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“He did. And for that I did what any kvina soldar will do to a man who dares to take what it is a woman’s sacred choice to give. A few months later I realized that I would have his child.”
She thought of Rinda, with her bold attitude and her naughty smile. “That makes your daughter illegitimate.”
Ragnild nodded. “Fitz,” she said softly, with distaste. In Gullandria, a bastard child was called a fitz and was considered the lowest of the low. “Among us, among the warrior women, there is no judgment on the child for being born outside of a marriage. No kvina soldar can marry and remain with us, anyway. Sometimes, for whatever reason—the dishonor of rape, the lusts of the flesh, the true call of love—we find ourselves with child. When that happens, should we choose to have the child, we love that child and bring her or him up strong and capable and proud, as much as we can.” She smoothed the soft white leather of her robe. “With girl children, it usually works well, since they most often choose to stay with us. The life of the boys is more difficult. They are sent away at the age of eight and they suffer at the cruelty of the outside world.”
Brit was thinking of her brother-in-law, the king’s warrior, Hauk Wyborn. Her father had recently legitimized Hauk, but before that Hauk’s last name had been FitzWyborn. “My brother-in-law’s mother was a kvina soldar.”
Ragnild smiled softly. “Valda Booth. I knew her. She was a great warrior.”
And really, there were more important things to be talking about than the plight of the fitz in Gullandrian society and what a dirty rat her creepy long-dead uncle had been. “What do you know of my brother, Valbrand?”
If the abrupt change of subject bothered Ragnild, she didn’t show it. “They say he died at sea.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Shouldn’t I believe it?”
“I don’t. I think someone tried to kill him. And I know in my heart that that someone failed.”
“The heart is often wiser than the mind.”
“So you’re saying you think I’m right?”
“I am saying that you must do… what you must do.”
“You know, you’re like a lot of people in Gullandria. Big dreams of what the future will be, not very helpful in the here and now.”
Ragnild chuckled. “I fear you speak the truth.”
Brit sent her cousin’s mother a sideways look. “What about the Dark Raider? Heard any stories about him showing up in the Vildelund lately?”
Ragnild nodded. “Rumor has it he rides among us again—that he rescued an old man from thieves, that he dealt with a group of renegades who were terrorizing one of the nearby Mystic communities.”
Okay, great. Ragnild had heard the same stories as Sif. A confirmation. But nothing new. “Another question.”
“Ask.”
“When am I allowed to go back to the village where I came from?”
“Will tomorrow be acceptable? You’ll stay with us tonight, share a meal, get to know your cousin a little. Rinda and Grid will take you back in the morning.”
“So… this is it, then? You had me abducted so you could look in my eyes and reassure yourself that your dreams will come true?”
Ragnild laughed full out. It was a strong, rich sound. “I fear you have it exactly right—to look in the eyes of our future queen, to forge, you might say, the beginnings of a bond between us, for the sake of the future of my women. And to meet my daughter’s blood cousin. I find I am well satisfied, on all counts.”
Brit grumbled, “Rinda took my SIG 220, you know. I’m really fond of that gun.”
“I’ll have it returned to you immediately.”
“Good. But getting my pistol back isn’t the only problem. There are people who have to be seriously freaked by now, worrying about me.”
“You’ll return to them tomorrow, none the worse for wear.”
Brit got a tour of the village and a lesson in the practice of the dragon dials.
The dragon dials was an exercise system developed in the seventeenth century by the kvina soldars. It was a specific sequence of slow, controlled movements that the warrior women believed promoted strength, calmness, discipline and mental clarity.
After the exercise session, Brit shared a meal in Ragnild’s tent with the camp leader, Rinda, Grid and several other women. They had reindeer stew. Brit found it tasty, if a little tough. After the meal, Rinda invited Brit to the hot springs not far from camp.
Brit went gratefully, looking forward to soothing the aches and pains from a long day on the trail. Rinda brought a fresh dressing along for Brit’s shoulder wound and changed it for her once they’d had a long soak.
Really, Brit was feeling pretty good about everything as she and Rinda strolled back to camp. Tomorrow she’d return to Asta’s place.
And the day after tomorrow, she was heading out again. For Drakveden Fjord. It was time to have a look at what was left of the Skyhawk, to see if she could find a clue as to who had sabotaged her plane.
They heard the commotion as they came out of the trees and into the clearing where the circle of tents stood. Something was going on in the center of the circle.
Rinda grinned. “Looks to me like they’ve caught a man.”
Brit walked faster—and stopped dead when she saw.
They certainly had caught a man. And that man was Eric. He was tied to the big stake in the center of the circle. The children of the camp darted around him, taunting him, and now and then striking him with stones and sticks.
Brit took off at a run. “Hey, stop that!” She hit the center of the circle yelling, making shooing motions with her hands. “Cut that out, you little brats. Go on, go on. Get away from him!”
The children backed off, though a couple made grotesque faces and stuck out their tongues.
Brit turned to Eric. “Are you all right?”
“Most assuredly,” he replied. His expression was subdued. She couldn’t read his eyes. “Especially now that my champion is here.”
