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  ‘The most pleasurable way.’

  He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers, no more than the touch of butterfly, but also all fire and heat. None of Hamthur’s kisses had prepared her for this dark, all-consuming intensity which infused her being. Her legs became weak and she clutched his tunic.

  A little moan escaped her throat and his arms came around her, moulding her against him.

  Someone dropped a pan and Ragn realised what she was doing. She jumped backwards. He allowed her to go.

  Her mouth panged with disappointment at the kiss’s briefness. She kept her eyes on the rushes, but his ragged breathing echoed in her ears.

  ‘I believe the experiment was a success, Ragnhild.’

  She glanced up and met his dancing eyes. Her heart did a little flip. She dampened it down. Giving him the satisfaction of knowing how much she had enjoyed what he must consider a brief meaningless meeting of lips would remain her secret. ‘I prefer Ragn.’

  He smiled. ‘Ragn, it shall be. My wife.’

  ‘You take pleasure in teasing me,’ she said.

  ‘In the right circumstances.’ He gestured towards the kitchen. ‘Shall we entertain our unwelcome guest before he starts wondering where we have disappeared to? There again, we are newlyweds. I am sure he will understand if we simply had to retire to the nearest bed.’

  ‘Maurr appears to be a man who is quick to take an insult. Besides, he would not believe it.’

  He reached out and rubbed a thumb against her all-too-tender lips. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He considers me a wife, not a concubine.’

  ‘Where does it say a man cannot lust after his wife?’

  She deliberately turned away. He was definitely teasing her now. It was the main reason why this marriage had to be practical, rather than for any other purpose. She knew the limitations of her charms, but an insidious voice at the back of her brain whispered—what if...what if Gunnar truly desired her? He was a very different proposition from Hamthur.

  She silenced it. If she listened to the murmurings of her heart, she might as well start believing in elves and fairies again. ‘I’ve much to do to ensure the smooth running of your household.’

  ‘Our household. It is a joint enterprise now.’ His hands grasped her shoulders and firmly turned her back towards him. ‘I do believe I have found a way of silencing you.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘You promised no force.’

  Their breath interlaced, and his gaze appeared to trace the outline of her mouth. Her lips throbbed anew.

  He gave a slow smile as if he knew and enjoyed the havoc he was creating in her body. ‘This discussion is far from over, Ragn. I do find it difficult to resist a challenge.’

  ‘Hardly a challenge.’ She gave a decisive nod. ‘Wives run households. Concubines warm beds.’

  ‘I have no intention of mistaking what you are!’ He gave a low laugh as he walked away.

  She fingered her mouth and almost felt the imprint of his lips. It was worrying that a small piece of her wanted to believe that he was interested in her, that he, too, had felt that pull of attraction which made her blood fizz.

  She quickly shook her head to clear it. She was worse than Svana with her belief in nissers. She refused to give any man the power to make her miserable about her looks and question her competence again. She’d learned from her mistakes. Her destiny was practicality, not romance. The best she hoped for was to gain his respect.

  The pot of barley started to bubble over, bringing her back to reality. She ran towards it and swung it away from the fire. Unless she started working properly, she would lose all chance of that as well.

  * * *

  The hall had been completely transformed from the barren and empty cavern that Gunnar had seen only this morning. Now, all the benches were full. Ragn had found tapestries from somewhere to line the walls. The fire blazed and there appeared to be a limitless supply of good food to eat and a watered-down ale for those on the lower tables while the high table had mead to drink. She’d even discovered one of his men had talent as a decent saga teller. How she’d discovered it, he could not guess. Much as he hated to admit it, Ragn had been right to proclaim—good company and food altered tempers. Maurr’s men appeared far less desperate than earlier.

  Ragn flitted everywhere, making sure they were all made comfortable. All the men seemed to want to flirt with her, but she appeared utterly unperturbed by it, answering comments with a smile, and a deft twist of her hips kept her away from groping hands. Her talent for anticipating potential quarrels and stopping them before they happened was astonishing to watch.

