Gressa shook her head but did not offer an explanation. Strian continued to watch her as she seemed to come back from wherever her mind took her. She was beautiful in the deep blue gown Lena lent her. It was a perfect match for her eyes, and Strian suspected Lena had done that on purpose. Gressa’s long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and back. She looked so much like the young woman he had married all those years ago, before the same altar. Strian had wondered if she was remembering as he had, but the flash of fear and pain made him question whether she was thinking of their wedding, and if she was, why it caused her fear and pain.
“Tell me, Gressa,” he beseeched. “You’re frightening me.”
Gressa snorted at Strian’s admission, knowing little frightened him, but his expression showed he was not exaggerating.
“You don’t need to worry about me anymore, Strian. I’m not your responsibility.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Strian, I released you from the bonds of marriage years ago, even if you didn’t know.”
Strian staggered back.
“You really did give up on us, on me.”
Gressa would have done anything to retract her words as she watched the same anguish cloud Strian’s eyes as when they discovered Strian’s mother dead, violated and murdered in his parents’ chamber.
“I didn’t give up so much as accepted fate and reality.”
“You believe we were fated to never have a happy marriage? A marriage at all?”
“That’s what fate has shown us.”
“And if we were wrong, and fate has brought us together because that’s where we belong?”
“Ten years is a long time for fate to make up its mind.”
“That’s only because you weren’t around to see Tyra and Bjorn,” Strian muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just that it took Tyra and Bjorn just as long to admit their feelings and marry. Clearly, fate believed they belonged together and made it so.”
Gressa turned away and walked towards the jarl’s longhouse where the wedding celebrations were already under way. Strian followed but did not speak, too lost in his own thoughts.
When they arrived at the longhouse, Strian reached to take Gressa’s hand to lead her to the high table where he saw they had left two seats for them. Their fingers grazed one another, but Gressa was moving in the opposite direction. She weaved through the crowd until she arrived at the door to the kitchens. She lifted a heavy tray from a young girl. She moved towards the first table where she placed bowl after bowl of food. She neared the end of the table when Strian, who still stood in the doorway, watched a man throw his bowl of skouse at Gressa’s chest. The meat stew splattered the neck and skirts of her gown, but it soaked the linen across her breasts. The saturated material left little to the imagination. She scrambled to lean forward to pick up the bowl and in the process pull her tunic away from her breasts. Her new position created a host of lewd comments, and one man stood up behind her, grasped her hips, and pretended to thrust into her.
Strian plowed through the crowd, shoving anyone in his path. When he came to the last table that stood between him and Gressa’s assaulter, he leaped onto the bench then stepped over the table before launching himself at the offending man. Strian pummeled the offender as they landed on the ground, tipping over a bench. Strian saddled his opponent, raining down blow after blow. It was not long before the man’s face was mangled and unrecognizable.
Strian stood, looking around for Gressa and finding her backed into a corner by five women. One had her hair wrapped around her fists. Two other women pulled at her gown, attempting to strip her while the last two screamed obscenities and threats, accusing her of seducing the men. Strian stepped over his now dead opponent to go to Gressa, but Freya was already on her way. She barreled through three of the women and landed a punch squarely in the woman's jaw who held Gressa’s hair. She was not through; she punched the two shrews by the time Strian made it to the second fight. He pressed his way between the women, refusing to lay a hand on any of them for fear of being accused of something later.
Gressa watched Freya come to her rescue in stunned silence. The woman had barely spoken to her since Strian found Gressa in Scotland. She argued with Strian when he wanted to stay behind with Gressa, and she blamed Gressa for ruining Strian’s life. But now, Freya fought as though no time had passed, and they were loyal friends. Strian stepped forward and lifted his arms, but she flew into them before they were to his waist. Gressa buried her face against his chest as she grabbed fistfuls of his tunic as though frightened he might disappear.
The brawl was over just as quickly as it began. Freya turned to the couple and sneered at Gressa.
“Don’t think this means I forgive you for abandoning Strian and don’t think this means I like you. No woman should have a man touch her in such a way. That’s the only reason I defended you.” Freya spun on her heel and marched back to her chair beside her husband.
Strian brushed hair from Gressa’s face and examined it for any damage.
“Can’t we leave?” Gressa whispered.
“Under the circumstances, I think Ivar and the others would understand if we excused ourselves without asking.”
Strian led Gressa to the door, neither looking anywhere but straight ahead. When they stepped outside, Strian pulled Gressa against him and backed her against the wall. His lips crashed into hers with no finesse. It was raw passion born of fear and relief. It was need that he could not put into words. Gressa matched his ferocity as she tugged at his tunic as though he could get closer even with their clothes in the way.
“Gressa.” His voice a tortured moan.
Gressa welcomed his tongue into her mouth as they tangled and stroked before she sucked softly. The sensation made Strian rock his hips forward until his hard length rubbed against her mons. Gressa squirmed trying to find a position that would ease the growing ache in her belly. They both knew there was only one way to satisfy a need like this, but they both knew they were in the wrong location for such intimacy. They broke apart, staring into one another’s eyes, each wondering what the other was thinking.
