Page 63 of Mastered By the Viking King

“In the name of the All Father,” Njal muttered, widening his legs to keep his balance on the bench.

“We battled like this for days,” Leif said, his attention caught by another even larger wave heading their way. “We knew we had angered the sea gods, but how, I don’t know.”

“Did you make a sacrifice?”

“We had little to offer but our final chicken was slit at the throat.”

“If it’s all you had, what else could you do?” Njal gritted his teeth and gripped his oar tighter. The longboat pitched almost horizontal as it took on the next swell.

He’d told his beautiful wife that if it was his time to journey to Valhalla, then so be it. But in truth he didn’t want to leave her.

Since she’d become his queen he’d been happier than he’d ever thought possible. He no longer had the bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth.

No one else compared to Tove, in his past or would in his future. The sweetness of her smile and the responsiveness of her body to his made him ache with love.

Compassion, kindness, and obedience came as naturally to her as it did for the spring flowers to rise from the ground. There was no other woman like her to walk the earth.

The longboat dipped down and he dug in his heels to stop from tipping out.

“Thor, have mercy!” a warrior just in front of him roared as he lost his seat and battled to get back up without dropping his oar.

“Keep going!” Leif shouted. “Pull! Pull! Pull!”

It’s important to reach the distant shores of Wessex, but is it worth our watery death?

That thought, along with the seer’s warnings, spun in Njal’s mind. Much as he didn’t fear death, welcomed feasting with the gods for all eternity, he wanted Tove at his side.

They’d feast together in Valhalla, then afterward he’d caress the round orbs of her buttocks, taste her breasts, her cunny, her mouth. They’d pleasure each other, her white skin flushing with each climax—as many climaxes as there were stars in the sky.

“Watch out!” Leif cried.

Njal pushed images of his wife from his mind. They were surrounded, three monster waves coming at them, a belt of angry water.

“Hold on!” Njal commanded. “Hold on!”

The longboat lifted into the air. The wooden hull creaked as the sea sought to snap it in two, or three, perhaps more.

Leif fell against Njal, and Njal braced against his brother, hoping if he was to die, they’d die together.

I don’t want to die.

I don’t want to leave Tove, or my sons, or my future sons.

He hated himself for the weakness of his thoughts, but what could he do about them? His heart had been stolen.

“Leif!” Bodil spun around, her hair plastered to her head and her wet cheeks icy white.

The boat was jostled to the right, and then the left. Crates and barrels rolled over the deck, their bindings having come loose.

“We will not die here!” Leif shouted back. “Hold on, my love.”

In that moment, Njal knew he was not the only warrior on board the longboat who had a woman in his heart. A woman whose body was craved, adored, and supped upon.

“We will turn back.” Njal braced as the boat hit down on the sea’s surface. “There is no crossing to Wessex this day.”

“We can do it, brother.” Leif dashed his hand over his face to get the water from his eyes. “We can.”

“And all die in the process? Leave our women, our families?” He gestured to Bodil. “You would have her die here?”

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