Page 17 of Mastered By the Viking King

King Njal slowly turned to face her. His eyebrows lowered, his mouth stern.

Her shiver turned into a full-blown body tremble. What did he want? To see her naked? Sex? Was he going to beat her the way some Vikings did their wives? Spank her the way Arne had Gert?

“We are alone for the first time, wife,” he said, pushing up the sleeves of his tunic and exposing thick forearms roped with muscle and tendon.

“Aye, my king.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You will call me Sire, or Njal, for although I am your king, I am also your husband.”

She swallowed and clenched her fists. “Njal.”

He sat, his knees apart, his concentration still fixed on her. “Do you have anything to say?”

Tove thought for a moment. “Why did you not choose Princess Hilda? She is very beautiful.”

“As are you.”

Tove released a sharp little giggle.

“What? You think you are not?”

“I am…”—she plucked at her threadbare tunic, which had seen better days—“nota princess.”

“A princess does not make a woman a good woman, and neither do clothes. Tell me, Tove—are you a good woman?”

She raised her gaze and looked at him, drawing in a deep breath. “I believe my parents taught me right. Aye.”

“I guess we will soon find out.” He paused. “You have heard about the last queen?”

She nodded.

“She betrayed me with a wanderer, believing him to be a god who passed through Halsgrof.”

Tove said nothing.

“She brought him into our house, fed him, bathed him.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his thigh. “And when I told her not to believe his lies, she disobeyed me, and took him into her bed.”

Tove’s heart was thudding, the irritation and disappointment clear in Njal’s voice. She hoped in the name of Thor, Odin, and Freya that she never inflicted such shame on her new husband.

“I will not be disobeyed, Tove.” He stopped tapping his fingers and studied her. “I will not stand for it.”

“I will not… disobey you, Sire.”

“I hope I can believe you.”

“You can.”

He frowned. “Get over my lap.”

Confusion swam in her mind. Had she heard him right?

“What?”

“You heard me. You might be thin and with the voice of a mouse but your ears work.” He smacked his palm upon his thigh. “Get over my lap.”

Tove’s stomach clenched. Her knees felt too weak to hold her.

“Now!” His voice was a bear’s roar.

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