by Connie Mason
She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “No, I mean just now. Did you hear me say you acquired a daughter?”
“Ja. And?”
She swallowed hard, hope tightening her throat. “You agree that we should keep Linnea?”
He chuckled. “Katla, I knew it would be so from the first time I saw you holding her. I could separate a bear cub from its mother with less risk than I could part that little girl from you.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. Linnea would rest secure within the circle of two she and Brandr made together. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me. Thank the god who dropped her in your lap,” he said. “I know you want children, Katla. I’ve seen the wanting in you, sharper than any hunger.” His mouth twitched in a smile. “And it’ll be my pleasure to try to give them to you.” Then he rose on one elbow and looked down at her in all seriousness. “But if I can’t, at least we’ll have a daughter together.”
Her chest swelled with tenderness. She palmed his cheek. “Have I told you that I love you, Brandr Ulfson?”
He shook his head and then turned it to press a soft kiss on the center of her palm.
“Well, I do.”
“I’d love to give you opportunity to prove it, but I guess we’ll have to wait a few days for that.” He lay back down and hugged her tight.
This time she raised herself on an elbow to look down at him. Before her wedding, the women of her steading had been more than free with advice on how to satisfy a man. “Think you I cannot please you, even now, and without removing a stitch of my clothing?”
His jaw sagged open, and she cupped his chin to close it.
“Watch and learn.”
***
Brandr’s arms were outstretched as she’d instructed, and he lay spread-eagle in the middle of the sumptuous bed. Katla had suggested binding him at the wrists and ankles, since the bed was equipped with such lovely stout posts, but he’d given her his word he wouldn’t move unless she gave him leave. So she’d let him remain unbound.
He was beginning to regret his promise. He’d never wanted to move more in his life.
“Close your eyes,” she whispered.
He obeyed.
Her kid-soled slippers scuffed across the floor. Once she was beside the bed, she leaned to whisper directly into his ear, her lips and tongue moist on his lobe.
“Do not come till I tell you.”
He peered from under his lashes. It wasn’t exactly a violation of his oath. He still hadn’t moved. Much.
As she bent over him, her gown hung slack, giving him a glimpse of her alabaster breasts. The soft hollow between them beckoned him into its soft shadow, but he’d promised to lie still. So his hands only ached to hold her while his cock throbbed.
“Why don’t you want me to move?” he asked, still keeping his eyes closed.
“We ever want what we can’t have.” A soft palm rested on his knee, and his thigh muscles tightened. “I tell you not to move, so you’ll want to all the more.”
The hand moved over his thigh, skimming lightly. He nearly groaned aloud when she skipped over his groin and splayed her fingers on his chest instead. She leaned down, licked one of his brown nipples, and then blew across it, setting all the wiry hairs whorled around it on end.
“Keep your eyes closed,” she cautioned.
“Why? I love to look at you.”
“If your eyes are blind, your other senses are stronger,” she explained, sliding her hand across his belly to circle his groin with maddening nearness.
Along with heightened awareness of her touch, Brandr wallowed in her unique scent, all cedar and fresh linen and woman. His Katla.
Her fingertips teased the small hairs on his scrotum. “Careful, Brandr. You’ll use up all the oil in the lamp if you don’t turn down the fire.”
His eyes popped open and, sure enough, the lamp was flaring so hot it was a wonder it didn’t erupt in an explosion of boiling oil. With effort, he ordered the flame down in his mind, and it obeyed.
“I need to keep my eyes open, unless you want that to happen again.”
“As you wish.” She unbraided her dark hair and shook it out till it fell like dark rain over her shoulders and down her back.
“I love your hair,” he said.
“I know,” she said with a feline smile.
She kneaded his balls, gently rolling his testes between her thumbs and forefingers. His cock arched upward in pleasurable agony.
“What else do you love?”
You. He couldn’t seem to make his mouth work, so he only thought it.
She laughed. “I love you too.”
Then she bent over him, and her hair cascaded around his cock, softer than selkie fur on his skin. Her warm breath streamed across him, curling around his aching loins.
Oh gods, is she going to…?
He fisted the linens, desperate to keep his promise not to move. Every muscle in his body went as hard as iron. Bound by his oath, he was helpless.
She ran the tip of her tongue along his length from base to swollen head. His eyes rolled back, rendering him passion-blind.
Take me in.
Then to his utter amazement, she did.
His whole world was suddenly warm and wet and velvety soft. She engulfed him, drenched him, rained kisses on him. She sucked. Her tongue massaged him.
Here’s a tongue-lashing I’ll never mind.
She giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and licked him while she met his gaze. “Not a thing.”
He warred against the downward pull of his groin.
The sight of his beautiful wife bent over him with his cock slipping in and out of her lips was almost more than he could bear. Pressure rose in his shaft. He fought to keep from spewing his seed in her mouth.
“Do not come until I tell you,” she’d said.
Why did she think it was that easy?
She took in as much of him as she could and began fondling his balls again. In. Out. Her wet lips brushed the sensitive spot near the head with each pass with just the right amount of pressure to send him into ecstatic torment.
