Chapter Eleven
Skadi wasn’t quite sure what would happen next. She had heard him climb into bed, Heimdall’s bed… That was an unsettling thought.
Would she be taken by Agnar in the same bed she’d lost her virginity in?
She thought back to that first night with Heimdall when she’d been young and nervous. She’d tried to act as an adult, to laugh along with the bawdy jests at the wedding feast. But that night she’d realised how na?ve and innocent she truly was.
It had been an awkward and humiliating experience. Heimdall had tried to be gentle and patient with her. But, lying beneath a man while he sweated and pawed at her, had quickly soured the adoration she’d felt for him.
Afterwards, she’d always thought of this bed as Heimdall’s, not her own. He’d taken it and the throne of Thrudheim with a few measly drops of blood.
Of course, things had improved with time. But her youthful adoration had died that night, replaced by a far more practical acceptance.
Heimdall wasn’t a terrible lover. Eventually, she grew comfortable enough to enjoy their couplings.
But her sweet infatuation with him had never returned and he did not behave towards her as he once had.
He no longer gave her compliments or whispered sweet words and she suspected he had never loved her despite his previous flattery.
The crown was all he had wanted and she had been a fool to think otherwise. She had not blamed Heimdall for it. After all, she had chosen him not only because of her attraction, but because he had been the best choice for Thrudheim.
Despite Agnar’s accusation, love and lust had never been her only guide.
Marriage with Heimdall had been simple. He’d snored terribly and it had been the perfect excuse to sleep elsewhere.
Whenever he wanted her, he would say he wished to speak with her in his chamber.
Afterwards, she would go back to the comfort and privacy of her own chamber. It had suited both of them.
Her duty and task had always been very clear and uncomplicated. It was true that he’d asked for her less and less over the years. She presumed he was growing bored of her, especially as she hadn’t given him a son and was getting older.
But Agnar was a younger man—would he require her every night?
Hopefully not!
She stared down at her linen night shift. This one reached to the floor and billowed around her neck and arms, revealing very little of her shape.
How had it come to this?
Last night she had fought him with sword and shield. Now, she was like an obedient wife submitting to her duties.
Should she not rebel? Fight and deny him?
I am Queen of Thrudheim, she reminded herself firmly. The statement had always given her courage before. But her confidence was crumbling, she felt attacked on all sides.
King Sven, who she’d always suspected of manipulating Heimdall for his own benefit, might have ordered her husband’s death. If she believed Agnar, which she still wasn’t entirely sure she should.
The hardest news to digest had been King Olaf’s support of Agnar.
He was the last of her family and he had chosen Agnar over her own wishes.
There had not been a messenger from her uncle in twenty-five years, but now he sent her an army and a husband?
Unless Agnar spoke the truth and her uncle had tried to contact her, but had been denied…
Either way, without King Sven or King Olaf supporting her, Thrudheim was vulnerable to invasion and her daughter’s life and crown were also at risk.
Should she lie down next to Agnar and submit to him, then?
Accept him for Thrudheim’s benefit, as she had with Heimdall?
Or… Should she straddle him and take him instead? As she’d liked doing occasionally with Heimdall when she was in the mood? Part of her liked the power play of such a move. To no longer be the submissive victim in other men’s plans, but a force of nature instead.
Perhaps it would intimidate Agnar?
She quickly shook her head.
Nothing would intimidate Agnar and that behaviour would only suggest to him that she wanted to be intimate…as if she secretly wanted this marriage… Which she did not!
Wouldn’t it be better to show her disapproval of the match?
To fight him, scream and claw at his already scarred face?
But that seemed reckless and senseless, and could even put Astra at risk.
Despite his saying he didn’t want an heir, he might still hope for one.
Of course, a few potions from Gudrun would easily ensure against that possibility…
Another thought suddenly occurred to her and a chilling humiliation ran down her spine.
What if he doesn’t want me?
After all, Agnar had said he wanted only what was promised and that had been the crown of Thrudheim. He had that now, with or without her. Was taking her tonight his final triumph?
I want power, he had said, and now he had it.
Marrying her had simply given him validity in his claim.
She was older than him by ten years and close to the end of her childbearing years.
It had never concerned her before—even when Heimdall began to lose interest in her, she hadn’t been overly bothered.
Especially as she’d also grown bored of their couplings, and was confident Astra was strong and healthy enough to live past the dangerous early years.
Why should Agnar’s lack of attraction bother her?
Because you do want him.
She flinched at the dark whisper in her mind.
It was true, she had found Agnar attractive—in an oddly dark and sinister way.
But that was probably just curiosity and the drama of their first encounter after so many years apart.
He had changed from a boy into a man. If it hadn’t been for his green eyes she might not have recognised him.
A creak of Heimdall’s bed reminded her that she’d been worrying about it for far too long. She decided the best course of action would be to neither encourage nor discourage him. Sometimes it was better to do nothing and see what came of it.
Skadi strode out from behind her screen, trying to appear confident, but her steps faltered at the sight of Agnar.
Naked from the waist up, he sat with his back against the headboard, the blankets and furs draped over his lap.
