Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created by yours truly, Bookworm_Beauty96. Any content removed, manipulated or used elsewhere under a different name is plagiarism and a violation of copyright laws. DON'T DO IT. Names, characters, places and events within this story were created from my imagination and/or used for this piece of fiction. Any sort of resemblance to real events or living/dead people is plain coincidence.
"Pappa! Pappa! Tell me the stories of the north again!" A young Britta exclaimed, bouncing up and down on her bed of thick furs, her blonde curls whirling around her head and her hazel eyes bright with excitement.
Dirk Haraldsson chuckled at his youngest child's enthusiasm of the dark, barbarous whispers of the clan up north. For his child's protection, he wove the starting information into a fabrication of a scary tale. But in truth, the rumors were true. That Dirk knew of by the help of his trustful scouts. As Jarl of the Haraldsson clan, he worried about what the Dahlsten's next move would be. Or which clan they decided to raid next. Dirk knew the time would come when the Dahlsten's would arrive on his own bridge, but his people would be ready when they did.
"Please, Pappa? Just tell me once more and I promise I will go to sleep." Britta stuck her bottom lip out in a sad pout, making his thoughts turn away from the grim possible future and to his little prinsesse.
He crossed the threshold of her room and gingerly sat down on her bed of bear fur. Dirk patted the soft fur beside him and his child of nine summers bounced down next to him, curling herself into a small ball next to him, her eyes gazing up at him with innocent love.
He smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, swinging her up into his arms and tickling her soft belly. Britta's giggles pierced the air as his fingers danced across her ticklish stomach. He stopped as she begged for mercy. He pulled his fingers away, rising with her still in his arms and placed her underneath the cover of furs.
Her long dark blonde curls were splayed across her pillows and he marveled at his beautiful little blessing from Odin. Although Britta was young, she held an ageless beauty that made his breath catch every time he looked at her. The joy and happiness she radiated made everyone around her smile. He knew he would face many deficient suitors when Britta came of age, he thought darkly, as her beauty and charm were widely known throughout the southern part of Norway. She looked exactly like his younger sister did when she was just a few summers old, and his smile contorted at the thought of his dead sister. He closed his eyes, picturing young Sunniva in his mind.
"Pappa?" A soft voice whispered.
His eyes opened, the picture gone from his thoughts. "I am sorry, my little dukke. My mind is across the sea tonight. Now, where should I begin?" Dirk asked, thoughtfully tapping his chin with his finger and looking up at the ceiling of the room. He waited for her smart remark.
"The beginning, of course, Pappa. Silly," Britta giggled. She had a quick wit, he knew she got it from her mother's side.
"Why did I not think of that?" He groaned, smacking his palm to his forehead in jest. Her giggles lightened his heart and crept into his weary soul.
"So, up in the northern part of our great country," he began, "Near the Oksskolten mountain range lives a fierce and ruthless clan...known as the Dahlsten Clan. They swept through the mountains and valleys raiding small villages and taking any loot they wanted, striking fear into the hearts of Scandinavians young and old. No one hears them as they are quiet as a mouse, creeping upon the villages at night. And no one sees them, they are invisible like a--" Dirk's words were cut off as the door burst open.
YOU ARE READING
The Scarred Viking's BrideHistorical Fiction
"I am not the monster you may believe I am," He began seriously, his voice soft. "I will not take you against your will. I'd rather have you writhing underneath me and begging me to take you. But trust me, kjæreste, you will be begging me to fuck yo...