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Canute was not a man prone to undue sentiment. He considered himself rational, logical, capable of empathy yes - one had to be to lead people who would follow - but never would he consider himself overly emotive. Yet, with his wife, his Queen, with Emma , he felt his chest fill with an intensity of feeling often violent in its ability to overtake his being. From the moment he lay eyes upon her, he knew she was a woman of power and strength. Her bearing, the intelligence of her sober gaze, the gentle, yet firm cadence of her voice arrested him in an instant. Often he reflected on how quickly he found himself enthralled by her, enamoured to an almost vexing extent.
Her beauty had him captivated, and yet it was not what he found so bewitching. It was the nobility of her bearing, her courage and her love for her country. She was loyal and true, fiercely intelligent and she was his. His wife. His partner. His queen.
Shifting slightly, he stared at the woman sprawled across his chest. It was almost midnight and the fire in the hearth cast a glorious, soft glow across the shadowed room. The crackling was the only sound punctuating the silent night. This was the hour he loved most - the quiet, the weight of her splayed across him with an abandon he knew was reserved only for him - because of trust. Even in sleep her hand rest upon his shoulder, her fingers still after spending many an hour tracing the dips of swirls of the dark ink etched into his skin. She was fascinated by the patterns; brushing and sweeping, exploring and seeking with light touches of her fingers and lips - enflaming his Viking blood. In sleep, they were similar he mused, both possessive, arms tight and fingers curled into each other.
Canut pressed his lips to her forehead as it rest against his muscled shoulder, her soft breath fanning across his chest. His heart stuttered with love and his arms flexed around her involuntarily. God in heaven, what is this madness of feeling?
Emma shifted, her eyes opening as the tight embrace roused her. Pressing another kiss to her hair he whispered gruffly, “Go back to sleep, my love.”
“Is everything alright?” she queried, her eyes clear and concerned. “You need rest.”
He grunted in amusement. “I have been away from you for months, dreaming of the moment I have you back in my arms. I simply wish to savour it.”
Emma shifted, a small smile curving her lips. He loved that too, her amusement, her laughter, seeing her happy. More so because her smiles were not often seen in public.
“My Lord, you are quite the sentimentalist.” He could tell, however, that his words pleased her. “Besides, you’ve been home for months.”
He grinned. “I cannot lie,” he said. “I missed my wife.”
Emma pressed a kiss to his chest and whispered back in earnest. “As she missed you. Terribly at times.” Her eyes, soft and blue searched his. He saw her worry and anxiety, all the things she usually hid behind a calm, stoic facade. His wife felt deeply, despite the general perception that she was cold and reserved.
“What is it?” he asked, pulling her closer, her chest upon his.
“I understand war,” she confessed. “I understand loss. I understand sacrifice. Yet the thought that I could have lost you to battle was not an option I was willing to consider.” Canut swallowed hard, suddenly caught within a maelstrom of unexpected emotion. “I do love you, Canute,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Quite desperately.”
Canut pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Such confessions did not come easy for Emma, especially due to her past. She had persevered through a loveless marriage and borne all manner of trials with dignity. He felt humbled to be a recipient of her affection. Her trust had been hard won. He would treasure it always.
“Do you know,” he began, “moment I saw you upon the battlements so long ago, I could not deny that you held power, commanded respect and radiated a dignified authority that captured my attention. You were brilliant.” Their foreheads touched for a moment. “I did not expect to fall in love in England,” he added, meeting her eyes with a wink. “Perhaps, I thought I would marry here, to strengthen my position. I did not bargain on my wife being my intellectual equal.”
“Superior, you mean,” she teased, pressing her lips to his. “The first time I saw you , I thought you looked a brute, ruthless, savage even.” A lingering kiss, as if to soften her words. “Although, truth be told, you stole my breath when our eyes momentarily met.”
“Ah,” he chuckled. “Destiny then, as our reactions were the same.”
The soft kisses that began as teasing kindled a banked fire that always seemed to rage whenever they were alone.
“My ladies used to whisper about how you could not keep from looking at me whenever we were in the same room.”
Their breathing laboured, fueled by heady memories.
“They were not wrong. I was captivated.”
“So was I.” Her hands run along the shorn sides of his head, enjoying the feel.
“You hid it well, my love.” He grinned. “At least until the night we reviewed the new tax laws. That night I knew you were not indifferent to me.”
Emma cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his cheek, his temple, wherever her lips could reach.
“I finally allowed myself the forbidden pleasure of looking at you without pretending I was not. The more I looked, the more I realised I wanted your gaze upon me.”
Canut shuddered as their lips slanted and nipped. Swiftly, he changed their positions, rolling his wife beneath him, settling between her thighs.
“It was our first night together,” he said, although she needed no reminder of their glorious union. Their eyes met and held. “Queen Emma,” he said, the honorific not a title but an endearment. “With you, my world is not so lonely, nor so cold.”
“Our world,” she said gently, reaching for his hand and pressing it between their bodies. Canut frowned, leaning back a little. His hand was pressed to her belly. His eyebrows rose.
“Ours,” she reiterated, her cheeks rosy.
“You are with child?” he asked, surprised by the sheer amount of hope that arose inside of him.
She nodded, her eyes large and luminous. Canut found himself smiling, his large beard unable to obscure its glory.
“You’re pleased then?” she asked.
“Pleased? If such a word could describe my happiness, then yes, I am pleased! Very pleased.”
“I am happy too,” she said in a relieved rush. “I was not sure if I would be able to conceive again. It’s been so long.”
“Ah my Emma, you are perfection, my love,” he reassured her. Their lips collided with passion.
“We shall build your empire, my lord.”
“Together,” he vowed, grateful to have her, grateful to be home, grateful for their good fortune.