The Bride of a Viking

Chapter Sixteen

Cold crept through Aila's gown, the breeze bringing goosebumps to her skin. Even though the dress was warm, it didn't do much during the winter evening. She pulled the white cloak tighter around her body, walking slowly toward the field. Dagfinn stood at a distance behind her, so all eyes would be on her.

     Tove stood at the end of the pathway, his expression was joyous. To his right, was Yrsa. She was tall and regal, dressed in a rich gold gown with an intricate pattern of swirls on it. As usual, the neckline was low, and the waist tight. Aila wondered at how the woman could breath in such a constricting dress.

     Everyone stood from the pews, all eyes directed at her. Aila felt the uncomfortable silence surround her. A heavy earthy scent filled the space and Aila noted the plants lining the pathway, and the pine trees surrounding the clearing. She loved the smell of pine, it was slightly comforting. It brought back a nostalgic feeling of playing in the fields with Erling.

     Squeezing her tulip bouquet tightly, Aila made her way to the end of the path, next to the brute she would soon call her husband.

     Tove's golden eyes held her gaze. He held a confident stance, a cocky smirk on his lips. She felt like she would puke again, and she kind of hoped it would be on him. Maybe then he would decide he didn't want to bed her that night.

     Taking her place next to her captor, Aila handed the bouquet to Dagfinn, who stood a couple feet away. She didn't even try forcing a smile. Her feelings were easily discernible for everyone to see.

     As the ceremony went on, Aila's and Tove's hands were bound together. She drowned out the words the man spoke in front of them, more focused on her captor. His eyes bore into her, lustful. He wore a deep green tunic with silver warhammers embroidered on the chest. A long sword sat on his hip, above his earthy brown trousers. His cloak was a lighter shade of brown—very simple, yet elegant.

     When it came time for Aila to speak, she stuttered nervously. Tove sounded very confident—he spoke more to the audience rather than her. For him, this was a show, and he was the entertainment.

     The tall brute leaned down to kiss her, grabbing her small frame and crushing her into his body. Aila felt the warmth radiate off him. It was a nice feeling in the chilly night. His lips were firm as he pressed them to hers. It was a hard, proprietorial. She was nothing more than property to him.

When the ceremony concluded, Aila took her seat at the head table while Tove celebrated with a duel. He held a long sword with a wolf pommel. His opponent was a much shorter man, but stocky in build. Aila remembered seeing him on the boat they had taken here after being kidnapped. He had laughed while she had been ripped from her home.

The duel seemed to sweep on for a long time, Aila drowning it out with a goblet of mead. It was sweet on her tongue and burned as it went down. Tove grunted in the distance, lifting his blade up high to block his attacker. There was a loud cling as metal met metal.

"'Tis boring, ain't it?" Ingrid said as she took her brother's chair beside Aila. The bride couldn't help but agree as the men continued grunting and groaning while playing with weapons in front of her. This was not the kind of wedding she had ever hoped to want, nor did she enjoy it now. And it wasn't just due to the fact that she hated her new partner.

"Is this how we shall spend the evening?" Aila questioned. "Drinking and watching men act like children?"

Ingrid chuckled. "There'll also be a sacrifice." The thought made Aila feel disgusted. She would not be a part of such a cruel act. "Probably some dancing, maybe some fucking if we're lucky."

A blush crept up her cheek. An image of people across the field slipped into her mind, bodies entangled together. Maybe Tove could bed another and he wouldn't come to her tonight. It was pointless to hope such a thing would happen, for her only purpose here was to bear the jarl a child. A son more specifically. An heir.

     "You could join in on festivities," Ingrid suggested. "Sitting here and moping will only make your night worse."

     "That is easy for you to say, you're not the one being forced into marriage!" A few heads turned in their direction.

     "I know how awful my brother can be," the woman's voice softened. "But marriage can be a good thing, even if it's with him. You'll be taken care of. Everything you could ever want will be provided for you. You'll have children. And if you accept Tove, you may even find love."

     Aila would never love her captor. The man who murdered her family. How could Ingrid ever think that possible? Aila decided it was for the best to not respond, for the only thing she would want to say would most likely make her new sister in law mad.

   ***

When the festivities began to die down, and people returned to their homes, Tove sent Aila to her room to prepare for their night together. She perched on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with her dress. She hadn't removed it, even though Tove had made it very clear what state of undress he wanted her in by the time he arrived.

     A gentle knock came at the door. Aila was surprised Tove hadn't barged in. He had never cared to knock before. Maybe he wanted to make her feel more comfortable now.

     She stood from the bed, her feet taking slow steps toward the door. Her hand reached toward the knob shakily as she twisted it. The person standing in front of her was not who she would've expected. Instead, a sweet smile and kind eyes greeted her.

     "What are you doing here?" She questioned, her eyes searching the hallway and finding nobody, not even Dagfinn. 

     "I'm leaving," Colden said, trying to act casual. He seemed anxious, Aila noted. Like he was in a hurry to get away. "Come with me."