Hello readers! I am absolutely thrilled to give you a one-shot that I had to think a lot about. I love the two characters involved here because of their complex relationship with fate and personal decisions. I hope you enjoy it. Some lemon at the end but it is tasteful. I would appreciate as many reviews as possible and hope you all enjoy it! I think I captured the essence of these characters beautifully. Please review!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Vikings or anything affiliated. Just a fan writing for some other fans. :D All rights belong to History Channel.
Christmas: Four Months after the Raid on Paris
"Hello, my name is Rollo," the newly invested Viking repeated, his accent thick.
"Not Rollo," the Frankish man said, shaking his head. "Your Christian name is Robert."
"Robert," he repeated, his eyes narrowing. "Who am I meeting?"
"The Emperor has summoned you, and his daughter, to court in Paris for this Christmas," the man reassured, adjusting the chain around the large Viking's neck.
"Christmas…"
"The birth date of our lord and savior, Jesus Christ," the man explained. "It is the grandest holiday in all of Christendom."
"What should do?"
"What should I do," he corrected. "You'll greet guests, dine with the king, and speak of blessings and the coming year. His daughter, Gisla, will be welcomed by the entire city. She is much loved there."
"Love?" Rollo repeated, his brow furrowing. "Does she not love?"
"Greatly my lord," he said. "She loves her people and her city. She would do anything to ensure its safety."
"When Ragnar comes, she will turn to me for its safety."
"We will all turn to you," he said, a soft smile on his face. "You are a Christian lord now, Robert."
"Yes," he repeated, eyeing himself in the golden reflection. His hair was tamed, pulled back behind his ears and his beard was trimmed, clean and soft. He had enjoyed the pampering of the servants and Franks who taught them their customs. His mastery of their language had improved greatly, even with the wanderer's departure.
As he contemplated his reflection his young, and distant wife came bursting into the chamber, her eyes firmly on the servant. "Leave us!" she said, her eyes narrowing on Rollo. "I need to speak to my husband."
The servant bowed quickly and left, snapping the door shut behind him. Rollo didn't even bother turning from his reflection. He only ever understood half the words his wife said. A few key ones were beast, savage, pagan, and idiot. He wasn't sure if she was actually trying to be insulting or if she was just keeping him at bay. Many times he had taken to staring at her, and many times she had blushed and turned away with an angry mumble.
"Wife," he said, turning to look at her now. She was wearing a pale green dress with golden embroidery and her long brown hair framed her face delicately. He was always taken by lust and want when he saw her; unfortunately, she was his wife in name alone. "What you need?"
"A promise," she said, crossing her arms. "We are returning to Paris today for the holidays and I want you to make me a promise."
"Christmas?" he asked, looking up at the hanging man on the cross. "Jesus Christ."
"R-right," she nodded, looking at the cross as well. "It is an important time for all of us Christians. I need your word that you will not ruin the ceremonies."
"Ceremonies?" he asked, looking down at her. "Ruin?"
"Yes," she nodded. "The parties and the meetings. I need you to be good."
"Children are good," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I am a man, important man. I will do as I am," he nodded.
"As you will," she corrected, sighing. "Please," she said, her eyes becoming a bit softer. "Please, do not ruin it."
Rollo stared at her briefly before shrugging, nodding his agreement. "I will not ruin." If there was one thing Rollo learned in the weeks he's been married to the Princess of Frankia, is that she is willful and it is best to let her do as she pleases.
"Good," she said turning toward the door. It was then that Rollo's hand shot out and he grabbed hers, gently but firmly. She tried to pull away but now he was standing closer, towering over her.
"Stay," he said, pulling her closer to him. "Stay and teach me more."
"Teach?" she asked, looking over his face. Though she had been sold off to him, like some prized possession, she felt sympathy for him. She did not treat him well the first few weeks of their marriage. She called him names, refused to be alone with him, and never once let him touch her. It was only a couple weeks ago that she gained a whole new respect for her pagan husband.
His Viking brethren did not agree with his decision to side with her father and he ended their rebellion quickly. By establishing themselves in the north, along the coast and mouth of the Seine, her barbarian husband could defend Paris from invaders. Unfortunately, this is also where she is banished to. Leaving Paris the first time was heartbreaking. She wanted more than anything to run back to her home but she knew it was her duty, no matter how miserable she was, to please and ensure her husband's compliance. The people of Paris were her main concern.
"I shall stay," she replied, nodding. "For a short while."
A soft smile came over his face and his bright green eyes were alight. She could tell that he was always bored with their new way of life. He was used to being directly involved with his fellow warriors and she knew this tame, leisurely lifestyle was not what he wanted, or enjoyed.
"What would you like to learn?" she asked, moving to sit at the desk. Rollo let go of her hand, the touch sorely missed once he did. He then turned back to the golden mirror, observing himself.
"What is needed?" he asked, looking at himself in the mirror. "What does father want?"
"The Emperor?" Gisla asked, her eyes going a bit wide. Rollo nodded in response, eyeing himself in the mirror some more. "My father only wishes to enjoy your company and show off his skills in subduing the great north men."
"Subduing?" he repeated, his accent thick.
"Yes," she said with a nod. "It means to conquer."
At this Rollo's head snapped back and he looked at her with slight annoyance. She mirrored him, her own icy stare doing nothing to temper his own. "He says he conquered me?"
