Page 36 of Lord of Fire and Ice

Despite his firm conviction that he was probably on a fool’s errand, that Katla was as much a man-eater as the black-maned lion he’d seen in the emperor’s menagerie, Brandr decided it would be worth taking a chance. He’d glimpsed Katla’s softer self, the one he hoped was her true self. If there was a chance he could coax that Katla to stay, he might also convince her to free him so he could see to the trouble brewing in his brother’s jarlhof. Either way, he was willing to brave her claws should he fail.

He also decided Finn wasn’t the do-nothing slacker and general lackwit Katla took him for.

At least, not all the time.

“That fence you mended,” Brandr said. “Was it wrought in timber or stonework?”

“Timber,” Finn said. “I prefer to work with wood. I’m no farmer.”

Brandr frowned, perplexed. “Then why do you need Katla to wed so you can have your own land?”

“In truth, coin would mean more to me than land right now,” Finn admitted.

Brandr had been wearing a heavy gold chain when Finn and his brothers enthralled him. The pouch of silver at his waist had been full. It was more wealth than many fjord-bound men would see all their lives.

“What did you do with the coin you took from me?”

Finn shrugged. “We had debts. Einar’s partial to playing tawl-bwrdd, but the die is not partial to him, more’s the pity. Your silver saved him from his creditors.”

Brandr had seen men squander a fortune over dice games in Byzantium. Gambling had never been his weakness, but he couldn’t fault a man for having one. His failing was always a pretty face and the flip of a skirt. The iron collar chafed his neck. Chasing a beddable maid had certainly cost him more than a fortune this time.

“What will you do with your portion once Katla weds?” Brandr asked.

“I’ll learn shipbuilding,” Finn said quickly. “If I see enough coin as a result of Katla’s match, I’ll hie myself to Osberg, where I can hire out to a master who’ll teach me the craft.”

“Katla said you didn’t like sailing.”

“I don’t,” Finn said with a sheepish grin. “But I do like wood.”

“I know a shipwright in Jondal,” Brandr said. “He’s always looking for more hands. At least he was five years ago. Things may have changed. But if they haven’t, I could recommend you to him.”

Finn cast him a sidelong glance. “Come take a look at my fence before you offer that, or I’ll suspect you’re trying to get on my good side. I can’t free you, you know.”

“I know.” Only Katla could do that.

And even if she did, he wondered if he’d ever truly be free.

***

The night meal was a much simpler affair now that her brothers weren’t trying to impress a potential suitor with the richness of her steading. The ale flowed less freely, and no stronger spirits had been offered. Inga and the other cooks served up a thick stew with fresh barley bread. Nourishing and filling, assuredly, but not designed to awe.

Katla had never felt less like eating, but she knew her people expected her to share in the communal meal that night. So she chased her turnips around her trencher and forced herself to join in conversations with others, to laugh at Finn’s jokes and scold Einar for idleness and Haukon for wolfing down his food. The gangly youth was still growing and ate like it. He shoveled his food in as if it might escape should he be too slow.

But her mind was back on the top of the bird cliff.

She relived those stolen moments with Brandr in such throbbing detail, a soft ache started in her belly. When he leaned over her to refill her drinking horn, his masculine scent crowded her senses and set all the small hairs on her body at full attention.

Katla was acutely aware of his presence behind her, though she wouldn’t allow herself to turn to look at him. She couldn’t help seeing his strong forearms and long-fingered hands as he served her.

Square-nailed. Beautiful. Strong hands.

They were the hands of a warrior, a sailing man, a lover.

Brandr’s hands had driven her to such madness, she was helpless before him. He’d seen her as no one in her whole life had.

Needy. Weak. Vulnerable.

Osvald hadn’t wakened that deep hunger in her, never made her lose her calm reserve.