Was this the vengeance she meant to wreak on him from the beginning? To make him want her beyond bearing while she denied him release?
A pinprick of pain stabbed the base of his skull.
“Brandr.”
Her mouth never left his cock. How had she said his name?
“Brandr, my love.”
There it was again, echoing sure and sweet in his head.
“Katla?”
He heard her laughter, giddy, ecstatic laughter, but not with his ears. The sound danced through his mind. Joyful. Triumphant.
So she wasn’t imagining it when she said she could hear his thoughts, because now he was hearing hers. If they were mad, at least they’d tumbled into lunacy together.
“Beloved.” Her soul’s voice caressed his. “Come.”
Chapter 33
Days passed in a peaceful procession. Without the burden of an entire farmstead on her shoulders, Katla’s world constricted to the pleasant little domestic circle of two she and Brandr shared. Linnea flourished in its center, squealing with delight when Brandr dandled her on his knee. Once Katla’s moon subsided, she and Brandr loved each other to exhaustion each night.
Every day they learned more of what it meant to share inn matki munr. With Dalla’s help, they practiced sending their thoughts to each other and, just as importantly, according to the old woman, learned to erect a wall in their minds when one was warranted.
“Everyone needs a private center for their soul that’s all their own,” she told them.
Katla was happy, happy as she’d never been
in her entire life. Yet in quiet moments, she feared this happiness. It was too much. Too glorious.
Too fragile.
Like Frankish glass, it could all shatter in a moment. After having so much, the loss of it would be crueler than never having had such joy at all.
***
Brandr sat in council with his friends after Arn retired to his chamber, spent from the exertion of walking from his bed to his throne and back. So long as Brandr confined the attendance in his secret meetings to just his friends, Arn would have no idea his brother was acting in his stead on behalf of the jarldom.
“We could wait for the return of the king,” Harald suggested.
“Olav is in Ireland,” Brandr said. “He’s so busy expanding his boundaries, who knows when he’ll return to the main bulk of his kingdom? The defense of Hardanger Fjord is up to us.”
In the end, it was decided that Harald, Ragnar, Torvald, and Torsten would visit nearby jarls in the fjord with warnings about the return of Bloodaxe. Brandr insisted on sending a generous gift of silver to his potential allies from his portion of the cache the men brought back from Byzantium.
“Wealth makes itself friends,” he said. “And I fear we’ll need them.”
The emissaries from Jondal would shore up alliances and make sure the signal-fire system was in place and manned at all hours. Then in a week, they were to meet back in Jondal to report their progress.
“What are you and Orlin going to do?” Harald wanted to know.
“When we were in Miklagaard, you know I served aboard the emperor’s dromond for a few months,” Brandr said. “What I didn’t tell you is that while I was there, I learned the secret of Greek fire.”
Ragnar’s eyes went wide, and he made the sign against evil with one hand, close along his side where he must have thought Brandr wouldn’t see. “A chancy weapon.”
“It can be,” Brandr admitted. “Without a fire mage to control the flames, it’s not unusual for the blaze to turn back on the ship that first releases it.”
Fire at sea was a sailor’s worst nightmare. The horror of it was part of what made the Byzantine weapon so universally feared.
“We’ve never used such a thing here in the North,” Harald said doubtfully. “Give me a double-headed axe and let me take my chances with the Choosers of the Slain.”
“That supposes a battle with dirt beneath your feet,” Brandr said. “Wouldn’t you rather stop invaders before they reach our land, far from our women and children?”
“So far you’re the only one among us who’s shackled with a woman and child.” Harald crossed his arms over his chest and frowned with fierceness. Then his frown faded. “Oh, I might as well admit it. I hate it when you’re right all the time. But are you sure you’re right this time? All you’re going on is the word of a few sheep molesters.”
“And the word of Dalla the Deep-Minded,” Brandr said. “Don’t forget that. She recognized the figure of the goddess Tryggr carried, and said it was the embodiment of a spirit from ancient times, brutal times. Dalla says the Bloodaxe is bringing the Old Ones with him. And worship of those spirits calls to the worst of men. We can expect no quarter.”
Brandr looked around the circle of faces and saw grim acceptance on each one. “So Orlin and I will find the material necessary to make Greek fire. I’ve already given the smith the design needed to fashion the drums that will store the ingredients separately until we wish to combine them and funnel the flames out a nozzle. We need a weapon as fierce as our foes. It’s our best chance to keep this hate from the past away from our shores.”
***
Katla followed Brandr to the wharf the next morning. “You’re sure you must go? You’re jarl in all but name here. You could dispatch someone else to gather what you need. There’s no question you’d be obeyed.”
“Whom would I send?” Brandr asked. “It would mean giving the secret of our weapon to another soul, and you know as well as I that a secret between two can be kept only if one of them is dead.”
“Yet you and I hold all each other’s secrets,” she Sent to him.
He swung her into his arms for a deep kiss. “And I’d have it no other way, love.”
