by Connie Mason
“Then I must be glad twice,” she said before she took a long sip of her ale.
Sturlson cocked a wiry gray brow at her. “How is that?”
“Glad that I do not live in this Baghdad and glad not have a jealous husband.”
Otto smiled. “And yet I promise you, fair lady, any man who becomes your husband will be jealous. He could not help it.” He lifted a gnarled knuckle and grazed her cheek with it. “Beauty does that to a man. I’d hoard your loveliness with more care than I lavish on my gold.”
“I don’t think I’d fit around your neck.”
“It would be great fun to find out,” the old man said with a wink.
Brandr’s fingers balled into fists, but he forced himself to unclench them. What did he care if the old goat played the besotted fool over her? Otto Sturlson didn’t know her as Brandr did.
She used men, as she used everything under her control, with no more tender feelings than if they were one of her sheep or oxen.
“Have you ever heard the tale of Freya and the Brisingamen necklace?” Otto asked.
“Who has not?”
“I asked only because I see that you wear amber, the goddess’s tears,” Otto said. “Are you a devotee of the love goddess?”
“Not especially, though I’ve never disrespected her,” Katla said with the caution any sensible person would show. It was never wise to be dismissive about any of the gods. “Freya had plenty to weep about.”
True words. But women who intend to wed for wealth, bed for sport, and toss men away like used rags should stick to lies. Freya would have been better served by a lie when her husband wanted to know how she acquired her new necklace.
“Ja, but Freya was so sorely tempted by the Brisingamen necklace, we cannot blame her,” Otto said.
According to legend, Freya wanted the fabulous jewelry so badly she was willing to submit to the four hideously ugly dwarves in four nights of unholy passion to possess the gem-studded finery.
“The old stories tell us she never removes the necklace to this day. She must have thought it worth the cost at the time,” Otto said.
“But the cost was higher than she expected, once her husband discovered the bargain she struck to acquire it,” Katla reminded him. Freya’s husband abandoned her forever. Amber was said to be evidence of her sorrow, and wearing it honored her grief over the loss of her mate. Katla touched the amber drops embedded in one of her brooches. “Freya will never stop weeping for her lost love.”
Otto seemed to consider this for a moment. “I don’t suppose your brothers told you, but I possess far more wealth than I’m wearing. I’ve a couple caches of silver secreted about, each of them big as a head of cabbage. I will not be able to spend it all in the years left to me. That’s why I’m looking for a young wife.”
The hair on Brandr’s neck bristled. Did Katla want a pile of silver so badly she’d take Otto Sturlson to her bed?
If coin was all Katla was interested in, Brandr was certain his share of the chest of silver his friends had sailed on to Jondal with would weigh out to be more than Sturlson’s worth. Brandr was a wealthy man too.
Unfortunately, he wore iron around his neck instead of gold, so he was unable to claim his share of the wealth at the moment. Her words echoed in his ear.
Brandr Ulfson is my thrall. Nothing more.
“Since you brought up the matter of the wealth you wear, I have to admit it seems a bit excessive,” Katla said between dainty bites of pork and barley bread. “More than most men might dare.”
“Ja, I ring my neck with gold to tempt some young fellow to try to take it from me.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
Sturlson shrugged. “I’m an old man, Katla. You think I do not know it? I don’t want to end my days wallowing in my own piss. Why should I wait for a straw death?”
The prospect of dying in bed of extreme age or disease was an end any man worth the name would shrink from. Inviting a fight was an ingenious way to avoid it.
Otto Sturlson’s cleverness ticked up a notch in Brandr’s estimation.
“Has anyone ever tried to take your gold?” Katla asked.
“Ja, but so far, I have kept my head and my wealth.” He fingered one of the gold chains at his throat. “It does me good to know I still deserve them.”
She laughed lightly at his wit.
“Of course, a beautiful young wife can be the death of an old man too.” Otto leaned toward Katla with a leer. “That kind of a straw death I wouldn’t mind at all.”
Even though Brandr knew he was nothing to Katla but a means to scratch an itch, he narrowly resisted offering to help Sturlson avoid dying in bed.
He knew Katla wouldn’t appreciate it. Thralls should be seen but not heard.
Chapter 16
Malvar Bloodaxe sniffed the wind that was blowing clear and briny from the narrow sea. The voices of the Old Ones muttered in lugubrious whispers, but he pushed them to a small corner of his mind.
The time wasn’t quite right yet.
He would have one chance, one cast of the die to make his plan work. If he lost patience and threw too soon, he might wreck all.
He climbed to the top of the grassy howe and faced East. From Orkney, it wasn’t so far a sail to his ultimate goal. With half-closed eyes, he fancied he could see the broad, gaping entrance to Hardanger Fjord. Like a whore with her legs wide spread, the rich land beckoned him to come and claim it.
