An image formed in Strian’s mind, and it was the last thing he wanted to see. He pictured Gressa doing the same thing to Grímr. His arousal evaporated in an instant. He pushed back on Gressa’s shoulders and pulled away.
“No.”
“What? I thought you enjoyed this.”
“I do, and you know that.”
“Then why not let me pleasure you as you did me?”
“Because I know you had recent practice.”
Gressa gasped and fell backwards, the power of his words feeling like a punch.
“I can’t believe you said that,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you were thinking about that.”
She looked up at Strian as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“You’re going to punish me. Punish us for that.” She rose to her feet. “You should have listened to me. I never should have come here. Not with you.”
She spun around and stormed out of the longhouse, and all Strian could do was stare at the door. His physical discomfort paled in comparison to his heart’s. It ached for thinking of Gressa with another man, for the hurt he caused, and for the damage he had done to their tenuous truce.
Six
Gressa was not sure where she was headed until she opened the door to the jarl’s longhouse kitchens. She regretted it immediately. Every woman froze and stared at her, stared at her Sami clothing. She had not intended to leave Strian’s home dressed in the clothes of her mother’s people. She had stormed out without thinking. Now she regretted coming to a place where she would already be unwanted. She scanned the faces but did not see Lena, Freya, or Tyra. She remembered in an instant that they would be preparing for Tyra’s wedding.
She looked at the hostile faces, none with so much as a welcoming smile or nod. They did not want her there, and in truth, she did not want to be there. But she was. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She refused to back down. She entered the kitchens and went directly to Olga, the chief cook.
“Put me to work. Please.” Gressa’s tone was soft, but it carried throughout the silent kitchen.
Olga scrutinized everything from the top of her head to the tip of her shoes. She did not appear disappointed and jerked her head in the fire's direction.
“Turn the spit.”
Gressa knew better than to say anything, even if the job was reserved for older boys who were still too young to train. She nodded and moved to the fireplace. It was not long before perspiration dripped from her nose and dribbled between her breasts and shoulder blades. The work was not strenuous after years of training as a shieldmaiden, but it was demeaning and hot. The only upside was she was out of the way of the rest of the women, so they pretended to ignore her. She sensed as much as saw many of them looking at her.
The morning creeped into midday, and Gressa’s clothes stuck to her sticky skin. The refreshed feeling from the bath the night before was a distant memory as she continued to crank the handle that spun the meat.
“Sami.” Gressa wanted to cringe. Despite the clothes she wore, she had never really identified with her mother’s people. The only day she had was when she’d worn one of her mother’s gowns to her wedding. The rest of the time, she loathed the ignominy that came with the title. They had called her it countless times over the years, but she had a sudden realization that either Strian or Freya and Tyra had always been nearby to defend her or lend silent support. She felt very much alone in every sense.
“Yes, Olga.” She turned to face the bristly cook. Gressa had known the woman her entire life and had often helped Lena in the kitchens. The cook now sneered at her like she was an unwanted foreigner. She supposed she was in many ways.
“Take these slop buckets to the swine.”
Yet another task that should have been given to an older boy. It took little effort to deduce that Olga wanted to humiliate her in the kitchens and outside. She nodded once before picking up two buckets and heading to the door. She stepped into the crisp air and realized the task was a blessing in disguise. It was later in the day than she realized, having been given a hunk of dry bread and a mug of ale for her noon meal. She breathed in the fresh air while she trudged to the pig pen. The hogs oinked and jostled one another when they smelled their meal coming. They splattered mud on the bottom of Gressa’s embroidered pants. Gressa grimaced but continued to pour the slop into the trough.
“What have we here?”
Gressa refused to acknowledge the woman’s voice. She was sure it was Soma, a woman Strian had been with before he began courting her. She had been one of the most beautiful women Gressa had ever seen. She had no interest in seeing the enchantress that never forgave her for luring Strian away.
“Are you ignoring me? A thrall ignoring a free woman? I’ll have you whipped.”
“I’m not a thrall. I am as free as you are.” She turned her head enough for her words to be clear. “You can ask Strian.”
The woman grunted before Gressa lurched forward from a powerful shove. Gressa stumbled but twisted in time to grab one of the arms that pushed her. She and Soma landed with a splash. Before she could get her bearing, someone lifted Gressa out of the mud. She thought that person had come to her aid, but instead, a ringing slap sent her head reeling back. The new woman’s other hand was in Gressa’s hair, tugging backwards. Gressa struggled to see who her new attacker was and recognized Magga, another woman from Strian’s past.
The sound of their scuffle carried, and a crowd began to form. Women from the kitchens came to join the onlookers. They were already aware the fight involved Gressa and had brought rotten food to throw at her. Gressa forced herself to shut out the onlookers and focus on the two attackers. She brought her hand down in a knife slice and connected with Magga’s inner elbow. Her reflexes made her release Gressa’s hair and opened her to Gressa’s fist slamming into the underside of her chin. Magga staggered backwards, but Gressa was already throwing her weight against Magga only to have Soma land on top of both of them. The women rolled around the sty, fists flying, and fingers bent like talons. Gressa managed to twist Soma off her back as she straddled Magga. She threw one fist after another while jabbing her elbows into Soma who tried to pull her off Magga. Gressa jerked her head back and cracked Soma’s nose. She wrapped Gressa’s hair around her hand and put a knife to her throat.
“No one wanted you here before you disappeared, and we’re all far better off without you here again.” Soma hissed.
