“I don’t have a key.” She spins two steps above me and holds out her hand. Fishing the iron key out from my bodice, I pass it to her and descend the last two steps to give in to Harald.
Jorvik beams as I pass him, completely satisfied with how I handled the situation, and I want to scream. But for the sake of saving the bow and keeping Harald from taking his anger out on the women, I’ll entertain the Jarl.
“Where are we going?” I dare ask on our way out of the stronghold. Harald pats my arm, leading me around the corner, and my stomach contracts. I know where we are going. Plumes of smoke billow out of the roof of the forge, and the heat hits me, mingled with the anticipation of the conversation that is about to happen.
“The first reason I asked Shaw to spend Yule with us is because he holds a special set of skills.”
The words I heard Shaw say to me days ago echo behind Harald’s voice. We don’t knock or announce our presence as Harald pushes open the door with a loud greeting. Remembering all the places Shaw and I were close enough to kiss, I step away from Harald and run my hand over Shaw’s big black coat slung behind a chair.
“Harald,” Shaw says, coming out from the back bedroom. His gaze travels around the room, landing on mine. “You brought the Maiden. What can I do for you, my lady?” My mouth smiles in acknowledgment until I press my teeth into my lower lip to stop myself.
“I want you to show her the rings or better yet…” Harald motions for me to come closer, and I do. Avoiding Shaw is like trying to stop falling asleep after a long day of hunting. The lure of our attraction is bound to be discovered, I force myself to remember I am here with Harald. But he is oblivious to what’s between the blacksmith and I.
“What would you like him to make you? I commissioned rings for our wedding, but can he make you a bracelet? Or a lovely necklace for that pretty chest of yours.”
Shaw’s grip tightens on the handle of his hammer, and my throat closes as I try to breathe evenly. It’s one thing for me to want Shaw to do unspeakable things to my chest. It is another for Harald to openly talk about adorning me in jewelry in front of him.
“The rings will be plenty. I wouldn’t want to overstep. Are they made already?” I look between both men, and Harald grins with a satisfactory grunt.Freya save me.
“Have you seen raw ore?” Shaw asks, knowing we have already experienced these moments between us. I shake my head, and he pulls out the familiar pile of silver and gold nuggets, except the other night there were a few more pieces. Harald walks over to inspect the pieces too. His burly body overshadows mine, blocking the heat of the kiln, which is making me dizzy.
“Sorry we haven’t found your attackers. You have enough tomake the rings? I’ve heard of shamans who add bits of the body, bone, or blood to enhance the marriage ritual. I need to make sure we are bound. Rasha here is going to satisfy the King with an heir for us. For the clans, Shaw, think of it.” Harald finds my hips with his wide hands and situates my body against his.
“There are things I can add to the ore so the impurities are extracted during the melt. Flesh that is added must be freely given, and it is up to the gods whether it is enough for a true consecration,” Shaw explains, walking around the kiln. He flips the head of an axe over so it evenly heats and rakes through the coals, making tiny sparks of fire rain onto the stone floor.
Ignoring Shaw, Harald turns me around so that we are close but not touching. His hands find my face in an almost loving way. My heart should feel light and full of happiness, but instead, my insides feel like molten iron is being poured down my veins, solidifying in my gut.
“We are not alone, Harald.”
“He will witness our union along with the clans at the end of Yule. We have no need to hide.”
“Thank you for bringing me here. The rings are more than I could ask for,” I say as he caresses the skin of my jaw under his thumbs. I am not sure if I should play along or walk away. The last time I defied him it ended poorly.
“Give him your blood?” he asks, and I recoil. His hands travel to the back of my neck where my hair is braided. Taking a braid in his hand, he searches for the tie at the bottom, his fingers brushing the top of my breast. “How about a lock of your hair?”
“She doesn’t have to decide right now,” Shaw interrupts. “I won’t melt the ore to make the rings until after the Wild Hunt since I have a few masks to finish.”
“I would like your word, Rasha, that after the Wild Hunt you will agree to marry me,” Harald says, the smokey air hangs between the three of us like a curtain of lies. My hands crawl around Harald’s forearms, wishing for a way out of this moment. I pull gently, and he lowers his hands.
“Tonight is the Divination feast. We shall ask the gods ourfuture.” Turning from Harald, I find Shaw focused on rolling the irons in the kiln. His shirt is rolled up, showing off his thick muscles and taunt shoulders. I am about to get myself killed. “You’ll be at tonight’s feast?” I ask, and he looks my way.
“I’m not one for feasting, my lady.”
“Oh come now. You live alone. You work alone. You need to set your sights on a pretty woman for the Hunt. Why not start tonight? Rasha and I insist,” Harald says from behind me, and I watch that tiny muscle in Shaw’s jaw contract.
“That is kind of you. I’ll find a place in the Hall once I clean up.”
Not wanting the conversation to go further, I head for the door, holding out my hand for Harald, and he takes it. He assumes we’ve come to some sort of agreement, whereas I am happy to leave in one piece.
12
SHAW
The hammer pounds against the flat metal of a sword, sending sparks exploding in all directions. My shoulder muscles scream, but shaping swords and quenching freshly wrought iron is the only way I keep myself from pummeling Harald’s face into the dirt.
Swinging the hammer again and again, my mind spins out of control as I think about when I would have gladly taken up the mantle to fight a man over the smallest grievance. Another flip of the hot metal against the simmering coal and I raise my hammer once more, letting the memory of peeling off her clothes run rampant.
The tip of the sword breaks away, scattering across the stone floor as I swear into the eruption of flames. My tools are covered in hot, white fire, fighting against the wind billowing down the open shaft.