A flash of the vision he’d had last night seared his mind once more. He could smell the blood and smoke of carnage, hear the screams of the dying.
The Old Ones whimpered softly, their sighs half-covered by the waving sibilance of the tall grass. It had been so long since freshly spilled blood had nourished the earth, since fire had darkened the sky, since death had ridden on the water with the cold breath of Hel in its sails.
The world has become too civilized, Malvar thought with a curl of his lip. The ancient spirits were starving for lack of a proper sacrifice.
“Soon,” he promised the whisperers.
At least the Old Ones there on Orkney had been given a taste of fresh blood, albeit in droplets instead of the rivers of gore they craved. They’d been praised in daily shrieks of pain, but Malvar knew it was never enough for them. They were like a ram in rut who can’t find a ewe. An empty belly with no meal in sight. A barren womb.
The Old Ones’ need was never completely filled.
But Malvar’s work was about to bring forth fruit. Ulf Skallagrimsson was near to cracking. Malvar had enjoyed toying with him. The jarl’s resistance to pain was impressive but not perfect. Ulf wailed like a woman when properly motivated.
Now it was time to raise the stakes.
This morning Malvar would threaten to take his manhood. A man will say anything to save that bit of skin. Malvar had avoided resorting to it, because the real trick would be in assuring himself that what Ulf said to save his balls was true.
Each day he hoped for a message from Gormson. He desperately needed that staging area on Tysnes to launch his campaign of cleansing death into the fjord.
If his ally couldn’t marry into that sweet, sheltered cove, then by the ancient powers, he’d damn well better find another way to claim it.
Chapter 17
Otto Sturlson stayed on for another two days. Unlike Gormson, he expressed little interest in the running of Katla’s steading. He didn’t even ask about the extent of her holding, much less demand a thorough tour.
He seemed more intent on Katla herself.
When he saw she wasn’t about to abandon her duties to entertain him exclusively, he made himself marginally useful by directing the work of a group of men who were laboring to remove stones from an arable field. It seemed the ground sprouted a fresh crop each spring, and had to be cleare
d before Katla would risk the sharp edge of her plow. Otto showed the men how to stake out the field in sections and work methodically together instead of each trying to cull his own little portion. They finished the work in record time.
But when Sturlson took his leave, Katla refused to give him an answer to his suit. Her brothers had promised her a choice from three possible husbands, and she wasn’t about to shorten the process. Otto thanked her for considering him in a flowery, poetic speech and declared he’d wait at the nearest mead house for her decision.
During the time Otto Sturlson was in residence, Brandr once again slept on the outside of her threshold without being asked. Katla hadn’t sensed Otto was likely to force himself on her, but it pleased her that Brandr set himself to guard her, in any case.
What didn’t please her was how distant he seemed. Brandr was smiling and affable as always with everyone else. He joked with the men, and while they’d normally ignore a thrall, the workers on her farm seemed to forget Brandr wore the iron collar. Katla had smiled when he tugged the braids of the little goose girl till she colored with delighted embarrassment. Brandr was helpful and well-spoken with the women, thoroughly ignoring the longing looks that followed him as he moved about his chores.
Discretion was all well and good, but she’d have thought the man might spare her at least one secret smile or telling glance over the past few days.
On the night Otto Sturlson took his leave, Katla retired to her chamber early and dressed in her finest night shift. It had a row of cording at the neck shot through with silver thread. She brushed out her braids and let her dark hair fall in shining waves past her waist.
Brandr should like that.
Her insides frisked about like a spring lamb in anticipation. Any moment he’d come, and then she’d fall into that delicious dream with him again. That place where everything else faded away and only the beating of their hearts marked the passage of time.
She settled into her bed to wait for him to slip out of the main room and join her. Brandr was being cautious, waiting for a time when he wouldn’t be missed.
Finn ought to appreciate the man’s newly developed sense of propriety.
The singing and laughing after night meal died away as the household settled for sleep. No one touched her door latch. Her lamp guttered and went out. The moon appeared in the smoke hole overhead, and still Brandr didn’t come.
Her chest ached.
She closed her eyes and tried to find sleep, but that warm blanket of forgetfulness fled from her.
Finally, she climbed from her bed and padded to the door. She opened it a pinch and saw Brandr’s form across the threshold as always.
But he wasn’t asleep either. He raised himself on his elbow and glared up at her through the crack in the door.
She opened the door farther and motioned for him to come in.
His face set like granite, he rose to do her bidding.
Once the door was latched behind him, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want, princess?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Someone will hear you.”
“You actually care if someone does? I’m impressed.” His hard glare said otherwise.
“Of course I do. I’m being courted, after all. Finn has me thinking I should behave a bit more primly about having you in my chamber by night.”
He merely looked at her, making no move to come to her as she’d hoped. She fished about for a reason to have called him in other than the dull ache between her legs.
