Viking Fire (2 page)

Her ears burned when the Lochann’s resonant voice told of the fiery red dragon he tamed sailing their coast. Did her father tell him that he had always teased her that it would be easier for him to raise a red dragon then a red-haired daughter?

Her insides twisted as the Lochlann finished spinning his tale. She would not look at him again tonight. What did she care what his appearance was anyway. She took a sip of wine, glancing at the stranger over the rim.

He winked at her and she choked.

As the baroness on her left twisted, the bench creaked. She pounded Kaireen on the back with her palm. Her back bruised from the woman’s smacks, she assured the woman she no longer needed assistance.

“What do you think of our country, Bram son of Ragnar?” her mother asked the Lochlann.

“Never seen anything so green. Until I looked into your daughter’s eyes which make the trees bow in shame.”

“Blasphemous.” A blush flooded to the roots of Kaireen’s hair.

“No, ’tis truth.”

Her father held his cup in a toast. “To Bram, the first man ever to bring a blush to my daughter’s cheeks.”

Kaireen glowered, her anger filling her.

The hall rang with laughter. She wished for sap to stick their mouths shut.

After the laughter subsided, her father cleared his throat. “Now, now. We must control ourselves. Not every day a man gets his last child married.”

“I am not marrying,” Kaireen interrupted. “And I am not a child.”

“Gracious Bram has agreed to stay on with us for a fortnight. Then he will marry our Kaireen.”

The applause was deafening. She jumped off the bench, glaring at the Lochlann’s smiling face.

“A fortnight?” she screeched. “Not enough time for me to…he is a foreigner and a Lochlann at that.” Why did they believe it was suitable for her to marry this Viking? She had to have time to figure out how to get rid of him.

“How much time do you need?” her mother asked in a warning tone.

“Never would be too soon,” Kaireen shot back.

“Enough.” Her father slammed his fist on the table.

Before the ale spilled, her mother snatched her goblet. Their argument brought whispers through the tables.

Her father waved his drink and the ale sloshed on the linen tablecloth. “A fortnight was his idea. I wanted you wed tonight.” Kaireen opened her mouth to protest, but his glare caused her to clamp it shut. “Further, you will wed Bram son of Ragnar and be happy about it. Or I will have you whipped until your ungrateful hide is stripped from you.”

Kaireen fell on the bench with a groan. She did not need to look to know the Lochlann was beaming. Curse them all for fools. With her knife she pushed her piece of duck around on the trencher. She would not submit, no matter how much her father yelled.

After they finished the other five courses, her father ordered the musicians brought in. Servants scrambled to remove the tables and benches, making room for the dancers. The high table remained.

At Kaireen’s orders, the servants placed her bench near the back of the high table so she faced away from the dancers.

The baroness continued to eat beside her; it was the subject of many jokes she would not finish her supper until the kitchens were empty.

Three lute players, and a harpist played the round dance song.

Soon, Kaireen tapped her foot to the rhythm. She watched her father and mother, along with many of the other guests, whirl through the hall changing partners within the lines. The foreigner danced among them.

The oldest woman grinned, as though he were her suitor when he took her arm. Rebecca, a year younger than Kaireen, circled around twice in a row with him.

“It matters not to me who he dances with. Maybe he will change his mind and marry her,” she muttered.

She smirked, envisioning his astonishment at learning that Rebecca’s dark mane was a wig. Rebecca’s hair, a stringy brown, had been chopped off three years ago. No one knew exactly why, but ever since her bout of sickness, patches of baldness showed through her hair, which refused to grow again.

But Kaireen’s eyes followed him across the floor. He released Rebecca into the women’s line. After he turned, he waved for Kaireen to join him. She whipped her head back to face the table.

Her skin prickled. She bit her lip, suppressing the notion that she had been caught staring. She snatched a piece of duck and ate.

The baroness stood and Kaireen held onto the bench to keep from falling to the floor. The music changed twice while Kaireen was brooding, but she determined she would not turn around again. She would wait until the next song, and then retire. Therefore, he would know she was neither afraid nor interested in him.

