by Jill Monroe
“My lady. I mean a lady.”
The woman laughed, flashing him a hearty smile. “I reckon if you give her something I’ve created, she’ll be your lady. I make the best soaps in three realms.” She popped the lid off a glass container and held it under his nose.
He breathed in soft vanilla with a hint of erotic spice. This was what Breena should smell like. Not manly chestnut. “I’ll take it. And the shampoo,” he told her.
He continued to make his way through the stall, listening to the snippets of conversation, hoping to glean information without having to ask for it. He stopped when he spotted a beautiful green cloak. Breena’s eyes turned that exact shade of sage when he kissed her. Osborn suppressed an inward groan. He had to have that, too. He pointed to the cloak of his choice.
“Excellent. My wife just finished this yesterday.”
A short woman with a toddler on her hip joined them from behind a privacy curtain. She fingered the material and grinned up at Osborn. “I almost didn’t want to give this one up, it’s so beautiful. She’s a lucky lady. But have you seen the matching gown?”
Osborn shook his head, quickly realizing he was over his head. Sword—yes. Bow and arrow—no problem. Dresses…
“It will leave her arms bare, but with these gold bands, she can cinch the cloak to the dress and pull it around her shoulders if she gets chilled.”
And when the woman laid the gown before him, he knew Breena must have it, too. The old pants and shirt didn’t do her beauty justice. And although he didn’t mind seeing the material stretch across the rounded curves of her ass, this gown suited her far more. In a few moments, the couple had the garments wrapped and Osborn continued on his way.
A gold armband in a stall a few paces down the aisle caught his attention. He didn’t know if Breena wore such jewelry in her old life. The odd timepiece around her neck the only adornment that made it with her to safety. But the armband fit what he knew of her now, and he purchased it, too.
Three packages in hand, Osborn had done nothing he’d set out to do. Obtain information. He backtracked to the first stall where he’d bought the scents. “Have you heard any word of battles?” he asked.
Osborn ground his back teeth. He’d meant to ask about positions for a young woman. Not warfare.
The woman’s face grew alarmed. “Here?”
Osborn shrugged. “Anywhere in the area.”
“You’ll want to be hiring out your sword, I reckon, by the looks of you. You’re a brawny one,” she told him with an inspection up and down.
Osborn shook his head. “No, I’m only checking on…a friend.”
“I haven’t heard of anything, but go to Hagan, the second to the last booth on the left. He sells spices from all over the realms. If a battle is brewing, he’ll know about it.”
Armed with a true purpose and destination, Osborn weaved through the growing crowd toward the spice man. After he questioned Hagan, he’d go about securing safe employment for Breena, and this time he would not be distracted.
“How is the basil?” he asked the salesman after his other customer left.
“The most aromatic you will find. Here,” he said, opening the spice bag.
“Has the price gone up?” Osborn asked, after taking in the pungent, earthen scent of the herb. “I’ve heard there’s been fighting in that realm and the trade routes are blocked.”
The spice man shook his head. “Not with basil. Where you need to be concerned about rising costs is with the olive oil. Elden is under siege, and the oldest trees can be found only in that area. I’d buy all the olive oil you can at the moment, you may not be able to find it later.”
A chill ran through him. His berserkergang wakened. “Elden?”
“No one can get in, and what news that’s coming out is bad. The queen and king dead. The heirs gone, too.”
Something satisfyingly elemental burned in his gut. Elden was finally getting its due. He rued that it wasn’t by his hand. He’d always taste the regret of vengeance not fully satisfied. The berserker in him called for his pelt. Maybe he could brandish the fatal blow and send those cold vamps to their deaths.
Osborn felt lighter than he could ever remember. At least since Elden wreaked havoc and took away most of his life. Now to complete his final task.
BREENA ACHED EVERYWHERE. Even her ears seemed to hurt, and she didn’t know how that was possible. Her shoulders dragged, and it took her longer than usual to make it to her knees and roll up her pallet and shove it out of the way.
The sun shone brightly through the window. Well past their usual practice time. Osborn must have suspected she wouldn’t be much use with a sword today. Especially as he was the one who made her this way.
The bedroom door opened, and Bernt and Torben slunk inside the main room, looking not much better than she felt.
“I don’t want to be an Ursan warrior anymore,” Torben said.
“Yes, you do,” she told him with a smile. “Grab some apples and bread. We can take our breakfast outside. The sunshine will do us some good.”
Once outside, Breena raised her face to the sun, allowing its warm rays to heat her cheeks. She stretched, relieving the tightness of her aching muscles. A blue bird flew over their heads, and she smiled.
“You seem different today,” Bernt remarked. A small frown formed between his brows. “You’re not wanting to leave us, are you?”
It had never really occurred to her that the boys would begin enjoying her in their lives. She’d felt more like an intruder, one who’d broken their furniture and stolen their food. But now she realized they’d miss her when she left, and she’d miss them.
Would their brother?
“I’ll have to go sometime. This isn’t my home.”
