Chapter Nine
The shouts and whistles grew in volume as they made their way through the hall to the door leading to Tormod’s room and many comments were hurled towards them. Most she couldn’t understand, although she could guess at what they referred.
Aoife took a deep breath as they stepped through the door, hand in hand.
The wedding celebrations were over and her duties as a wife were about to begin.
She shivered. As her eyes swept the room, she noticed the barrel she’d bathed in had been emptied and there was no sign of her old robes.
When her gaze came to rest on the large bed strewn with an assortment of furs, she took an involuntary step back.
Tormod took her arm before firmly walking her further into the room and kicking the door shut.
She blushed at the sound of raucous whooping from the room behind them and pulled away from him.
Studiously avoiding looking at him, she hurried across to where a knot in the wood had been pushed out and she could peer out.
Dawn had already broken and the silvery sky tinged with peach was beautiful.
Was it only two mornings since she had looked out into such a pale morning light and heard the horsemen approach?
Now that life was over and a new, strange one beginning, and yet the morning was just the same.
The sound of the waves of the sea-loch lapping, the mountains rising jaggedly from the sea all along the coastline—all that was the same.
“It looks very much like my father’s land,” Tormod said, startling her.
He’d moved to stand right beside her and she hadn’t noticed.
How could such a large man move so quietly, or had she blocked out his presence from her awareness on purpose?
She couldn’t do so anymore. Heat radiated out from him and the leather scent of his clothing reached her nostrils.
Under that was her husband’s own unique smell.
She breathed it in, then closed her eyes, and yet still couldn’t escape his presence.
“Help me,” he said.
She opened her eyes and turned to see what he needed help with and froze as she realised he wanted her to help undress him.
She stared at the fastenings on his clothing, unable to move.
She tried to swallow, her mouth dry. She had some idea of what was about to happen, knew as a wife she couldn’t refuse her husband.
She was, however, afraid of the pain her stepmother had warned her about when cautioning her to remain chaste.
A single tear slid out the side of her eye. She tried to turn away from him, and he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. The backs of his fingers gently brushed her face. “There is no need to weep,” he said softly. “Tell me what you fear.”
She was shocked he was asking, but touched that he even cared enough to ask. “This,” she said, indicating the bed. “Will it hurt?”
He cupped her face and shrugged. “Perhaps a little, and only at first. I will try not to hurt you. It can be good, you know, between a man and his wife. Pleasurable. It shouldn’t be a duty or something to be feared. I do not intend to hurt you or force you.”
“My stepmother said even with my husband it would hurt, and I wasn’t to cry out or you would beat me or cast me off. And the priests… They talk about sin and the evils of the flesh and…”
Tormod smiled, then slid his hand around to cradle the back of her head. He angled her face towards him, placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then drew back. “Do not listen to them.”
After a long moment, he tipped her chin up with his finger and smiled.
“What they have not been telling you is about the pleasure. It is a feeling like no other, and even your god does not disapprove of married couples bedding.” He leaned in, kissed her again.
This time his lips lingered on hers, moving gently and sensuously.
His tongue parted her lips, and he groaned as he began to explore her mouth.
Slowly she began to respond, terrified of making a mistake, but this was more care and attention than she’d ever been shown before. She would be a fool not to respond to his gentleness.
He swept his hands down her shoulders and pulled her against him. As he deepened the kiss, she spread her hands across his chest, feeling the solid muscle underneath, the warmth of him. She found his belt and started to unfasten it.
He pulled back from her, smiling. She stilled.
What was she doing, helping him with this?
Her stepmother’s warning came flooding back as Tormod let the belt fall to the ground, then pulled his kirtle and shirt over his head, leaving him dressed only in his breeks.
His skin glowed with a golden tinge in the firelight.
Tormod loosened her belt, allowing it to drop onto the floor.
He ran his hands up her sides and took a step closer.
As he kissed her thoroughly, his hands moved to undo the brooches that fastened the heavily embroidered apron at each shoulder.
Before she could grab hold of it, her apron slithered down her body onto the floor, leaving her only in her dress.
He didn’t try to remove that yet, though.
Instead, he ran his hands through the length of her red hair. She shivered at the feeling.
“You didn’t get this from your father,” Tormod remarked, separating out a handful of strands and allowing them to flow over his palm.
“My mother was a Pict.”
“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “This marriage can be more than just a political union. Your presence here will safeguard us from your father’s men and his allies in Strath Clut, and maybe also from the Picts?”
She swallowed. Should she tell him now not to trust that her father would not attack the village just because of her presence here? No, she should wait until the marriage was consummated.
