She’d seen books on mythology and returned there, but they all seemed to be about Greek and Roman legends, many in Greek or Latin. She spoke a little Greek but couldn’t read it, and modern Italian was not Latin. Neither would help with the legends of northern Europe.
Feeling a dunce, she turned to leave the library but paused by one of the books invitingly open on the tables. It was a great Bible, open appropriately to Saint Luke’s account of the Christmas story, to the Magnificat.
She read through, coming to the lines
He hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts.
He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.
He hath filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he hath sent empty away.
My! Was Dr. Egan responsible for turning the pages to ones appropriate for the day? Would he be dismissed for choosing these?
She moved to the next table, which displayed a quite small book. At the top of the open pages it read,A History of the Malloren Family.
She started at having her search so easily solved, but then realized the book would be on display during a family gathering. And of course it would tell nothing unpleasant about them.
She expected something a little more exciting than what she read on the open pages, however. They told of a crusading ancestor, and apart from that one fact, nothing interesting had happened to William de Malloren.He’d died at age seventy in his bed, his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren around him.
What was Dr. Egan’s message there? That great houses were built with plain bricks?
She moved on to the last book, anticipating some other subtle commentary on the great, then stared at it as if it were a striking snake. The top of the page carried one word.
Loki.
She looked around as if someone might be watching, but she was still alone. She partly closed the book to read the spine.Tales of the Norse Gods.Feeling as if another message was being fed to her, she began to read.
Loki was described as beautiful, fickle, clever, and malicious. He deliberately created problems for the other gods, then showed his superiority by solving them. Among the problems were his three children—a wolf, a serpent, and Hel, or death.
Was Ashart’s wolf cloak deliberate? Why in heaven’s name would he link himself to a mythical character as unpleasant as this?
The story on the page was about destructive Fenris, the wolf, whom the gods eventually tricked into letting himself be bound with a magical rope called Gleipnir. The mighty wolf was suspicious, however, and wouldn’t submit until one of the gods put his hand in its mouth. So Tyr, god of battle, did so. The wolf was bound, but it bit off Tyr’s hand.
She saw the message in that. Those who sought to defeat evil must be willing to sacrifice, perhaps everything. Hadn’t Lord Rothgar said something similar yesterday—to Ashart?
She turned the page, seeking more about Loki, but arms snared her from behind. “I gather I’m to chop down trees for you, my love.”
Something—a step, perhaps, or even a smell—had given Genova a second’s warning, so she managed to conceal the sudden rush of energy within her.
She turned, and Loki allowed it, though he didn’tdraw back. They were so close that every breath brushed body against body, igniting desire despite everything she knew about him.
“What do you mean?” she asked, trying to appear unmoved.
He pressed a tiny bit closer. “As Rothgar said, he keeps to the old traditions, so we are to go like laborers to harvest evergreens and the Yule log. Or rather, the men labor and the ladies applaud.”
She shifted slightly away, but this pressed her hips closer. Heat rose in her. “It’s always a pleasure to watch men sweat.”
His eyes sparkled, suggesting another meaning entirely.
“Have you arranged for another gossip to interrupt, my lord?” she said desperately, praying for something to brace her willpower.
“No, why?”
“Then why play atamor? Let me go.”
She pressed forward but he didn’t move. She raised her hands between them. “What do you want, Ashart?”
He lowered his head to breathe against her neck. “To sweat?”
