With a glad cry she took one step and then another. At the last minute, her brother held out his arms.
* * *
Chapter Twenty
« ^
As the shack burned, the flames licking high toward the last of the night, Valbrand led them around to the back, near the face of the cliff, where Gunnolf and Brokk the elder and two other strong men from Asta's village were waiting with the horses. At their feet a row of traitors, Jorund among them, lay bound in the snow.
"It is important work we've done tonight," Gunnolf announced with pride. Svald, as if in thorough agreement, tossed her braided mane and let out a joyful whinny.
Brit turned to the brother she'd found at last. "And now what?"
He smiled. It was a hideous smile—and the second most beautiful she'd ever seen. "We go, with the daylight, all of us together, to the south. There are traitors to bring to justice. And our country to save."
It was exactly what she'd hoped, schemed—and nearly died—to hear. For tonight there was only one more thing that needed settling.
She turned to the man at her other side. "I wonder, could we have a moment … just the two of us, alone?"
* * *
Brit and Eric left the others and went back, hand in hand, around the front of the blazing shack.
They stopped, of one accord, at the place they'd stood before, on the trail, opposite the glowing rectangle of the open front door. They watched the consuming flames, the sparks shooting high into the darkness, bright spots drifting down, winking out into ash.
Eric wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to his side. "The night seems black as ink now." He breathed the words against her blood-matted hair. "Yet dawn will be on us in the wink of Odin's good eye."
Keeping tight in the circle of his strong arm, she turned until she was facing him, sliding her arms around his waist to link at the small of his back. With a long sigh, she leaned fully against him—the best place in the whole world to be—her head on his shoulder, her heart so close to his.
She breathed in the scent of him: smoke and sweat, the blood of their vanquished enemy. "Oh, Eric. All I wanted was to find my brother. And I did—and so much more…"
He caught her chin, tipped it up. She winced—her jaw was way tender, from Hans's deadly attentions. "You've blood in your brows, on your cheeks, in your lashes. And you'll be black-and-blue from ear to ear. And yet, as always, you are so very beautiful." Behind her, the fire roared. The flames danced in his eyes.
"My dad will freak when he sees me."
"The blood will wash off. And the bruises will heal."
"They'd better. I want to be lookin' good when I hand you my wedding sword."
His brows drew together—though he was smiling. "Could this mean…?"
"Oh, yes. It most definitely could."
"And since you have neither been sick, nor fainted—"
"Well, I came pretty close to both, when I was sure we were done for—and then when Hans started punching me. But that was stark terror and a couple of mean right hooks."
"So. You don't carry my child."
"Not if I'm like the rest of the women in my family—and anyway, it doesn't matter. I don't want to marry you because I'm pregnant. I don't want to marry you because it's supposed to be fated. Or because it could strike a telling blow against the enemies we haven't even routed out yet. Oh, no. I want to marry you because—" She sighed, swallowed. Now, where had the words gone?
He waited, knowing she would find them.
And she did. "Because I love you. Because you're the guy I've been waiting for when I didn't even know that I was waiting."
"As I have waited, only for you."
He bent his head. She lifted hers. The kiss was long and so very sweet. It pushed back the night and warmed the snowy mountaintops.
When they moved apart, it was only so he could take the medallion from around his neck and settle it over her head.
"Forever," he said.
"And always," she whispered.
He smoothed the silver chain, pressed the medallion in the place it was meant to be, near her heart. Then he took her hand again and twined his fingers with hers.
They turned to the fire as the shack gave way, collapsing inward with a heated rush. Sparks shot skyward, a million tiny points of hot light that, winking, fell. Hungry red flames licked higher, a moment of false triumph—then faded downward to the rubble with a sound like a surrendering sigh.
And in the east, the sliver of paleness along the rim of the mountains signaled the coming day.
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The Marriage Medallion Page 19
