“I told you we want to make our home in Wales. We can’t sail with a ship full of Norsemen. Ivar would never allow it, and Strian wouldn’t be able to convince anyone to disobey Ivar. Our only choice is to travel back with the other Welshmen. The only way to do that was to come here.”
Grímr once again squinted as though it would give him greater insight into her motives. He licked his lips before wiping them on his sleeve. He swiped his fingers against his tunic before standing. Gressa had never understood how Grímr could stomach being filthy when he could bathe and change his clothes. Every other Norseman she knew valued cleanliness and seized the opportunity to bathe even if it was in a half-frozen fjord. Even the Highlanders and Welsh had learned from their Norse counterparts and bathed frequently. It was only Grímr who seemed to wallow in his own filth.
Now he was prowling towards her as though she would be his next course. She stood rooted to the ground and did not flinch as he circled her just as a wolf would its prey. She stared straight ahead as though there was something of interest on the opposite side of the tent. Once again, Grímr reached out and squeezed her breast, his fingers biting into the tender flesh. Gressa held her breath, waiting for him to release her. He did but not before he squeezed them both. Grímr stepped back and ran his hand over his visible arousal. Gressa knew that while he was an unattractive man now, women once considered him good looking, and he was more than adequately endowed. Had she been interested, she did not doubt that she could have found pleasure with that part of his body. However, looking at the face that belonged to the same body as the large cock was enough to sour any thoughts of enjoyment. Her mouth grew dry and bile rose up her throat when she remembered having to take him into her mouth, his face hovering above her as he gripped her hair and thrust over and over. Gressa reminded herself that it had been to save Strian. She knew she could not trust Grímr’s promises, but if it could even slightly increase the chance that Strian would survive, she would do anything to keep him safe. Dignity be damned.
“I don’t believe you anymore this time you tell the tale than I did outside.”
“Then why do you think we have come?”
“They captured you.”
“On our way here.”
“Why would you lure the man you love and were willing to degrade yourself for, into the enemy’s hands?”
“Because the price of going home is knowledge. Knowledge that Strian has that you want.”
“Knowledge that I can get from you before or after he’s dead.”
“Kill him, and you will never see victory. You’ll not even see the next morning.”
“You make quite a lot of threats for someone with so little power. If you intended to kill me to save Strian, you would have done so before you ever sucked me to release.” Grímr leaned forward, his putrid breath wafting across her face as his hand cupped her sheath. He rubbed as he pressed his fingers against her entrance. Gressa was grateful once more that she preferred her leather pants to any gown. “Perhaps you should offer more now that I have Strian in my camp. He’s much closer to death than he was before.”
“I am offering more. I’m offering you the chance to learn everything you need to know about Ivar’s forces.”
Grímr cackled like he had outside the tent. It grated against Gressa’s nerves as their game of cat and mouse drew on. Grímr moved to stand behind her, not letting go of her mound but now grasping her breast while grinding his arousal against her backside. He pinned her against him as he kissed her neck. She held her breath, refusing to smell his stench nor react to his touch. His hold became more aggressive and his hand released her breast to clamp around her throat.
“You will warm my bed. You will do as I want. And you will fuck me. Or else your husband will die. After he’s watched me defile you in every way imaginable. Then I will give you to my men.”
“And you will still be none the wiser,” Gressa choked out.
Grímr’s grip tightened, and Gressa saw stars dance before her eyes, but just as quickly as he began to throttle her, he released her. He pushed her towards his bedroll, but she refused to move. He tried to drag her by wrapping her braid around his fist, but she twisted under his arm and lashed out with her foot to his groin.
Grímr doubled over but did not release her hair. He pulled her to the ground as he sank to his knees. She pushed her palm up against the underside of his chin until he lost his balance. She scrambled away and caught sight of his sword propped against the table. Had it been Strian’s, she would have had little chance of lifting it let alone wielding it. But while Grímr’s sword was too long for her, but it was not too heavy. It was cumbersome, but she soon found a grip that balanced its weight within her hands. She held it upright as she took her turn circling her prey.
“You’re too impatient,” she cajoled. “You want your pleasure before your work is done. As the leader of this army, you should be rejoicing that you have not one but two informants willing to trade secrets simply for a ride on someone else’s ship. Come now, you’ve been waging this war against Ivar and Rangvald for several moons with little gained. You have the chance to gain all the information you could want and then some, but that can’t happen if you kill one of your captives and the other wants to murder you in your sleep.”
Gressa watched him come to his feet, the pain in his bollocks having subsided enough for him to stand.
“Tell me what you want to know, and I will tell you the answer. If it’s something I don’t know, Strian is bound to.”
With his sword in her hands, Grímr knew she had outmaneuvered him once more. He had seen her train both with a sword and a bow. He knew she was more than proficient with both weapons. He was more likely to die than recover his sword, so he backed down.
“I want to know Ivar and Rangvald’s plans. But I doubt you are privy to that.”
“I haven’t been, but you know who has. I can tell you how many warriors they have, and how much food they have stocked for the approaching winter. I can tell you how many ships they will sail the next time you run, and I can tell you what Sigrid has foreseen.”
Gressa threw in the last lie just for good measure. Grímr, like his brother Hakin before him, was a superstitious man who believed Sigrid, Leif’s wife and a renowned seer, had the power to change the future. Hakin kidnapped Sigrid hoping her prophecies would empower them and that he could manipulate Sigrid into changing the outcome of the war he ignited with not just one neighboring jarl but two. Grímr was not as open about his reliance on rune readings, but Gressa had heard him discuss them with his sons more than once.
“Very well.” He raised his hands to his sides and nodded his head. “What great knowledge do you have that will change the tides?”
“Food is running low with both Ivar and Rangvald’s people living in the homestead. Rangvald cannot spare his ships to return to his land to retrieve supplies, and with the capture of your three spies, Ivar knows that sending out hunting parties would only make them the hunted. The only option is to fish, but Ivar is wary of sending out too many boats in case you set sail. They don’t want you to get away, but you’ve trapped them. Rangvald’s warriors want to return home to their families. They’ve been away for several moons, and there is no way for their families to join them. There’s no safe passage, no room among Ivar’s people, and now not enough food. There are grumblings within his tribe. Ivar is not faring much better. His people are tired of hosting the other tribe. There have been several fights over women, and both jarls are growing impatient.”
Gressa watched Grímr’s reactions to her news. He tried to keep his face impassive, but she saw each flair of hope and perverse pleasure as she spun her tale of falsehoods. Both tribes were living alongside one another with surprising ease. Ivar and Rangvald spent years cultivating the image that their good relations had fallen apart after Ivar’s trial marriage to Rangvald’s sister Inga resulted in her being returned home. He had refused to repudiate his relationship with Lena who had already been his companion for years, and the woman he insisted he would marry despite his father’s demands otherwise. They allowed the rumors of ill will to grow and even helped spread them while their alliance grew stronger. Their supposed hostility made their neighbors wary of inciting conflict, not wanting to join in with crossed alliances, so they left both tribes alone. Hakin had grievously miscalculated when he attacked not one but both tribes.
“So, their friendship is ending. Rangvald’s sister’s betrayal wasn’t enough to severe their alliance?”
“Why would it be? Your wife wronged Rangvald just as much as she did Ivar. She made you a cuckold while she carried on an affair with a man who never wanted her for more than the connection, she provided with Hakin. Inga whored herself to Einar, and they both ended up dead. She even fucked your brother, and the man’s dead now, too.”