Gisla shrugged, her eyes flitting from the window to the reflection of her husbands squared jaw. "In a sense," she said with a matter-of-fact tone. "He tells his brothers, who envy his power, that he has found a way to defend against your brother by turning you against him."
"It is fate," he spat, moving closer to the desk. "It is decided for me. I am bear and you are princess."
Gisla just stared at the man, his stern voice and rough features not at all hidden underneath the fine clothing and jewels. If anything, the riches seemed to make him that much more intimidating. His words were confusing and that must have been obvious in her face. She admitted that when he got angry she felt a shudder shoot up her spine. His eyes softened slowly as he stared at her and then he took a step forward, Gisla's breath seizing in her throat. He smiled now, moving to her side and sitting on the edge of the desk.
"Hard to tell," he said, his eyes searching her face. "But you will know, as wife, Princess Gisla. I will not hurt you." He then nodded and a giant smile spread across his face. Gisla couldn't help but stare. He had such a kind face when he smiled, his barbarity hidden behind this soft mask of happiness. She hated him for it. She could not read him when he looked at her that way. She knew he wasn't a changed man, a Christian man. How could she care for him in the slightest?
"You look confused," he said, his hand reaching out to her face. She nearly flinched when his rough knuckle brushed her cheek. Since when had he mastered such a word as confused?
"Your mastery of Frankish has come a long way husband," she said, her bottom lip somewhat trembling. She didn't know why she was being so kind to him but the efforts he has made, the lengths he has gone through, to make her comfortable in this unfortunate situation were all kind gestures.
"Thank you wife," he said, a gleeful glint in his eyes as he touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers. "Are you ready to leave?"
"My final trunk is being packed," she said, her hand going up to touch his. It wasn't a conscious movement but nonetheless, it happened. The warmth of his touch, the roughness of his hand under hers, made her close her eyes to his touch. She didn't want to see it, she wanted to feel it. It was only after a moment that she realized how silly she must have looked. Her eyes quickly snapped open and she dropped her hand, looking down at the desk in shame. "Soon I shall be ready."
She felt his palm flatten against her cheek before lifting her chin so she looked him directly in the eyes. He was leaned toward her, his once light green eyes darkened with confusion and sadness. "What is wrong?" His hand flattened again on her cheek, his thumb gently caressing her skin. "Do I still frighten you?"
"No," she assured, her hand going back to his, uncertainly swallowing the lump in her throat. "I do not fear you. I am a princess of the blood, I fear no man."
"You did not look afraid the first time I saw you," he said, his other hand touching her arm. "You had a banner, standing on wall, yelling to your people and…" he searched for the words, his eyes searching hers. "Brave."
"I saw you that day," she said, looking over his face. "You were brave as well. Brave and fearsome."
"Fearsome?" he asked, the word heavy on his tongue. "What is fearsome?"
"Scary," she said, smiling softly. "A mighty warrior is fearsome to those who are not used to them."
"You did not look like you were scared," he said, squeezing her arm. "Are you scared?"
Gisla wasn't sure how to answer. She only looked at him, her eyes roaming his face. It seemed relaxed but behind his eyes there was a curiosity that she wanted to sate. "I am not scared of you," she assured. "I am afraid but it is not of you."
"My brother?" he asked, his other hand cupping her cheek gently.
"Sometimes," she admitted. "The day he returns to our shores is going to be a frightening one for my people."
"I will protect," he said, his eyes wandering her face. "Do not be scared."
She nodded, a soft smile spreading across her lips. She couldn't stop it as it widened, her eyes misting with emotion. She was both happy and frightened. This feeling that he gave her now, the urge to be near him, felt so good but she knew, somehow, that it was wrong. He was a pagan, a sinner and she was sold off to him in order to protect her own father's kingdom. He was her husband, baptized as a Christian, but still practiced as a pagan. How could she feel anything for this horribly foreign man?
"No tears," he said, his thumb wiping away a stray that fell down her cheek. "You are my wife so you must be happy."
"Rollo," she said, looking away from him, her lip trembling. "Why are you so kind to me?"
His hand remained against her cheek as he spoke, his other squeezing her arm gently. "Where I am from," he began, moving so that he was sitting directly in front of her on the desk, his hands moving to hold her upper arms now. "Our women are treated as equals. They are wise, strong, and important."
"I am not one of your women," Gisla said, glaring down at the table. "And that is what I fear. I fear that my God will punish me for allowing myself to be tied in matrimony to a pagan."
"I am baptized," he said, his accent lessening with every sentence. "I am no longer Rollo the pagan. I am Robert the Christian."
"You would give up your old gods just like that?" Gisla asked, raising her eyes to meet his. "You would forsake your gods to surpass your brother?"
"It is my fate," he repeated. "I will understand your religion more and will become a true ally to your people and your father."
"Are you so sure?" Gisla pressed, her hands finding his, holding them tightly. "Will you trust in God? Will you renounce your former gods?"
"They have only ever favored me once," he spoke, his eyes becoming dark as his own larger fingers encased Gisla's. "And it was the day your father came to me."
"He offered you wealth, title, importance, and my hand in marriage," Gisla said, feeling the rough texture of his fingers over hers. "I thought God had turned his back on me that day; I did not love my father as a daughter should and so was given, I thought, in jest to a puppet warrior as punishment."
