Lord of Fire and Ice (4 page)

The thwack of an ax splitting wood echoed off the stone barn. Finn glared in the direction of Brandr and the chopping block. He snorted.

“I’ll bet the son of Ulf isn’t taking much to that iron collar.”

“No, but at least he isn’t afraid of hard labor.” Katla slanted her gaze at Finn. “Unlike some.”

Since Brandr was a
jarl
’s son, Katla expected him to be demeaned by the tasks she assigned him. The gods knew her brothers couldn’t be bothered to work, and they were only the sons of a
karl
, a simple landed farmer. But Brandr tackled each chore without complaint.

She was still amazed that he’d kept his word not to run away. It would have been a simple matter to escape with his friends that morning if his oath meant nothing to him. There was more character there than she’d suspected.

Against her better judgment, she watched his easy stride as he walked back across the barnyard. His bare arms rippled with strength, and that snug tunic showed far too much of his muscular thighs. Several women churning butter by the open barn door turned their heads to follow his progress. When he bent to stack the wood, his tunic rode up so high, the women were nearly treated to the sight of his bare buttocks.

“Better find a longer tunic for the man, or you’ll get no work done from your women,” Finn observed.

Katla couldn’t blame them. Brandr Ulfson was extremely well made. She had to keep reminding herself he was son of her husband’s murderer. Yet even knowing who he was, he was not an easy man to resist. Would it be so terrible if she stopped trying?

“Katla, the man’s almost here.”

Finn’s voice pulled her out of her indecent thoughts. She turned to see her other brothers, Einar and Haukon, flanking a third man and coming up the hill toward her. Katla gave herself a silent scolding. It wouldn’t do to be musing about her attraction to a thrall when she was about to meet the man she might marry.

“Who is he?” she asked Finn as the party approached.

“Albrikt Gormson. He owns a tidy property, three times the size of your farmstead, on the northwest corner of Stord Island,” Finn said.

“Stord? That’s a good day’s sail, two if you meet rough seas. You must have made these arrangements before you brought me the son of Ulf. When did you intend to tell me you’d already set up another match?”

“At the last possible moment,” Finn admitted.

Katla gave him a sisterly swat on the shoulder. If Finn would only show as much initiative in other things. “He hasn’t another wife, has he? I’ll be no man’s second.”

It wasn’t unusual for a man to keep a concubine handy. Her husband, Osvald, had one, but he never turned to her unless Katla had been unable to welcome him. A few foolhardy men actually had more than one wife under the beam of their longhouses. While Katla had tolerated sharing her man with another woman on occasion, she’d never resign herself to sharing the running of a household.

“No, Albrikt has no wife. He’s widowed.”

“Any children?”

“A son, but he’s gone to Iceland to manage Gormson’s land there.”

Katla nodded her approval. If the man had other land for his existing heirs, it would make it easier for her children to inherit this farm.

If she was blessed with children. She couldn’t give up hope.

“If Gormson has come this far, you must have done some preliminary negotiating.” When Katla married Osvald, he set up Finn and Einar on small farmsteads. Unfortunately, her brothers were indifferent farmers and ran their places into the ground with overgrazing and mismanagement. In the end, their holdings had been sold to pay their bills at the mead house. She hoped they’d do better next time. “What has he offered you?”

“Gormson will deed his property on Stord over to us in exchange for control of your land.”

“And why is he willing to trade a larger holding for a smaller one?” Katla arched an eyebrow at her brother. She didn’t like the idea of giving someone else control of her land. What would happen to the people who depended on her? “Does his steading have a source of fresh water? Timber? Stord is mountainous. Mayhap the land is all vertical.”

Finn shrugged after each question.

“Have you even seen Gormson’s land?”

“Well, no, but if the holding’s that big, it should divide well three ways.”

“
Hel
’s chambers are said to be spacious, but no one wishes to bide in that cold hall, do they?” Katla said waspishly. “Honestly, Finn, your head is supposed to be good for more than keeping your ears apart.”

“You underestimate me, sister. This time, we’ll get some ready coin from the arrangement too.” Finn straightened to his full lanky height and gave her a withering glance. “But we’re not likely to if he sees you like this. Go clean up. The bath house is already hot. I can smell the smoke from here. We’ll give Gormson a long look around the place, and you can meet him at night meal,
ja
?”

