Page 29 of Lord of Fire and Ice

Brandr was content to watch her.

Sunlight danced on the water, and the wind loosened her hair from its kerchief. She trailed a hand in the spray, with a laugh full of joy in the wind-whipped, sunny morning. It was a musical sound, a sound to bind a man’s heart. And if that weren’t enough, her smile was blinding.

Brandr realized he was finally catching a glimpse of the real Katla.

She played the dour matron with conviction. She oversaw her people and stock with grim efficiency, husbanding her resources against the unknown. She was as ruthless as a general strategizing how best to make use of his forces for an upcoming battle.

But Katla’s foes weren’t armed with axes and arrows. She struggled against want and hunger and cold. No one in her household would suffer from them while she drew breath. She fought them away from her people with dogged relentlessness, land bound and thoroughly wedded to her duty to care for those in her charge.

But she really wasn’t so tied to the land as she first appeared. She obviously loved the ocean far too much.

In her heart of hearts, she was a sea nymph. A laughing, beguiling water sprite who’d somehow washed ashore on Tysnes Island. Without a man at her side, she’d been forced to act the part of the severe leader and provider for her people. She did it well, but seeing her now, breathless with joy as they bounded over the swells, Brandr knew she was out of her true element most of the time and shouldering a far heavier burden than she ought.

He wished he could lighten it for her. If for no other reason than being able to see her mouth lift in a genuine smile. Mayhap there was even a way to make those frown lines between her brows disappear completely.

He shook his head at himself. A sea nymph? He wasn’t usually so fanciful, but Katla seemed to bring out the hidden skald in his soul.

“You really do know how to sail,” she said as they skirted the coastline, tacking and reefing when needed to keep their forward momentum going.

“And you really love being on the water,” he said. “Did your husband take you sailing often?”

“Osvald?” She rolled her eyes. “No, he never sailed if he could avoid it. He’d rather have taken a couple days and tramped across the island on the plank road than take the coracle, even though the boat is much faster.” She patted her belly. “Weak stomach.”

Brandr laughed and nodded. His brother, Arn, had been the same way as a boy, but their father forced him to stay on a longship until he stopped puking and learned to roll with the ocean. It had seemed cruel at the time, since Arn couldn’t help his weakness, but once he found his sea legs, he never heaved his guts over the gunwale again.

Brandr had to admit it was one time when their father’s harshness hadn’t been the wrong course.

“I used to sail to the bird cliffs with my father,” Katla said, her tone suddenly wistful. “My mother used to go with him, but she died when Haukon was born. I’m the eldest, so Father spent more time with me than he might have otherwise. He taught me to handle this coracle.”

“Really?” It was an odd thing for a man to teach his daughter. Work was fairly well divided among the sexes, with the women toiling inside, cooking and weaving, the men out in the elements, farming and hunting.

And Viking, in the not-so-distant past.

“My brothers didn’t care for the sea or fishing or even traveling for trade. Of course, Finn and the others don’t care for anything that resembles work, but I loved sailing. How can you even call it work if you can feel the sun on your face and the wind lifting your spirits along with the sails?” Her smile faded a bit. “My father used to say I should have been born a man.”

“I’m glad you weren’t,” Brandr said as they glided into the deep shadow of the land.

Briny spray misted around them from the waves dashing against the rocks, and the coracle heaved more wildly as they drew closer to their destination.

Her smile returned. “Well, I’m glad not to be a man. Now especially,” she said as they tied up the coracle at the base of the cliff where a huge flock of gulls nested in the craggy granite.

The sheer rock face rose over six times Brandr’s height. Beneath the waves, jagged rocks lurked. A tumble from the cliff into the water was to be avoided at all costs.

Katla handed the climbing tackle to him, her grin turning wicked. “I’m very happy to be a woman. After all, the man gets to climb to the top of the cliff first.”

***

Never should have given the man trousers, Katla lamented in silence as she watched him scramble up the rock face from the bobbing coracle. The morning after Gormson had arrived, she’d found a baggy pair that covered Brandr decently yet weren’t fine enough to elevate him from his lowly status as her thrall.

She sighed. This climb would have made for a spectacular view if she hadn’t. She’d be treated to the sight of his well-muscled thighs and tight buttocks as he worked his way up the cliff.

But he needed the protection of his trousers. The sharp rocks might cut his knees and other more important parts to shreds otherwise.

Brandr was about halfway up, the climbing tackle coiled over his broad shoulders. He flattened himself against the granite and stretched to reach the next fingerhold.

A chunk of stone broke off in his hand. It tumbled from his grasp, splashing into the sea next to the coracle. Katla was drenched by the spray but couldn’t tear her gaze from the rock face.

Brandr’s feet slipped, and he dangled by one arm.