  However, it did not bode well for his new quest to get her into his bed, any time soon. The brief kiss they had shared had sent his senses soaring earlier, but she’d pulled back with confused eyes, ending it. Then she’d run from the alcove as if she was the Sun Maiden with Fenrir the wolf on her heels. He had to wonder why. Her husband was not long dead. Did she mourn him? Or was there something else.

  ‘Are you mooning over your wife?’ Maurr asked, bringing him back to the reality of entertaining an unwelcome guest. ‘Is that why you failed to answer my question about your trees and their suitability for my hall?’

  ‘Trees? You asked about trees?’ Gunnar forced his thoughts away from the problem which was Ragn and back to his uninvited guest’s request for timber to build his hall. ‘I have a stand which are tall enough for your purposes.’

  Maurr dug an elbow into his side and sloshed his drink on to the table. ‘If she were my wife, I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else either. How was the wedding?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘The wedding—was it here or in the north?’

  ‘A contracted marriage in the north and a small affirmation here. Nothing fancy, but meaningful.’ The sweat pooled on the back of his neck. Maurr suspected all was not as it appeared. ‘We have had scarce time to think as we have been putting the hall to rights. Ragn is determined to do Jul properly for all my followers.’

  ‘Ah, it makes perfect sense.’ Maurr nodded sagely, taking another long drink of Gunnar’s finest mead. ‘Your wife is someone who thinks of others and their comfort first. I had wondered. None of your men seemed to recall the wedding feast. Or what sort of bridal crown Ragnhild wore.’

  ‘You quizzed my men about my wedding?’

  ‘For Ljot.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘She is sure to ask. I didn’t want to get it wrong. My life would not be worth living. How things look is important to her, more than how things taste or how much mead there is. She gets worse, the larger she gets with this baby.’

  ‘Question Ragn about it.’ He kissed the tips of his fingers. ‘I have more memories of the wedding night.’

  Maurr laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘Spoken like a true warrior in the throes of early love. I’m envious.’

  Gunnar took a gulp of his mead. He signalled to Ragn for more mead.

  ‘You set a good table,’ Maurr proclaimed with a loud belch and a further leer down Ragn’s front. ‘Contrary to the rumours.’

  Gunnar tightened his grip on his wooden cup. The man had no right to treat his wife to that sort of scrutiny. Surely the blood money he’d have to pay Maurr’s kin would be worth the satisfaction of seeing Maurr dismembered for his inappropriate behaviour towards Ragn. He forced his mind away. He’d deal with Maurr in his own time. Tonight was about ensuring Maurr remained in ignorance over his true status. And in the morning, he’d make things right.

  He stood and banged his spoon against the cup. The hall fell silent. ‘I shall bid you a goodnight. You will want to get the early morning tide, so you can return to your wife. I hardly wish to be blamed for sending you towards the whirlpool.’

  Maurr belched again. ‘The night is young. Rest a while yet. We should get to know each other better. I predict we will be
neighbours soon enough.’

  ‘Kolbeinn has given you lands?’ Ragn asked, leaning forward, stretching the cloth over her breasts. Gunnar glowered at Maurr. ‘Do not keep us in suspense! I look forward to welcoming your wife. I’m sure we will become fast friends.’

  The way she said it, Gunnar knew that it was more than simple words to her. Ragn was like that—generous and courteous. He hadn’t appreciated it enough before and it bothered him. He’d underestimated the strength of her heart. He’d been too busy being annoyed at the disruption to his life to see her value.

  The man’s ears turned pink under Ragn’s blatant flattery. ‘The next bay over. It is far more windswept than this one.’

  ‘A pity that this one is taken then,’ Gunnar murmured.

  ‘Svana is very tired,’ Ragn declared, standing up. ‘I shall get her to bed. You know what she is like, always hoping to see the nisser in the early morning. She is determined to get her wishes.’