"You do not love your father?" he asked, his fingers squeezing hers.
"I do but he is not a strong man, he is not his grandfather," Gisla said, looking away. "He is weak willed and I know that Count Odo's influence over him is great. Count Odo might as well be the Emperor." Gisla couldn't stop the hatred that welled in her breast for that man, his disgusting habits and inappropriate proposal making her stomach turn and her eyes darken. Rollo must have noticed because he stood up off the desk, his hand holding hers firmly.
"I could break that man in half," Rollo insisted. "He is weak and if my wife does not like him, neither do I."
"He proposed to me before," she said with a soft smirk. "I refused him like all the other suitors. This made him angry and that is how my father got the idea to marry me to you."
"Then we shall show your father, and Count Odo, that we are not weak," Rollo insisted, squeezing her hand gently. "Would you teach me more of your language on the ride to Paris?"
"It will be a long ride," Gisla said, pulling her hand from his. She turned from him, catching her breath. His words had touched her in a way she couldn't explain and it frightened her even more. "I will meet you in the courtyard. I must ready myself for the journey."
She strode from the room, shutting the door swiftly behind her, leaving Rollo to ponder her actions in the quiet chamber. She vexed him and he wasn't sure what to do. Initially he was indifferent toward the spoiled but spirited princess. He only married her as a courtesy to his host, the emperor, so that he could gain the power and position he needed to face his brother when he did come back. He did not expect, upon officially meeting the princess, that he would be intrigued by her. She was defiant every time they were together. She was especially defiant when they left Paris to take up residence in the newly constructed castle along the Seine upstream. They were closer to the coast and controlled the mouth of the great river leading to Paris. This made Rollo happy. He was closer to the ocean and away from the city of the Franks. Here he could be himself again, training new troops and hosting a great hall. His troops were happy, well trained, and loyal to their lord. His wife seemed to calm down after a few weeks and in that time, Rollo had found solace with several slave women.
His wife, he was sure, knew of his desires but denied him any consolation. He saw no problem in seeking solace outside his marriage when his wife was colder than the fjords of his homeland. However, over the past few weeks she has lightened, choosing to dine with him in the great hall and share his bedchambers. She did not sleep in his bed, nor did she offer herself to him but her closeness intrigued Rollo. Her kindness today revealed a part of her that he wanted more than anything to expose again. He hadn't felt this way about a woman in quite a while. His love for Siggy was deep, this he knew. She was the only woman to reciprocate his feelings, the only woman to believe in his greatness and see him within the shadow of his brother.
He had loved Lagertha but she, like so many, chose his brother over him. The flame of first love did not burn as brightly now, almost twenty years later, but the feeling of falling for someone again was overcoming him. He hadn't felt this since Lagertha. Siggy was smart, cunning, and brave and it is for these reasons that Rollo had loved her but the feeling of falling for someone again was more frightening than any battle he would have to face.
"And where is this Pope?" Rollo asked, his wife sitting across from him in the small covered carriage. They had been riding for a few hours now but it was only at the last bridge that Rollo dismounted his horse to join his wife. She dismissed her maidens and he came in from the cold, the windows covered in fur and wool.
"In the city of Rome," Gisla answered, clutching her small bible. "He sits upon Saint Peter's chair in The Vatican."
"A chair?" Rollo repeated, his hands folding over his chest. "But he is not a king?"
"No, he is the descendant of Saint Peter, the founder of the Christian church and apostle to Jesus Christ himself," Gisla explained, unsure how much he could truly understand.
"He is in charge though? He crowns all of the kings and queens of Christianity?"
"Christendom," Gisla corrected with a nod. "He is the pillar of the Christian faith, the guardian of its traditions and beliefs. Also, he is the incarnation of God himself upon this earth."
"So, your Pope is God?" Rollo asked, his face contorted in confusion and skepticism.
"No, he is God's voice on earth," Gisla insisted. "He is a manifestation of Christ and his teachings."
"But he is a man?" Rollo pressed.
"You wouldn't understand," Gisla snapped, shaking her head. "Our customs and faith would make no sense to an outsider, someone who is unsaved."
"Teach," he insisted, reaching out and placing his hand over hers which clutched her small bible. She looked down at his hand curiously, and then back at him, his eyes soft but alight with curiosity. "Teach me about your God."
"I cannot begin to explain it," Gisla insisted. "I wish I could find the words to make you understand Rollo."
"If not you than who can explain?" he asked, parting the wool and fur curtain to peer out at the cold rain that pelted down around them.
"When we get to Paris I will introduce you to the highest priest in Frankia," she said with a soft smile. "Any questions you may have he can answer better than I ever could."
Rollo just nodded, closing the fur and wool curtains. The carriage was quite dim, the only light was a small lantern hanging from the ceiling near the door. It was a large enough carriage for Rollo to stand in but the width wasn't much at all. It made the carriage more manageable on the roads though. The dim golden light lit Gisla's face as she stared at the markings on the open bible. Rollo couldn't help but stare at her in the darkness, her dark eyes flitting over the pages with wonder and excitement.
The more he watched her the more entranced he became by her beautiful dark set eyes and pouting pink lips. Her fingers were long and slender, soft and creamy as she flipped the page of her book. Her eyes roamed the page and the passion behind them was very arousing. Rollo couldn't help himself any longer. He stood up and sat next to her, her eyes going wide as he did so. She watched him curiously as his hand came up to cup her cheek.
