Although her brother only had one arm, he moved with swiftness and power. He struck out, again and again, and the sound of clashing weapons reverberated in the circle. Eric dodged one blow and followed up with his own attack, only to have her brother lash back with fury.
“Stop watching my hands, and watch my eyes,” her brother demanded. “Else you will lose every time.”
Hrafn wielded the heavy battle-ax and Eric raised a shield. The metal edge bit into the wood and before her brother could pull back, her husband spun and tripped Hrafn, disarming him as he tugged the shield back with the ax still embedded.
“Good,” her brother said, accepting his hand and rising from the ground. “If you continue to fight like that, there may be hope that you won’t be killed tomorrow.”
Thethralloffered ale to the men, and Eric drained his goblet, staring at her. She felt the heat of his eyes upon her body, and Hrafn was well aware of it, too. Her brother gestured for her to come forward. “Show me what you remember about fighting, Katarina.”
She was about to return for her knife, but he shook his head. “No weapons.” Instead, he came up behind her, and seized her with his one arm. “How will you break free?”
She slammed her head backward and twisted, moving away from Hrafn’s hold. He rubbed at his nose and nodded to her. “Good. But most men will have two arms. Try it with Arik.”
Katarina moved into position with her husband’s arms wrapped tightly around her. His wrist rested against her throat, and she could almost imagine that he held an invisible blade. She could feel the taut strength of him, and she thought a moment.
“What are you going to do?” Eric asked against her ear. His voice resonated, causing a spiral of desire to wind through her body. She pressed her backside against him and felt the rise of interest from him.
A second later, she elbowed his ribs and used the distraction to try and twist against him. But her husband remained unmoving, his arms locked around her. She tried to knock her head backward against his, but he dodged the blow and pushed her to the ground, pinning her there.
“You’ve lost this battle.” Eric stole a kiss before he let her back up. “But I will help you practice later.” He lifted her to her feet and let her go.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, though she was accustomed to losing and wasn’t entirely upset. She wanted him to regain his strength, and to be defeated by a woman would only cause him to lose face in front of Valdr and Dalla.
In the distance, she heard a dog barking and snarling. It sounded like Oda, but she had no idea why the animal was so unsettled. She started to move toward the noise, but Eric stopped her.
“No. Let Hrafn and me find out what it is. Stay here with Valdr and Dalla. They will guard you until we return.”
The idea of staying behind didn’t appeal to her. “I thought you wanted me to remain at your side at all times.”
Eric’s face hardened, and he shook his head. “It’s safer for you here, among Valdr and the others.”
If that was what they wanted, so be it. And yet, she had never heard Oda bark in that way before. Her instincts sharpened, and she handed her goblet back to athrall. If the men did not return right away, she wanted to be prepared to fight. Katarina crossed the courtyard, intending to take back her blade.
Along the way, she cast a glance at Valdr and his brother, Dalla. The two men were speaking quietly, and it was clear that Eric was the subject of their conversation. She hoped that he had improved during this day of training, but from the unsettled expressions on their faces, it did not appear so.
Katarina walked toward the bag of grain, and all the while, the dog continued to bark. Strangely, her blade was missing.
She frowned and looked around to see if it had fallen, but there was no sign of the weapon anywhere. She had not sheathed it at her waist, so where could it be? She questioned thethrallwho had brought the ale, but he only shrugged. Though it was only an ordinary blade with no particular value, she was certain she had plunged it into the bag.
She walked up the stairs to the platform where the two older men had been watching. Valdr’s brother Dalla nodded in greeting. The man was younger, but his brown beard held tints of gray. “I understand that you married my nephew for his protection,” he began. “But do you truly believe he can defend you?”
“He already has, when Leif attacked me,” she said. Straightening, she added, “I believe all of his fighting strength will return.”
It was true enough. Though it would take time, Eric had never faltered in his effort. Dalla inclined his head at last. “I offer my good wishes to you and my nephew. And may Freya bless you with many sons.”
Katarina murmured her thanks and shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun. From her vantage point, she could see the longhouses and people moving about, but upon the grounds, there was no sign of her missing blade. She was beginning to wonder if it had somehow fallen into the grain from a hole in the cloth. Before she could go and look, thejarlcaught her hand. “I’ve been wanting to talk with you about my son,” Valdr said quietly.
From his tone, she detected a bleakness, and her suspicions rose. “What is it?”
“Do you think the gods truly returned him to us? Or is he one of Loki’s shadows, meant to trick us into believing lies?” Valdr’s expression turned grim. “He does not seem like the same man at all.”
She would not tell him the truth, for if she did, it might mean Eric’s death. Thejarlwas not a man who would take kindly to a deception. Instead, she kept her tone neutral, “He is different,” she agreed. “What man would not be, after returning from Valhalla?”
“A man who is a liar,” Valdr countered. “He does not fight in the same way he once did.”
“He has changed, yes. But he is still a man of honor.”
“I do not believe him,” Valdr said quietly. “He does not remember our ways of fighting. No one would forget this, save an outsider.”
