Page 22 of Viking in Love

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T he games children…uh, adults play…

“Where is she?” King Thorvald bellowed. He was outside in the bailey, ready to mount his horse and take off for Jorvik, where he had eight longships waiting to take them back to the Norselands. All of the troops below were ready to ride. His daughters, as well. Except for Breanne.

“I have looked everywhere,” Tyra said, putting a hand over her barely raised belly. She had told him earlier this morning that she was breeding another grandchild for him. She and her family would be traveling with them to Jorvik, then off to her own home at Hawkshire with her husband, Adam, Rashid, and little Adela. “Breanne is nowhere to be found.”

“When did you see her last?” Rafn asked.

“She went to bed when we did,” Vana told him, “but she was not there when we awakened this morn.”

King Thorvald’s blood went hot. “Where is Caedman?” he shouted to anyone who would answer.

“Uh, he has not been seen today, either,” Gerard, the steward, answered, from a distance.

Does he think I am about to lop his head off? Nay, it is that knave Caedmon for whom I am reserving that honor.

“Mayhap Caedmon went to Heatherby to join his friend Wulf, who went there last night,” Tyra offered.

“He has not left Larkspur,” the stable master said from the back of the crowd that was gathering. “His horse is still in its stall, and the sentries would have noted his departure.”

“Rafn, give orders for the hird to dismount,” Thorvald ordered. “We will not be leaving today. Adam, can you help organize a search party?”

“Where shall we look?” Drifa wanted to know.

“Somewhere with a bed would be my guess,” Thorvald said. And then he chuckled to himself. ’Twould seem that another of my daughters is going to leave the nest. “Where is Ingrith?”

“Here I am, Father.”

“Best you start arrangements for a wedding feast.”

“But I want to be married at Stoneheim,” Vana protested.

“’Tis not for you.”

It took five hours of useless searching before someone noticed that Caedmon’s children were acting strange. After another hour of intense questioning, a crowd of about twenty was heading out the back door of the keep. The children, wisely, went into deep hiding.

Thorvald had not had so much fun since Adam had drilled a hole in his head, and he had pretended to be unconscious so he could plot the marriage of one of his daughters. Suffice it to say, he was smarter than his daughters gave him credit for. Never underestimate a Viking, he always said.

Welcome to the light, son…

Caedmon and Breanne were eating their first meal of the day, manchet bread, hard cheese, and apples, when they heard the sound of many voices approaching.

“Uh-oh! We are about to be rescued.” He smiled at Breanne and helped her to her feet.

She smiled back at him.

There was no longer an ache in his chest. Instead, he was filled with a fierce joy. He was not sure what that meant, but it had to be good.

“I will take care of this,” he said, leaning down to give her a soft kiss. “Do not be afeared.”

“I am not afraid. What will be will be. How do I look?” She was smoothing her wrinkled bed rail, which she had not worn until this morn.

“Like you have made love with a sinfully handsome man six times in the past twelve hours. Mayhap seven if you count…never mind.” He reached over and ran his thumb over her lips, which were raw and swollen from his kisses. Wisps of damp hair framed her glowing face. Whisker burns marred her face and throat and chest. “How do I look?”

She gave him a saucy head-to-toe survey. He was wearing naught but braies. There were scratch marks on his chest and back. His lips were puffy. His eyes gleamed with some secret. “Like a man who has been thoroughly satisfied numerous times by a temptress of the highest order.”

The door opened, letting sunlight in.

Caedmon took her hand and led her up the steps. At first, he was blinded, but then he realized that a stunned crowd was watching them emerge. At the head was Breanne’s father, King Thorvald.

Holding a hand for silence, Thorvald studied both of them thoroughly. Then he smiled and yelled over his shoulder, “Someone get the priest.”

Surprisingly, Caedmon did not shudder or make protests of his innocence. This was inevitable. He knew that now. It had been ordained from the moment she entered his castle.

He noticed that Breanne remained silent, too. Had she come to the same conclusion?

With a surge of possessiveness, he put an arm around her shoulder and started to walk them back to the keep, the crowd following after them like ducklings.

“One thing,” he said, stopping to shout, “where are my children?”

To the surprise of everyone, Caedmon most of all, Breanne put two fingers in her mouth and let loose a shrill whistle. Even more surprising, ten children, even little Piers, came running to stand in a line in front of him.

They were all smiling.