A lovely hot bath sounded too delicious to pass up.

“All right.” She snapped her fingers, and Brandr turned to look at her. “Son of Ulf, haul up a fresh barrel of water for the cooling room in the bath house.”

“Oh, good. More water to haul. I live to serve, O Merciful and Clean One,” he answered with a smirk and went to do her bidding.

“Insolent dog. I’d beat him if he were my thrall,” Finn said. “Want me to do it for you?”

Katla lifted her skirt and started toward the already steamy bath. “I think he’d like you to try.”

Her husband had always argued maintaining a bath for their people was an extravagance. It burned too much wood. It encouraged folk to rush through their labor so they could lounge in the communal bath. Osvald had it on good authority that steam weakened the structure of a bath house so much, it would have to be rebuilt every twelve years or so.

But Osvald no longer had a say in the matter, and if the bath house had to be rebuilt, Katla was sure her people would pitch in joyfully. Nothing soothed work-sore muscles, kept folk healthier or smelling sweeter than a regular bath. The bath house was a place to relax, to share a little gossip, to enjoy a respite from labor before the coming night meal.

Even though it was shared by both sexes, Katla allowed no dalliances or lewdness on the stair-stepped seating in the bath. Of course, if couples sized each other up there and then met elsewhere later, that was their own business, but the bath itself was almost as holy as the oak grove at Uppsala.

As they had since Osvald’s death, when Katla entered the bath, the other bathers found reason to leave. She asked Gerte, one of the older women, to bring up a fresh change of clothing for her and leave it in the cooling room.

Gerte had told her once that vacating the bath for the lady of the steading was a mark of respect. She ought to be able to enjoy her bath in privacy.

It was good to be respected, but sometimes Katla wished for a little time to talk with others without having them behave as if she would turn them out if they failed to please her all the time. It was Osvald who banished those who didn’t suit him.

Katla never did. Not even her three slug-a-bed brothers. She didn’t know why her people seemed to fear her. She never worked anyone harder than she worked herself.

Well, maybe Brandr Ulfson
, she admitted as she stripped off the last of her grimy work clothes and folded them in a neat pile.
But
the
son
of
Ulf
should
expect
to
work
harder
than
others. He deserves it.

She lifted a towel from the stack of clean ones and spread it on the empty bench before she sat. Even with the cloth, the hot seat warmed her bottom. Heat seared her nostrils. The green scent of birch leaves lingered in the air. A couple of bundles of switches were soaking in a small barrel of scented water for later use.

Katla leaned back and closed her eyes, letting the extreme heat loosen all her clenched muscles. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and upper lip. She swiped them away.

The door to the cooling room creaked open. Someone must have decided to come back for more heat.

The temperature ticked upward, and the sound of water sizzling on hot stones made her open her eyes. Steam engulfed a lone figure and released a fresh burst of fragrant birch. He poured a little more water on the rocks and then turned to face her.

It was Brandr.

“What are you doing here?” She resisted covering her breasts. Doing so would be an admission of her nakedness. It was no shame to be nude in a public bath, but her cheeks warmed in a way that had nothing to do with steam from the heated rocks.

“You ordered me here, princess.”

She decided to ignore the sarcastic title. He was more likely to stop if she acted as if it didn’t bother her. “I ordered you to fill a cooling barrel.”

“Which I have done.” He peeled off his tunic, baring his hard body. “I was told you kept a bath for the use of all your people. For better or worse, I’m one of your people now. Or do you prefer your thralls to stink up your hall?”

Brandr plunged his garment into the barrel of soapy water intended for washing clothes while the bather soaked up heat. At least the son of Ulf was a man of clean habits. She had to give him that.

“I have no other thralls but you,” she said, studiously keeping her gaze glued to his face. “And I’d rather you didn’t reek, so you may stay.”

“Magnanimous as always, princess.” He wrung the excess water from his tunic and hung it on an overhead beam. Then he strode over and sat down beside her.

“There are other places to sit,” she said.

