Page 14 of Mastered By the Viking King

“I do not wish for a queen who has a son.” He banged his chest. “The heirs under my roof will only be my blood.”

Estrid let out a frightened squeak and shrank back into the crowd.

He moved to the next girl, a tall, thin blonde with a scar down the right side of her face.

“How did you get that?” He stooped to peer at her cheek.

“In battle.”

“You are a shield maiden?”

“Aye. A damned fine one.” Her voice was loud and stern.

“If you became my wife you would still fight?”

“It is what the gods destined me for.” She slapped her hand on her chest. “I have hot warrior blood in my veins. When I die it will be for my king, my land, my gods. I am not afraid to go to battle. I am even less afraid of death whether it is in this land or when I travel west.”

“What of my two sons,oursons when we wed, if you bleed to death in the mud of a foreign land?”

“I am a brave shield maiden.”

“Aye, you said that.” He straightened, then sighed. “I do not wish to lose another wife.” He flicked his hand. “Go.”

She nodded, one sharp tip of her head, then retreated from the line.

Tove saw his boots first. Great, clumpy things that made hers look tiny. She let out a small squeak.

“You.” He gripped her chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look up at him. “Are you married?”

She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head.

“You have children?” His eyes bored into her, seeming to see into her soul.

Her knees weakened and she locked her legs so she wouldn’t stagger sideways.

“Children?” he bellowed.

“No.” The word had come out as a squeak.

He dragged in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “Do you wish to die in battle?” His voice was quieter now, but still deep and guttural.

Her throat tightened, her breaths shallow. She gave another small headshake and dipped her gaze to his chest.

Still, he held her chin. “What is your name?”

She didn’t answer. It was as if the air was stuck in her lungs, and she was glad of that; it had always been her intention not to speak. The trouble was she hadn’t anticipated King Njal looming over her like that.

Touching her. Questioning her.

She felt like prey who’d been cornered. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Name?” he snapped.

“She is Tove,” Wanda piped up. “Tove from Cativad.”

“Ah.” He released her chin. “Tove from Cativad, that is a long way.”

“Aye.” She clasped her fingers so tight she feared her bones might break.

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