“Where we are now. The land of people. He has left Valhalla and Asgard to grant us his favor. And to punish those who would go against us, to punish Grímr. You have only til sundown before they tell Odin how you greet his people.”
“You spew blasphemy!” Enfys hissed. She pushed through the people until she reached Dafydd’s side. “We took you in, healed you, then welcomed you among our people and in our church. This is how you thank us. You bring your pagan bastards to our shores.”
“I sat in your church, but did you ever see me pray? Did you ever see me bow my head to your white christ? I refused baptism each time you demanded it. I was never one of you. My gods are the ones in my soul.”
“You ungrateful bitch!” Enfys wailed. “Seize her!”
Enfys waved her arm, and guardsmen rushed forward. At the signs of an attack, the Norsemen began clamoring across benches and jumping from one boat to another. As the hoard of warriors grew larger and closer to the docks, it was clear the Norsemen far outnumbered the Welsh present.
Strian strained to catch what was being said around him, but he knew he would understand none of it. But he understood when Enfys screamed and ordered the men to rush forward. Strian grabbed Gressa and pulled her back against his chest as he wrapped his shield bearing arm around her and pulled a knife from his waist. He could not reach nor wield his sword with Gressa in front of him.
“Cease!” Dafydd roared, and the Welshmen came to an abrupt halt.
“Cease!” Ivar and Rangvald echoed once they saw the prince ordered his men to quit their attack. Both jarls were already on the dock and storming towards Gressa and Strian.
“Are you well, child?” Ivar inquired softly. “Did they threaten you?”
“Not specifically. Enfys isn’t happy that I have once again renounced their god in favor of our true gods. She doesn’t believe Muninn and Huginn are here to gather news to take to Odin.”
“Then she is both a woman of conviction and a foolish one. Let her have her god. When the day comes of her death, she will learn the error of her ways.” Rangvald kept his voice low. “What have they said about Grímr?”
“Not much. The arrival of the ravens shifted our conversation,” Gressa explained. She pushed down on Strian’s arm, and for a minute she thought he would refuse to budge.
“Gressa, just stay near me. Please,” Strian beseeched. He wanted to lift Gressa back onto his boat and sail away to anywhere that would protect her.
She tapped her fingers against his arm before leaning further back against him.
“I’m not going anywhere without you in arms reach. My arms’ reach.” She murmured as she pushed the shield down.
Dafydd watched the petite dark-haired woman he had lusted after for years as she leaned against the giant blond man who kept her pressed against him. Dafydd felt anger and jealousy grow within him as he watched another man handle the woman he had coveted since he first saw her upon the dock they stood on now. He had only agreed that his brother could wed her understanding that they would share. Rhys had balked at first, but both men desired her to an unreasonable level. Dafydd had not wanted to trade her to Grímr, but Enfys insisted. He knew his wife knew of his desire for Gressa. In fact, it surprised him that she had not had Gressa killed already but instead pretended to be her friend. In the end, the information Enfys gathered had been useful when Grímr appeared. Trading Gressa had been the price of peace with Enfys, and Rhys had sworn to return with the Norsewoman tamed and ready to submit to either of them in bed. Now it seemed his brother had failed, and from the fleet’s arrival, it appeared Grímr had, too. He turned his gaze to his livid wife and was once more reminded of the differences between the two. Enfys was a brilliant strategist, a manipulator, and a seductress who he loved and enjoyed bedding. He looked at her swollen belly, evidence of their fifth child. But his gaze swung back to Gressa, unattainable, independent, and sensuous. He wanted both. Dafydd looked back to the boats docked in his harbor and the three men who stood waiting for him to speak, guarding Gressa with undisguised determination.
“Why have you come here? It is clear you do not plan to return to your home.” Dafydd demanded.
“My husband and I had thought to, but circumstances have changed. And our welcome hasn’t been very warm. We came to inform you of Grímr’s failures. Rhys is dead and Rowan, Afan, and Afon are captives.”
Enfys screeched like a wounded animal and tried to lunge forward, but Dafydd whispered something in her ear, his hand resting on her belly. Once his wife calmed enough that he was sure he did not have to restrain her, he looked back at Gressa and the Norse warriors.
“How did that come to be?”
“Rowan and Enfys’s brothers made poor spies. Rhys angered the wrong person in Grímr’s camp.” Gressa shrugged. “They lost many your men in the battle in Scotland. The one they assumed would be Grímr’s certain victory. He underestimated the alliances the Highlanders held, and either he didn’t know or underestimated one of the jarl’s familial connections to one of those clans. They outnumbered us.”
“You refer to yourself as part of that force, yet here you stand with our enemies.”
“I was part of your band of archers, and they outnumbered us. But it was also where I found my husband.”
“And you gave up your life here. After you’ve always sworn you wouldn’t leave.”
“I didn’t go willingly at first. I admit that. There is something, or rather someone, who binds me to this land. But my husband knows of the child we lost. That’s why we thought to make our home here, but that doesn’t seem possible now that I understand the level of Enfys’s betrayal.”
“My betrayal!” Enfys once more pushed forward. “I would have had to care about you to betray you. You were a source of information and idle entertainment the way you carried on about your lost husband and dead babe. If I allowed you to follow me about, then it was less time you could spend in my husband’s bed.”
Gressa’s head jerked back as she grimaced.
“I never once shared your husband’s bed. I refused until he gave up and tried to pass me on to Rhys.”
“You’re a foolish twit if you think he gave up. He gave you to Rhys on the understanding that once you married, Dafydd would share you.”
Gressa thought she would be ill. She glared at Dafydd then Enfys before her face transformed into a smirk.
