Mastered By the Viking King by Lily Harlem
Chapter 7
The next morn, Wanda arrived with new clothing for Tove. Brown leather pants and a matching sleeveless tunic. An ocean blue undergarment, new leather boots, and a belt with a large buckle with the image of an owl embossed upon it.
“My husband made you this buckle, a gift for his new queen. He promises his allegiance to you.”
“Erik is very kind.” Tove admired it as it sat against her slim waist. “I intend to do him—and the people of Halsgrof—proud as their queen.”
“I am sure you will.” Njal stood from the bed. “And all of these treasures.” He pointed to the table of jewels, coins, and amulets. “They are at your disposal. You are a wealthy woman now, Tove, and will be in the next life, too. For I have much buried for us to enjoy in Valhalla.”
Tove admired the jewels. Until yesterday, she hadn’t even known such riches existed, and now she was being told they were hers. That she was wealthy.
Njal picked up the wooden box with the snake’s head lock. “Except for this, and its contents.”
Wanda looked at the floor and clasped her hands together.
“Why?” Tove asked. “What is in there, my king?”
“These things were worn by the banished queen. I do not want her shameless behavior to be passed onto you. These things are tainted by her. They are riddled with bad luck. You will not touch them, Tove.”
“I understand.” Tove touched her hair. Wanda had plaited it, and it was tight against her scalp then hung down her back like a rope.
“King Njal! I must speak with you.”
Njal strode to the curtain and pulled it back.
Halfdan stood there, twisting his hands together.
“What is it?” Njal’s voice was low and gruff.
“There is an outcry in Halsgrof. The townsfolk are gathering outside the Great Hall.”
“What has happened?”
“Ysar is accusing Astrid of sexing with her husband, Sune.”
“Is it true?” Njal asked.
“Astrid is heavy with child, and has refused to say who is the father. Ysar has shouted all over town that it is her husband’s baby. She is demanding that Astrid be hung before ‘morrow’s light.”
“What does Sune say?”
“Like Astrid, he is also silent, refusing to either confirm or deny his part in creating Astrid’s swollen belly.”
“Get them into the Great Hall. The queen and I will hear what they have to say, and decide upon the course of action—not Ysar. Hanging is not her decision to make.” He dropped the curtain into place and tugged on the beads at the end of his beard, frowning. “I have greater concerns than this.”
“Like what, my husband?” Tove took his big hand in hers.
“My brother, Leif should have returned from sailing west by now.” He sighed. “The first snow and his late arrival to Halsgrof have me worried.”
“The snow has only just fallen. There is no ice yet in the fjords. All will be well.”
He cupped her cheek. “Thank you for your words.” He set a kiss on the top of her head. “Now come, you must take the throne before your people.”
Tove followed her husband through the curtain. He wore his big, silvery wolf fur, his shoulders swaying, his fists clenching. She hoped his brother would arrive back safe, and soon. Then Njal would be less tense.
The Great Hall was filling quickly. Fires had been lit as had the mood of the crowd. It seemed Ysar had added fuel to their curiosity and the prospect of a hanging had captured their attention.
Tove sat upon on her throne. It was smaller than Njal’s, yet still regal and elevated, giving her a good view of the space.
Halfdan, after handing Njal a horn of mead, gave her one too.
Njal downed his drink in one gulp, then held out his horn for a refill. “I demand silence!” he boomed.
The sounds of conversation came to an abrupt stop.
Two women—one pregnant—and a man emerged from the crowd to stand before the thrones.
“I demand,” a raven-haired woman shouted, “that this siren be hung!”
“That is a high demand,” Njal said, drinking his next horn of mead in one go.
“It is not high enough. She is carrying my husband’s child.”
“Do you have proof of this?” Njal asked.
“I don’t need it. I know. I know he is a rat who went sniffing for her.”
“What do you say, Sune?” Njal asked.
Sune, a tall thin man with a hooked nose and blond beard, glanced first at Ysar, then Astrid.
Astrid looked away, running her palms over her belly.
“Well?” Njal demanded. “We do not have all day.”
Sune cleared his throat. “I have nothing to say.”
“You see!” Ysar jabbed her finger in Sune’s direction. “Guilty.”
“We must hear from all parties,” Njal said. “Astrid, what do you say?”
“King Njal, Queen Tove.” Her voice was gentle. “I had not planned to be with child.”
“Who is the father?” Njal asked.
“I… I…” She paused. “Please, I… I just want my child to live. Kill me, but please, only after my child is born.”
“King Njal,” Tove said.
“Aye, my queen.”
“If I may?”
He paused, studying her, then nodded.
Tove took a deep breath. In her mind, Sune was the father of Astrid’s child, and if that was confirmed, Astrid and her innocent baby could both be killed. So, despite being nervous, she stood. She was queen now; this was her duty.
“People of Halsgrof.” She studied the sea of faces before them. “As your queen, I understand what has happened here.”
“My husband is a cheat and a rat!” Ysar shouted. “And—”
“Silence!” Njal roared. “Your queen is speaking! Show some respect, woman.”
His booming voice startled Tove, but she kept it hidden. “As your queen, I have an understanding of the will of the gods.” She stepped down from the throne’s dais. “When the crown was set upon my head yesterday, with it came royal wisdom.”
