CHAPTER THREE
Katarina didn’t know how to answer her brother. She had known the man sitting beside her all her life—and yet he was a stranger. His clothing was foreign and his mannerisms were nothing at all like Arik Thorgrim’s. All his scars had vanished.
It’s not him.
In her heart, she knew it—and yet, if she told her brother this, he would slay him in a heartbeat. Despite all that had happened in the past year, every time she looked at Arik, she saw the man she had once adored.
She could not watch him die—at least, not until she had the answers she needed. “It is Arik Thorgrim,” she lied. “I believe he was brought back from the afterworld by Freya.” The words slipped freely from her lips, though she inwardly questioned what was real and what was not.
Hrafn’s tension didn’t diminish, but he took a step forward. To Arik, he demanded, “If what Katarina says is true, tell me how I received this scar.” He turned and revealed the jagged edge of his throat. The scar was a mottled red and white color, and she held her breath, wondering if Thorgrim would give the correct answer.
There was a slight moment of hesitation, then Arik spoke. “A wolf tried to kill you. You’re wearing his pelt now.” He paused a moment and added, “You lost the arm when we were boys. A raider struck you down.”
Hrafn’s shoulders lowered, and a faint look of approval crossed his face. He exchanged a look with her as if to say—You were right.Katarina couldn’t quite muster a smile, for her own thoughts were too confused. But she did nod to her brother, and that seemed to be enough.
He moved in and gripped Arik’s hand. “Welcome home, Thorgrim.”
Katarina poured cups of ale for the men and retreated back a short distance, hoping they would forget her presence while they talked. She sat at a small weaving loom and began working over the threads.
The mindless task helped to calm her troubled thoughts. Her brother and Arik had been friends for many years. It was only in the last two years that there had been tension, when she’d confessed her feelings for Arik. Hrafn had been angry with him for not wanting to wed her, but then Arik had left. She had been heartbroken, but now she believed it was better this way.
It made it easier to concentrate on revenge.
Leif had asked her to wed him, and she was considering it. She did not need a marriage based upon love or affection. Protection was what she wanted now, and he had proved himself worthy when she’d been attacked.
She closed her eyes to fight back the memories. That night, she had been surrounded by drunken men who had beaten her when she’d tried to fight them off. She had no doubt at all that she would have been raped by all of them, had it not been for Leif’s arrival. He had saved her from the men, and for that, she would always be grateful.
He kept pressuring her to wed him, but she would not agree. At least, not until he helped her find the men who had killed Ingirún and bring them to justice. It was a means of delaying their joining, for Leif’s physical size made her wary. After being attacked, she needed time to get over her fears. But at least she trusted that he would keep her safe.
Katarina glanced down and realized that she’d woven a snarl of colors into the wool. With a sigh, she began untangling the threads, wishing she could as easily smooth out the uneven edges of her life. The past was finished, and she could only look toward a future where no one could ever threaten her again. All she had to do was please Leif, and that was simple enough. He was very clear in his expectations of a wife.
But when she shifted her gaze back to Arik Thorgrim, she remembered what it had felt like to see those brown eyes staring back at her. His skin, though cool, had been a welcome comfort, and it had drawn her imagination down a path she hadn’t expected. From the moment Arik had returned, she’d been drawn closer. Even when she’d touched his bare skin, she had not been afraid of him—not the way she was with other men.
Let him go,she reminded herself. If she allowed her feelings to weaken, it would only hurt when he left again.
“What became of Svala?” she heard her brother ask.
Katarina’s hands stilled against the wool she was weaving. Even the name sent a wave of annoyance through her. Svala, the blond, blue-eyed woman, had followed Arik to the Anglo-Saxon shores. And though to everyone else, she appeared to be virtuous, Katarina had never trusted her.
Like as not, it was jealousy. But she was glad that the woman no longer had her claws in Arik.
“She betrayed me,” was all Arik said.
Katarina was glad to hear it, though it shouldn’t matter. Why should she care what happened between them? It was over and done with now.
The need to be outside, to walk away from the uncertainties building inside her, was growing far too strong. She rose from her loom and went to the door. Before she could leave, Arik asked, “Where are you going?”
She didn’t truly know, but answered, “Just outside the door.” Lifting her chin, she opened the door. But a moment later, he was at her side.
“Not alone.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “My brother and you will keep me safe.” There was no danger here; of that, she was certain. “If I go anywhere, I will take Astrid with me or anotherthrall.”
He sent a look toward her brother as if he didn’t believe that. “A female slave cannot defend her. Katarina should go nowhere without a man to guard her.”
Her brother’s mouth tightened, and he gave a stiff nod. “I agree.”
Arik glanced back at Hrafn. “Or I will walk with her.” There was a silent agreement exchanged between them.
