips, he walked to the edge of the sparring field to gather his men for their training. Since they’d been travelling the past few weeks, they’d been unable to train. It would be a nice change and work off some frustrations for him. He hadn’t actually meant to take over the training of her warriors. The Saxons had already been on the field when he’d arrived with his own men and they’d been doing it wrong. Was he supposed to simply stand there and watch them train inefficiently?

‘Enough lying around. Get to work,’ he called to his men, sending them grumbling on to the field.

‘Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you with that one,’ said Rolfe as he slowly got to his feet, his gaze on Gwendolyn’s retreating figure.

Vidar had known Rolfe since they both were boys. They’d been on nearly every adventure together and Vidar counted himself lucky that his friend had agreed to come with him to this remote corner of the world. Vidar had given his men the choice of coming north or staying to the south to battle, and he’d been pleased when all of them had chosen to follow him. Following his friend’s gaze to the woman’s back, Vidar nodded. ‘I think you’re right. I have to admit I’m looking forward to the challenge. I’d assumed she’d be a biddable wife.’

Rolfe threw his head back and laughed. ‘By the gods, man, why would you assume that? Have you ever met a biddable wife?’

Vidar frowned. He wanted to say that of course he had, but the truth was that he wasn’t certain. He’d never had any women in his life to speak of. His mother had died and he couldn’t remember her. His older sisters had all moved away once they’d become wives. Growing up, some of the slaves in his father’s home had been women, but they’d been shadows in the background who worked to make the household run efficiently. He’d met many women in his travels, but they’d all been passing amusements easily left behind with a trinket for their trouble.

Now that he thought of it, Eirik’s wife Merewyn was the only wife he knew. Vidar had seen them argue before, but never for long before either Eirik would sweep her up into his arms and take her to their chamber, or their voices would lower at the table and he couldn’t hear them anymore. Either way, they worked out their differences and Vidar had assumed it was because Eirik had reminded her of her place.

He shrugged off his thoughts. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t met a biddable wife. It only mattered that his wife would be biddable, because he had no intention of indulging her in anything else. ‘She’ll be obedient soon enough,’ Vidar said to his friend, shrugging out of his harness and unsheathing his sword.

‘You honestly believe that, don’t you?’ Rolfe eyed him as if he were daft.

Vidar held his sword up to the meagre light, silently cursing the absence of sunlight in this dark land. If the grey light could be believed, the blade was due for a polishing. ‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’