  Gunnar frowned. She would put Svana to bed and then claim that she fell asleep, neatly sidestepping his plan to get her into his room. Maurr was bound to find an excuse to check.

  Gunnar drained his drink. ‘If you will excuse me, I will take Ragn to bed. I would hardly like for her to get lost or delayed.’

  Ragn’s mouth took on a stubborn cast, causing him to smile inwardly. She wasn’t very complicated. She had intended to use Svana as a shield. Her earlier kiss demonstrated her passion. He simply had to figure out what made her fearful and how best to break down her barriers. He wanted a willing wife, not a frightened one.

  ‘Unnecessary. I am perfectly capable of putting my sister to bed. You stay and drink, catch up on the gossip. I swear warriors enjoy a good chinwag more than old women.’

  ‘Your capability is not the question.’ Gunnar caught her hand and brought it to his lips. She glared at him, but did not draw away. ‘After tonight, I am willing to swear you are the most capable woman I have ever met. The experience is new to me and I remain the eager bridegroom.’

  ‘Enjoy. It will soon wear off,’ Maurr called out from where he sat, cradling the jug of mead Ragn had put on the table. ‘A word of friendly advice. Soon you will be looking for any excuse to get away from your wife.’

  Gunnar struggled to keep from thumping the man.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Is this strictly necessary?’ Ragn turned to face her adversary. Ignoring him or running away was not going to work. She needed to get this settled before everything started to spiral out of control, before Gunnar started behaving like Hamthur.

  After they had settled Svana with the dogs as guards, Gunnar had insisted on escorting her to his chamber, rather than allowing her to settle down with Svana as she normally did. She was certain the honey scent of mead lingered on his breath.

  ‘What point is there to this besides you drinking far too much mead? I knew something was up when you appeared with the remaining hogsheads of mead halfway through the meal.’

  ‘You mentioned the lack of ale. It has gone to a worthy cause.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’d hardly like you to get bothered by any drunken warriors or indeed get lost and discover you sleeping some place altogether different.’

  ‘You’re spouting nonsense and you know it. You delight in it tonight. What has got into you? You’re positively brimming with good fellowship.’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t tell me. My late husband used to suffer from something similar when he had too much to drink at the feasts.’

  His brow lowered. ‘I’m nothing like your late husband. I am about to be your husband.’

  ‘Now I know you have had too much.’

  ‘Here I thought you’d be delighted your sister was safe with all these new warriors about. Kolka and Kefla will guard her well.’

  Annoyance at his high-handed behaviour warred with her pleasure that Svana had taken to the dogs. Svana’s face had positively beamed when Gunnar informed her of her bedtime companions. ‘How do you know that she needs to be guarded?’

  He gave a half-shrug. ‘It is what I would have done if Asa or Brita had been here.’

  ‘Perhaps I should stay with her, just in case.’ Ragn rubbed her temple. Gunnar had to give way and see that it was the most sensible course of action.

  ‘Leave the future to decide for itself.’ He put his fingers under her elbow. Her body tingled with awareness of him. ‘Our chamber is this way. A day early, but I trust you will remember the way from now on.’

  She pulled away from him. ‘You are determined to have your way.’

  ‘In this matter, I am entirely determined. Maurr clearly desires my hall, so he does not have to go to the trouble of building his own. He asked questions about your bridal crown, too, because apparently his wife is interested in such matters.’

  ‘Women often are interested in weddings, babies and how children grow. Such things hold society together.’ Ragn fought against the rising tide of panic. The last thing she desired was to be a bed partner for a warrior who had consumed more mead than was good for him. ‘I see nothing sinister in that.’

  ‘Should I give him the excuse he longs for?’ he asked softly. ‘Shall all your efforts tonight have been for nothing?’

  Drawing a deep breath, she marched to the room she had always avoided before now, leaving the task of tidying to one of the servants.

