Page 35 of Mastered By the Viking King

“All should be well,” Tove repeated, then let out a sigh.

Njal reached for her hand and squeezed. “I sent one of my best men. Gunnar is a fine warrior and hunter.”

“Hunter.”

“Aye. That will please your mother, my queen. He will hunt for her.”

Thoughts spun in Tove’s mind. “Will he stay with her? For the winter?”

Njal laughed. “Unless he chooses a cave and the company of bears and wolves. Aye, he’ll stay with her.” He paused. “I trust she is a hospitable woman?”

“Aye, of course.”

Oh, what would her mother make of a Viking warrior moving into their longhouse? For so long, she’d been without a man in her life. Would this Gunnar treat her right?

“Thank you, Halfdan,” Njal said. “That will be all.” He stepped closer to Tove. “Do not fear. The gods have planned this for your mother and Gunnar. Why else would the pass be blocked with snow?”

“Aye, I suppose you are right.”

“So, do not concern yourself.” The right side of his mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled. “Indeed, I have just the thing to take your mind off your mother and Gunnar.”

He stooped, pressing himself against her belly. The next thing Tove knew she was being lifted from her feet and draped over his shoulder. Her plaited hair fell forward, and she gasped as she gripped his fur.

“Njal! What are you…?”

“You have made me proud this morn, with your handling of Ysar, Sune, and Astrid’s situation.” He turned. “We will celebrate.”

A resounding smack landed on her ass.

“Oh!” She jolted in his grip.

Another spank landed, the sound dull through her clothes but the weight of his palm still solid.

He chuckled and strode from the center of the Great Hall toward the curtain. He flung it back, then entered their dwelling area.

She managed to look up and saw the curtain close, sealing her into Njal’s world.

Within moments, he dropped her upon the bed, the furs bouncing up to embrace her.

“Strip off your clothes,” he said, dragging at his own tunic. “I wish you naked, my queen.”

Quickly, she fiddled with the owl buckle, removing it and her new tunic. Next went her boots, pants, and undergarments.

The room was warm, the fires well lit, but still her nipples spiked, a shiver of anticipation up her spine. Sitting naked before her big, dominant king made her feel so small and feminine.

“You are beautiful,” he said, his gaze sliding down her body. “And you are mine. All mine.”

“Aye, I am.”

“I like that you have no ink.”

“You do?” She’d always wished she had decorations that honored the gods and her family.

“Aye, your skin is pale and perfect, unmarked like the first snow in a meadow. It makes me truly feel like I am the first to see beneath your clothes.”

“You are.”

He reached for a length of twine. “Lie down, arms above your head.”

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