She grunted. “Oh, yeah, right.”
About then, Ragnild emerged from her tent. “There you are. We’ve been awaiting you. This man has said your name in hopes that you might claim him.”
“This man is… my friend. He’s only here to rescue me. Untie him. Now.”
Ragnild was shaking her head. “I regret that I can’t do that—at least, not yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“This man strode boldly into the center of our camp. No man is allowed such a liberty. And he can’t even plead ignorance. I know him. He is the son of the grand counselor, born of Mystic stock. He knows our ways.”
Brit turned to Eric. A trickle of blood slid down his neck where some cruel child had struck him. “What is she talking about?”
Instead of an answer, she got one lifted sable eyebrow.
Argh. What was up with him? He could help her out a little here. She faced her aunt again. “I’m afraid I’m confused. Why is he tied up? What did he do?”
Ragnild was frowning. “I have explained that. He belongs to no woman here, yet he dared to walk boldly among us. Such behavior cannot be allowed.”
Rinda stepped forward. She was grinning that naughty grin of hers. “You have to claim him.” She tipped her head to the side and looked Eric up and down. “Hmm.” She licked her split lip. “Perhaps I shall claim him—that is, cousin, should you reject him first.”
“What is this? Claim him? How do I do that?”
“You say, ‘I will claim this man.”’
“Okay. And then?”
“Then we untie him. You take him to your tent—Grid and I shall be pleased to have you borrow ours.”
“Okay. I take him to my tent…”
“And then—” Rinda’s grin widened “—you have your way with him.”
“My way?”
Rinda laughed. “You do take my meaning. I see it in your eyes.”
Brit sighed. “And after I have my way with him?”
“Then you may keep him for as many as seven nights, though I suppose, in your case, it would only be the one night, as tomorrow you are leaving us. If you are pleased with his performance, it is the custom that you let him go.” Rinda’s grin got wider. “If he doesn’t please you, you can offer him to another of us. Or simply kill him for being useless as a lover.”
Bizarre. “And what if I don’t claim him?”
“Well then, if no one else wants him, we’ll kill him right now.”
“You’re not serious.”
No one said anything. Ragnild looked determined. Rinda continued to look way too amused. The bloodthirsty children watched with wide, eager eyes. And Eric simply waited, his angular face a patient mask. As if it made no difference to him whether she took him or the warrior women stabbed him in the heart.
Finally Ragnild asked somberly, “Cousin to my only daughter, will you claim this man?”
The choices were severely limited. “Okay, all right. I claim this man.”
Chapter Eight
“What are you, nuts?” Brit demanded. “I really think they might have killed you.” They were alone in the tent Grid and Rinda had given them for their supposed night of sexual delights.
Eric stood over the low central fire, warming his hands. Firelight glinted off his clubbed-back hair, bringing out bronze gleams in the ash-brown strands. “No harm is done, for you have saved me.”
Was he smiling? Brit swore, a very bad swear word. “You have blood on your neck.”
“And you have a new bruise on your cheek.”
Lightly she touched the swollen spot where Grid’s knuckles had struck. “I spoke when not spoken to.”
“A good thing you don’t receive a blow every time you do that.”
“Chuckle, chuckle.”
He took a handkerchief from the pocket of his shearling coat and wiped until only a faint smear remained. “Better?” He stuck the cloth back in his pocket.
“Not particularly. How can you stand there and grin? That was stupid, what you did. Those women out there take their beliefs seriously.”
“I had complete faith in you.”
“What if I wasn’t here, what if I hadn’t come back to the camp, for some reason? What if I had refused to claim you?”
“But you were here. You did come back… and you have claimed me.” That haunting deep-set gaze was on her.
She felt her skin grow warmer, felt the hungry shiver sliding through her. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“You know what. That… look. You give me that look and I get all…” She let the sentence die unfinished, since she was getting herself deeper in trouble with every word.
He showed no mercy. “You get ‘all’ what?”
“Just… don’t, okay?”
“Don’t…?”
She flung out both hands. “Don’t give me the bedroom eyes. Don’t get… ideas.”
“Bedroom eyes? You Americans. Such amusing figures of speech.” He took something from another pocket, then shrugged out of the coat and tossed it on the pallet that lay against the side of the tent, to his left. His leather shirt was the same one he’d been wearing that morning. It had lacings at the neck. She could see a slice of firm, smooth chest.
And a few links of silver chain, shining. “I see you found your medallion.”
“Would you like it back now?”
“Uh. No, I would not.”
He circled the fire and came toward her. She debated: shrink back or stand proud?
As usual, before she made a choice, there he was. Right in front of her, mesmerizing eyes and broad shoulders filling the world. “Give me your hand.”
“I said I don’t want the medallion.”
“I have something else of yours.”
She should probably take issue with the word else. Then again, better not to belabor a point made far too many times already. She settled for a sneering curl to her lip and a surly, “What?”
He simply waited.
“Oh, all right.” Grudgingly she held out her hand.
He cradled her palm, his hand warm and firm around the back of hers.