"My wife," he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers. She dared not move from his grasp as his hand snaked around her waist. "Beautiful Gisla."
"Your affection is overwhelming," she whispered, feeling his hot breath on her lips and nose.
"Beautiful Gisla," he repeated, his eyes roaming her face as he held her there against him.
"You have never been so forward with me Rollo," she said, her cheeks flushing brightly. The heat in her face was reflected by the heat that was rising in her stomach as she stared into his intense green eyes. His dark beard and mustache framed his square jaw elegantly in the dim light of the carriage. "I told you, I do not think God would approve," she insisted, leaning away from him. He gently tilted her chin toward him, looking her deeply in the eyes.
"God has brought you to me," he said, his eyes roaming her soft face. "And I to you. It would be sad to ignore such signs."
"And what does a pagan know of God's will?" Gisla asked, his answer melting her heart little by little. She couldn't look away from his intensely searching eyes, the need evident in their depths. She didn't want to reveal her true feelings to this man, a man she had guarded herself against for weeks now. His assumptions about God's will both irritated and frightened her.
"God knows all?" Rollo asked, his hand clutching hers over her bible.
"And is in all places," Gisla assured, squeezing her bible.
"And is all powerful," Rollo assured, grabbing her bible and setting in down on the seat across from them. "If it was not his hand that brought us together, as husband and wife, then who was it?"
"I hate you," she said, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Please," she whispered, looking anywhere but at him. "Please stop tempting me you devil."
Rollo couldn't understand, the pain in her face evident. He could see the love, the lust, in her eyes and yet he saw such pain in her face. "Gisla," he whispered, pulling her into his arms tightly, her soft cries and warm tears soaking his shirt as he encased her in his warmth. "God is not angry, God is giving us fate."
"Rollo, please," she whimpered, clutching his shirt and furs tightly. "Please stop being so kind."
"Robert," he corrected, kissing her forehead. "God has made me Robert."
Gisla sniffed, her hands clutching him tighter as his arms warmed her very soul. This rough man, once a barbarian in her eyes, provided her with more solace than she cared to admit. She felt greedy and lustful for wanting it so bad and she was sure that this was the temptation that God set before her. This man's silky words were like the devil's own tongue.
She looked up at him again, searching for any sign that God was there, that this is what he wanted. Rollo only watched her face with soft admiration and lustful possessiveness. She felt her cheeks becoming red again and looked away only to feel his hand gently cup her chin. "Do not look away," he demanded, staring into her dark almond shaped eyes.
"R-Rollo…" she murmured, the bashful burning in her cheeks making tears of shame fall down them, leaving searing trails.
"Robert," he assured, holding her gently around her waist.
"Please," she begged, looking anywhere but at him. She felt so ashamed, so shy, and so frighteningly sinful. It was then that she felt it, the warmth of his lips igniting her entire body. She felt his tongue prying against her soft lips, his hands roughly caressing her exposed neck and jaw. She gasped as his hand trailed down her collar and unclasped the heavy fur cloak. To her bewilderment, and excitement, his tongue pressed between her lips as she gasped, seizing her breath yet again and making her tongue flex out of instinct. He took this as a good sign and gently caressed her breast, the nipple peaking against the soft wool and silk. At this she shuddered, trying to pull away from his searching mouth and firm hands.
He pulled back from her, his hands finding her hips as he looked her in the eyes. They were dark, lustful, and completely frightened. Rollo couldn't help but smile at her innocence, pulling her fully onto his lap, eliciting a surprised squeak. "Put me down!" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Rollo, let me go."
"No," he said firmly, moving so that he was leaning against the wall and corner of the seat, pulling Gisla down onto his chest. "Sleep, we will not stop tonight." She shuddered, the vibration of his voice against her body made her keenly aware of how close he was. Suddenly his arm swung down, off her back, to the floor of the carriage. There was some ruffling and a thump before a large, lavender scented, bearskin covered her shivering body. She felt a pair of large arms encase her once more and it sent another shot of heat through her wanton body. She could feel his hard muscles beneath his cloak, especially when he stretched his arm above his head to use it as a pillow. They were so taught, unlike any man she had ever seen. She couldn't help but blush and dig her nails into his woolen shirt, his arms tightening around her quivering body before she fell into a deep, warm, slumber.
"Princes Gisla," the calm, condescending voice cooed over the chatter of the crowd. Gisla was standing in the great hall of the palace, her father placed upon his throne in all his silks and finery. The room was full of lavishly dressed churchmen, nobles, and ladies but none of them could compare to her husband. Known as Count Robert, he stood a head above the rest of the men in the room, dressed in fine black and silver furs. He had a fine gold and amber chain around his neck and a stern but jovial face. "I see you are in once piece."
"I see you are as well, Count Odo," Gisla said, her voice cool and demeaning. "Tell me, how much land did you acquire this past harvest? Surely my father has been quite generous."
"Ever the observant princess," Count Odo drawled, his eyes combing over the crowd around them. "How is your marriage? Has your husband made you happy?"
Gisla turned to the count, her eyes narrowing. However, it was Rollo's voice that overtook hers. "The princess is treasured," Rollo insisted, his arm going to Gisla's back, gently resting at the base of her spine. "Gisla is a princess of the blood, daughter of the great Emperor of Frankia. She is loved."
