The bronze figure rolled over and over, coming to rest upon a corner. He saw that Leif had already rolled a six, and was reaching for the die to roll again…when Eric’s die tipped and fell upon a one.
The roar of the men was deafening, amid Leif’s protests. Eric took his winnings and said, “I will collect your ship in the morning.”
Before he could take another step, the Viking released a battle cry and came lunging toward him. Raw instinct made him sidestep, and Leif tripped, sprawling face-first onto the ground. Eric’s instincts sharpened, and he was well aware of everyone watching. If he lost this fight, he would mark himself as a target.
The man staggered to his feet, but Eric never let Leif catch his balance. He drove his fist against his opponent’s ear, and the man howled in pain, dropping to his knees. One more blow to his head rendered him unconscious.
Eric didn’t doubt that he could easily have lost the fight, had Leif not been drinking heavily. The man’s physical size and strength was a strong reminder of just how dangerous this world was.
Several of the men congratulated him, and at the edge of the crowd, he spied Valdr watching. Thejarleyed him with a suspicious look before he turned his back, returning to his longhouse.
Eric knew he was meant to follow the man, but he doubted if it was safe there. Leif was furious about his losses and might try to retaliate when he regained consciousness.
Katarina emerged from the shadows and went to kneel beside her intended. The sight of her tending Leif made Eric tense. The Viking would be furious when he awakened, and he didn’t want her to bear the brunt of the man’s temper.
Hrafn was standing nearby, but he was not smiling. “You shouldn’t have made an enemy out of Leif.”
“It was a game, nothing more. He had the chance to end the match.” But he knew Hrafn was right. The sooner he left this settlement, the better.
“You’ll be dead by morning.”
“The man is too drunk to walk.”
“But not too drunk to sever your head from your body while you sleep.” Hrafn shook his head. “You’d better go before he awakens.”
Katarina looked up from Leif’s fallen form and nodded. “You should.” Her expression held apprehension, as if she were afraid. Eric didn’t like that at all.
To Hrafn, he ordered, “Take Katarina home and guard her closely. If she goes to Leif, he may take out his anger on her.”
It seemed that Hrafn was in agreement. “Arik is right. Stay away from Leif this night, Katarina.”
She hesitated, and Eric pressed further. “Go with your brother and bar the door.” He sent Hrafn a warning look, and the man nodded in agreement.
At that moment, Leif let out a groan. Eric saw the fear that passed over Katarina’s face, and he walked away, pretending he was returning to his father’s house. Instead, he slipped behind one of the longhouses, watching over her.
Hrafn spoke to his sister, but before he could take her outside, Leif sat up. His expression held a blend of pain and fury, and his gaze searched the grounds. Katarina leaned in and touched the side of his head gently.
In response, Leif seized her hair, twisting it around his wrist as he tilted her face back and kissed her hard. It was a kiss of possession, not one meant to kindle desire.
Eric clenched his fists, wanting to cross the space and take the man apart. The sudden burst of jealousy made no sense at all, for Katarina was not his—she had chosen Leif.
And yet…she wasn’t kissing him back. Both of her hands were poised upon the man’s chest, and it looked as if she was trying to push him away.
Hrafn started to intervene, but the Viking broke off the kiss and unsheathed his blade.
“Leif, please.” Katarina stepped between the two men. He was drunk beyond reason, and she didn’t want him to take it out on Hrafn. “I will walk back to your house with you.”
Her words seemed to have an effect, because Leif sheathed the blade and stepped back. “Yes. You should come with me.” He took her hand, and Katarina leaned against him, hoping he would sheathe the blade and end the threat toward her brother.
Though it was a risk accompanying him to his house, she saw no choice. The best way to soften his anger was with obedience. If she did exactly what he wanted, tending to him and getting him to rest, he might sleep off the effects of the ale. But if her brother intervened, Leif was drunk enough to start a fight.
Hrafn didn’t seem to care. “Leave Katarina alone.”
His interference only enraged Leif. He shoved her aside and confronted Hrafn with the blade. “She is going to be my wife.” He took a step closer, wielding the blade in an open threat.
“She has not yet agreed. And I can refuse to allow the marriage,” Hrafn warned.
“Can you?” A thin smile stretched over Leif’s face, chilling Katarina. She had never heard him speak in this way before. It was as if a mask had been lifted away, and the person behind it was not at all the same man.