She realised the impact of the trick her father and stepmother had played. Not only had they rid themselves of an unwanted daughter, but they had also lulled the Norsemen into a false sense of security.
“Your mother’s people?” he prompted. “They won’t seek to harm you?”
“No,” she managed to say. “My mother’s people wish me no harm.
” That at least was true. As for the other…
If she told him the truth, he might reject her and send her back to her father.
Her punishment for failing in this would surely be far worse than being sent to the abbey.
She’d never make it back home alive—murdered along the way, or even on her arrival—her death blamed on the Norsemen.
No, she would find a way to tell him, to warn him of the danger—but not now. Once her place here was more secure. If she did everything possible to make herself necessary, do everything he asked of her, then maybe, just maybe, she could have a value to him that wasn’t built on her father’s lies.
“I would like to kiss you again,” he said.
For a moment she froze, then nodded. She tilted her head up to meet his.
Their breath mingled and the heat of his body warmed her.
His arms encircled her as their lips touched, and she gasped as he lifted her and carried her to the bed.
Without taking his eyes off her face, he placed her carefully down and smoothed his hands down the length of her dress.
She stared at the expanse of well-muscled chest beside her.
The scars which crisscrossed it seemed to add to his masculinity rather than detract from his beauty.
Could a man be beautiful? She’d never considered it before.
One scar across his heart was particularly deep, and she reached out, ran her fingers along it. “What happened?”
“My wife’s brother challenged me.”
She drew back, frowning. “You’re already married?”
“Was married. She’s dead.” He took her fingers in his own and kissed the tips. “Loki was at work in that family, so Odin made me the victor.”
His expression had turned fierce, and she hesitated to provoke him further. His hand went to the oddly shaped cross hanging around his neck on a leather thong. He flipped it over and she realised it wasn’t a cross at all, but a hammer.
“Thor was with me when we fought.” He smiled. “Your priests prefer it when it seems as if we believe the stories of their Christian god. And they seem also to have an unquenchable lust for gold.”
“You do not believe?” Aoife felt for the wooden cross around her neck.
She wished once more her own silver one set with amethysts had been with her things from the abbey.
Her life for the past two years had centred around her faith exclusively, although much of her treatment had far from endeared her to Christian charity.
Still, there was a part of her which believed.
He shrugged. “I have seen little evidence to prove their stories. And his protection seems to be worth little.”
“But—”
“Shh, we will speak no more of this. You may believe what you wish, worship as you wish. As long as you fulfil your duties as my wife, I will not interfere. Together, we will build a strong village here. For everyone.”
“And if I cannot fulfil my duties as a wife?” She glanced away from him. What if she couldn’t have children? What if, like her own mother and stepmother, she bore only daughters?
He smirked. “I think you will find my needs surprisingly simple.”
“But—”
He placed a finger on her mouth and shook his head, then reached for the ties holding her dress closed. Without taking his eyes from her face, he loosened them. He tugged on the cloth, pulling it from her shoulders, then slowly down her arms, baring her to his gaze.
She closed her eyes and bit her lip, then realised he had stopped. Had she displeased him in some way? Did he not like what he saw?
Fear crept into her thoughts once more, despite the warmth and comfort his touch provided. She opened her eyes and saw anger on his face.
“Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice tight.
“One of the brothers, at the abbey.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. What if he questioned her in more detail? Could she lie to him?
“Why?”
“I was… I was unwell.”
“If I see the man who did this to you, tell me, and I will kill him,” he promised.
“They thought they were helping me, beating the demons from my body. My family requested it when they sent me to the abbey.”
He stared at her so intently she couldn’t look away, no matter how much she wanted to. “Demons?”
Her breath caught in her throat. Why had she said that? She should have stuck to her story about being sick. Although neither was a lie, she feared what he would do to her if he discovered why her family worried about demons in her.
“My family thought… thought that the sickness was caused by demons.”
“The demons lie in those who would do this. This is how you treat a slave, not a free woman, the daughter of a lord. This will not be allowed to happen again — I promise you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
After a pause, he kissed her. His mouth was gentle and moved slowly over her own.
His tongue prised open her lips and swept inside.
After her initial surprise faded, she began to return his movements and found every touch, every stroke, was sending delicious shivers throughout her body.
This must be the start of the pleasure which he had told her about.
She sighed and moved closer to him, surrendering herself to the sensations and trying to block out her fears.
He cupped her breast. The rough skin of his fingers rubbed across her nipple and she gasped. When he pulled her dress lower, set his mouth there and suckled, her fears about their coupling began to slip away.