"Well-spoken, Count Robert," came the Emperor's voice from behind them. He was standing now, a little closer. "All of Paris loves my daughter and soon, all of Paris will love you as well. Come spring, all of Frankia will owe you a great debt!"
"Indeed," Count Odo agreed, bowing to the Emperor. "Count Robert and Princess Gisla are the protectors of Paris, majesty."
"Wonderful! And I am thrilled to enjoy both my daughter's, and Count Robert's, company this Christmas tide," the Emperor boomed, his eyes searching the room. "It is a joyous time for all Christians, so many things to be happy about."
"So many blessings from God and his grace," Gisla assured, nodding at the head priest that was dressed in his long red robes, the gold and jewels glittering off his chest.
"And now," the Emperor said, raising his hand. "It is time for me to retire for the night. Bless all my subjects for tomorrow is the day of Christ's birth. Let the bells ring mass throughout the day and may we all rejoice in the lord's grace."
"To the Emperor!" Count Odo said, raising his cup to the hall.
"To God," Rollo insisted, raising his glass higher than everyone else. The Emperor looked infinitely pleased, raising his own golden chalice and nodding. Gisla was stunned, her voice seized since Rollo had initially spoken to Count Odo. When he spoke out, in front of everyone, to praise God, Gisla was stunned again, her jaw slackened as she watched all the goblets and chalices in the room raise in joyous curiosity.
"To God!" the Emperor professed, drinking deeply from his goblet. After draining the remains, the rest of the hall mirroring him, he walked up to Rollo and placed a hand on his shoulder. "My son, you are a great blessing to this kingdom and I could not be prouder. There is no man so worthy of my daughter." He then grabbed Gisla's hands, kissing her cheeks gently. She couldn't help but stare wondrously at her father as he departed.
When he was finally gone from the hall, Rollo looked down at her, a quirky smile on his face. "Would you like to stay?" was all he asked, peering around the hall slowly. Many were staring and talking about him but Count Odo was still standing near, watching him with both horror and disgust.
"I would not," she finally said, meeting his eyes. "May we retire, husband?" she asked, placing her hand on his forearm. Rollo simply nodded, placing a larger hand over hers. "Good evening Count Odo. We shall see you at mass in the morning."
"Good evening Count," was all Rollo said, bowing to him slightly before leading her through the parting crowd. As soon as they left the hall, turning down the corridor toward Gisla's old chambers, she could feel his arm fall from her side to wrap around her waist. She immediately seized up but his momentum kept her walking, her feet stumbling only briefly. They remained silent, walking closely together down the hallway. It was remarkable how quickly Rollo could comprehend, and memorize, the halls of the palace.
"That was quite enjoyable," Gisla admitted, breaking the silence between them. "The feast was delicious and the mass was so beautiful."
"Good food and drink," Rollo agreed. "Gisla looked beautiful in church."
"You speak of sinful thoughts in church," Gisla insisted, feeling the blush rise on her face.
"Is not sinful to admire your wife," Rollo insisted. "Priest told me."
"You spoke to a priest?" Gisla asked, her eyes widening. "About what?"
"Everything," Rollo smiled. "I went to the church and ate with priest, speaking a long time about God and sin."
"I am stunned," Gisla admitted, her feet struggling to keep up with Rollo's long strides. "You surprise me."
"Come, we hurry so I can talk to you about God," Rollo nodded, moving a bit faster. Gisla grabbed his arm tighter, hiking her skirt a bit higher to keep stride. "There is so much to talk about. God is great."
"I-I'm glad you think so," Gisla insisted, her eyes watching his face. "God is full of wonders."
"So many," he agreed, turning the corner toward their bedchamber. It was here that Gisla lost all of her footing, tripping over her skirts and falling toward the ground fast. She did not expect the set of strong arms that embraced her, nor did she expect to be swept up in them and carried down the corridor.
"R-Rollo," she insisted, wiggling in his arms. He immediately stopped, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.
"Are you hurt, wife?" he asked, looking over her face for any hint of pain.
"No, not hurt," she insisted. "Just surprised. You need not carry me."
"Would you like walk?" he asked, moving to lower her to the ground.
"You are kind," she said, her feet reaching the floor. "But the noble men and women of court would frown upon such public display."
"Public display?" he asked, not letting go of her small hand as they stood there. "What would they not like?"
"Christians are very private," Gisla blushed. "Noble men picking their women up and romancing them in public is not Christian."
"I see," he nodded, squeezing her hand. "But we are never in private as Christians. God is everywhere."
"He is," she affirmed, squeezing his hand. "But God created man and knows he will sin. It is our duty to obey and ask forgiveness for our imperfections."
"Come," he said, leading her toward their chamber. "We will talk in private."
Gisla trembled at his words, her body feeling hot and frustrated. After entering their lavish chambers, Gisla disappeared into her closet, changing into a soft white linen gown. It was loose about her shoulders and hung gently over her curves. She grabbed her soft woolen shawl, resting it over her shoulders to brace her from the chill. The castle was large, sometimes drafty, and the snow that pelted down from the heavens covered the ramparts in a light blanket of white. Though there was already a blazing fire in the hearth, the rooms were still drafty. As she slipped on her fur slippers, she could hear a knock on the chamber doors. She emerged from the closet, wrapped in her warm woolen shawl to see a servant handing a shirtless Rollo a mug of warm ale.
