Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
My scowl deepens as Callum begins to chuckle too, turning to grin at me.
“Now Malcolm, let’s not jump to conclusions. Perhaps the man wanted to look extra beautiful for his big day?”
The two of them snort themselves into laughter, chuckling as they clink glasses and drink their whiskey.
I just glare at them.
“My castle—”
“Yes, yes, your rules,” Malcolm snickers. “You’ve mentioned that little line a number of times, my friend.”
Callum eyes me. “Now, are you going to tell us what you were up to?”
I growl dangerously, my jaw clenching.
“Now, another man, and I might guess at one last romp with a kitchen maid,” Malcolm muses, stroking his jaw. “But that’s not you, is it?”
I glare at him.
“No, it wouldn’t be just some girl. Not with you. So, if not that…”
His brow suddenly shoots up as his grin widens.
“Callum, my friend,” he chuckles. “I do believe our friend Hamish is sampling the goods before he buys.”
The two of them start to laugh before my snarl cuts them off abruptly, both of them eyeing me warily.
Callum arches a brow, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.
“Easy, my friend. We’re only joking.”
I sigh, blowing air through my lips.
“I know, I know. My apologies. I’m just… tense.”
Malcolm snorts. “Even after your little visit in the bath—”
Callum’s fist on his shoulder has him grunting instead of finishing his sentence, glaring at our friend.
“Ass.”
Callum grins. “Goat fucker.”
I roll my eyes, grinning at the way the three of us can fight and laugh like brothers. I suppose war does that to men.
We pour one last drink as Malcolm clears his throat.
“On a more serious note…” he frowns, swirling his whiskey around the glass. “I’ve heard word from some of my merchant friends further up the coast.”
His look darkens.
“There’s been rumors of a fleet coming down from the Northlands.” His frown creases his brow. “Hamish, they say it’s Tor Odinson.”
Fuck.
There aren’t many things—or really anything—in this world that scares me. After all, I’ve seen hell, and I’ve fought demons in the dark deserts the Holy Land. And yet, even with me, the mention of the infamous Viking marauder’s name gives me pause.
Tor Odinson. The man is every boogeyman story come to life. Vicious, driven, and unmerciful. His fleet is known as the Devil’s Sails—both from the crimson color of their sails, and by the savagery of their methods when they strike. Tor’s sacked dozens of towns, castles, and lands over the last few years—leaving only few survivors to tell the stories of pillage, sacking, and kidnapping.
Now, Dungow is no everyday stronghold. It’s bigger, stronger, older, virtually impenetrable, and hasn’t been breached once in the hundreds of years it’s stood. And normally, I’d give the story no more than a single thought. After all, should Tor try and take my castle, he’s in for a long visit, as Dungow can support a full castle for more than a year with the food stores and crops planted inside the walls.
And yet, something does worry me at the mention of him being on the warpath, and close. And it’s not my castle, or me.
…It’s her.
It’s that now, I’ve got something precious within my walls.
Una.
“How much do you trust these sources?”
Malcolm just clenches his jaw, and I swear.
“Alright, we’ll start preparing for anything, in case he’s foolish enough to come here. But first, I have a bride to wed.”
And to make my own.
I swallow back the last of my glass and set it down, nodding at my friends before I sweep from the room to prepare.
I have a bride to wed, and to claim.
I have a wedding bed to stain with the mark of her innocence, and a fertile womb to fill with my heir.
My blood roars as I storm for my quarters as the seconds tick by.
Soon, she’ll be mine.
Chapter 7
Una
It’s over so quickly, it feels like the blink of an eye. One minute I’m merely betrothed to him, and the next, the priest is clasping our hands together, binding them in cloth, and pronouncing us man and wife.
And then, in an instant, I’m married.
…To him.
My pulse races as the priest finishes his words, my heart pounding. We stand, and when Hamish pulls me to him and kisses me slow and hard, right there in front of everyone as we stand at that alter, I shiver.
…But then, it’s not our first kiss, is it?
Except, the kisses before—however illicit, and sinful, and wrong, felt hot and fierce. Now, I don’t feel what I felt before. Now, there’s just a coldness to the kiss, my body stiff and my nerves steeled as Gwendolyn’s words slice through me for the thousandth time since she spoke them.
“Silly little girl. You’re his new little toy, for now. But trust me. Once he grows bored of a simple little country girl like you, you’ll be replaced. Maybe by me, maybe by a new plaything.”