The scars on his chest and arms were numerous, but his muscles were well defined and his stomach as flat as marble.
His long silky hair fell around his shoulders in a soft contrast to the hard masculinity on display.
The runes of wrath and endurance that covered his heart rose and fell steadily with each breath.
She had seen him bare chested before, but she’d been about to face him in battle then.
Now, he seemed to be waiting patiently for her, as if he cared very little about what would happen next.
Would he be better or worse than Heimdall?
He would certainly be very different and facing the unknown always made her nervous.
At her arrival, his eyes swept slowly up towards hers, taking in the long linen shift as if he were looking at a dull tapestry. His sable brow lifted with amusement, ‘You wear more tonight than last night.’
‘I was preparing for war. The shorter shift was to accommodate my armour.’
The amusement didn’t leave his face. ‘I would like to see you in armour.’
Was he mocking her?
‘You seem comfortable considering,’ she said mildly, staring down at him, reluctant to climb inside the bed. She would wait until he insisted—that would grant her some dignity. Showing reluctance on her part, without making a foolish scene.
To her annoyance, he didn’t insist, and her feet began to chill on the stone floor.
‘What?’ he asked, weary irritation causing his forehead to crease.
She took a deep breath. ‘Are you truly comfortable sleeping in my Heimdall’s bed?’
He dropped his head against the wooden headboard, the carving of a serpent-like monster roaring open mouthed beside his neck. ‘He’s dead. Why should it bother me?’
‘Some people might not want to sleep in a dead man’s bed…especially not one that he’d killed. I thought warriors were superstitious. I imagine most would baulk at the idea…’ Probably more so than the thought of sleeping with a dead man’s widow, she thought bitterly.
Agnar shrugged. ‘The dead do not have opinions.’ Then he looked up at her and asked, ‘Does it upset you?’
‘Upset me? Why should it? I have nothing to be ashamed of.’ Skadi bristled as if he’d called her a coward and with a flick of her wrist, she spread open the covers.
She’d done it a bit more forcefully than she’d intended to, though, because the length of Agnar’s naked leg and hip were revealed and she gulped, grateful that the gods had been kind enough not to embarrass her with his full nakedness.
As if bored, Agnar’s gaze flicked down to his displayed flesh and then back up at her again. ‘Are you getting in or not?’
‘I just thought you wouldn’t want to take me in the same bed I shared with Heimdall!’ she snapped. ‘But I am sure you care very little about such things.’
She climbed into the bed, her body stiff as a plank of wood. The ropes beneath the mattress creaked like the sails of a ship, as she squirmed down beneath the covers, her toes like blocks of ice, and she wiggled them to get the feeling back.
Silence filled the space between them and she stared up at the ceiling, waiting for him to roll towards her and begin. She wasn’t a frightened virgin, perhaps she might even enjoy it? If she could just focus on the act itself and not who she was doing it with.
‘I will get a new bed,’ Agnar declared. She heard him shifting down beneath the covers to lie beside her, close but not touching.
The heat radiating off his big body was like a fire trough along her side.
A moment later, he added, ‘Try not to kill me in my sleep… It will only irritate me and I have a lot to do tomorrow.’
Skadi took a peek at him from the corner of her eye and, sure enough, Agnar had turned away from her and was apparently going to sleep. Untroubled by the lack of consummation in their marriage.
He doesn’t want me.
‘I will go and sleep in another chamber,’ she said briskly, opening the covers and about to get out, when he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back into bed with such speed she gave a little cry of surprise.
Not content with scaring her witless, he hauled her towards him, the covers bunching up between them, as his big body arched over her.
He thrust her wrist above her head, his stomach pressing against her belly, as her breasts brushed lightly against his chest. The thin fabric of her shift was not enough to stop the sensation from causing her nipples to tighten with sensitivity.
Her heart began to pound and she was ashamed to admit it, but wanton liquid heat pooled between her legs.
‘No. You sleep beside me, always,’ he commanded, the words snarled into her face, and she shrank away from the possessive fury in his eyes. ‘Do not be mistaken,’ he continued, with a hard expression. ‘I will bed you. You are my wife and my Queen… Just not tonight. It has been a long day.’
She tried to twist her wrist out of his hold, but unlike before it didn’t budge, and the heat and closeness of his body made her dizzy.
‘And…’ he growled, looking almost feral in the dwindling light of the brazier, ‘I will take you in a bed made for us…thoroughly.’ The final word was spoken like a promise and then, finally, he released her.
Trying to appear unbothered by the easy way in which he had overpowered her with both action and word, she flapped the covers and huffed, doing anything to distract herself from the burning heat and excitement of his touch, until she’d finally settled herself under the bedding.
‘I hope you do not snore. I cannot bear snoring!’ she grumbled before turning away from him.
‘Go to sleep, Skadi.’
She shifted further away, trying to make herself more comfortable without falling off the bed.
But she suspected it would take her many hours to relax enough to fall asleep in the company of her enemy.
She only hoped her fidgeting disturbed Agnar and he thought better of his command to always share a bed.