He dismissed the servant quickly and shut the door, turning to see Gisla standing near the hearth. She was warm there, the soft benches cushioned with feathers and fur glowed in the firelight. She lowered herself onto the bench, watching the fire blaze before her. She dared not look at her shirtless barbarian husband, his bright blue and black tattoos elegantly curled over his muscles. It was only when he sat next to her, a warm cup of ale in his hand, that she looked at him. His hair was loose over his shoulders, the golden baubles removed from his unruly locks. He offered her the warm cup, noticing her quivering hands. She took it gratefully, smiling at him as she sipped. He filled his own cup with the steaming ale before sitting back down next to her. They drank slowly, Gisla sipping on her warm ale as Rollo downed his entire goblet. When he was done he set the cup down on the floor, turning to look at his wife.
"I learned much from your priest," he said, looking at her intensely. "He told me much about God and Jesus Christ."
"What did you learn?" she asked, sipping again on the bitter warm drink.
"I learned about how you feel, princess," Rollo admitted, a soft smile on his face. "I understand why God is not happy." Gisla was taken aback, her eyes growing wider as he spoke. Her jaw must have fell open because he touched her chin, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. "You are surprised?"
"Because you would be the first man since Abraham to understand God's will," Gisla gasped, her hands trembling.
"No, God has told us," Rollo said, grabbing the drink from her hands. He set it on the floor and held her hands gently, but firmly, in his. "The Bible, the priest explained, is the will of Jesus Christ."
"That is correct," Gisla sputtered, her hands feeling so warm and safe in his.
"Jesus Christ said all sinners can be redeemed," he recited almost perfectly. He smiled, nodding. "You see. I have been baptized, a sinner no more."
"Only in name," Gisla insisted. "You must live for Jesus Christ, take action in his name Rollo. It means nothing to only say you are for Jesus Christ, you must be a devoted Christian."
"Do you not see?" Rollo whispered, his fingertips softly caressing her palm. "I am trying to understand, trying to change and this pleases God. The priest has told me that I must be a Christian man, doing good deeds for all God's children."
"Why are you trying so hard?" she asked, her fingers squeezing his. "Why are you denying your past, your paganism, for Christ? You already have your fame, your royal wife, and your riches. What more could you possibly gain from being Christian?"
His eyes narrowed and his lip twitched slightly as he stared at her, taking in her words. After a moment he groaned, staring down at her hand. "It is a fate that God has given me. I am here, with all that I have, because of God. It is his plan that I must save the Christians from my brother, from his pagan warriors."
"You truly believe that?" she asked, sounding quite breathless. "Do you truly believe that it is your fate to become the savior of my people?"
"I believe that I am on the right path," Rollo confessed, his eyes roaming her face. "With help from the princess, I am sure."
Gisla could feel her heart melting, the pain within giving way to happiness as she looked at his face. He could tell something had changed as well, his own eyes searching her face for a sign. She couldn't help but squeeze his large rough fingers in hers, lowering her head to kiss the tops of them gently. He cupped her face in his hands now, raising her eyes to stare into his. She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, tears starting to blur her vision. This man, this barbaric animal had broken through to her softer side and had questioned everything that she believed to be true. She had not expected, nor welcomed, the changes in her life but now, when she was the most frightened, she found them to be everything she'd ever wanted.
"You are crying wife," he whispered, his calloused fingers rough on her cheeks. "You see, I understand your pain. I am your husband and it is my job to protect and care for you."
"You are more than I ever imagined possible," she admitted, her hands going up to cover his on her cheeks. She didn't want to be parted from his touch. "I should have realized. You surprised me the first time I ever saw you and even now, you continue to surprise me."
"Princess," he whispered, his lips barely parting. He held her head in place, not wanting to miss the look of happiness and adoration in her eyes. Her smile was so large, so genuine, he thought her cheeks would surely hurt her after long. "You are beautiful and brave, my equal as wife. Let me be your true husband."
Gisla's voice was caught in her throat, her hands caressed his as he held her. She knew what he meant, she knew that as a wife, she had failed him in this regard. She no longer wanted to fight it, she no longer believed that it was a sin to be with her husband. With Rollo's voice, God has spoken to her soul. She only smiled again, her eyes searching his for what should happen. She couldn't suppress the exciting chill ran up her spine as he looked at her, the lust in his green orbs intensifying by the second. Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on their chamber doors. Gisla immediately moved from his grasp, wrapping her shawl tightly around her. She picked up her still steaming cup of ale and sipped it gently. Rollo seemed agitated and stood up stiffly, striding to the door. He swung it open and there, standing in the doorway, was Count Odo. He bowed swiftly, his eyes lingering on Rollo before spotting Gisla. She could feel his greedy eyes on her exposed body and she immediately tensed, pulling her shawl tighter.
"What do you need?" Rollo demanded, stepping a bit closer to the Count, cutting off his vision into their chamber. "So late at night, should you not be in bed?"
"Indeed Count Robert," he admitted, his voice dull. "I am here to deliver a message from the Emperor. He wishes you a merry Christmas Eve and sends his love to his daughter." The Count then handed Rollo a scroll, bowing once more before leaving, his footsteps heavy on the stone floor.