Here comes the (Viking) bride…

They were about to be married the next afternoon in the new grape arbor at Larkspur, the trellises having been built by the bride and the grapes vines planted and arranged in an arch by her sister Drifa. Succulent smells came from the kitchen, where a wedding feast was being prepared.

Breanne had not spoken to Caedmon alone since yestermorn when they were “rescued.” She did not know what he had said to his children, but she had seen from a distance that he spoke to them seriously and at length. But at the end, they were all laughing, and he placed a fatherly arm over the shoulders of Hugh, who had been the instigator.

She had also seen him talking with her father over cups of ale. It had been a long conversation, but it could not have been too bad since her father had not lopped off his head or done him bodily harm.

Caedmon had not wanted to be married. He probably still did not. But she was going to marry him anyhow. She would teach him to love her over time.

Somehow, amongst her sisters, Sybil, and Lady Ravenshire, an exquisite bridal gown had been put together. One of Sybil’s gowns of sky blue edged with silver embroidery. It was covered by a surcoat of sable-lined samite in a darker, slate-blue color, with embroidery in a larkspur design; someone had found it in a chest left by the former owner of this estate. Eadyth managed to make one of her beekeeping veils into a bridal veil hanging from a circlet of Drifa’s flowers. All this attire was more Saxon than Norse. So she wore her hair in one long braid, Viking style, and at her shoulder was a brooch in a writhing, intertwined animal design.

Her sisters looked just as lovely in their bright gowns, Tyra’s Saxon style, but the others pure Viking. Her father would be giving her away, and her sisters would stand as witnesses. On Caedmon’s side would stand Geoff, Wulf, Hugh, and Rashid.

“It is time,” Ingrith said, sticking her head in the door.

Breanne sighed deeply and began to walk out with Eadyth. “Are you nervous, dearling?”

“Surprisingly, I am not.”

But that was not true once she got outside in the bright sunshine. Caedmon stood near the trellis waiting for her. He looked so handsome in a new dark blue fustian tunic over matching blue braies. The sun reflected like stars on his silver-hilted short sword in its side sheath and his gold-linked belt.

He was being forced into this wedding. Despite her earlier claims not to care, to be willing to wait for his love to come, she was having second thoughts now. It was so unfair to this man, who had not been treated fairly much of his life.

But then he smiled at her, and Breanne put her hand on her father’s extended arm and began to walk toward him.

They were to be married in two ceremonies, one Christian and one Norse. Father Edward was not pleased. So he rushed through his ritual and sat down in a huff. Breanne hardly felt as if she was married. She had not even raised her veil yet. She and Caedmon exchanged looks, then shrugged.

Now it was time for the Norse wedding ritual, which would be officiated by both her father and Rafn.

A small table was brought over, under the arbor, and on it was a silver-chased goblet of wine, an ornately jeweled knife, a gold braided cord, a hammer, a polished stone, and a bowl of oat seeds. They were both jarred with surprise when her father began to chant primitive words in Norse. For the benefit of those who did not understand Norse, Rafn interpreted, “King Thorvald called out to god and man, family and friends to come witness today the marriage of Caedmon of Larkspur and Princess Breanne of Stoneheim.”

“Dunstan would have a screaming fit if he were here,” Caedmon whispered to her out of the side of his mouth.

“He would have barred all women from the ceremony, even the bride,” she replied.

Caedmon chuckled.

“Shhh!” her father said and handed to Caedmon the goblet of wine. “Odin, we draw this nectar from your well of knowledge. May you bring this couple the wisdom to deal well with each other in this marriage journey they begin today. Especially give these two stubborn people the wisdom to know when to give up the fight.”

“Hah!” Breanne said.

Caedmon just grinned. He took a sip of the wine, then turned the goblet and pressed it to her lips so she could drink from the same spot. She could swear the metal carried the warmth of his mouth.

Her father must have given Caedmon instructions ahead of time, because after she took a tiny sip of the red wine, he set the goblet down, then picked up the hammer. “Thor, god of thunder, I take in hand your mighty hammer, Mjollnir —well, actually, ’tis Breanne’s hammer. This I pledge: I will protect you, Breanne, my wife, from all peril. I will use my fighting skills to crush your enemies. Let it be known forevermore. Your foe are now my foe. My foe are your foe. The shield of Larkspur is now our shield.” With that, he raised the hammer and crushed the stone.

