“Ja,” he said in a rough voice and offered his arm.
Saga had seen enough marriages over the years to know hers would be a quick ceremony, including a sacrifice to the gods, laying on of hands, followed by the feast. Since Giric wanted to return so quickly, he promised a full day of feasting there and another full three days once they had gone through the ceremony at his home. Married twice and by all their collective gods. Surely their marriage would be blessed and fruitful. A small tinge entered her belly at the thought of bedding him later. The brief tryst they’d had in the field was enough to show her they were compatible in that way—more than compatible. She longed to feel his hard body pressed against hers again.
As they walked to the great hall and to her future she could not help but wonder how so much had changed in the past few days. She’d been vehemently opposed to any possibility of an alliance with the Scots. But now she felt differently, and it wasn’t because of her yearning for the irresistible Giric MacDomnail.
She’d learned that seeing only the boundaries of one's own borders was the first step in one’s downfall. Her people had taken this land from others and claimed it for their own. What right had they to do so except that they had been stronger and more determined?
And what of Giric’s family and the people who fell under his protection? Did they share his vision for an aligned future with the Vikings, or were they as skeptical as she had been?
Giric had siblings, but she did not know how many yet and wondered how they would receive her. It was clear his friend, MacAlpin was in favour, else he would not have come. Or so she supposed. He may have intended to talk Giric out of the plot for all Saga knew.
An inkling of doubt slithered its way into her heart. What if she’d allowed herself to be caught up in the fantastical imaginings of a mad man? She shook her head.
“This is right,” Gunnar said, as though he could read her thoughts. His reassurance would have to be enough to quell her nerves.
As they approached the hall, she caught the first sight of him. Adorned again in his crimson, fur-trimmed robe. The intensity in his eyes was almost more than she could bear. His gaze swept the length of her sending thrills up and down her spine. Blessed Freya, what that man could do to her with just a look!
As she drew closer he held out his hand. She took it and Gunnar placed his own hand atop them both.
“I ask thee, Odin and thee, Freya, to bless this union. May it bear the fruit of many sons.”
Saga searched Giric’s expression. This man held her future in his hand. Though she had insisted upon her own conditions of the marriage, in truth, he could discard them once Gunnar said the final words. But she saw nothing in the man before her to suggest he would be anything but agreeable to those and any other demands.
His warm brown eyes drew her in and held her captivated. She noted his straight nose and sensual mouth that curled slightly at the corners. How she wanted to taste him, all of him.
“She is yours, and you are hers,” Gunnar said as he lifted his hand from theirs.
Saga smiled at Giric. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “Mine,” he whispered.
“And now we feast!”
Gunnar’s booming voice was followed by a cheer from those attending, which by Saga’s estimation was the entire village.
As they walked outside for the ceremonial sacrifice to the gods, she noted Giric had taken her hand and linked his and her fingers together. From time to time whilst Gunnar performed the ritual, Giric’s hand squeezed hers and at others his thumb caressed her hand. The sensation of only one part of him touching her roused her desires.
Once the ritual was complete, they returned to the great hall to where the servants had lined the tables with several platters of bread and meat. A boar turned on a spit in the centre of the hall and bundles of burning sage hung over the fire to ward off evil spirits and further bless the union. Saga drank in the aroma. When would she see her home again? Her mind once again flooded with questions about her husband’s home which she would see soon enough. Would she be happy there? Would his people embrace her, or would she stand out amongst the women of his world? And worse, would he insist she become like them? Like her sister?
Giric dipped his head and caught her eye, his brow furrowing. “What is it?” he asked. “Does something displease you?”
Shaking her head, she said, “Nay. All is well, I assure you.”
How could she confess her insecurities to him? She had not even given his home a chance and yet here she was already dooming it. She drew in a deep breath and offered him a bright smile. She would try her best to fit in wherever they lived. He had certainly done his best in her home. She could afford him the same courtesy at the very least.
* * *
Brushing his lips across the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, he asked, “You will tell me if anything troubles you, aye?”
She smiled at him, her eyes lighting up. “I will.”
“Good, mayhap we should excuse ourselves so I may discover every way I can please you.”
His body hummed with anticipation of having her as his own. How could he possibly have become so enthralled with her in such a short time? Only God knew the answer to that question and at this point he didn’t care. He wanted her in every way she could take him.
Her lips parted as she gazed at his mouth. Giric leaned down and stopped himself before kissing her. “Would it be considered inappropriate to leave right now?”
“Nay,” she said. “You are mine and I am yours now. We may do as we wish.”
That was enough for him. Giric stood, taking her hand in his and bowed low to Gunnar who raised his horn in salute.
