Page 58 of Lord of Fire and Ice

The crowd parted before them, revealing the sacred space and Brandr Ulfson waiting for her in the center of it.

“I think you’ll find, if you give this a chance, that you’ve made a good bargain, sister,” Finn said.

Katla barely heard him. She caught sight of Brandr, flanked by Einar and Haukon with his arm still in a sling.

Probably making sure he doesn’t bolt until the deed is done.

No man had ever looked less like a slave. There was nothing subservient in his squared shoulders. His hands were fisted on his hips. He might have been a Norse nobleman from a previous generation when Viking was an honored occupation that brought wealth back to the fjords. She imagined him standing defiantly by the dragon head of his ship, sailing into the unknown with an uncowed spirit.

Brandr wasn’t dressed in finery, but she suspected he’d talked Finn into giving him back the clothes he’d been wearing when he was taken as a thrall. The tunic was of good quality, and the clothes fit his lean form well. His beard and hair had grown back considerably, the dark blond curling around his ears and framing his sensual mouth with gold. He still bore the hateful iron collar, but there was no deference in his eyes. A glint of something dark and hot sparked in them when his gaze caught Katla’s.

Her vision tunneled briefly, and she realized she was holding her breath. Tamping down the way her belly tingled, she stepped into the smooth circle with him, followed by Gerte, who flashed a toothy smile to all. The old woman relished her role as keeper of the ceremonial sword and was determined to make the most of it.

Once everyone quieted, Finn announced their intent to wed and stepped aside, signaling his consent to the union. Brandr recited the required vow of a husband in a strong, clear tone. Katla followed his lead as they exchanged rings. As she voiced the time-hallowed promises, part of her wished this was a marriage in truth, that Brandr wasn’t leaving as soon as the collar was struck from his neck.

Not that she expected to be embarrassed by her bridegroom’s sudden departure. She’d explain that the marriage was only to fulfill her bargain with Finn. Then she’d invite the assembled guests to feast in honor of her wiliness, lest any be disappointed after traveling for the sham wedding.

No new lord would change matters in her household. Life as they knew it would continue without disruption. She’d be seen as a woman who honored her word and yet managed to arrange matters to her own liking.

But when she looked up at Brandr, she wasn’t so sure a marriage in name only was to her liking. She was forced to avert her gaze lest he read the sudden longing in her. Then she turned and took the sword from Gerte.

“My father’s sword,” she said as she laid the naked blade across his upturned palms. “It belonged to a worthy man. Bear it with honor and strength. May it see you safe through many battles.”

Brandr brought the steel to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to the flat of the blade, as was customary. Then he handed the sword to Haukon, bypassing Einar, who was supposed to be his main attendant. Haukon beamed at being chosen to keep the bridal sword for him until the ceremony was completed.

Brandr reached over his shoulder and pulled out a long blade from its baldric. The steel had been repeatedly folded and fired, forged in faraway Damascus Finn had told her when he described the sword Brandr had worn when they captured him. Finn had returned it now, and it shimmered in the dying sunlight, hammered into brilliance by a master of the craft. The waves of its creation left an undulating pattern on the blade, glittering like living flame.

He dropped to one knee before her, point of the sword buried in the smooth dirt, both hands on the ornate hilt.

“I give you the edge of my sword, the strength of my body, the breath my life,” Brandr said, his gaze glued on the tips of her slippers peeping from beneath her hem. “If you have need of any of them, they are yours for the asking. And even if you don’t ask, they are still yours. From this day forward, you are my wife. I’ll defend what’s mine as long as there is a beating heart in my body.”

He looked up at her, something unexpected in his eyes. She’d seen that mad glint in a man’s gaze only when there was a cache of treasure to be had.

Katla swallowed hard. This wasn’t part of the rite. His words weren’t a declaration of love exactly, but it was a pledge of protection worthy of a mighty passion. She accepted the sword from him and laid it with reverence across Gerte’s cushion.

Brandr had promised her the protection of his body. The word of a man of valor was worth even more to her than the fabulous sword he pledged it on.

He hadn’t been required to offer such a pledge. Even though he was going to leave her, he’d come to her aid if she needed him. Her heart was strangely comforted by the thought.

Katla lifted her hand, surprised to find it unsteady, and signaled for the smith to step forward.

Brandr was led to a block of wood at the edge of the circle, where he knelt and presented his neck to the smith as if he were submitting to a headsman with an ax. After three ringing strikes of hammer and chisel, the iron collar’s bolt gave way, and Brandr rose a free man.

No one spoke. Seeing a thrall freed was a rare enough occurrence. Seeing him elevated to the status of lord of the household was almost unthinkable.

“Bet you feel lighter,” Finn said, obviously wanting to break the tension.

Brandr rubbed his neck, still staring at the collar that lay in pieces. “Ja, I do. Such a little thing, but it’s weightier on a man’s spirit than it looks.”

Then he strode with purpose over to Katla and scooped her up in his arms.

She yelped in surprise. This, too, wasn’t part of the rite. They were supposed to share a ritual kiss on the cheek, and then she and Brandr were to lead the procession back to the longhouse for the bridal feast.

Instead, Brandr twirled her around once, her long skirt flaring out like a sail seeking the wind. He kissed her right on the mouth. His lips were firm and sure, and when hers parted slightly, he was quick to invade her with his tongue, a beguiling summons. A stab of longing sliced through her when he finally released her mouth.

“The iron collar was a heavy burden, but Thor strike me blind if my new burden isn’t even heavier!” He tossed Katla up and caught her again while the crowd laughed and applauded his wit.

Then, still carrying her, he started back down the slope to the longhouse. All the guests fell in behind them, repeating the joke to those who’d been too far away to hear Brandr’s words. Someone started singing a familiar bawdy song, and the chant was picked up by the others.