Page 30 of Lord of Fire and Ice

Katla gasped.

“Are you hit?” he called.

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

Then he grinned down at her, obviously unaware her heart had skipped several beats. He swung himself back around, found a toehold, and clutched a different bit of rock. This one held his weight as he lifted himself with just his arms to a narrow ledge. The rest of the climb passed without incident, but several times, Katla had to remind herself to breathe.

Once he disappeared over the top of the cliff, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Tie the line off on a boulder or tree and toss the tackle seat back to me.”

“I understand how this works, you know. You’re not the only one who’s ever gathered gull eggs.” His face appeared over the ledge, his features set in a hard grimace. “You may tell me what to do or how to do it, but not both.”

“You warned me to be specific. I don’t want a repeat of the way you kissed my foot,” she called back testily.

“No danger of that, princess.” The leather seat came hurtling toward her, stopping an arm’s reach above the coracle. “There’ll be no kissing today—on your foot or anywhere else—unless you order it.”

“Unless I order it,” she muttered. “It’s a wonder the man continues to breathe without my say-so.”

Didn’t he want to kiss her?

“What’s that?” he shouted down.

“Nothing.”

Absolutely nothing. Why had she even brought the matter up? There was no way she was going to order him to kiss her, and that was final.

Katla stood, balancing in the rocking coracle as he lowered the seat the rest of the way. She slipped the triangular seat over her head and slid it down her body to fit the wide leather strap under her bottom. Then she lashed the upper part of the harness around her waist to give herself a secure ride. She tied the basket holding their food and drink to the harness and pulled on some work gloves.

“All right,” she shouted. “You can—oof!”

She rose, legs kicking, into the air. Then she dipped suddenly, enough to trail her skirts into the water for a heartbeat before rising again. Masculine laughter washed down to her as he swung her toward the cliff face. She kept herself from bashing into the rock with her feet and palms. She bounced a couple times against the sheer face. Once she came to a complete stop, she glared up at him.

“I wasn’t ready.”

He leaned over the edge and cocked his head at her. “But I was.”

Brandr looped the slack in the rope around one arm and over his massive shoulder, not straining under her weight a bit. Then he straightened and disappeared from her view.

“Let me know if you need more or less line,” he called down.

She snorted. Everything was always a struggle with this man. He challenged her at every step. No matter how long Brandr Ulfson wore the iron collar, he’d probably never think of himself as her thrall.

Katla worked her way along the rock face, swinging out in long jumps from one clump of twigs and dried vegetation to the next. Gulls usually laid three or four eggs, but she never took more than two from any one nest. Birds screamed and dived at her, but none came close, since they never knew when she might kick out from the cliff face and become as airborne as they.

Katla supposed they must think her a much larger bird and wouldn’t chance a fight.

Each time she called out, Brandr hauled her up higher on the cliff face. She supposed she ought to feel some trepidation, both for her precarious perch above the surf and for the man who literally held her life in his hands.

But despite their wrangling for control, she trusted him. He’d given her his oath to obey her and not to try to escape his fate. In the few days she’d known him, he’d proved his honor was important to him. She felt safer when he dogged her steps. Her life was spent caring for others. For the first time in a long while, someone was looking after her.

And it felt wonderful.

She reveled in the sense of lightness, in the ease with which she danced along the rock face. When she pushed away from the cliff and swooped to a new spot, it was almost as if she sprouted wings.

She was nearing the top, only another few spans of a man’s arm, when her rigging began to loosen. The knot on the upper part of the harness unraveled, and the piece at her waist gave way. With the next leap, her bottom slipped forward off the thick leather strap.

Katla screamed and grasped at the rigging, catching it with one hand. She spun in midair. Her body slammed against the rocks, but she clutched the leather strap in a death grip.

Every muscle in her body clenched tight. She was dimly aware that the basket with their provisions tipped and all her carefully harvested eggs had fallen into the sea below. But she didn’t dare look down.