“Do not take long,” Marta ordered. “All wait to meet you.”
Tavia nodded and after Marta left, she stood staring at the door. Her feet would not move for her but then she did not know who she was, this woman in strange garments, her hair styled so foreign to her. She felt robbed of her identity.
“Go and be done with it,” she encouraged herself with a whisper.
Still her feet would not budge.
This was not who she was. This was not who Bhric had wed.
Without hesitation, she turned, pulling the combs out of her hair.
CHAPTER 8
Bhric walked from table to table talking and drinking with his warriors and the wives of those wed. There was endless talk and laughter, words of congratulation, and teasing about how fast the new bride’s stomach would grow. He only wished he could feel the same enjoyment. He had had hopes for this marriage, his mother insisting she would find a woman for him who he would come to love.
He had been disappointed when arriving here to find his mother had left for home. He had wanted to know if what Newlin had told him was true. If she had been good friends with Tavia’s mother, why then had she not told him of her intentions to wed him to her best friend’s daughter?
“It is done. Enjoy bedding her,” Sven advised with a grin and a friendly slap on Bhric’s back. “It is not as if she is hard to look upon, a bit tiny, but pretty.”
Bhric could not argue with that. His wife was more than pretty, she had lovely features that stirred him whenever he looked upon her. But that could be because he had not been with a woman in a while. Why then hadn’t other women he looked upon since meeting her stirred his loins as she did? The thought annoyed him though it shouldn’t. At least it would not be hard to bed her.
“I want more,” he whispered, not expecting Sven to hear him.
“Don’t we all,” Sven said with a hardy laugh.
“What have you said to my brother to put such a foul scowl on his face?”
Sven turned and with a quick arm around her waist pulled his wife against his side and rested his hand on her rounded belly. “He pouts like a woman.”
Ingrid jabbed him in the side and shook her head. “Your mouth has a daring tongue when you drink.”
“I will show you how daring my tongue is later tonight,” Sven said and nibbled at her neck.
Bhric cringed. “I do not want to hear that.”
“What? How do you think the bairn got in her stomach?” Sven asked, laughing.
Bhric cringed again. “I wish all daughters on you.”
Sven cringed this time. “Do not curse me when I but tease.”
“All daughters sound just fine to me,” Ingrid said.
“Bite your tongue, woman,” Sven warned. “You can have all daughters after you give me a strong son.”
“I will hold you to that,” Ingrid said.
Sven kissed her lips quick. “And I will enjoy giving you every single daughter.”
Bhric shook his head. “I do not know how Mother and Father let you wed him, Ingrid.”
“Love! I love him with all my heart, and Mother never says no to love.”
Bhric never felt envy, never had the need to but at that moment he did. He was not only envious of the love his sister and Sven shared but how happy they were with each other. But looking at them one could see they were a good fit. His sister was of good height. Sven did not have to bend down to kiss her. She had fine features, and her hair was as golden as Sven’s. She had a strong nature and the skills to stand beside her husband and fight if necessary. Their combined strength would produce many strong bairns. He pushed the thought from his mind. It reminded him too much of what his wife lacked. He spotted Marta and she nodded at him, and he returned a brief nod.
Sven caught the exchange. “So, Marta got her to wear the garb of a Northwoman.”
“My wife was ordered to wear it,” Bhric said. “I will have her show respect to the Thrubolt Tribe for this celebration.”