by Bec McMaster
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Bryn told him. “Your mother raised you well.”
“As well as she could,” he told her with a shrug.
Bryn grabbed the soap and began to wash the grime from her hair. “I’ve heard the others’ names before. Haakon Dragonsbane, a man so cold the arctic wind slips right over his skin without piercing it. And the Blackfrost, the brutal warlord of the north who makes grown dreki tremble. But I’ve never heard your name mentioned before.”
“It’s mostly whispered,” Tormund told her, with a twinkling eye, “or cried into a pillow along with ‘oh, please, don’t stop.’”
She splashed him. Would the man never be serious?
“And if you’re trying to get a rise out of me”—he shrugged, water sluicing over his forearms—“then know that many men and women have tried before. And failed. As you will. I will earn my name, Bryn Brightfeather, sooner or later. A legend’s name. And until then. I will serve my cousin without spite or rage.”
“Brightfeather?” A little knot twisted in her heart. “Why would you call me that?”
“Because of your hair,” he replied. “And your Valkyrie sword. Brynhild the Bold, they called her. Bright of hair and feather. The most glorious of Valhalla’s shieldmaidens. As fiery as the boldest bonfire.”
“Don’t.” Her tone could have iced over the entire bath. “Don’t call me that.”
Tormund stilled, his gaze turning watchful. “As you wish.”
Silence fell, and she couldn’t help becoming aware that she’d begun to fall for his teasing tones too. He’d somehow lulled her into a smile before he ruined it.
“You’ve been in here long enough,” she told him coldly.
“And there she is again. My Snow Queen.” Tormund merely sighed, wading on his knees through the water to the edge of the tub. “I’ll take that as my cue to head to the steam room. Now, unless you want to see what the gods gifted me with, I’d avert your eyes.”
Water churned as he gathered his legs beneath him.
Bryn met his gaze as he slowly pushed to his feet, water splashing and tumbling into the bath. “I’m not afraid of a little bared skin.”
He threw his head back, water spraying everywhere. The white flash of his smile caught her off guard. He was enjoying this. Enjoying the sensation of her eyes upon him.
And so she looked her fill.
“The gods were kind,” she finally admitted.
He scraped a hand through his shoulder length hair, the muscles in his biceps rippling. “Aye. Though the real gift is what I can do with it.”
Again, he disarmed her.
“Get out of the bath,” she said with a snort.
As Tormund grabbed the towel and scrubbed at his head and chest, Bryn let her gaze slide languorously over his clenched buttocks. So, so tempting.
Every inch of him was rock-hard muscle.
A man comfortable in his own skin. A man who held no jealousy toward his cousin or the dreki warlord he served. A man who had somehow managed to both put her entirely at ease and charm the pants off her, while they were naked in a bath, without making her feel even remotely uncomfortable.
He was right.
She’d known no other man like him.
“East of the sun, and west of the moon; North of the earth and south of the ice; Above the fire and below the stars.” Tormund sank onto the bench beside Sirius as the dreki warlord stared into the flames of the tavern’s hearth, fingering the compass Bryn had given him. “Do we have any fucking idea where that is?”
“Do we catch the North Wind and ask it where it once blew an aspen leaf?” Haakon sighed. “I have draugar guts on my boots and for what? A fucking myth.”
“I know where Marduk is going now,” Sirius said flatly, stabbing the logs in the fire with a fire iron.
“Where?” Bryn appeared from nowhere, dragging a comb through her long red-gold hair.
It stole the breath from Tormund’s lungs. Just breathe, you idiot. He’d been naked in a bath with her earlier, but he’d been focusing so intently on not staring at her breasts that he hadn’t truly taken the chance to absorb her.
But this was more tempting than any skin, for there was softness there in her eyes and the unguarded way she held the comb. Hints of the woman she refused to let him see.
“Somewhere forbidden, if this compass is pointing the right way.” Sirius shoved to his feet, casting the fireiron back into its corner with a clatter. “Somewhere I can’t go.”
