Harper George - The Viking Warrior's Bride

She didn’t quite know what to say. Everyone was watching her and she realised that she should have listened to Rodor when he’d been telling her what to expect. As if he sensed her confusion, he stepped forward and pressed something into her hand. It was a ring similar to the one Vidar had given her, except the gold was thicker. Vidar or Jarl Eirik must have given it to Rodor, because it was clear they were a matched set. Realising now what she was meant to do, she balanced it on the flat of the hilt of the sword and offered it to Vidar.

She wasn’t certain what she was meant to say, so she simply said, ‘With this ring, I accept you as my husband.’ That must have done it, because he nodded and placed the ring on his finger, then he carefully wrapped his hand around the blade and took the sword.

She’d neglected to put the ring on her finger, so she made to rectify that, but he stopped her by covering her hand with his. Gently, he took the ring from her and slid it on her finger. He didn’t say anything, but it felt like he’d claimed her. A knot churned in her stomach. The idea of being owned by any man revolted her, but there was something about this man that terrified her.

He moved away, only to turn back with a sword Jarl Eirik had given him. It was ornate, with two rubies set into the gilded hilt. He held it out to her lying flat on both of his palms. ‘I am entrusting this into your care to be given to our first-born son. May you bear me many.’

She nodded and took the sword from him, handing it off to Rodor. ‘I accept,’ she said, her voice low enough that only Vidar and Rodor were likely to hear her. ‘But we never agreed to children.’

Now that the ceremony was finished, he’d relaxed and even smiled at her when she said that. ‘I’m looking forward to the challenge, my lady.’

He didn’t seem fazed at all, or even worried that he wouldn’t be able to win the challenge. She frowned and her scowl deepened when the Danes gave up a mighty cheer when Vidar took her hand and raised it.

They were well and truly wed now.

* * *

Vidar brought her hand to his lips, but his gaze caught on her full lips. They were soft and pink and he longed to kiss them. From the moment she had appeared in her gown, he’d been struck by this fierce wave of possessiveness. It was as if his body hadn’t recognised her as his until that very moment, which made no sense because she’d been his since the first moment he’d seen her.

Perhaps it was that she hadn’t seemed quite so feminine then. Nay, that wasn’t right, because even now he could recall how her hips and buttocks had appeared very womanly in the glimpse he’d had beneath her long tunic. Then he realised what it was. It wasn’t the gown, though the deep blue colour complimented her greatly. It wasn’t that her hair had been left to fall down her back beneath the veil.

It was her eyes. She looked for all the world like a queen as she looked at him. Her chin was raised proudly as if she challenged him to touch her. But beneath that exterior, her eyes were vulnerable. There was a crack in her façade and she was terrified. Whether she realised it or not, he couldn’t say, but she was looking to him for reassurance.

That thought sobered him and he was struck with how much power he held over her. Never in his life, never once—including his many battles and their casualties—had he had such control over the life of one person. Or more specifically the livelihood and contentment of one person. As she stared down at him, her eyes revealing more vulnerability than she knew, he became drunk on that power. Began to revel in it, even. She was beautiful and strong. A veritable queen.

And she was his.

Their cheering grew louder as his men came up behind him. Before he realised what they meant to do, they’d hoisted him over their shoulders to carry him off to celebrate. A marriage was always something to celebrate, whether the couple were happy with the arrangement or not.

‘Congratulations, Brother!’ Eirik called out as he took a place under Vidar’s right side, his arms wrapped around Vidar’s thigh. ‘You’ll do Alvey proud.’

Vidar smiled as he looked out over Alvey and its people. The Danes were celebrating and, drawn by the allure, some of the Saxons were starting to join in. The gates were open to the people of the countryside and many of them had turned out, curious to the festivities. Several large fires had been going since midday and the air was heavy with the scent of roasting lamb and venison mingled with spices he couldn’t identify.

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