Page 12 of Lord of Fire and Ice

“All right.” She snapped her fingers, and Brandr turned to look at her. “Son of Ulf, haul up a fresh barrel of water for the cooling room in the bath house.”

“Oh, good. More water to haul. I live to serve, O Merciful and Clean One,” he answered with a smirk and went to do her bidding.

“Insolent dog. I’d beat him if he were my thrall,” Finn said. “Want me to do it for you?”

Katla lifted her skirt and started toward the already steamy bath. “I think he’d like you to try.”

Chapter 4

Her husband had always argued maintaining a bath for their people was an extravagance. It burned too much wood. It encouraged folk to rush through their labor so they could lounge in the communal bath. Osvald had it on good authority that steam weakened the structure of a bath house so much, it would have to be rebuilt every twelve years or so.

But Osvald no longer had a say in the matter, and if the bath house had to be rebuilt, Katla was sure her people would pitch in joyfully. Nothing soothed work-sore muscles, kept folk healthier or smelling sweeter than a regular bath. The bath house was a place to relax, to share a little gossip, to enjoy a respite from labor before the coming night meal.

Even though it was shared by both sexes, Katla allowed no dalliances or lewdness on the stair-stepped seating in the bath. Of course, if couples sized each other up there and then met elsewhere later, that was their own business, but the bath itself was almost as holy as the oak grove at Uppsala.

As they had since Osvald’s death, when Katla entered the bath, the other bathers found reason to leave. She asked Gerte, one of the older women, to bring up a fresh change of clothing for her and leave it in the cooling room.

Gerte had told her once that vacating the bath for the lady of the steading was a mark of respect. She ought to be able to enjoy her bath in privacy.

It was good to be respected, but sometimes Katla wished for a little time to talk with others without having them behave as if she would turn them out if they failed to please her all the time. It was Osvald who banished those who didn’t suit him.

Katla never did. Not even her three slug-a-bed brothers. She didn’t know why her people seemed to fear her. She never worked anyone harder than she worked herself.

Well, maybe Brandr Ulfson, she admitted as she stripped off the last of her grimy work clothes and folded them in a neat pile. But the son of Ulf should expect to work harder than others. He deserves it.

She lifted a towel from the stack of clean ones and spread it on the empty bench before she sat. Even with the cloth, the hot seat warmed her bottom. Heat seared her nostrils. The green scent of birch leaves lingered in the air. A couple of bundles of switches were soaking in a small barrel of scented water for later use.

Katla leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the extreme heat loosen all her clenched muscles. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and upper lip. She swiped them away.

The door to the cooling room creaked open. Someone must have decided to come back for more heat.

The temperature ticked upward, and the sound of water sizzling on hot stones made her open her eyes. Steam engulfed a lone figure and released a fresh burst of fragrant birch. He poured a little more water on the rocks and then turned to face her.

It was Brandr.

“What are you doing here?” She resisted covering her breasts. Doing so would be an admission of her nakedness. It was no shame to be nude in a public bath, but her cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with steam from the heated rocks.

“You ordered me here, princess.”

She decided to ignore the sarcastic title. He was more likely to stop if she acted as if it didn’t bother her. “I ordered you to fill a cooling barrel.”

“Which I have done.” He peeled off his tunic, baring his hard body. “I was told you kept a bath for the use of all your people. For better or worse, I’m one of your people now. Or do you prefer your thralls to stink up your hall?”

Brandr plunged his garment into the barrel of soapy water intended for washing clothes while the bather soaked up heat. At least the son of Ulf was a man of clean habits. She had to give him that.

“I have no other thralls but you,” she said, studiously keeping her gaze glued to his face. “And I’d rather you didn’t reek, so you may stay.”

“Magnanimous as always, princess.” He wrung the excess water from his tunic and hung it on an overhead beam. Then he strode over and sat down beside her.

“There are other places to sit,” she said.

“If I sit across the room from you, I won’t be able to help looking at you the whole time.” He flicked a glance at her and then looked straight ahead. “If we sit side by side, we can pretend we aren’t sneaking peeks at each other.”

He’d already seen more of her than he ought when he held her upside down to kiss her foot, but this was different. They weren’t jostling for power. They were just bathing together. It erased the barrier of rank.

It was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. When she and Osvald came to the bath together, she’d bathed with any number of her crofters and retainers. There was never anything the least prurient about it.

But somehow, being here alone with this man felt…intimate. The thought of him glimpsing her breasts made them tingle. She crossed her legs to hide her sex from him, lest an ache start there.