The Viking Hero's Wife

Edda dropped her wash basket into the dirt as a cry went up
in the village. Such a racket could only mean one thing: the dragonships had
returned. Uttering a little cry of her own, Edda hiked up her skirts and ran
for the shore as though she were a girl and not a woman married.

As she neared the waters, she saw the prow of Valgard’s
ship, the
Odinsvolk
, not carved as a traditional dragon as the rest, but
rather as a mighty, snarling wolf. Valgard’s first great deed had been slaying
a mankilling wolf at the tender age of 8. He had done much else since—Valgard
Thorson’s name was sung throughout the land as a great hero—but people still
told the tale of Valgard and the wolf in the hushed tones reserved for legend.

Edda dropped the hem of her skirt as she neared the crowd
welcoming their warriors home.
It wouldn’t do for a woman of high standing
to be seen so undignified
, she thought, with a soft snort to herself. No
matter that all she truly wanted at this moment was to throw herself into
Valgard’s arms.

“And for you, little Sveni, your man Harald has brought you
back wine so sweet that even
his
face will be a pleasure to look upon
once you drink of it!” boomed a deep baritone voice that sent chills down
Edda’s spine. “Say nothing of the jewelry. I had thought perhaps to put it upon
your husband to improve his countenance further. No need to thank me!” A roar
of laughter went up as Harald, plain of face and kind of heart, lifted both his
chest of spoils and his slight wife and set single-mindedly off for their home.

Edda pushed through the merry, laughing crowd, impatient to
see her husband. Her heart constricted in her chest as she spotted him, tossing
treasure from the decks of his ship down to his faithful friend Thialfi
Arnlaughson. When he laid eyes on her, Valgard let out a great whoop of joy,
leaping down from the prow. Edda winced, not eager to see her husband’s leg
broken within minutes of their reunion, but Valgard landed nimbly as a cat and
charged toward her, spinning her around.

“My beautiful Edda!” He laid a passionate kiss on her lips,
much to the amusement of the onlookers. “For weeks I have thought my eyes were
growing weak as I gazed on the ever-graying shores of the Picti, until at last
I realized they simply thirst to see your face again.” She buried her face
against his chest, smelling Valgard’s familiar scent. As she pressed her body
to his, Edda felt heat building deep in her groin. She was separated from
Valgard’s muscled chest and leather armor by only a linen shift, her nipples
pricked and hardened, reminding her that it had been a long time since she had
been with her husband.

Much to her disappointment, he pulled away slightly. “Soon,
my love,” he murmured in her ear. “You know I must see to duty first.”

Edda sighed, crossing her arms over her breasts to hide her
arousal. Though Valgard was well-respected and well-liked, he was not the
village headman. Edda secretly thought that if Valgard were to challenge old
Jonakr Agmundson for the role, the people would welcome him as their leader
with open arms, but Valgard refused to try, saying only that he preferred the
freedom to come and go as he would. Edda was sorry for it, both because she
would like for Valgard to stay by her side, and because Jonakr was no great
leader.

He and Jonakr had butted heads two years ago when one of
Valgard’s fighters had died, leaving a young widow and son behind. Jonakr had
craftily insisted that the widow could not inherit her husband’s treasure
without wedding a new husband first, suggesting that he himself might make a
good match for the comely young thing. Valgard, perhaps seeing the horror in
the young woman’s eyes at the thought of being second wife to such an old man,
had intervened, although he had no authority to do so. The woman, he argued,
would be better-suited to a man who had no sons, so her son would not be
forgotten as an heir. When a young warrior had volunteered, swearing before
Odin that he would raise the boy as his own, Jonakr had no choice but to back
down. He’d never forgiven Valgard for the offense.

Lifting the largest chest of treasure from the heap, Valgard
strode proudly through the village towards the longhouse where Jonakr held
council. Swinging the great oaken door open, Valgard approached Jonakr’s chair.
The rotund man’s eyes glinted at the sight of the chest, but he made no move to
greet Valgard. His wife, a gray ghost of a woman called Idonea, stood by his
side with a horn of ale.

“Jonakr Agmundson, my headman,” Valgard proclaimed, his
voice echoing through the hall. “My warriors and I have returned from a
successful raid, bringing the wealth of the Picti back with us.” He spilled the
chest open on Jonakr’s table, revealing gleaming chalices, torques, coins, and
other fine riches. “This, I offer to you as a token of my loyalty.”

“We are glad to see our brave warriors return triumphant, as
always,” Jonakr said in that oily voice of his. “Let us hope that you might
stay amongst us for longer this time.”

Something about the tone of his voice raised the hair on
Edda’s neck. She’d never liked Jonakr, but surely it was just her bias on
Valgard’s behalf.

“That’s my hope,” Valgard said merrily, his muscular arm
encircling Edda’s slim waist. “I’ve missed my wife and my home fiercely. And on
that note, if you’ll excuse us...”

Jonakr waved a dismissive hand. Edda breathed a soft sigh of
relief as Valgard ushered her back out, strong hand on the small of her back.

“I hate that man,” she muttered to her husband as they
strolled back towards their plot of land. Valgard laughed, hugging her close.
Edda’s heartbeat raced as she pressed herself close to him.

“Let’s forget Jonakr right now,” Valgard whispered into her
ear. “I had other things on my mind.” Edda squealed as he scooped her up in his
strong arms, striding quickly across the village commons. Friendly shouts
followed in their wake as Valgard swooped down the path leading to their home.
“What about your share of the treasure?” Edda asked suddenly, recalling that he
hadn’t taken any of the chests.