“If I sit across the room from you, I won’t be able to help looking at you the whole time.” He flicked a glance at her and then looked straight ahead. “If we sit side by side, we can pretend we aren’t sneaking peeks at each other.”

He’d already seen more of her than he ought when he held her upside down to kiss her foot, but this was different. They weren’t jostling for power. They were just bathing together. It erased the barrier of rank.

It was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. When she and Osvald came to the bath together, she’d bathed with any number of her crofters and retainers. There was never anything the least prurient about it.

But somehow, being here alone with this man felt…intimate. The thought of him glimpsing her breasts made them tingle. She crossed her legs to hide her sex from him, lest an ache start there.

She caught him in a sidelong glance. “You really don’t know how to behave, do you?”

“Never saw the point. In the South, they called us barbarians.” He shrugged. “I felt honor bound to live down to the name.”

Curiosity tickled her imagination like the single bead of sweat that tickled down her spine. “What was that like? Living in the great city, I mean.”

“Grander than you can imagine,” he said. “In Constantinople—that’s what the Christians call it, you know—the homes of the nobles have water running into them, piped in from the mountains far away. And the marble floors are heated so no one ever has to wear stockings unless they wish.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said, curling her toes. On bitter winter nights, she never could keep them warm.

He regaled her with tales of the many races who lived and prospered in the southern city. In the vast market, a man might find goods from exotic Cathay and Hind and the Upper Nile. Her mind refused to imagine people by the hundreds of thousands attending the games in the gigantic hippodrome. Surely there weren’t that many souls in all the nine worlds.

“Of course, the Christians there are half-mad,” he said. “One faction is always out to declare the others heretics to their faith.”

“We have had priests come here,” she said. “A few of my people wear the cross, though most still seem to prefer Thor’s hammer. Did you convert while you were in the city of the Christians?”

He shook his head. “No, but our gods seemed mighty far away. I fought beside men who wore the cross, but in the heat of battle, they cried out to Thor to save them. Who’s to say who heard that prayer? God is God. It’s foolish for us to argue over what to name him.”

That sounded like sense to her.

Since Brandr had been assigned to lead the emperor’s elite personal guard, much of his service had been in the imperial palace.

“No emperor rests easy once his sons are born,” Brandr said.

“Why? Are they afraid enemies will attack their children?” Katla’s protective nature rose up against any who would plot against a child.

“Hardly. The son isn’t usually the one in danger,” Brandr said. “The quickest path to the imperial crown is for a prince to kill his father.”

“That’s terrible.”

Brandr leaned forward on his elbows. “The thought occurred to me a time or two.”

“You would’ve killed your father?” Katla whispered. Norse law meted out the worst possible punishment for those convicted of patricide. One who murdered his father would meet Death on the wings of the Blood Eagle, his living lungs ripped through his ribs and spread across his back.

“No, probably not. But not because the old bastard didn’t deserve it.” Brandr stood suddenly and strode to the bucket of switches near the heated stones. “Ready for a birching?”

Katla wanted to ask him more about his father, but he’d abruptly changed the topic.

“I’ll do you, and then you can do me.” He retrieved a bundle of wet switches and tested them for softness against his own thigh.

Flicking herself with a bundle of birch switches was part of the bathing process. It made Katla’s skin glow, and the smell of softened birch leaves filled the bath house with a fresh scent.

“I usually do myself,” she said.

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” he said with a frown. “In Byzantium, a noblewoman has half-a-dozen body servants to tend her. She never has to lift a finger.”

“So did you attend a noble woman at her bath?” she asked with a grin.

“No, but I’ve stood outside the bath house with my sword drawn for one. A royal princess can’t be too careful when she’s meeting her lover in a pool covered with rose petals.” He held the bundle of birch out to her. “You can switch me first if you like.”

***

Brandr didn’t expect her to agree, but astonishingly enough, she took the switches from him. The offer had been the only thing he could think of to make sure the subject of conversation stayed changed.

He hadn’t meant to let his murderous thoughts about his own sire slip out like that, so raw, so feral. He was in awe of his father. He hated his father. His feelings festered in a tight knot. It was such a jumbled tangle he resisted trying to untie the collection of mismatched threads.