  Gunnar’s bedchamber was a reasonable size and well appointed with an iron-bound trunk at the base of the bed and a pile of thick pelts covering the mattress. A series of tapestries hung on the walls and, in one corner, a small silver cup perched on top of a stand. A warm curl developed in the centre of her being. In a room like this, she could imagine being desired. She ran her tongue over her lips, remembering how his mouth had moved against hers.

  ‘You are being ridiculous,’ she said, banishing all thought of that kiss. All he wanted was a warm body after the feast, but she required more. ‘None would be the wiser. You should have stayed and spoken with him, found out what his plans were instead of insisting on this...this farce.’

  ‘You were the one who began it by allowing Maurr to make certain assumptions.’

  Ragn lifted her brow. ‘There is no blood on the shingle or men lying, screaming in agony. I did what was necessary.’

  ‘I’m continuing your good work. Tonight, in this room, is very necessary.’ Gunnar placed the fat lamp down on a low trunk where it provided a flickering light. He moved about the room, taking off his fur cloak and sword. When he lifted his tunic, revealing his muscular back criss-crossed with scars, Ragn’s mouth went dry and her knees refused to hold her. He turned his head slightly. ‘Enjoying the spectacle?’

  Her cheeks heated. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Your face gives you away every time you stretch the truth.’ His voice had dropped to a husky rasp. ‘An endearing quality and one I find most interesting in this situation.’

  ‘Do you think the reason for Maurr’s doubts is that I look like a wife and not a concubine?’ She pointedly addressed the wall beyond his right shoulder. ‘That I do not appear to be the sort of woman you’d marry?’

  He paused in his disrobing and assessed her from under his lashes. ‘I would have considered a lady such as yourself would prefer to be considered a wife rather than a concubine, but for some reason it upsets you.’ His brows knitted. ‘I will never understand women. If he wonders about you being my wife, it is because you are far too high born for someone like me rather than thinking about your figure.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘My great-grandmother was a thrall. I can barely read runes. Everything about you proclaims breeding and a cultured upbringing. Maurr simply does not know why you would have chosen me.’

  Ragn found it impossible to prevent the laughter from bubbling up. He thought he was beneath her? ‘My ancestors did not build this hall. You did. You earned everything from the sweat of your brow. My late husband earn
ed nothing and left even less. And as to our marriage, my choices were limited. Yours were limitless. I can easily teach you runes if you want to learn.’

  He cocked his head to one side. ‘What should I have said? That your hair reminds me of a raven’s wing? Or your skin is translucent? Would that have made Maurr respect you? Would it have kept him from examining your bosom every time you poured the mead? He should respect you because you are my bride.’

  That warm curl whispered its way around her belly and she tried to ignore it. He was baiting her in the same cynical way he’d done with the earlier kiss.

  The memory of what Hamthur had been like after he had imbibed too much at a feast assaulted her. He had always wanted to couple whether she wanted to or not. The first feast she had done on her own, she’d been exhausted and he’d been less than complimentary, criticising everything from the spoons to the loudness of her laughter at other men’s jokes. Then Hamthur had called her a series of other women’s names before settling on Sweetie, pulled her roughly into bed and forced her to have sex with him, stuffing a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. It had been such a change from the gentle way he’d done it in the early days of their marriage. She’d lain there, stunned.

  Afterwards, when she had questioned him, he said drunk was the only way he stood coupling with her. And he refused to share her amongst his friends as he’d planned to do because he did not want anyone discovering how truly inept she was. She hadn’t known which shocked her more—that Hamthur had planned to offer her to his friends or that he did not want to share her bed or that he’d married her because his father proclaimed it was the only way he’d inherit and he had debts to pay.

  ‘Ragn? Ragnhild? Do you agree? You are worthy of respect.’

  Ragn put her fingertips against her temples and tried to banish the painful memories. The woman who had cried, cowered and meekly agreed for the sake of having an heir had vanished for ever.

  She marched over to the bed. ‘Are you sleeping on the floor, or am I? I am not your bride until tomorrow.’