Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 Read Free

complained.
    Cathryn laughed out loud, causing the babe to stop suckling and contort his face into a grimace. She bit her bottom lip, guiding her breast once more to his eager mouth. “See what you made me do,” she giggled. “He’s just mastering this. We mustn’t distract him.”
    “I can teach him the right way to do it, if you like,” Bryk offered with a wink. “I’ve missed you too.”
    Her face reddened as she entwined the fingers of her free hand with his. She avoided his gaze. “It will be a while before we can lay together again.”
    He grimaced. “ Ja . I know, but you must heal. I will try to be patient.”
    She hesitated, then tightened her grip on his fingers. “You have taught me other ways to please you.”
    His hopes soared. Mayhap he wouldn’t have to find relief at his own hand as he’d reluctantly done many times while the campaign raged on. Why were men facing battle in a state of constant arousal? He was suddenly on fire, filled with an urge to strip off his leggings and let Cathryn’s clever mouth ease the insistent need in his loins. But she was weary. The babe had fallen asleep.
    He came to his feet, lifting the child from her grasp. “Let me take him. He’s filled his belly. It’s late and you need rest. He’ll wake again before dawn. Sleep now. I’ll watch over him.”
    She yawned as her eyelids drooped and within seconds she was adrift.
    Holding the sleeping infant to his chest with one arm, he gently pulled the linens over Cathryn’s bare breast, resisting the overwhelming urge to kiss the nipple glistening in the candlelight. Instead he nuzzled his son’s head. “Lucky boy,” he whispered as he sank into a chair and put his feet up on the stool.
    The sleeping babe curled into his chest. He touched the tiny fingers that instantly gripped one of his, filling his heart with joy. “You are my son, Magnus Bernard. I am your father, Bryk Kriger. You’ve a strong Viking grip.”
    But it reminded him of the promise of Cathryn’s fingers entwined with his. He chuckled, giving thanks to the Norns and to all the saints of the White Christ that he’d lived to see his babe.
    It was a joy he’d thought never to savor after the death of his first wife.
    He fished around in the leather pouch at his waist for the tiny flute he’d fashioned from the bone of a goat. He’d made it a lifetime ago when Myldryd had told him she was with child. Standing at her graveside in Norway he’d been tempted to crush the flimsy flute in his fist, but for some reason he hadn’t. He’d never understood why he’d brought it with him to this new land, until now. He blew a few notes for his babe, who snuggled closer at the plaintive sound.
    He snuffed out the candle, lay his head back and dozed, more determined than ever to find what he sought. Rouen was a fine town, prosperous since Roman times, and Cathryn’s uncle, the Archbishop, had insisted they remain lodged in his comfortable house. He’d been relieved she was taken care of while he was gone.
    He’d planted some of the apple tree rootstocks on the land Hrolf had given him on the banks of the Seine, but hundreds of the seeds he and Alfred had brought from Norway still lay in his sea chest, stored in the root cellar. He thirsted for a bigger piece of land where he could plant vast orchards and build a stone dwelling in the Frankish style. He shuddered, remembering the devastation the winter winds had caused to the wooden buildings in the settlement they’d left behind in Norway.
    He hated being apart from his wife, and would soon be required to leave again. However, the campaign against the Bretons afforded the Vikings the opportunity to expand the territory they’d wrested from King Charles. The sovereign had been unsuccessful in subduing the Bretons, hence he’d given the task to the Norsemen, thus allowing them freedom to roam over much of Western Francia. Somewhere in the fertile vastness lay the perfect place, the fabled Eden of the