He still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the death of Ulf the Ruthless. There was so much unfinished business between them, it was more than he was ready to tackle.

So instead, he smiled at the naked woman before him.

“I thought your honor wouldn’t allow you to let me beat you.” A feline smile played about her lips as she smacked her own palm with the soft switches.

“This isn’t a beating. Bear in mind I’m letting you go first so I’ll know how hard you’d like me to switch you in return.” He really tried to keep his gaze fixed on her face, but a bead of sweat trickled from her neck. He couldn’t help but follow its progress till it balanced on a taut nipple. “Do you want to start on the front or the back?”

“Turn around.”

He obeyed, spread his legs to shoulder width, and extended his arms out to the sides. The birch switches were so tender and supple and covered with wet, softened leaves, he barely felt the slaps on his calves. They stung pleasantly when she swatted his thighs and buttocks. His back tingled as she moved up to his shoulders and along each of his arms.

So long as he felt something, he didn’t need to think about his dead father or his enthrallment or anything else.

“Face me, but close your eyes,” she ordered.

He turned around and swept her form with a quick gaze. “Afraid I’ll like what I see, princess?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ll poke your eyes out,” she said with poisoned sweetness as she brandished the birch bundle. “Accidentally, of course.”

He clamped his eyelids shut.

The fresh scent of birch filled his nostrils as she slapped the bundle on each shoulder and across his chest. Blood surged in his veins, and his whole body thrummed with life as she moved down to his thighs.

When he opened his eyes, she was frowning at his cock, which had risen unbidden.

“I don’t have any way to stop that from happening when a beautiful na—” He caught himself before he said “naked.” It wouldn’t do to point out the obvious, even if her bare body was the cause of his erect state. “When a beautiful woman is lavishing attention on me.”

Color rose in her cheeks. Didn’t she know she was beautiful?

“Most people wouldn’t consider a switching lavish attention,” she said dryly. “It’s just part of your bath. Don’t make it something else.”

“I won’t if you won’t.” He took the bundle of birch from her and dipped it in the aromatic water so it would be cool and refreshing. “Turn around.”

She gave him her back and caught up her hair in one hand to bare her neck. He ached to plant a kiss on her nape at the hairline. She’d be salty and sweet and unbearably soft, but he’d given his word not to kiss her again without permission. Instead, he lightly tapped her shoulders with the birch and dragged the leaves across her skin. Her flesh glowed as he moved along each of her slender arms with glancing taps.

Then he switched across her back, moving quickly from side to side, careful only to invigorate her skin, not hurt her. He birched her bum with a little more pressure, as she had his. He smiled at her sharp intake of breath and enjoyed the rosy blush creeping over her rounded buttocks.

He moved down her thighs and sweetly curved calves. When he told her to turn around, he was a little surprised by the raggedness of his tone. He was no stranger to passion, but he hadn’t expected to want this woman so much. She was bossy and standoffish. And vulnerable beneath her hard outer shell. He’d seen glimpses of that softer Katla and ached to coax her out.

She closed her eyes. He wished she’d have left them open. He wanted her to watch him as he tried to delight her.

He flicked the birch across her breasts. Her nipples drew tight. He dragged the soft leaves around them in slow, teasing circles. Her lips parted. The slow rise and fall of her breasts with each deep breath was spellbinding. He forced himself to move on.

He feathered the leaves over her ribs and across her belly. He would have liked to tease the hairs on her sex with the supple switches. He’d trade a year in Valhalla to see this woman squirm. But she’d skipped over his groin, so he had to follow her lead if he wanted her to trust him. He stung her thighs till they pinked with glowing health, and worked his way down her shins.

Then he stood upright. Her eyes were still closed, so he drank her in from head to toe. He’d desired many women, but he’d never ached so for one. Perhaps it was the lure of the unobtainable. Katla was his owner, his mistress.

Well beyond his reach.

She opened her eyes.

He reached for her in spite of the difference in their stations. Naked in the bath house, they were only a man and a woman.

She put a hand to his chest to stop him.

“I think we’ve had enough heat.”

Even though he was almost certain she desired him as much as he did her, she turned and headed toward the cooling room. Her pink bum cheeks undulated, a beckoning summons, as she walked away from him.