“Fear not, my wicked prince,” Tormund said. “That’s why you brought us. We boldly venture where dreki fear to tread—”
Sirius rounded on him so swiftly, he almost fell into the fire. “I don’t fear to tread there, you worm. I cannot go there.”
“Easy,” Haakon murmured, placing a stalling hand on his forearm. “Malin will not be happy if you eat Tormund. She likes him. Remember?”
With a snarl, Sirius tossed the compass toward Bryn and then strode toward the door.
“Well, he’s in a good mood,” Tormund muttered, watching the door slam behind the Blackfrost. “Do you think he’s going to elaborate on the morrow? Or merely swirl his cloak mysteriously again?”
“I think you’re going to be eaten,” Bryn replied, rolling her eyes. “Regardless of his wife’s fondness for you.”
She looked down at the compass, watching its needle shiver toward the east as if it could sense something there.
Tormund winked at her as he reached for his ale. “You just have to get to know him. All snarl and no bite makes for a grumpy dreki prince.”
Bryn shook her head. “You are a madman with a death wish.”
Six
Tormund stomped the snow in the yard behind the inn, his breath fogging the air. “Are you ready?” he called to Bryn as she stepped into the yard. “You promised me a fight.”
Dawn light softened the firm lines of her mouth and gilded her hair. The merlin fluttered down from the rooftop and alighted on the gauntlet she wore. Bryn seemed a creature made of fire, and the hard leather body armor she wore did little to hide her curves.
His mouth went dry as he beheld them.
The bodice she wore today was cut lower than any he’d seen her wear, and her rounded breasts threatened to spill free. She had hips a man could get a fierce hold of, and a soft, rounded belly he wanted to taste. And those thighs….
“Those eyes don’t look like you’re challenging me to a fight, big man,” she told him, a hard light flaring to life in her pretty green eyes. “They look like they’re contemplating another style of body-to-body combat.”
He couldn’t help himself. He grinned. “Guilty. But you look glorious this morning. And I think this is your first attempt at disarming me.”
“You think I need to disarm you with these?” She pointed to her breasts.
“I think you fight dirty, woman. And you will stoop to nothing to bring a man to his knees.”
A hint of a smile touched her lips. Bryn lifted the leather gauntlet on her left hand and cooed at the merlin that rested atop it. “Oh Sýr, this fool thinks I need to disarm him in order to beat him.”
“Greater men have tried to disarm me and failed. Stop stalling, woman. We’re due to leave as soon as Haakon returns from his morning run, and he has the appalling tendency to complete five miles in just over half an hour. It’s sickening.”
“The only time I run is when something monstrous is chasing me. And even then, I’d prefer to fight it.”
“A woman after my own heart.”
“Merely a woman who knows her leather corset isn’t that good at defying gravity.”
His gaze strayed to her breasts. Fair enough. “Now I know you’re definitely trying to distract me.”
She tossed a tidbit to the merlin—he didn’t want to know precisely what it was but he could see a flash of fur—and then lifted her wrist. The merlin flung itself into the air and then soared into the trees, its banded wingspan almost as wide as his arm was long. Bryn d
rew her sword with a dangerous smile. “Be on your guard then. Or what little guard you have. Your defenses are shit.”
“Ah, love, you’ve got the sweetest mouth I’ve ever heard.” Tormund grinned, drawing his axe and slipping his arm through the loop on the small shield he sometimes carried. “If you can get past my shield, I’ll concede.”
Bryn circled him. “Concede what?”
“That you are the greater warrior.”
“Oh, no,” she told him. “I already know that. If I win, then I want more.”
Interesting. “What did you have in mind?”
Her eyes narrowed on him, but he pointed the axe at her. “Not the beard. The beard stays.”
Bryn’s answering smile was completely wolfish. “You should never tell me your weaknesses. Now I know exactly where to strike.”