“All hail Queen Tove!” someone shouted.
“Aye!” Fists pumped the air. “Queen Tove!”
The nerves in her belly settled somewhat, no longer a swarm of butterflies. She walked up to Astrid and set her hands on her large, protruding belly. “What I can tell you—and I have heard of this before—is that this child is a great gift to our village. A gift from the gods. From Thor, and Odin, and Loki. And especially from Frigg, Odin’s beautiful and wise wife.”
Murmuring rippled through the crowd.
“Is the child a god?” someone called.
“No,” Tove said. “It is not. But it is a gift. We have all been chosen to receive this great honor. We have all been chosen”—Tove cupped Astrid’s chin—“to care for this fatherless child as if it were our own.” She stared at a tall Viking standing close. “The men of Halsgrof will all be father to this child. You will swear to protect it and teach it—be it a boy or a girl. You will promise now, in the name of all the gods, that it will live the life of a proud Viking.”
“It is not a fatherless child.” Ysar stepped forward. “It is a sign that my husband is a good for nothing—”
“Are you questioning me? Your queen?” Tove asked, lifting her chin and clapping her hands to her hips.
Ysar was a mean-looking woman with ink down the left side of her face, and all of her hair, except for a thin strip over her crown, shaved off.
Under normal circumstances, Tove would have avoided her. But this was no ordinary day, and certainly not ordinary circumstances.
The stakes were high: a mother and an unborn child were at mortal risk.
Ysar’s eyes narrowed. “My queen, I do not believe you are speaking the—”
“Be very careful with your next words,” King Njal said in a low, deadly voice. “Your accusations have made the noose hungry. Perhaps, if you disrespect the queen, I shall be forced to sate that hunger with your neck.”
Ysar drew a deep breath, then crept back, lowering her head. “I am sorry, my queen.”
She didn’t sound sorry, but that wasn’t Tove’s problem.
Tove stepped up to Sune. “I have heard of this situation before, a husband being accused of cheating when he has not. For that, you must take some responsibility, and bestow love and affection upon your wife. Pleasure her, and cherish her so her mind does not wander in such directions again.”
A tendon flexed in Sune’s cheek. “Aye, my queen. I will.”
“And, like every other man in this village, you will help raise this child. What is your profession?”
“I am a boat maker.”
“If this child is a son—which I believe it will be—he, too, shall be a boat maker. I am passing that responsibility to you, Sune.”
“Thank you, my queen. It will be an honor to carry out your bidding. I have no children.” He glanced at Ysar. “We have no children.”
“The gods work in mysterious ways.” She touched his shoulder, then turned to look at Njal.
His gaze connected with hers, and he gave a tiny nod.
She held in a smile. He was happy with her! Despite his stern expression, the glint in his eyes told her she’d done the right thing.
She wished the crowd would vanish so she could sit on his lap and kiss him, hug him, feel his body against hers.
As she gazed upon him, her heart seemed to swell in her chest, skipping a beat.
Am I… falling in love with him?
Tove didn’t know, but when she took her place at the king’s side again, she felt different. Something had happened inside her. The gods had shown her whom her heart would beat for in this life—and the next.
“You have heard your wise queen speak,” King Njal said. “There will be no hanging. The child will be cared for by all the people of Halsgrof. Ysar and Sune, I suggest you go home and put this matter behind you.” He stood. “Which is what I have done now.”
Halfdan rushed forward, waving his arms. “This matter is closed. This matter is closed. Go about your business. There is much to be done, the snow is still falling.”
Conversations grew into a flurry of noise as people streamed out, discussing the outcome of the dispute.
Njal took Tove’s hand and pulled her to her feet. “My queen, you took the lightning from the storm in a way I’m not sure even Thor could manage.”
She giggled and batted his chest. “That is too fine a compliment.”
“You said you have heard of this before? A child being a gift to the village?”
“I have, yes. But, Njal, you don’t really think’s what happened here, do you?”
“No. I believe Sune has put his cock in Astrid many a time.”
She smiled. “So do I.”
“But you have not answered my question, Tove. Where have you heard of this before?”
“From a storyteller, a wanderer who stopped by our farm many years ago. I was a young girl.”
His shoulders stiffened. “A wanderer?”
“He stayed with us a while. Worked the field, and told sagas in return for food and shelter.”
“I have little trust of wanderers.”
“It is not surprising, given what happened with the banished queen.”
“I do not”—he caught her face, his fingers tight—“want you ever speaking with a wanderer again, Tove. Do you hear me?”
“Aye, I hear you.”
His eyes darkened, his lips a flat line.
“I have no intention of speaking to wanderers.”
“Good.” He leaned closer. “Because I will not risk losing you to a wanderer who is full of sagas, and claims to be a god himself.”
Curiosity poked at her. “In what way did he claim he was a god?”
“I do not wish to speak of it.” He released her and stepped away.
Tove pressed her palms over her new owl buckle and sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t dare push him, because she was sure if she disobeyed her husband with this rule, she’d be in for a very severe spanking.
She likely wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. Maybe two.
As much as pleasing him filled her with joy, displeasing him made her feel very bad, indeed.
For it hurt both her bottom—and her heart.