Anna Markland - Viking Roots Medieval Romance Saga 02 Read Online Free PDF Page A

The sweat froze on his brow. His mouth fell open. It couldn’t be.
    But it was.
    Sonja Karlsdatter shone like a diamond among shards of discarded pottery. Her flawless skin glowed in the flickering candlelight. She walked with her spine rigid, shoulders back, her virgin breasts tilted skyward. Stunningly intricate cup-shaped brooch pins held up the straps of a finely tailored hangeroc that showed off the tempting curve of her hips.
    She was Freyja come down to earth to strut among mortals. Her golden hair peeked out from beneath a traditional Norse headdress edged with red and blue braiding. Her gaze fell briefly upon Torstein and she smiled the tight smile of an empress grudgingly acknowledging a groveling subject. Her attention moved quickly to the stone bowl, but the momentary pout of her lush lips turned his shaft to granite. He hadn’t seen her for many months and she had grown lovelier than he remembered. However, it was evident from the furrow in her brow she wished to be anywhere but here in the cathedral.
    He leaned towards her as she passed, hoping to inhale her perfume, his body drawn as if by a lodestone. He toyed with the lunatic notion of suggesting they escape together and—
    But she moved on, out of his view. He craned his neck to catch another glimpse. Bryk’s loud cough jolted him back to reality. His uncle glared as if he wanted to chop off his head with his stridsøkse . Torstein smiled weakly and followed everyone else’s lead as they touched their fingers to their foreheads and made the sign of the Christian savior. The ceremony had begun.

    Sonja shifted her weight from one cold foot to the other, wishing she’d worn warmer boots. The Christian cleric droned on in Latin. She would never comprehend why the Christians used a dead language for their rites. He bounced the strapping babe in his arms as if he were the proud father and not the fair-haired giant standing by the bowl of water. She recognized him now. The farmer turned warrior. In Norway he’d been wed to Rollo’s sister. He was an attractive man, all muscle and chiseled features, but he didn’t appeal to Sonja.
    Her thoughts wandered to the well-dressed young man with the silver belt buckle she’d glimpsed standing behind the Kriger family. He was dark haired, like the babe’s Frankish mother. She vaguely recalled some gossip of her having a newly discovered twin brother. He wasn’t well-muscled, unlike most Vikings, but he looked strong and wiry. The notion of marrying a Frank became more appealing.
    She hazarded a glance over her shoulder, startled to see he was staring at her. She’d seen him before, but where? His eyes burned with an intensity that shook her to the core. The chilly cathedral became an inferno. The brooches covering her breasts were suddenly too confining, her underdress too tight. She glanced at the other ladies, hoping the heartbeat echoing in her ears wasn’t bouncing off the stone pillars. She feared she’d been stricken by some noxious fever lurking in these dank Christian cloisters.
    She tore her gaze away from him, momentarily distracted by the sound of water being scooped from the stone bowl. The babe squirmed as the life giving liquid was dripped onto his forehead. But what struck Sonja full force was the look of pure adoration on the mother’s face as her child was named.
    Cathryn Kriger was probably not much older than she. Perhaps she’d make a good friend. And mayhap she might introduce Sonja to her attractive twin brother who seemed as fascinated with her as she was with him.
    It appeared the unwelcome excursion to the Christian ceremony might not be a burden after all.
    She smiled with everyone else when the babe gurgled his approval of something the cleric said.

    Bryk’s heart swelled with pride as the Archbishop passed his newly baptized son back to Cathryn. The child had behaved like the angels the Christians spoke of, coaxing a smile from some of the sour-faced women of Poppa’s retinue.