She suddenly swung the sword at him, and Tormund met it with a clash of the shield. Steel shrieked on steel, and then Bryn backed away with a devilish twinkle in her eyes.
She really was excited to do this.
An odd way of courting, but oh well….
“Is it going to burst into flame again?” he asked.
“Why? Scared of fire, big man?”
“No.” He hefted his axe. “But I happen to quite like my beard, and I’m starting to wonder whether you do.”
It startled a laugh from her. “I hate beards. But yours is safe.”
“Hate beards?” he demanded in mock horror. “I thought you a sane woman.”
“They’re prickly, and they itch.” As soon as she said the words, he saw her eyes widen as if she realized the trap she’d just walked into.
“Were you planning on getting amorous with my beard?”
“I am planning nothing with your beard. Your beard looks like the backside of a bear.”
“I think you’re thinking about my beard a lot,” he told her. “You’ve brought it up again.”
“I didn’t bring it up! You—”
“All I mentioned was my fondness for it. You’re the one who took it beyond a mention.”
Bryn closed her eyes, both hands locking around the hilt of her sword as she took a deep breath. She exhaled loudly. “Has anyone ever told you how irritating you are?”
“Frequently. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are when you’re angry?”
That earned another fierce glare. “Nobody has ever dared. Not while I’ve got a sword in my hand.”
He grinned. “Your eyes spit sparks and your lips are practically kissable.”
Bryn advanced upon him. “You know, I was planning to be kind this morning, but I think I’m going to enjoy this. I know what I want if I win, Tormund.”
It wasn’t going to be a kiss.
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not shaving the beard.”
“Oh, yes, you are.”
“If my beard becomes a bartering chip, then you’re going to have to offer something good in exchange.”
“A kiss, no doubt.”
Too easy. “Sweetheart, when I want a kiss from a girl, I don’t need to beg or barter for one. No. She’ll be the one begging. I want a secret.”
Bryn looked like she’d bitten into something sour. “A secret?”
“Something you’ve never told anyone before.”
“I think I’d prefer the kiss,” she said with some disgust. “I don’t share secrets.”
“You keep to yourself,” he pointed out. “You prefer to drink alone. And heaven help the poor lad who looks at you twice. You’re starting to engage my curiosity, my lady fair.”
“You’ve looked at me more than twice and still seem to be pestering me. And lady fair?”
A shrug. “I’m still trying to come up with a pet name for you. And you haven’t scared me away. I have a stubborn constitution.”
“Yet,” she said.
Ever.
“And if you start calling me ‘my lady fair’ you might want to start sleeping with a knife under your pillow.”
“Haven’t you realized, love? I don’t scare very easily. And are you planning to sneak into my blankets of a night? Be careful, Bryn. You might wake the Beast.” He waggled his eyebrows and tipped his chin downward.
“Ugh.” She launched forward, striking for his right side this time. “I swear to the gods that you might just be the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. You named your cock?”
He danced back, sweeping the blow aside with the axe. “I’ll take it that means you agree. The beard for a secret. And why not give it a name? It’s virtually its own entity.”
“You’ve given me good incentive not to lose. Have you ever used a sword before?” she asked as she hammered a set of blows at him that made his forearm vibrate.
Hell, she was strong.
“Yes, though I prefer an axe,” he said breathlessly. “I’m told I swing a sword like a meat cleaver.”
Bryn’s eyes never shifted off his stance. “Haakon?”
“Haakon,” he confirmed and then held his arms wide. “Are you going to attack? I’m tired of this dancing around, woman.”
This time, the smile that lit her eyes was real. “I think Haakon’s right. You have a death wish.”
And then she lunged forward, impossibly fast.
It was all he could do to keep her off him. And though they’d promised to spar, he heard the whine of steel as he ducked beneath a blow that could have taken his head from his shoulders.
