“Go with them. We don’t have any other choice for now. I will find you when I can.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with that fiend. Not in his tent, for damn sure.”
“I saw the look on his face. Whatever you threatened rattled him enough that I saw genuine fear. What did you say?”
“I warned him that if he touched you, I’d make sure every Norseman here buggered him with a stick.”
“Strian!” Gressa gasped as her eyes scanned the crowd.
“Do you think these men would turn down the opportunity? They bound themselves to Hakin, and their fealty passed to Grímr upon their jarl’s death. The others pledged fealty thinking those bastards would reward them with the bounty from pillaging our homestead and Rangvald’s. Look at them. They’re half starved, filthy, and discontent. They only need a little nudge before they turn on him.” Strian leaned over to whisper, “I’m that nudge.”
“Just be careful. Please. I can’t do this without you.” Strian felt like he was drowning in the depths of her blue eyes as her gaze bore into his. He could read each of the emotions that passed through her mind as though she screamed them aloud. He could do this because he felt each one just as keenly as she did.
“I will. We have ten years to make up and a lifetime to plan. I’m not wasting our time together now that we’ve found each other. I’ll be with you before nightfall. I promise.”
Gressa swallowed as she nodded her head.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, too. I trust you, but I don’t trust him for a second. You know he will try to force you.”
“I know. I will just use the same excuse that I did the last time.”
“What was that?”
“I have the pox.”
Strian’s eyebrows shot to his hairline.
“And I got it from Rhys.” Gressa sucked in her lips to hide her grin, but she winked at Strian, nonetheless. “At least that’s what Grímr thinks. Between being disease ridden and belonging to one of the few men who scares Grímr, he did not force me into his bed.”
“That’s a dangerous game you played.”
“Rhys believes Dafydd will lose the final payment if he angers Grímr by taking me.”
“Gressa.” Strian’s voice was a mixture of disbelief, annoyance, and warning.
“What else was I supposed to do?” Gressa bit out.
Strian nodded but Gressa saw the skepticism in Strian’s eyes.
“I know. I’ll be careful. I promise, Strian. I didn’t wait this long to find you to give in to another man’s pressuring. I love you.”
Strian’s face softened, and Gressa was once more taken by how handsome her husband was. She never forgot and did not take it for granted, but there were some moments where his appearance took her breath away.
“Keep staring at me like that, and Rhys and Grímr will have no doubt which man you want.”
Gressa did not bother trying to repress the smile that brightened her face. Strian’s eyes twinkled as he ran his gaze over her body.
“You’re horrible.” She grinned. “Neither of us should smile at a time like this and you have me thinking about dragging you into the woods and having my way with you.”
“I’m your humble captive.”
Neither of them had a chance to say more. Their observers tired of waiting for the couple to finish flirting. The three Norsemen grabbed Strian and dragged him away while a Highland mercenary held back the flap of the tent, signaling Gressa could no longer avoid entering. She gritted her teeth once more and stepped forward.
Eighteen
Gressa blinked several times as her eyes grew accustomed to the dimness in the tent after the bright sunlight outside. She sensed Grímr and turned to look at where he sat on a stool, chewing on a rabbit leg, the grease dripping from his chin. The sight made her stomach curdle. Grímr had tried to kiss her on more than one occasion, and she had worn the bruises on her cheek for refusing to yield.
“Why did you bring your man to me? Do you wish him dead, so you can finally move on?”