“You had plenty to say about Albrikt Gormson,” she said, “so let’s hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“Don’t you have an opinion about Otto Sturlson?”
“I wasn’t aware the opinion of a thrall was of much value to you,” he said stonily.
“Let us pretend that it is.” She crossed her arms over her chest in an echo of his posture.
He shrugged. “The man can talk the stars from the sky and can evidently still handle a blade. I’d fight by his side in a pinch.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean about his qualities as a possible husband for me.”
“How would I know about that? I never visited the bath house when he was there. I can’t tell you a thing about the length of his cock.”
Her jaw dropped. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I was wondering the same thing about you.”
“Me?”
“Ja, why are you doing this? You play at being available to wed. Yet you call me in here hoping I’ll rut you.”
He took a step toward her, and her heart rate hitched up several notches. That was exactly what she’d hoped.
“Isn’t that why you came?” she asked.
He cast his eyes down. “I came because you commanded. I’m your thrall. Your property. Your…thing.”
“Every time we’ve been alone, all you’ve tried to do is bed me,” she said.
This time when he raised his gaze to her, he looked at her with the hard eyes of a stranger.
“Why are you acting now as if it’s not something you want?” she asked.
“Because I’ve realized something about you, princess,” Brandr said through clenched teeth. “You don’t give a damn about anyone.”
“That’s not true.” Everything she did was for the good of her people. Her whole life was dedicated to the well-being of others.
And she cared about Brandr, even though her heart condemned her as a weak-willed, light-skirt for it. She’d accepted him as her thrall to wreak vengeance for Osvald.
She didn’t feel the least vengeful now.
Fast as thought, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her. He fisted a handful of her hair and forced her to look up at him.
“Then tell me you need me, Katla. Tell me it means something to you when I join my body to yours.”
She needed him like she needed her next breath. The admission danced on her tongue, but she held back. If he knew she needed him, he’d have the power to hurt her.
Instead, she’d let her body speak for her. She pressed herself against his hard length and raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. His lips twitched under her mouth, but he didn’t respond.
“Kiss me, Brandr.”
His tongue dove between her teeth almost before the words passed her lips. His kiss seared her with its heat, with the promise of unbridled passion. She was taken by surprise at the suddenness and intensity of the longing he woke in her.
Then just as suddenly, he stopped kissing her and stepped back, arms at his sides.
She frowned at him in puzzlement. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, princess. You ordered me to kiss you, and I have done so.”
“And that’s all?”
“If you wanted a different sort of kiss, or a longer one, you should have told me.”
His eyes were so cold they froze her heart. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”
“A thrall has no wants but his owner’s wishes,” he said icily. “I kissed you because you told me to. But be warned. If you order me to bed you, be very specific about your preferences.”
She flinched as if he’d slapped her. “Why are you being so hateful all of a sudden?”
“What do you care if I am? A thrall is of no consequence,” he said with a snarl in his tone. “You may do what you wish with your own, and no one may gainsay you. Least of all, the thrall himself.”
Alarm bells jangled in her mind. His words sounded familiar.
Because they were hers.
“If I were in this chamber as a free man, I’d bear you to bed and lavish every finger-width of your skin with a lover’s touch.”
For the first time since he entered her room, she saw hunger on his features. But the longin
g was quickly replaced by a hard mask of disdain.
“But since you always make sure I know who’s the slave and who’s the master, I’ll wait for your direction.”
Somehow he’d overheard her conversation with Finn. She hadn’t meant those things. Not really. She just wanted to quiet her brother’s needling.
“So tell me what you want, mistress.” He took a step closer. “What would you have me do? Bend you over and rut you like a whore?”
She slapped him.
Cold fury burned in his eyes. If he weren’t her thrall and sworn to obey her, she’d fear him.
“Get out.”
“As you will, mistress.” He gave her the shallowest of bows. “As you will.”
Chapter 18
“Katla!”
She looked up from the rows of peas she was planting to see Einar and another fellow carrying a litter down the sheep track from the upper pasture. A body lay on the evergreen boughs that formed part of the litter. She held a hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare and squinted to try to make out who they were carting down the steep slope.
Haukon’s red hair blazed against the green pine. Katla lifted her skirt and ran.
Brandr came from out of nowhere to fall into step beside her. They hadn’t had a private moment since she threw him out of her chamber, and their public interaction had been limited to orders and curt nods. She was surprised to see him now.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he loped beside her.
“It’s Haukon,” she said between gasping breaths. “He must be hurt.”
When they drew near the conveyance, Katla ordered Einar and the other man to stop. The lad was conscious but white lipped with pain. Haukon cradled one arm, but even so, it was bent at an odd angle.
The bones of his forearm were obviously broken.
“How did this happen?” Katla knelt beside him and fingered the injured limb. His skin was swollen and hot under her touch. Haukon bit his lower lip, but otherwise he fought not to show his agony.
