Page 10 of Mastered By the Viking King

With a new sense of urgency Tove scurried through the crowd. “Sorry,” she said, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a basket of rye bread.

When she reached Wanda’s home, she banged on the door.

It opened quickly, and a woman with plaited gray hair opened it. “Aye?”

“I’m Tove, from Cativad. My mother, Ingrid, told me to come to you.”

“Aye, Tove of Cativad, come in.” She smiled and swung the door wider. “You are the last of my girls to arrive.”

“Your girls?”

“Aye, the princess has her own women to help her prepare for tonight.”

Tove stepped in and was glad of the warmth from a large central fire. “The princess will need the most preparation as she is the one who will be chosen as queen. I do not require much more than to be presentable to the crowd.”

Wanda waggled her finger. “Do not be so sure she will be chosen. Our king is unpredictable.”

“But she is beautiful and rich.”

“I would not disagree, but are those the qualities King Njal wishes to find in his new wife?”

“Wouldn’t every man want that?”

Wanda shrugged and walked to a pot of steaming broth. She ladled some into a bowl and handed it to Tove. “Here, eat, then you can bathe and dress. Tonight, your life may change forever.”

“I doubt that.”

Again, Wanda didn’t answer, instead walking to a young woman who was tending a green tunic with a needle and thread.

“Thank you for the broth,” Tove said.

Wanda smiled. “You look like you could do with it.”

The door burst open again, the wind pushing it into a stool and knocking a bowl to the floor.

A woman, flame-haired, stood there panting. Her eyes were wide, her breasts almost spilling from her tunic.

“Gert!” Wanda turned to her.

“Arne, he is…” She spun to look over her shoulder. “He is furious with me.”

“What have you done this time?” Wanda asked.

“Naught… much.”

“That is for your husband and my nephew to decide.” Wanda pointed to a woven screen. “But you may catch your breath behind there.”

“Thank you.” Gert rushed forward, again almost bumping into Tove and this time nearly spilling her precious broth.

“Where is she?” The doorway filled with an ogre of a man, his wide shoulders almost touching the frame and his boots caked in mud. “Where is that wife of mine?”

Gert let out a yelp. “No!”

A deep growl rumbled from his throat and he lunged forward. “You. Wench. You will feel the wrath of my hand into next week.”

“No. Please.” Gert gripped the screen. “I am sorry. I beg you. Have mercy.”

He took no notice of her plea and grabbed her upper arm. They jostled and the screen half fell revealing a bed strewn with furs.

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