Across the room, she heard Rebecca’s laughter. She wanted to scream and rip the girl’s wig off, exposing her. However, she remained in her seat, her back rigid.

She congratulated herself on her discipline, when Elva appeared from nowhere at her side.

“Must not let the night pass without a dance.” She pulled on Kaireen’s elbow.

“I have no wish to,” Kaireen protested.

Her voice fell on deaf ears, for Elva yanked her to stand.

Her handmaid pushed her forward. Kaireen’s slippers slid across the stone floor as she tried to dig in her heels.

“Stop, or I will have you locked in the stocks.” She turned her head to yell at her handmaid.

A male hand grasped her arm and escorted her through the line. Her attention shifted as she glared at a beaming Elva. She saw her handmaid skip from the hall.

Then Kaireen glanced at her partner.

Bram held her.

She tripped, but he steadied her. His hands were warm.

“Careful.” His dark sapphire eyes twinkled. She wondered if one could drown gazing up into their depths. “People will think you swoon for me.”

Her face heated with anger, she believed her skin colored purple. She stamped her foot on his boot, but he did not flinch. She tried to jerk away from his grip, but he held her firmly.

“Let me go.” She looked around for help, but everyone had given them a wide berth. They danced around the pair, smiling and nodding as if she and Bram were a happy couple. “’Tis my turn in the line again.”

“No.” He led her to the balcony.

Outside he released her, but blocked her path to re-enter the hall.

The music resonated around them. Leaning against the far wall, she crossed her arms. She was two feet away from him, but he was too close.

“I thought the air would clear your head.” He cocked his eyebrow, examining her.

“My head is fine, thank you.”

“Aye, and the rest of you is fine to look at too.” His thick dialect chased shivers through her.

Her hands smoothed her gown. She caught herself and stopped. At seeing his grin, her frown deepened. “I believe it’s improper for you to stare at a lady so.”

“Would you rather I stare at you on our wedding night?” She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued. “Whilst you are without clothes?”

“I assure you, sir, we will have no wedding night.” Her blush radiated from her chest and spread between her legs.

“You wish to wed during the day then?” He took a step closer. “Very well, daylight will be all the better to see you.”

Music and laughter from inside filtered through the night air. He strode toward her.

She braced for his advances, wondering if she had the strength to inflict enough pain to make him reconsider. Part of her wanting to run, the other part daring him closer in challenge. God’s toenails, how could she have forgotten her dagger?

A breath from her, he stopped. Her heart hammered in her chest.

His fingers brushed aside a strand of her auburn hair that had slipped from her braid.

The brief touch sent fire coursing through her. Afraid her legs would give way she leaned back against the wall. He did have a wonderful smile though, with full lips and small white scar that went from his lower lip to his chin.

If he kissed her, she would like nothing more than to bite through those lips leaving another scar far worse than the one he already bore. Or her dagger would have been enough to keep his lips at bay. Why had she forgotten it when Elva dressed her?

Best to make him leave, and soon. He watched her for what felt like an eternity.

“Sir, you take far too many liberties.” Her eyes darted behind him at the dancing. Rebecca craned her neck to see what they did outside the great hall unescorted. “Others…” Kaireen began, but she stopped seeing anger flare in his eyes.

“I take none.” His mouth firmed. “You are to be my wife. I take liberties with no one else.”

His voice stung her. He spun on his heel and left her gaping after him.

Dawn colored the sky in oranges and pinks as Kaireen strode to the manor’s bathing chamber. Her father had invited many to stay the night, and Kaireen wanted to bathe before anyone woke, especially Bram. She smiled. Since she was a child, she was usually the first one awake.

The sun was rising, and there was plenty of time for her to bathe and dress before anyone stirred in their beds.

A fresh green gown and leine draped her left arm, her slippers in her hand. Her other hand carried a beeswax candle mounted on an iron candleholder.

The flame flickered across the corridor, elongating her shadow behind her.

She was grateful to bathe as often as she wished; daily if she desired. Ahead of her, she had sent Elva to prepare the bath. No doubt by now her handmaid had heated the water and filled one of the baths.