Rollo shut the door quickly, locking it before turning back to Gisla. He could see the frightened but bashful blush on her face. He set his jaw, walking over to her and offering her the scroll. She took it from him slowly, setting her ale back down on the wooden stand beside her. She unrolled the scroll and began reading, her eyes growing a bit wider with each passing sentence. After she had finished reading she sat down, her fist clenching the paper. Rollo noticed her change in mood and sat down next to her, his eyes searching her face for answers.
"What is it, wife?"
"It is Count Odo. His influence on my father is greater than I expected," she said, her voice icy cold. "He has convinced my father to alter your agreement. My father writes, stating that Count Robert is a noble man, converting to Christianity to save his soul and our kingdom, but that an heir must come before the next year is through. If not, the succession will pass to Count Odo until an heir comes of age." She threw the letter into the fire now, anger evident in her eyes. "Count Odo has spurned me again! He has usurped the throne, the birthright, of my family and of my future sons while convincing my father, the Emperor, that he should assume command of Paris, of the kingdom, when he passes."
Rollo could only understand some of what she was saying, his eyes darkening when she mentioned Odo and her family. "What does that mean?" He finally asked, seeing the pain and anger evident in her eyes.
"It means that unless we have a child in the next year, Count Odo will take command of Paris when my father dies," she buried her face in her hands, the frustration overwhelming. "Which I am sure he is close to doing. He is older, his mind fragile, and his strength waning. It is because of his health that Count Odo is pushing this coup. He does not want to give us time to win the people's hearts, to gain the position we need. Once he takes power he will kill both of us and take what is ours."
The chamber was silent for a minute, Rollo's eyes searching the flames before them. Then he looked up at her, his head tilted slightly to one side. "So, if we have a child, Count Odo will have nothing?" Rollo asked.
"And we will have everything," she groaned. "I do not know what to do. He did this to torment me!" She stood up now, grabbing her chalice of ale and throwing it into the fire. "He mocks me, insults me, and sickens me beyond all reason!"
Rollo had watched, her anger intriguing him. She had missed such an obvious solution and surely, Rollo would eliminate her worries. He stood up, her arms wrapping around herself in annoyance as she stared furiously into the fire. Rollo quickly scooped her up in his arms, her gasps and protests reaching deaf ears. He carried her, roughly, over to their fur and feather laced bed, the collar of her white linen gown falling about her shoulders, revealing her milky smooth collar and the upper swells of her breasts. Rollo laid her on the bed, her head gently falling into the soft pillows as he leaned over her. She just watched him in awe, her voice unable to come forth.
"Easy fix," he assured, kissing her forehead. "We will have a son." Gisla pulled her shawl around her shoulders tighter, her eyes reflecting the innocent horror that welled within her tummy. It was turning knots, her eyes darting across his face and exposed toned torso. He couldn't help but smile, leaning down to caress her neck with his fingertips. "Scared again?" he asked, moving over her so that one knee was between her legs, the other next to her hip. "I have had many who are untouched," he said, his other hand roaming up her silhouette, caressing her hips and waist. "But you are my wife."
Gisla didn't know what frightened her more. His experience or his frightful size. Surely he was not a small man where it most counted. She couldn't help but tremble as his hand roamed up her side, his palm fanning out over her breast. She immediately placed her hands on his bare shoulders, willing him to stop. He could see her innocent blush and the way she was unaware of her body's reaction. This excited him even more, his hand gently palming her soft breast. He could see the nipple harden with every ministration, his own thumb brushing over it curiously.
"R-Rollo," she begged, her voice more husky than she had intended. "It is not so simple."
"Very simple," he whispered, his hot breath so close to her exposed collar. His tongue flicked out over the swell of her upper breast, sending chills darting over her skin.
"N-no," she said, shaking her head. "This is wrong."
"What is wrong?" he asked, looking into her eyes. "We are married, we need a son, what else needs done?"
She bit her lip nervously, her cheeks blushing brightly. He kissed them now, his beard tickling her face. She could see the caring look in his eyes, the way he wanted to help her feel safe and cared for. She couldn't help but slide her hands from his shoulders down his biceps, the hard muscles feeling so warm under her fingertips. He smiled as she explored, her fingers tentatively feeling every muscle in his arms, tracing the elegant tattoos that spread over his skin. When she realized she was staring openly at his muscles and tattoos, she immediately flushed red, averting her eyes.
"Don't be ashamed," he said, his hands finding hers, placing one on his chest, the other on his shoulder. "Touch."
"I'm ashamed," she blurted, her face flushed. "I feel so wrong."
"Not wrong," he said, his own hands grasping her hips, gently pressing his body against hers. "Married."
"I've never…" she whispered, her hands roaming over his muscles. "This is new to me."
"I won't hurt you," he said, his arms wrapping around her hips, lifting her as he rolled over onto his back, setting her atop him. Her hands were pressed to his chest, her knees straddling his hips. She could feel his arousal growing against her and she blushed brighter, her fingertips caressing his hard pecs. "Feels good?"
She couldn't help but nod, looking over his hardened and scarred body with wonder. She felt his hands pull her down onto him, gently grinding his hips as he did, watching her reaction to his movements. He got more than he bargained for, her mouth falling open in wonder and a soft purr emanating from her chest as he did so, her hands instinctively clutching his shoulders. This emboldened her, slowly rolling her own hips against his growing erection.
