“The hull of a ship gives great surface area and most of my men have spent many years in that trade. When they built it for me, that shape made sense to them. Come, let me show you inside.”
Two men opened the large doors allowing the heady aroma of burning peat and fish to waft out. Giric’s eyes took a few minutes to adjust to the dark, but when they did, the sight before him only played on his earlier suspicions.
“Your weapons,” one of the men guarding the structure said as he pointed to a pile of swords and axes off to the side.
Giric and Osgar removed their swords and daggers and did as they were asked. They would gain more ground with Gunnar if they practiced no deceit at this early stage in the game.
Two wooden tables flanked the sides of the hall with a massive, rectangular fire pit in the middle. Sides of meat hung from iron hooks above and small fish were being smoked on racks around the pit. Several axes, shields, and swords decorated the walls along with various furs, tanned leather skins, and animal antlers, mostly buck by Giric’s estimation. If the walls had been stone, he would swear he had just entered a nobleman’s hall, though this one was more rustic yet grand in a different way than his own. What might Gunnar think of his home in comparison?
At the head of the hall and on a raised platform, a single wooden chair was adorned with various furs, clearly meant for the chief. Behind the chair and to the side was a doorway and he wondered what lay beyond.
“You do not have a wife?” Giric asked him as he regarded the single chair again.
“You are keen, Giric MacDomnail. Are you proposing to me?”
Now it was Giric’s time to laugh. “I assure you, ‘tis women I prefer,” he said.
“Very well. Come sit at my table and share a horn with me. You have not introduced me to your companion.”
Giric turned to see Osgar’s slack-jawed expression. “This is my oldest and most trusted ally, Osgar MacAlpin. He owns lands near mine, and we have spent many years working hard to enhance the value of our properties and protect it from—raiders. I might as well come out and say it.”
“I am glad you choose to speak plainly,” Gunnar said. “We will get along much better that way. Please sit at my table, Osgar MacAlpin.”
Gunnar leaned back and motioned for a young woman to come forward with a pitcher. She was quite beautiful with straight blonde hair and high cheekbones, though not as tall as he expected. He’d heard all Viking women were as tall as most Scots men. She wore a long-sleeved fitted green shift with a tunic over it fastened at the shoulders with heavy brooches. By the way the inset stones glinted in the light, he surmised they were some sort of precious gem. But since she served her lord, did that mean she shared his bed, or that she was family? Giric did not know enough about the way their hierarchy established such things as servitude.
“Bring horns too, Aslaug,” Gunnar said. “And meat. Lots of meat. Now down to business—”
The door swung wide, slamming against the outside wall drawing Giric’s attention to a single entrant striding toward them. This warrior was leaner and less bulky than the others he’d viewed earlier. His silhouette revealed little about his features, but as he drew closer and the light from the fire struck his face, Giric’s jaw slacked.Herlong blonde braids swung around her body as she embedded her axe into the table with a loud crack then straddled the bench beside him.
Gunnar leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Saga, is that any way to treat our guests?”
“They do not belong here,” she said staring directly into Giric’s eyes.
Christ’s teeth, he didn’t quite know what to do next. She was tall and lean and now that she was close, he could see the icy blue eyes, angular cheekbones, and full lips. He allowed his gaze to take in her furs and the way the leather straps around her body appeared to enhance an ample chest. His gaze shifted back up to the eyes now boring into his. Strength there, aye. Cunning too.
“This is my sister, Saga,” Gunnar said, interrupting Giric’s thoughts. “Saga, I present Giric MacDomnail and Osgar MacAlpin. They are Scots, come to make peace talks with us.”
“There can be no peace,” Saga said. “Not now. Not ever.” Though she spoke Scot’s tongue, her Norse accent was much thicker than her brother’s.
“And why is that?” Giric asked.
“Because your king will never allow it. He only wishes to drive us out or breed us out like cattle.”
“King Constantine wishes for peace more than anything. He has entered into talks with King Olaf of Dublin to marry his own daughter. You do not see this as a symbol of goodwill?” Her strength of conviction was intriguing.
“He offers his daughter without her consent. Is this the kind of king you support? Are you this kind of man as well? Do you come here to arrange marriages for your own benefit, ignoring the wishes of the people involved?”
“That is a conversation you must have with your chief.”
Her eyes grew wide and her jaw set. Giric could not tear his away from her. She was ethereal and untamed and graceful all at once and she drew him in with her power.
“My chief will not force me to marry a man I do not want.”
Giric turned to Gunnar. “You know why I am here. I have one sister and two brothers who are unmarried. You have siblings and are also unmarried. We can make peace between our peoples if that is what you want.”
“It is what I want,” Gunnar said. “And it is what my sister wants too. But she makes a reasonable point. I will not force marriage upon any person under my care and that includes myself. And what about you?” he said looking at Osgar. “Are you willing to attach yourself to one of ours, possibly sacrificing your own happiness in the process?”
Giric glanced at Saga who still glared at him. It almost made him grin. He wanted to know her better, of that he was certain. He turned to Osgar awaiting his reply. The man was always careful in his approach to any problem, though he knew none braver. Osgar would run through the fiery pits of hell to protect those he loved, but he was careful and calculated in his approach.