“But it could be,” Torben told her. “I saw Osborn clearing out some old furniture and crates out of the storeroom. I think he’s wanting to make it into a bedroom.”
“He doesn’t like you sleeping on the floor.”
The thought of Osborn caring about her comfort, trying to find someplace better for her to sleep, made her heart leap.
“I do like sleeping in front of the fire,” she assured them. “At home, I had a fireplace in my room. And besides, I’m too tired to do anything but just fall down on the floor and go to sleep.”
The boys laughed.
“I like it with you here,” Bernt informed her.
“Osborn does, too,” Torben added. “I can tell.”
“He’s a lot nicer. He doesn’t yell nearly as much.”
Really? Because she thought he yelled a lot. All the time.
“And he finally began our training.”
“He was already a warrior by the time he was our age, I think.” Torben bit his lip. “He doesn’t talk much of what happened to our parents and the rest of our people.”
She squeezed the boys’ shoulders. “I can imagine what he’s suffered. Is still suffering. Remember, he wasn’t much older than you when he took on the responsibility of two little boys. When you lose those you love, it changes you. But every day seems better than the last.”
That was a lie. A comforting adage she so wanted to believe, wanted these boys to believe, but suspected it would never be true. Each day didn’t diminish the hurt, only added more time and distance so that it would be easier to forget.
Avenge.
Breena couldn’t forget. Something inside wouldn’t let her.
The man who was the topic of their conversation entered the clearing. Osborn never failed to make her breath catch. He looked different somehow. Less grim, and with an added resolve. She hoped that didn’t mean more balance practice. He’d tied his hair back, and wore the town clothes from just a few days ago. In fact, he carried several large packages in his massive arms.
“Didn’t know if you crew would make it this morning,” he told them, something similar to a smile curving his lips.
Bernt and Torben quickly scrambled to their feet.
“Ready for more?” h
e asked, but his eyes were squared on her. “Get your swords, and head out to the practice field. I need to talk with Breena.”
The boys raced to get their scabbards and then flew around the corner of the cottage, leaving her alone with Osborn. He carefully placed his packages on a crate that stood next to the front door, and the dream of last night hit her full force. The pain of it. The anguish. Every vivid detail. But mostly the comfort given as she cried.
Osborn had given her that comfort. Wiped her tears. Breena knew that now. He’d soothed the ache in her heart. If only for a few moments.
Avenge.
Only she could not be truly consoled. Not until the need planted in her consciousness had been relieved.
For the first time, Breena felt uncertain around him. Not sure how to act or where to look. Something in their uneasy relationship had changed in the night while she slept. She twisted her hands, then quickly thrust them behind her back.
“I’ve been to the village,” he told her.
“I can see that,” she replied, eyeing the packages.
His eyes narrowed, and his gaze scanned her face, brushed over her every feature. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, a gesture she’d seen often enough now to know something heavy weighed upon him.
“I think I found a place where you can go,” he finally told her, his gaze dropping.
“Go?”
“There’s a woman in the village. She fell last winter and has trouble taking care of her home now. You’d have the entire second floor to yourself, and a little spending money.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You can’t continue to stay here, Breena,” he told her with a shrug. “It’s not right. Not a woman with three men.”
Breena made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat. “Are you actually going to talk to me about appearances? Propriety?”
He tugged loose the rope that held his hair in place, freeing the strands. There was her Osborn. Wild and untamed. “I’m trying to do what’s right for you.”
She marched toward him. Breena wasn’t about to let him get away with making decisions for her. “By sending me away? We had a deal.”
Breena watched him swallow. Then his gaze turned to hers. “You cried last night, Breena. You cried in my arms.” His voice sounded raspy and strained.
A lump formed in her throat. The warrior who’d tried not to care about her worried for her. A lot.
“This isn’t good for you. You’re not meant for this life.”
And she was not meant for him, he was saying.
“I don’t want to see you grow cynical and so consumed with vengeance nothing will ever be right for you again.”
“I’m consumed with vengeance now.”
“And it will eat away at you until there’s nothing left but hate. I don’t want you to end up like…me.”
Breena shook her head. “I can’t turn it off. My parents are dead. I saw them die. There was so much blood.” She covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t even get to bury their bodies. Something calls out to me. I can’t let it go.”
“How do you know this? Your memory—”
“My memory came back,” she interrupted.
SHE MET HIS GAZE, AND WHAT he saw in those green depths made him pause. Made his breath hold and his chest constrict.
“Last night I put myself in a dreamhaze. I went back to the night my parents…” She swallowed. “I went back to the night my parents died. I saw the blood. Their blood. The wounds to their bodies.”
Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes filled with tears he knew she fought not to shed. “So you see, I do know the pain of losing something. Someone.”
He understood that pain. Lived it.
“I know that I can’t do anything with my life until I somehow fix this. Vindicate the memory of my family. Keep helping me, Osborn. Please,” she urged.
Osborn had left the village with plans and so much anticipation. He wanted Breena to follow a different path than the one he’d followed all his life. He was tired. Tired of his own pain and regret and thirst for a revenge he’d had to put off to raise his brothers. The weariness seeped down to his bones, and the little emotion he had left inside ached.
