CHAPTER EIGHT
THREE DAYS LATER
The summer air was cool within the settlement, and Katarina watched the men circling one another in the fighting ring. Strangely, Arik had chosen a sword instead of the battle-ax he normally favored. He gripped the weapon with familiarity, and he never took his eyes off Hrafn.
“Odin’s blood, but you’ve gone soft.” Her brother spat into the dirt as Arik stripped off his tunic. Her husband had indeed lost a great deal of strength. Instead of the large muscles, he was lean, his skin lighter in color. But he was not weak. His arms did reveal the tight curve of muscle, though it was not the same as before. What bothered her most was the lack of scars. It was a clear indication that Arik had crossed through the world of the gods, and his brush with death terrified her.
Neither of them believed he could stay. And with each day, she feared she would have to watch him die. The thought bothered her deeply. Although this marriage had been formed out of his desire to protect her, she had never fully buried her feelings for him.
His kindness and patience were like water, eroding the edges of her stony defenses. Valdr’s brother had given them a small dwelling of their own near the edge of the settlement. The shelter was a space she could stride across in three steps, but she had welcomed the privacy.
Each night when they returned, Arik had talked with her while she prepared a meal for them. He kissed her and pulled her body against his at night, but he had made no move to touch her. It was possible that he was keeping his distance because of the risk of conceiving a child…but it had become a physical torment. She remembered his hands upon hers, and she had grown so used to his warm body pressed against hers, she wanted to join with him. He had touched her only once, on the day of their wedding, but she could not forget the arousal he had kindled.
Now, as she watched him train, it only brought those memories to the surface. And she realized that if she wanted her husband to make love to her, she would have to seduce him. The thought was frightening, but she wanted him.
Katarina shielded her eyes against the sun, letting her thoughts drift back to the past. She remembered how she used to watch him with the other young men, and the daydreams took her back to a memory she’d nearly forgotten.
“You’re too small for Arik Thorgrim to notice you,” one of the young maidens had taunted. “You’re hardly a woman at all.”
Katarina knew the maiden was right. She was shorter than all the others, with no breasts to speak of, and they teased her for it. But she had faith that one day she would grow.
She had come to watch the men fighting in the contests, and like the other maidens, she had worn her hair down around her shoulders, with a crown of flowers upon her head. Arik had joined in the competition, and she had long ago decided that he was the man she wanted. He was a few years older than her, and he was so strong and brave.
Katerina had given offerings to Freya over the past few weeks, hoping that Arik would come to love her. In the meantime, she kept her feelings to herself, knowing how unlikely it was.
A small hand caught hers, and her younger sister Ingirún was at her side. She whispered, “Don’t worry, Katarina. You’re going to be more beautiful than all of them. And I think Arik Thorgrim is watching you.”
She squeezed her sister’s hand, wishing it were true. But then, to her horror, her younger sister hurried toward the circle. What was she doing?
“Ingirún, come back!” she called out. But the young girl had walked up to Arik and was speaking to him.
Oh no. The last thing she needed was a matchmaking little sister. Her cheeks blazed with color as she followed Ingirún to the edge of the fighting. Arik was smiling at the little girl, and when he looked up at her, he winked.
Her heart pounded hard, and she wondered whether to hug her sister or berate her. “Ingirún, you cannot stay here. Give the men their…space.”
But Arik crossed over to stand in front of her. He towered above her, and his eyes held merriment. “I like your sister.”
Ingirún beamed at him before running back to the other girls. Katarina felt her cheeks burning, but she forced herself to face him. “I don’t think I want to know what she said to you. She knows she shouldn’t be here.”
“She told me that the other maidens were mocking you because you are small.” He reached out and plucked one of the flowers from her crown. “And she offered to pay me in gold if I showed you my favor.”
Katarina wanted to groan with frustration. “I cannot believe she offered such a thing. I am so sorry she interrupted you.”
He took the flower, twirling it in his fingertips before he tucked it inside his tunic. Then he rested his hand upon her cheek for a moment. “This may give them something to talk about. And tell your sister I do not require her gold.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
The gesture startled her, and she felt the trace of heat from his lips. She stood frozen in place while he went to join the others.
It hadn’t meant anything, really. Only a kindness that was meant to prove the others wrong. And because of that first kiss, she had held Arik Thorgrim in her most secret desires until the day he had sailed away without her.
“You’re going to be killed,” Valdr predicted.
The leader’s voice broke through Katarina’s daydream, and she turned her attention back to the fighting men. “A one-armed man is defeating you. How can you become thejarlnow?”
“I am not thejarl,” Arik countered. “I never wanted to be.” He swung his sword hard, and her brother darted out of the way. Over and over, they struck out, and a line of blood appeared across Arik’s chest when Hrafn’s blade skimmed him.
She winced, though it was a minor wound. The other men appeared uncomfortable at the fight, and several left. In her husband’s expression, she saw the frustration and determination.
“Get some water, Thorgrim,” Hrafn said at last, sheathing his weapon. Her brother exchanged a glance with Valdr, and she didn’t miss his dissatisfaction. Arik had been the strongest fighter of all the men. And now, his movements were tentative, as if he’d hardly fought with weapons before.