Breanne jerked back with surprise.

Then her father took over again. He picked up the bowl of seeds, taking a handful. “Frey, god of fertility and prosperity,” he began.

Caedmon stiffened beside her.

Are you demented, Father? How could you bring up that most hated subject to Caedmon on this of all days?

Her father continued, “We implore not fertility or great wealth in this marriage, oh, great Frey. What we seek, instead, is that you bless them with a rich love and richer passion…and if a child, or five, comes along, so be it!” Before his words could sink in, he sprinkled a pinch of the seeds over her breasts, and a much larger amount over Caedman’s chest, enough that they floated down to his crotch.

Caedmon looked horrified.

My father is a total idiot.

Her father, the total idiot, was barely stifling a grin.

Taking her left hand and Caedmon’s right, her father tied them together loosely with a gold cord. Then, before she realized what he was about, Rafn took the knife, put shallow slits on each of their wrists, then pressed the two cuts together.

That is just wonderful. Bloodshed on top of everything else!

“As Caedman’s blood melds with Breanne’s, so shall his seed,” her father proclaimed.

Children again. Must you keep reminding him?

“I am doomed,” Caedman whispered, but he flashed her a wink.

Huh? What does that wink mean?

Finishing, her father said, “From this day forth, Breanne is Caedmon’s beloved, and he is hers. With this mingling of their blood, they pledge their troth. From the beginning of time, to the end of time, let it be known that…” he nodded to Caedman, who began to recite words that must have been rehearsed:

“I, Caedmon, give my heart to thee, Breanne.”

Then he nodded to Breanne, who repeated back to him, “I, Breanne, give my heart to thee, Caedmon.” Oh, this is awful. I had no idea Caedmon would be required to say all these false words. He must be furious. But, oh, they are beautiful sentiments.

“It is done,” her father said, and the crowd began to clap.

Caedmon lifted her veil and looked at her long and hard before leaning down to kiss her lips. She thought he whispered against her mouth, “My bride!”

Some time later, just before the bridal feast was to began, Caedmon realized that Breanne was missing. He found her in one of the storerooms, weeping.

His heart seized up. “Breanne! What is amiss? Please do not tell me that you are already regretting our marriage. You told me when we were in the root cellar that you loved me. I thought…”

She shook her head and continued to sob. He held her until the tears stopped, and he wiped her wet face with a cloth.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Oh, Caedman, I feel so bad. I am not regretting the marriage. Of course I am not, but you were forced into this. I could have prevailed with my father, but I did not.”

If you only knew, sweetling. He cocked his head to the side. “I was not forced.”

“Of course you were. You do not love me.”

“I do so.” Heart and soul.

“What? Oh, please, do not feel the need to placate me. I will be aright in a moment. Go back to the hall, and I will join you shortly.”

“Absolutely not! Where did you get the idea that I do not love you?”

“You never said so.”

“I did not? Are you sure?”

She slapped him on the chest. “Of course I am sure. Do you think I would forget something so important?”

“I could swear I told you a hundred times whilst we were in captivity.” Or mayhap I was too busy enjoying your body.

“You did not.”

“Then I showed you.” Many, many times, if I do say so myself.

She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him.

“I love you, Breanne. You are probably going to turn my home into a madhouse. You are probably never going to be biddable. You are probably going to have five daughters, just to plague me. But I love you and am proud to be your husband.” I am good. I had no idea I could be so good. Ah! Mayhap it is because the words come from my heart.

They kissed to seal his words, and Breanne did not think she could be happier than she was this day. To think, killing an earl led to this event.

“Oh, before I forget, I have a little bridal present for you,” she said. By thunder! Do I ever!

He unraveled the red cloth tied with a yellow riband. Inside was a candle. He held it in his hand. He frowned and examined it on top and bottom and sides. Then, he let out a hoot of laughter. “You are priceless, Breanne. But I will have to give you my bridal gift later when we are in bed.”

“I think I have already seen that ‘gift.’” And very nice it is, too.

“Not that, heartling.” He pinched her bottom. “I was talking to Rafn and he told me about this secret Viking trick.”

“A bed trick? I do not like the sound of that.” Liar! It sounds intriguing, truth to tell.

“Oh, you will like this. It is called the famous Viking S-Spot.”

Breanne’s eyes lit up. “Can we skip the wedding feast?”