Page 56 of Mastered By the Viking King

“So am I, but it is always with hindsight. I want to know what is going to happen, not what has happened.” He paused. “Wolf.”

A long, sorrowful howl echoed above the wind.

“We should get more furs,” Leif said.

“We haven’t time to hunt before we travel. We’ll make do.” Njal carried on down the hill. Elk tracks crossed their path, and he wished he’d made time to hunt since the snow had fallen. He’d been so caught up in his new wife, in sex—and exploring her willing little body—that he’d thought of little else.

He smiled. The chill wind couldn’t take away the warmth in his soul. Every other woman he’d ever been with had been leading him to Tove. She was the queen his heart beat for. She was the breath in his lungs, the cunny around his cock. She would be every beat of an oar as he journeyed over the sea.

Halsgrof came into view. Njal anticipated a horn of mead, the feast, his wife’s naked body beside his when they took to their bed later. He’d have to make the most of her. Soon he’d be gone—his cock as lonely as he would be without her.

The Great Hall was a hive of activity, Wanda, Halfdan, and other workers busying around like bees. He spotted Tove beside her throne, setting out plates of food on a small table that was just for Knud and Forde.

He smiled and admired her rump.

His sons loved her already, as did he.

Where are they?

Leif handed him a horn of mead. “Here, brother. Drink to our vengeance.”

“Aye, to vengeance!” He held up the horn, then drank deep. His attention slid to the shadowy corners of the barn. In one he spotted his sons. They were huddled together, and appeared to be listening with rapture to a hooded stranger.

“Your sons,” Leif said, also noticing them. “Who are they with?”

“I do not know.” He stomped over the trough fire, not caring about the heat from the embers. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice booming.

The hooded man looked up. A weather-worn face Njal had never seen before.

“Whoareyou?” Njal demanded again.

“I am Gorm.”

“He is telling us a saga about a serpent that is as big as the earth,” Knud said. “And he is a very cunning, very clever serpent.”

“As are all serpents.” Njal drained his horn. “You are Gorm of…?” This man wasn’t local. He’d never seen him before.

“I am of the mountains, the valleys, the fjords, and the forest.” Gorm waved his arm through the air. “I sleep where I find myself each night. My feet take me where they want to take me.”

Njal’s jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. “You are a wanderer.”

“Some might say that,” Gorm chuckled. “But not all who wander are lost.”

“You need to get lost now,” Leif said, reaching for the man’s upper arm and dragging him to his feet. “The king does not likewanderers.”

Gorm staggered under Leif’s rough handling. “I am doing no harm. I am entertaining young boys.”

“I do not wish you anywhere near my sons.” Njal spun around. “Who let this man into the Great Hall?”

Wanda studied her feet.

Halfdan turned to the fire and stirred a huge pot of broth, a job he wouldn’t normally do.

“I did.”

Njal stared at Tove. Had he heard right? Surely not. His ears must be broken. He’dtoldher he would not tolerate wanderers in Halsgrof. He’d been very specific about it.

He shook his head. “My queen.” His brow creased. “What are you saying?”

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