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‘Either I carry you over my shoulder again, which will aggravate the injury you inflicted on my back, or you walk to where I am staying.’ He reached out and plucked a wilted flower from her hair. ‘We aren’t going to the feast because you look as exhausted as I feel.’
Looking at the flower, she knew how she must appear—not radiant, but bruised and battered, a parody of a bride. Her insides twisted. So much for hoping he might desire her. ‘You have such a way with words.’
‘And you, Valkyrie, have a tendency to want your own way. I know what you are like for disappearing.’
A flash of understanding went through her. He actually thought she had planned on vanishing during the feast! She gritted her teeth. As if she’d play a shabby trick like that. Too many people depended on her.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Kettil has loaned me a house to use for as long as I wish.’
‘Am I to have more lessons in being a woman?’
A flame flickered in his eyes. ‘Only if you require them. But not all lessons are painful.’
Sayrid pressed her lips together. Lessons were generally painful in her experience. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Do.’
Sayrid tried to peer around Hrolf’s bulk. All seemed quiet, but the back of her neck prickled, just like it always did before an attack. It was nonsense. Who would attack them?
Her breath stopped. She hadn’t seen Regin since she ordered him out of the hut before the wedding.
‘Even now, your attention wanders.’ He put an arm about her waist and started to draw her close.
Sayrid tore her eyes away from the shadows as her heart started to beat double time. ‘I was thinking of something…’
‘We have company.’ Hrolf adopted a wary pose. ‘Friends of yours?’
A group of men had gathered in the street. Sayrid recognised her brother’s outline. Sayrid’s stomach plummeted. He’d been busy gathering men to rescue her, when she thought he’d been sulking because of her earlier sharpness. Why did her brother specialize in futile gestures? Particularly when she had everything under control.
‘You left before the feast began, Hrolf Sea-Rider,’ her brother said, stepping forward. ‘And I spy the tracks of tears on my sister’s cheeks.’
Sayrid furiously scrubbed her cheeks. She knew her brother used the ritual words, but even so!
‘If there are any tears, they are tears of joy.’ Hrolf used the ritual reply.
‘We want to know that Sayrid goes willingly. She is not one to insult our jaarl in this fashion—leaving before a feast has begun,’ one of the men shouted.
‘What does Kettil say? Is he insulted?’ Sayrid asked.
‘He sends his regards to the winner of the bout.’
‘No one held a sword to her back when she made her vows,’ Hrolf answered, keeping one hand on her shoulder and preventing her from moving. Sayrid attempted to shrug him off, but his grip tightened. ‘Wedding feasts are for the enjoyment of friends and relations, not for the couple! It is the wedding night they long for.’
One or two guffaws rang out from the crowd. The muscles in Sayrid’s neck relaxed. No blood would be spilt. She would just have to survive the wedding night.
‘You were arguing just now,’ her brother protested, silencing the laughter and the mood instantly turned ugly. ‘The sound of raised voices echoed around the harbour. You will hand my sister over to me. We can protect you, Sayrid, like you protected me all those years ago. I have a debt to repay. I am ready to be the warrior you proclaimed I could be.’
‘I go willingly with Hrolf,’ Sayrid shouted and stamped her foot heavily on the ground to punctuate the point. Her brother was taking idiocy to a new height. She wished he’d consulted her instead of acting. ‘Allow us to pass, brother. You have done your duty as Svear custom requires.’
Regin motioned to his friends and they blocked the street. ‘For your own good, Sayrid. You will thank me later.’
‘We should all return to the feast,’ one of her men said. ‘And lift our horns of mead together.’
Sayrid glanced at Hrolf. Put in those terms, he had to refuse. Her brother had threatened him beyond the bounds of wedding custom. ‘But I’ve no wish to return. Like Hrolf Sea-Rider, I wanted to leave…’ Her cheeks burnt fire. There was no need for Regin to know about her fainting. He’d be even more mother hen–like.
‘I, too, was eager for the night to begin,’ she choked out, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. ‘I demanded to leave and start our private celebrations.’
‘I suggest you heed your lady’s request and treat her with respect,’ Hrolf thundered. ‘I for one wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of her.’
