Page 48 of Lord of Fire and Ice

Otto Sturlson stayed on for another two days. Unlike Gormson, he expressed little interest in the running of Katla’s steading. He didn’t even ask about the extent of her holding, much less demand a thorough tour.

He seemed more intent on Katla herself.

When he saw she wasn’t about to abandon her duties to entertain him exclusively, he made himself marginally useful by directing the work of a group of men who were laboring to remove stones from an arable field. It seemed the ground sprouted a fresh crop each spring, and had to be cleared before Katla would risk the sharp edge of her plow. Otto showed the men how to stake out the field in sections and work methodically together instead of each trying to cull his own little portion. They finished the work in record time.

But when Sturlson took his leave, Katla refused to give him an answer to his suit. Her brothers had promised her a choice from three possible husbands, and she wasn’t about to shorten the process. Otto thanked her for considering him in a flowery, poetic speech and declared he’d wait at the nearest mead house for her decision.

During the time Otto Sturlson was in residence, Brandr once again slept on the outside of her threshold without being asked. Katla hadn’t sensed Otto was likely to force himself on her, but it pleased her that Brandr set himself to guard her, in any case.

What didn’t please her was how distant he seemed. Brandr was smiling and affable as always with everyone else. He joked with the men, and while they’d normally ignore a thrall, the workers on her farm seemed to forget Brandr wore the iron collar. Katla had smiled when he tugged the braids of the little goose girl till she colored with delighted embarrassment. Brandr was helpful and well-spoken with the women, thoroughly ignoring the longing looks that followed him as he moved about his chores.

Discretion was all well and good, but she’d have thought the man might spare her at least one secret smile or telling glance over the past few days.

On the night Otto Sturlson took his leave, Katla retired to her chamber early and dressed in her finest night shift. It had a row of cording at the neck shot through with silver thread. She brushed out her braids and let her dark hair fall in shining waves past her waist.

Brandr should like that.

Her insides frisked about like a spring lamb in anticipation. Any moment he’d come, and then she’d fall into that delicious dream with him again. That place where everything else faded away and only the beating of their hearts marked the passage of time.

She settled into her bed to wait for him to slip out of the main room and join her. Brandr was being cautious, waiting for a time when he wouldn’t be missed.

Finn ought to appreciate the man’s newly developed sense of propriety.

The singing and laughing after night meal died away as the household settled for sleep. No one touched her door latch. Her lamp guttered and went out. The moon appeared in the smoke hole overhead, and still Brandr didn’t come.

Her chest ached.

She closed her eyes and tried to find sleep, but that warm blanket of forgetfulness fled from her.

Finally, she climbed from her bed and padded to the door. She opened it a pinch and saw Brandr’s form across the threshold as always.

But he wasn’t asleep either. He raised himself on his elbow and glared up at her through the crack in the door.

She opened the door farther and motioned for him to come in.

His face set like granite, he rose to do her bidding.

Once the door was latched behind him, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want, princess?”

“Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Someone will hear you.”

“You actually care if someone does? I’m impressed.” His hard glare said otherwise.

“Of course I do. I’m being courted, after all. Finn has me thinking I should behave a bit more primly about having you in my chamber by night.”

He merely looked at her, making no move to come to her as she’d hoped. She fished about for a reason to have called him in other than the dull ache between her legs.

“You had plenty to say about Albrikt Gormson,” she said, “so let’s hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Don’t you have an opinion about Otto Sturlson?”

“I wasn’t aware the opinion of a thrall was of much value to you,” he said stonily.

“Let us pretend that it is.” She crossed her arms over her chest in an echo of his posture.

He shrugged. “The man can talk the stars from the sky and can evidently still handle a blade. I’d fight by his side in a pinch.”