Page 4 of Lord of Fire and Ice

He and his friends had lived a praiseworthy adventure and returned North with enough silver to set up each of them in comfort for several lifetimes. Brandr’s companions counted themselves lucky to come home without losing more of their number.

But they weren’t home yet, and with Brandr enthralled, now they were only five. Even if his friends were able to track him from the mead house, they were too few to overpower the Tysnes islanders and free him without a bloody brawl. “Ja, your thieving brothers took everything of value,” Brandr said. They couldn’t take the wealth he carried in his head. If they had an inkling he bore the secret to Greek fire, they’d be trying to torture it out of him still. “You get only me in this bad bargain. What are your intentions?”

***

Katla wished he wouldn’t keep turning those deep amber eyes on her. They made it hard for her to think.

“I’m not sure what you’re fit for,” she said, willing herself not betray how the sight of his hard body affected her. The son of Ulf had the frame of a warrior, honed to lean fitness. His muscles stood out beneath smooth skin marred by only a few battle scars.

Katla didn’t mind not having a husband countermand her decisions, but she sorely missed the feel of a man between her legs. Brandr Ulfson made her remember that longing in exquisite detail.

She set her mouth in a tight line. It was a man’s world. A woman had to be strong when dealing with one, even one wearing an iron collar, lest he run roughshod over her. “Have you any skills besides wenching and drinking?”

“I’m a fighter by trade.” His mouth turned up in a lazy, sensual smile. “Obviously, drinking isn’t one of my strengths. At least, not when someone taints the mead. But don’t discount wenching. I know how to please a woman. My bed skills are yours for the asking.”

Her eyes flared with irritation that he’d divined the direction of her thoughts. Men took bed slaves all the time.

Why shouldn’t a widow enjoy one, so long as she kept herself from bearing?

It wouldn’t be a problem in her case. Katla suspected she was barren. Her husband Osvald’s bastards littered several hearths, but she never showed signs of quickening during their year together.

She gave herself a slight shake. This new thrall was nothing but the son of her husband’s murderer. She had to keep thinking of him as such. She’d sworn to avenge Osvald, and this was her first chance to make good on her vow.

“Keep your lewd suggestions to yourself.”

Brandr Ulfson eyed her with boldness, so she felt obliged to return the favor. By shearing Brandr’s locks, her brothers had accentuated his strong, even features. A man had to be breathtakingly handsome to still be so appealing after he’d endured the shame of being shorn.

She knelt beside him and ran her palm over his head, down his neck, and around his firm jawline.

“Since Ulf is already dead, I can’t deliver justice to your father. Hiring someone to kill a leper might be considered an act of kindness, not retribution, so I’ve made no move against your brother,” she said, jerking her hand away from his smooth cheek. She needed to keep her distance. “That leaves only you.”

She wouldn’t kill him. It wasn’t as if he’d had a choice in who his father was, but short of visiting physical harm on the son of Ulf, she could still have justice of a sort. She’d humble him so abjectly his name would become a byword throughout the North, a warning to all men who fell into the hands of a vengeful woman.

But Brandr Ulfson wasn’t an easy man to feel hard toward. There was a feral quality to his maleness that made her insides go soft, vulnerable. When he turned his penetrating gaze on her, she felt weak as water.

She straightened her spine.

“Letting you demonstrate your bed skills doesn’t sound like revenge,” she said. “It sounds like you’re trying to trick me into pleasuring a thrall.”

“If we shared a bed, it would be about your pleasure.” His amber eyes darkened to sable. “Not mine.”

“So bedding me wouldn’t please you?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m sure it would please me. Very much. But my aim would be your delight.”

Her breath caught, and she couldn’t move. He gave her a thorough look, starting with her mouth, lingering at her breasts, which tingled under his direct gaze, and traveling down her loins and limbs.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Katla. And you’ve missed a man’s touch.”

“I haven’t missed yours. And you will address me as ‘mistress’ or ‘my lady.’ You may not use my name, thrall.”

She turned and rummaged through her clothes trunk for the oldest, most coarse tunic she could find. She hoped it would be big enough to fit him, but for now, she’d be satisfied with draping the undyed fabric across his groin.

“Varangians are supposed to value honor above all,” she said. “Before I loose your bonds, will you swear upon your honor to obey me and not to run away?”

“I won’t run. Your brothers took me by guile and womanish potions, but they took me. As long as your commands do not conflict with my honor, I so swear to obey you,” he said. “May Thor strike me blind if I do not.”

“If the god doesn’t, I will,” she promised as she cut the bindings on his wrists.