Inside the room, she set her candle on a wooden bench. Three huge barrels stood waiting. Six people could fit into each barrel.

As a child, she recollected her family often had guest join them for a public bath. Many families offered this hospitality. Her parent’s bathing room was in the middle of the keep, instead of near the kitchens as in other laird’s homes.

Kaireen saw steam rolling off the barrel next to her. She set her clean clothes on the bench next to the candle. With her finger, she tested the water. Perfect.

She shrugged from her robe and was about to remove her nightdress, when she heard a male voice behind her.

“The water may have cooled some, but I enjoy a hot bath.”

She whipped around.

Bram faced her with a towel tied around his waist, covering the lower half of him. His blond hair was wet and she watched the path of the water trail his muscular chest.

A scream choked her and she snatched her robe to shield her body from his vision.

“I hope to rid you of your shyness on our wedding day.” He chuckled. “We will have many baths together after we wed.”

“No. Take your leave or I will summon the guards to remove you.” She backed away, but her legs knocked against the bench.

Her iron candleholder wobbled. She dashed for the candle, catching the wick and snuffed the flame.

“Allow me.” His voice made her stomach flip, or maybe she was becoming ill.

She grabbed her candle holding the wick at arm’s length for him to light.

At his stare she tightened her hold on her robe. His hand brushed hers as he touched his flame to her candle.

As soon as her wick caught, she stepped back. The flame wavered, then straightened.

“Are you done? I would like to bathe in solitude and not with a heathen gawking at me.”

He stood a breath away from her. His presence sent shivers through her. Must be the earliness of the morning, she thought. Her mind had gone daft.

“Take your bath, my lady.” He waved an arm across the filled barrel ignoring her insult. “And at sunrise I will meet you in the courtyard.”

She huffed regaining her senses. “I am not some servant for you to order about.”

“If I do not have your promise you will meet me,”—his eyes twinkled with mischief—“then I will wait here while you bathe and dress. Then afterward, drag you outside.” His eyes challenged her to argue.

She clenched her jaw, refusing to answer.

“I take your silence for your consent.” He bowed his head. “I will send Elva as escort when you have finished.” He drifted from the room.

Minutes passed as her ears strained for a sound, she checked the hallway, making sure he did not lurk about.

She disrobed and then stepped into the water. The scent of him carried in the bath beneath the lye and wood ash. With the fluid soap she washed as she grumbled that she did not care what he smelled like. She rushed through her bath—she could not relax. Every creak worried her of his return.

She stepped from the barrel and then dried. Instead of waiting for Elva, she threw on her leine and then her gown.

Swiftly Elva swept in, carrying a hazel twig, woolen cloth, and a silver comb in one hand, and a piece of red cloth in the other.

“Morning, my lady.” She handed her the stem. Her words sounded as if she sung her mistress a tune.

Kaireen snatched the twig, eyeing the silk as if it might leap from Elva’s arm and bite her. Without Elva telling her, she knew the material was a sample for her wedding dress. “Why did you not tell me he was here?”

“He is a handsome man, do you not think?” She laid the crimson material that was only the size of her arm across an empty bench. “The dye-makers did an excellent shade of red from the kermes. I will start work on your wedding gown today. Be finished by your wedding.”

“Answer me!”

“He bathed when I arrived to fill your bath.” She shrugged. “How was I to know he lingered?”

Kaireen huffed. But she held no doubt Elva told him she came to heat water for her mistress.

Maybe she had woken him so he could harass her.

As she cleaned her teeth with the hazel, Kaireen pondered how to be rid of him.

Then she wiped her teeth with the woolen cloth as Elva pulled the comb through her auburn hair. Her handmaid braided her hair in one long rope and secured the end with ribbons.

Sunlight peered through the arrow slits, filling the room. Kaireen stamped her feet into her slippers. She dipped her fingers into the rose oil and then pressed her damp fingers to the hollow of her throat.

Elva snuffed out the candle with her fingertips. She gathered her mistress’s sample for her wedding gown including the silver comb leaving the rest for the scullery maids to clean, and then ushered her outside to the courtyard where Bram waited.