He didn’t want Breena to feel this way. To carry the burden of avenging the dead alone. To live what he lived.
He rubbed his hand at the throbbing muscles bunched at the base of his neck. He didn’t understand until this moment how much like him she actually was. She’d always burn with her need to make right what had happened to her family, because he always burned. “I’ll help you.”
Breena squeezed her eyes tight and her shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank you.”
He doubted she’d be thanking him for long.
THE REST OF THE AFTERNOON they spent in training, and Breena didn’t utter one complaint about pains or aches or stiffening muscles. She had survived. She’d convinced Osborn to continue helping her and she was grateful. Her magic had drawn her to the man who’d teach her how to fight who or what had killed her parents.
She’d have to dream her past again. Her body began to shake at the idea of revisiting that night of death, but it was the only way she could find the truth. Would Osborn hold her again tonight?
That evening the boys showed her how they prepared dinner while Osborn closed himself away in the storeroom off the side of the tiny kitchen.
“I can’t believe we’re having to show a girl how to make us dinner,” Bernt grumbled, but it was all in good-natured fun.
“Yes, I thought you would want to cook for us,” Torben added, and they all laughed.
“I’ll just show you how to dance in exchange.”
Two matching horrified expressions crossed their faces.
Osborn opened the door of the storeroom, and stuck his head out. A faint smile crossed his features when he saw her. “Breena, come here.”
There it was. An order for her to move toward him. She’d almost begun to miss them. Almost. But she was too curious about what exactly Osborn had been doing in that tiny space. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and moved toward where Osborn waited.
“I, uh…” he began, and stopped.
Was Osborn nervous? Breena hid a smile and angled her head inside the place Osborn had kept himself so busy. The store area was small to be sure; four of these rooms would fit inside her bedchamber at Elden. The walls stretched bare and there was nothing on the floor except a tiny blue rug, the color of the blue flowers that grew around the cottage. Not the kind a man would choose for himself, but exactly what a man would buy for a woman. Now she knew what had been inside one of those mysterious packages.
“Nothing much will fit in here but a mattress, but it will be private and all yours, Breena. If you want it.”
Osborn’s voice was solemn, and she knew he offered her more than just a tiny space inside his cottage. He was offering a place in his life. She nodded her head. “I do want it.”
“I have something else for you.” There was that smile again. Who knew her berserker warrior was such a gift giver? He came back carrying a small package. She hadn’t noticed this one earlier today. She untied the twine and the rough cloth fell away to reveal two glass bottles containing mysterious liquids.
“It’s shampoo and soap,” he told her.
Breena would have expected cleaning oil for her sword or a new knife, not something so distinctly feminine. She quickly popped off the cork, and inhaled the delicious scent of vanilla and alluring spices.
“Thought you might tire of smelling like a man.”
She replaced the cork, and hugged his gifts tight to her chest. “I can’t wait to use these. Tonight.”
Heat and hunger for her sharpened the features of his face. She lifted up on the tips of her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” And there was a promise in his voice that made her stomach quiver.
After dinner, she raced to the small clear spring n
ot too far from the cabin. It wasn’t the lake, but it was certainly private. A fact she’d announced to all the berserker men earlier. The spring was hers.
She grabbed the washbasin and filled it with the clean spring water warmed by the sun and wet her hair. At home, she’d always used the floral soaps and scents her mother preferred, but what Osborn had chosen suited her infinitely better. She popped the lid and breathed in deeply of the scent he’d purchased for her. The soft sweet smell of the vanilla combined with the zest of faraway places. This was what Osborn liked, and she poured a small amount in her hand, and cleaned her hair. Did he view her as sweet with a touch of spice?
She ran the soap over her breasts, and the tips puckered. Her nipples did the same when Osborn kissed and licked her there. Breena ran the soap over her skin the way he caressed her breasts. She slipped a soapy finger between her thighs, touched where Osborn had kissed with his lips. Licked with his tongue. She gasped as she imagined him doing that again. Of her licking and kissing him.
Breena wanted that again. And more. He’d barred her from his dreams. Would he still?
OSBORN HADN’T MEANT to spy on her bath. He’d only needed to grab more firewood, but then he heard Breena’s gasp. The berserker in him roused, and he raced to ensure her safety. But Breena’s cry wasn’t that of a woman frightened, but of her deep arousal.
How much agony did one man have to endure? He leaned against the trunk of a tree, forcing his body to relax. Minutes passed, and she rounded the corner, stopping when she spotted him. Her cheeks were flushed, her bottom lip fuller. A fine sheen of water filmed her skin, and she wore only a towel held together loosely over her breasts.
Her face reddened further, and he knew. Knew that when she’d gasped earlier, she’d been caressing herself and thinking of him.
He had an answer to his earlier question. Apparently a man had to endure a lot of agony.
“Osborn, the soap you bought for me was…wonderful.”
Her voice was husky, like a woman not yet fulfilled. He imagined her sighing to him in those low tones as he drove into her.
She’s not yours.
