Page 16 of Mastered By the Viking King

“What was that?” He cupped his ear.

She spoke a little louder. “I have no treasures.”

He grinned. “I do not want you for your treasures.”

“So…” She swallowed. “What do you want me for?”

“You will find out.” He raised her knuckles to his mouth and kissed them, his beard scratching her flesh.

“And now,” he shouted. “Feast, for you have a new queen! And I have a new bride.”

Chapter 4

Njal held the hand of his new bride and supped on a horn of mead. Finally a sliver of contentment came over him. He was grateful for it. The twisting in his guts—green, bitter, and sharp—had faded just a little.

Tove, she was a pretty little thing. She was too bony, he’d admit that—and she could do with finer clothes on her back—but with her he’d have hot, naked, sweaty fun on the long, dark days and nights of winter.

Two loaded plates of food were set on their laps. Bread, meat, dried fish, nuts, and pickled berries.

Tove’s eyes went wide as she stared at it, her free hand hovering.

“Eat,” he said. “And enjoy knowing you will never be hungry again. No queen of mine will want for food.” He released her hand and banged his chest. “I am a fine hunter, and a king of many hunters. Food will always be on our table.”

She nodded, then the tip of her small pink tongue poked out and she licked her lips.

His jaw clenched. He’d never been drawn to such a delicate-looking female, but he couldn’t deny the attraction. It was wrapped up in protectiveness, too. She’d clearly had a hard life up until this point. But he’d change that.

He’d make her happy and keep her satisfied.

Grasping a hunk of meat, Njal chewed on it, turning his attention to the revelry in the Great Hall. There was lots of eating and drinking going on, as well as music and laughter. The wind whipped over the roof, rattling the huge doors but the festivities continued. Even the first snows of the winter couldn’t dampen the rejoicing brought by a new queen on the throne.

When the food had been eaten and the music had stopped, Njal stood.

“It is time for everyone to leave. I wish to be alone with my royal bride.”

Vikings and their wives and maidens turned weary heads to look at him. A few yawned, others rose and stretched.

“Now!” he shouted.

There was a sudden rustle of movement, scraping of chairs, and the banging of boots. The doors were flung open. A swirl of snow-strewn wind rushed in, and the fires flickered in protest.

He set his hands on his hips and watched as townsfolk gathered their belongings and pulled on furs. The night was brutally cold; it would be that way for months to come. Fortunately, they’d had a good season fishing and hunting, and the crops had grown well.

Halfdan, his closest advisor, was last to leave. He turned, nodded at Njal, then pulled the doors shut behind him.

Njal drained the last of the mead from his horn. His belly was full, his blood warm, and now he wanted to devote his attention to the new woman at his side.

She needed to understand how it would be from this point on. He couldn’t risk it being any other way.

In return for her obedience and loyalty, he’d ensure every aspect of her life was taken care of, from food to treasure, pleasure and satisfaction.

And he’d have to start as he meant to go on. With a firm hand.

* * *

Tove set her plate aside and stared at her new husband’s broad shoulders. Even without the fur draped over them, they were as wide as a doorway. His sheer size sent a shiver of trepidation through her. She couldn’t imagine his strength, or how fast he could run, and she was sure the skill with which he’d fight and hunt would take her breath away.

He was like no other she’d ever met. Her father had been a shy man, and strong, but not tall. Arne, well, yes, perhaps he was like him—a bigger, more powerful version with even more fire in his eyes.

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