Tormund backed away. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Bryn sank down into a wary stance. “Haven’t you realized yet? I’m not very nice, Tormund. Nice is what the world wants its women to be, and invariably it then sets their world on fire. Fuck nice. This way I get to be the one with the flint and tinder.”
Her sword moved forward again, but he recognized the way she held back, and sure enough, she riposted back the other way, spinning and hammering a kick toward his head.
Tormund swung the shield up, and the vibration through the steel made his ears ring. He lowered the shield. “Predictable.”
Bryn gave him a dangerous smile and started to run at him.
He swung the axe to block the blow he thought was going to come, but she hit the ground, sliding between his legs. At the last second he leaped out the way, the sword narrowly missing parts he held with a great deal of fondness.
“Not. Nice!” This time he stabbed a finger toward her. “You almost split my trousers.”
“Almost,” she said with a snort, hurtling to her feet. “There was no almost about it.”
He took a step toward her, and that was when he felt his trousers gape. Air rushed into parts unmentionable. Tormund looked down.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “The important bits are still there.”
Mother of dragons. He growled under his breath. “No more playing.”
“Who was playing?” she taunted. “Let’s start this lesson.”
The dance of weapons brought them body-to-body, his shoulder slamming into hers. Bryn huffed, dancing back, and then she was cutting to the side, the edge of the blade dangerously close to his lower abdomen.
Tormund jammed his axe between them just in time.
“First mistake,” she whispered, looking into his eyes. “Don’t ever let me in under your guard. Your proficiency with an axe relies upon the ability to swing it. Reach is your strength. Close range is mine.”
Somehow he found the tip of her sword between his legs, pausing at the juncture of his thighs.
Tormund froze, lifting onto his toes.
But she gave him a dangerous grin and then danced away, allowing him the chance to breathe easily.
“I’m starting to reconsider my first impression of you,” he growled.
“Oh, and what was that?”
“I thought to myself, here’s a gorgeous woman who can slay draugr and has the sweetest smile when she’s not plotting to kill someone. I’d best marry her and make sure she’s mine.”
“And now?”
“Now I realize tha
t smile is pure evil, and you are the devil incarnate.”
“A good thing you discovered that before it was too late.”
She swung low, but he met the blow with the axe and whirled, slamming his shield into her side.
“Too late?” he asked, breathing hard as she recovered.
“Before you married me.”
Tormund shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart. What made you think I’d reconsidered that part of the proposition?”
Bryn attacked again. He shoved her back with the shield and pure, brute strength, and saw fury light her eyes when she realized it.
“Pure, common sense,” she growled, hammering at him.
Axe, shield, axe…. He met each blow, driving her back.
“No one ever thought I owned much sense, Bryn. I love hard, I laugh frequently, and I never think of the risks. Life is meant to be lived. A heart is meant to be given.” When her sword hit the shield, he slammed her back, ramming her into the tavern wall, where she was pinned behind the shield. Her heated breath licked over his lips, and Tormund leaned close enough to kiss her. “Even if you break my heart, it will be worth it for the sheer glory of every moment we share.”
Bryn froze, strands of red-gold hair falling into her eyes.
“You’re a fool,” she whispered.
He gave into temptation and kissed her. Hard.
A soft gasp escaped her and he tasted her breath on his tongue. Those lips were just as soft as they looked, and twice as tempting. And there was a moment where she wilted into him, kissing him back.
But he felt her begin to shift, and twisted his hips to the side as her knee drove up into his thigh.
Backing away with a laugh, he gave her a wink. “Not nice, Bryn. Not nice. But I think I’m working out how to disarm you.”
She wiped her mouth, and glory to the gods, she looked furiously roused. “You son of a bitch. You reckless”—she slammed the sword at his shield, not even bothering to strike at him—“foolish”—another ringing blow—“bastard.”
“Was it the kiss?” he dared ask, the second her sword gave him the chance to breathe. “Or the fact I pinned you?”