“My men will save it for me,” Valgard said indulgently. He
kicked the door to their house open, tossing a giggling Edda onto their bed and
slamming it behind them. “I am far more interested in reacquainting myself with
your ample charms!”

Edda watched with hungry eyes as Valgard stripped off his
tunic and jerkin, revealing the muscular planes of his chest and stomach. Edda
ached to trace the lines of his scars. Suddenly desperate to feel his skin
against hers, Edda wiggled out of her linen tunic, shivering a little as her
bare skin was exposed to the cool air. She flushed with heat again, though, as
Valgard’s eyes raked over her body, nearly predatory in their intensity.

“You may not believe me,” he said huskily as he lay beside
her in the bed, “but I have not been with another woman since we were wed. Many
of the other men take their pleasure where they will when we are away, but I
cannot, knowing who is waiting for me at home.”

Edda cried out softly as his rough, sword-callused hands
stroked her breasts with surprising tenderness. Her soft, pink nipples began to
harden immediately under his caresses. Edda rolled on top of Valgard, urgently
pressing her lips to his. Their tongues lashed against each other as Valgard’s
hands stroked up the backs of her thighs and under her skirts, pushing her
against him as he gripped her buttocks firmly.

Edda squirmed against Valgard’s growing bulge, feeling the
slit between her legs grow wet. She, too, had been faithful to him over the
long weeks—there had been oblique offers, certainly, but Valgard was not only
her love but her hero, her savior. Edda would sooner cut off her own arm than
betray him.

Valgard, though, was maddeningly patient. Hoisting her up
slightly, his hungry mouth found the taut pink nubs of her nipples, first
teasing with a clever tongue, then nipping gently. Each tiny bite sent shocks
of pleasure tingling through Edda’s body. Helpless to defend against Valgard’s
skill, Edda gripped his shoulders and moaned desperately.

Even as he teased her breasts, Valgard rubbed against her
just so, pressing his erection against her aching slit. She reeled with need
for him, marveling at his control. Valgard was breathing hard, and it felt as
though his cock were practically straining through his pants. His greedy eyes
were on her, watching her reactions, waiting until she was wild with need to
take her.

Edda gave in to Valgard’s caresses, molding her body against
his. She felt as though she were melting, liquid heat spreading across her
skin. As Valgard stripped away his trousers and hiked up her skirts, it was
nearly impossible to tell where their bodies separated save for the deep,
greedy ache deep within Edda’s core. She heard words falling from her lips,
pleas for Valgard to enter her, and she was helpless to stop herself.

Edda cried out as Valgard, satisfied with his dominion over
her, pushed the blunt head of his cock against her swollen, slick lips. He
parted her and entered slowly, pushing inch by inch. He was a well-endowed man
to begin with, but their months of separation had left Edda feeling as tight as
a virgin. It was sweet bliss to be stretched out and filled up again.

Valgard, finally surrendering some of that iron control and
thrust deep into Edda’s channel. His groans of pleasure as his thick shaft
split her open again and again drove Edda wild. She bucked her hips up against
him, wanting to have as much of him as she could.

“Oh, my love,” he moaned, his member twitching deep within
her.

“I’m so close,” Edda gasped in return, locking her legs
around Valgard’s waist. “So close!”

Unexpectedly, Valgard reached down and stroked Edda’s hard
clitoris as he plunged into her. “Good,” he growled, sinking into her to the
hilt. “I want to feel you climax on my cock.”

The shock of his fingers on the most sensitive part of her
drove Edda over the edge. Her fingers dug into Valgard’s back as she cried out
like an animal, her channel pulsing with pleasure that sparked through her
whole body. Valgard, groaning, pumped into her throbbing core only a few more
times before Edda felt his hot seed spurt into her, filling her up with warmth.

They lay together in a tangle of sticky limbs, panting and
exhausted. Edda rested her cheek on Valgard’s strong chest, listening to his
heartbeat slow down as his breath returned to normal.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked him,
smiling up at him.

“How could I forget?” Valgard laughed. “I was never so
surprised as when you propositioned me, you minx.”

Edda smiled at the memory. Her appearance didn’t make it
obvious, but she had been born into slavery to a Picti kitchen woman at a keep
miles from here. Valgard had been traveling through on a quest when he’d
stopped for supplies. Edda had been shoveling ashes out of the hearth into a
bucket, her long, lank hair obscuring her face, but something about her had
caught Valgard’s eye nonetheless.

“Excuse me, miss, but could you tell me where I can find
lord of this keep?” he’d asked, courteous as if she were a lady.

“He don’t leave his schedule with the likes of me,” Edda had
retorted, tossing her hair aside. Valgard had taken a step backwards at the
fire in her eyes and the beauty of her features, but Edda mistook it for
something else. Usually when men talked to the slaves, they had rather
different motives in mind.

“My apologies, miss,” he said, with a little bow. “I shan’t
disturb you any further.”

When one of the lord’s guardsmen had come to her the next
morning, Edda had feared that Valgard had taken offense. She had stood
dumbstruck when the guard had removed the shackle from her ankle, tossing it
aside.

“That wandering warrior has purchased you, woman,” the guard
grunted, shoving her towards the great hall. “Go see to him.”

Spotting Valgard at the head of a long table, Edda stalked
over. “What are you doing, idiot?” she hissed in Valgard’s ear. “I’ll have
nowhere to go, and I won’t be your whore!”

“I thought you could travel with me until you found
somewhere you wanted to settle down,” Valgard said soothingly. “I only bought
you so I could free you, nothing else. I swear on Odin’s name. Speaking of,
what’s yours?”