A thrill shivered over her whole body, as though he’d stroked her most sensitive spot. Katla reveled in the way Brandr could hear her thoughts now. It was still a struggle to keep her mind open to him. Being closed off was a long-standing habit for her, but the joy of hearing his deep bass reverberate inside her was worth the effort of opening herself to him.
She gave him another kiss and wrapped her cloak tightly about her form against the stiff breeze coming off the water. Brandr joined Orlin in the waiting knorr, along with six sturdy oarsmen should the wind prove unfavorable. Brandr took his place at the tiller and ordered the sail set.
“At least we’ll have a chance to see how far we can Send our thoughts.” His rumbling timbre lifted her lips in a smile as the vessel eased away from the dock.
“I must hear from you every day,” she Sent back.
“Without fail. I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” His silent internal laughter made her chest vibrate pleasantly.
“If I’m not back in a week—” he began.
“You’ll be back,” she interrupted with more optimism than she felt.
He lifted a hand in farewell.
Her heart swelled. Inn matki munr was more than she’d ever dreamed it could be. They’d been given so much. Mortals who revel in this much joy were right to worry that the gods might take offense. Even though she ached to hear more from Brandr, she erected a small wall in her mind, and behind it, she tucked her fear.
She had much to lose.
Katla watched from the end of the wharf until the square sail of Brandr’s vessel disappeared completely from her sight.
***
Four days later, Katla and Hilde were seated at the large looms by the open jarlhof door. Drawing the weft through the warp of the growing length of cloth was a soothing, mind-numbing occupation. Linnea was swaddled in a small cradle beside Katla’s loom. The babe seemed fascinated by the dangling loom stones along the bottom. Hilde’s quiet companionship was a balm for Katla’s worry for Brandr.
If only he was home safe, Katla would be perfectly at peace. According to the thoughts he’d Sent her, she knew he lacked only one element for fashioning his strange southern weapon.
“Oh, my lady!” With her child strapped to her chest in a sling, Una came running up the hill toward the jarlhof.
“What is it?” Katla rose.
“’Tis your brother. He’s come.”
Guilt prickling her soul, Katla left Linnea in Hilde’s care and ran down the long hill toward the wharf. She had been so wrapped up in Brandr and her new daughter, she’d barely spared a thought for the folk on Tysnes Island. Halfway down the slope, she found Finn struggling up it, supporting Inga, who leaned heavily on him. Their clothes were covered with soot and filth, and Inga’s face was pale and haggard.
“Finn. What’s happened?”
“Water first, Katla. We’ve been two days without.” Finn’s voice was a rasping shadow of its usual boom.
“Of course.” She came along the other side of Inga and lifted the woman’s arm over her shoulder. Inga was barefoot, and her toenails were cracked and bleeding.
To conserve Finn’s energy, they climbed the rest of the way to the jarlhof without another word. As they drew near, Katla shouted out for assistance. One of Arn’s sturdy retainers met them. He scooped Inga into his arms and carried her the rest of the way.
“Hilde, rouse Arn,” Katla said. “Prepare him to meet with my brother after I’ve seen to his food and drink. I suspect his is a tale that will bear only one telling.”
Finn tossed her a weary, grateful look and nodded.
Katla served the
m draughts of cool spring water and fresh milk while she warmed portions of last night’s stew. She sliced a couple loaves of barley bread and slathered the pieces with butter and honey. Inga ate sparingly, and when her head began nodding, Katla arranged for her to be shown to one of the empty quarters and put to bed.
Questions tramped on her tongue, but Katla bit them back until Finn pushed back his trencher and swiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“What’s happened, Finn?”
“Better I should tell Brandr.”
“He’s not here, and his brother is gravely ill.” She almost warned Finn not to be shocked at Arn’s appearance, but something in her brother’s eyes told her he’d seen worse than a leper in the past few days. “Come. Let me take you to the jarl.”
Katla hadn’t seen Arn since the night of Brandr’s welcome-home night meal. His disease had progressed with devastating swiftness, and his entire face was now hidden by a mask. Only the glittering eyes behind the slits showed there was a living soul within the mass of bandages on the jarl’s carved judgment seat.
Dalla and Hilde flanked him on the dais.
“Speak, brother of our sister,” Hilde said. “And the jarl of Jondal will give you ear.”
Finn straightened his spine. “Four days ago, our steading on Tysnes was set upon by a fleet of five dragonships, and we were overrun. The force was led by Albrikt Gormson.” Finn cast a grim, apologetic glance at Katla. “I give you my word I had no idea what he was planning when he came to us, asking for your hand.”
“Never mind, Finn,” Katla said quietly. “What’s done is done.”
“The next day, another twenty ships joined his in our sheltered cove. These ships and crews owe allegiance to Malvar Bloodaxe of Hebrides, heir of Eric Bloodaxe and pretender to the throne. He ordered the taking of Tysnes as a staging ground for his assault on Hardanger Fjord.”
“Where is this Bloodaxe now?” Arn’s voice was muffled but understandable.
“On Tysnes, waiting for more of his pledgemen.”