Rollo couldn't help but let out a pleasured growl, his hands gripping her hips desperately. She gasped at this, feeling his hand slide over her hips and around to her butt, cupping it and lowering her against him roughly. She couldn't help but feel aroused as he continued to massage her and roll her hips against his. He saw the arousal in her face and grabbed a handful of her linen gown, pulling it roughly over her head and discarding it onto the floor. The cool air caressed her skin as she sat above him, completely nude. She could feel his eyes roaming her body, his palms slowly crawling up her hips and torso. Her nipples peaked with the prickling of his palms traveling over her heated skin. She had never felt that way, the rough treatment of his hands on her delicate skin making her press down hard against his full arousal. This sent Rollo over the edge, restraint leaving his mind as he let go of her body to thrust his pants off. Now they were both exposed, their bodies pressed against one another in heated curiosity.
As they ran their hands over one another, their eye contact never broke. It was an intense moment, Rollo's hands resting on her lower back as he sat up to be face to face with her. Her hands immediately went to his face, holding him in place as her eyes searched his. It was when he leaned in, capturing her lips, that she wrapped her arms around his large shoulders, holding him tightly against her. Their tongues battled for supremacy, her hands clutching his strong shoulders as his hands roamed down her hips, positioning her entrance over his stiffness. She tensed at this, her eyes searching for his, the uncertainty overwhelming. He kissed her lips gently, watching her fair face as he slowly lowered her onto him.
Her eyes widened, and her muscles tensed, but he couldn't stop. She was already warm and wet, his hand moving down to stroke the soft folds opening against him. She gasped and moaned, his fingers wetting her as he slowly buried himself within her. She screamed out when he came to it, stopping as her body quivered in pain. "I am sorry," he whispered into her ear as he lowered her further, his lips caressing her neck and chest before finding her hardened nipple. "It only hurts for now," he moaned against her breasts, entering her fully. She cried out again, a bit louder as her nails dug into his shoulder and arm. It felt like fire and her muscles tensed involuntarily.
"Rollo," she moaned out, her lips finding his neck. "It hurts."
"It does not last," he said, wrapping his arms fully around her. "You are small, soft."
"Please," she begged, her face contorted in pain. "Slow…"
He nodded, complying with her demands. He slowly moved within her, finding a soft, passionate rhythm that elicited soft moans and exhilarated expressions. It was only when she was arching with this hips, matching his thrusts, that he started to move harder, faster. It was more than either of them expected. Her body enjoyed every touch, every movement, and he could not help but hold her as she rode him to her very first climax. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before, the women he knew being experienced, and unbashful lovers. This princess, his wife, was something totally different. She was subtle, strong, but innocent and Rollo wanted nothing more than to claim that innocence as his own. It was when she reached her tipping point that he fell over the edge, grasping her hips roughly with a relieved growl.
After a few moments of heavy breathing, they both settled, Gisla's hair spread over Rollo's chest as she caught her breath. His heart was beating so loudly, his chest rising like a wave, yet she felt so at ease. It was only a few moments later that Gisla rested her chin on her arms, looking into his tired, but curious, eyes. She just smiled, reaching her hand up to push his long brown locks from his face. He smiled, his arms going to her waist. It was only then that he realized he was still inside her, her face contorted in pain and shock. He pulled out and caressed her lower back, teasing the curly tendrils of brown hair clinging to her skin.
"Are you okay?" he asked, watching her face. "Are you hurt?"
"It hurt for a while and it still aches," she said, kissing his chest. "But I am fine."
"I am sure that you will be with child soon," he assured, kissing her forehead and massaging her back. "I do not like the way this Count Odo looks at you or at me. When the time comes and our child is born, I will kill him."
"Rollo," she whispered, caressing his chest and neck. "You cannot kill someone. Christians do not kill."
"Not even in war?" he asked, raising himself up on his elbows.
"Yes, of course in war. They must defend their homes," Gisla assured, kissing his lips gently. "But they do not do it for gain or with hatred."
"I am defending my home," he said, wrapping his arms around her now, laying back on the soft pillows. "And my family."
"You excite me Rollo," she whispered, kissing his neck. "The scary part is that I want you to kill him. I want you to take away everything from Count Odo."
"And I will," he assured, rolling so that she was lying next to him, her body still pressed close to his. "The way he was looking at you tonight, the way his eyes roam hungrily, makes me angry."
"I have such a wonderful husband," she whispered, kissing his cheek before nuzzling into his side, her hands gently caressing his chest. "Count Odo is nothing."
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he whispered, capturing her lips one more time. "And soon we shall have a son."
"What if we don't?" she asked, a little worried about his reaction. "What if it is a girl?"
"Then we keep trying," he smirked, pulling her closer. She didn't mind, her eyes drifting shut against his hard, but smooth side. It was in that exhausted cocoon of warmth and feverish bodies that Gisla found her answer, found what God really wanted from her and she would do anything to see it happen. The last thing she remembered was Rollo's hand gently pressed to her stomach, whispering soft words into her ear, words she could only barely make out.
"I know you are already growing," he whispered, gently caressing her skin. "My son."
Gisla just smiled, her body becoming numb and her mind going completely blank. She could spend an eternity in Rollo's arms and be perfectly happy.
I hope you enjoyed it! :D Please review. I would very much appreciate any critiques or compliments.