Geir smirked at me. “Guilty. But you change the subject, Freya. We all know Vragi is a greedy prick, but he is your husband. With Father gone, the duty falls to me to—”
I caught his ankle with my own and jerked, grinning as my brother sprawled onto his back. Stepping on his chest with one foot, I said, “I love you, brother. But if you start lecturing me on my wifely duties, I won’t like you half as well.” I leaned my weight on him. “It’s not been so many years since I beat you bloody that I’ve forgotten how.”
I waited for him to laugh. For him to mock Vragi and call him a land fish. To say he was sorry that I’d been forced into this marriage against my will. To tell me I deserved better.
Instead Geir said, “We aren’t children anymore.” Then he grabbed my ankle and yanked.
The impact of my arse hitting the dirt rattled my spine and I nearly bit my tongue off, but Geir ignored me spitting blood as he sat upright. “Vragi has wealth and influence with Jarl Snorri. I may have been given my arm ring because of the goodwill the jarl still holds for Father, but it’s because of Vragi that the jarl pays me to fight for him all year round. If you anger Vragi enough that he casts you aside, Snorri might not let me keep my place. And if I lose my place, how will I gain the wealth I need to marry Ingrid?”
As if I could forget.
“And if you don’t care about me and Ingrid, think of Mother.” Geir rested his elbows on his knees. “Vragi ensures she’s cared for. Pays for men to tend the farm and feed the animals. If not of her, then think logically of your own position. You have a home that others covet, and the wealth to purchase endless ornaments.” He reached over to flick one of the silver bands encircling my long braid. “What would you do without Vragi?”
“Fight. Raid. Earn my own wealth,” I answered. “I don’t need Vragi.”
Geir huffed out a breath, then climbed to his feet. “Let’s not quarrel. It’s been months since I’ve seen you.”
I stared at the hand he held out, part of me wanting to keep arguing. Except we both knew I’d never make a decision that would harm my family, and that made all my arguments moot. So instead, I took my brother’s hand and allowed him to haul me to my feet. “Where does Jarl Snorri plan to raid this summer?”
Before Geir could answer, the sound of hooves filled our ears. A group of warriors on horseback appeared, and my stomach tightened as I recognized my husband at their head, his expression smug.
“My lord.” Geir nodded at the big man who rode at Vragi’s side, who must be Jarl Snorri. I’d never seen him before, having never traveled more than a few hours from Selvegr and never to his stronghold at Halsar. Tall and thick, he had dark brown hair and a beard laced with gray, his eyes lined with deep wrinkles, and his mouth set in a frown. Most would have called him attractive, but the way he stared at me made my skin crawl.
Like I was something to be possessed.
“Geir,” Snorri replied, but his eyes remained fixed on me. The last thing I wanted to do was meet his gaze, so I looked beyond him at the rest of the party. Besides Vragi, there were three men dressed in mail coats. They carried seaxes, as well as axes and swords, the weapons speaking volumes of their battle fame. The lone woman with them bore no weapons beyond a short-bladed seax fastened to her belt, the bodice of her dress cut low enough to reveal a long stretch of cleavage beneath the ties of her cloak. Yet my eyes skipped past all of them to land on the one who rode at the rear of the party.
Oh gods.
Though it made sense for him to be here, shock still radiated through me at the sight of the warrior from the beach. Shock that was mirrored in his green eyes as he looked from me to Geir then back again, as the jarl spoke.
“This is the sister you always speak of, Geir?” Not waiting for my brother to respond, the jarl said to Vragi, “She’s your wife, yes?”
“Yes, my lord. This is my Freya.”
Not yours, I wanted to hiss. Never yours. But I bit my tongue, because something was going on here that turned my guts to ice, the sensation a thousand times worse because of the expression on Vragi’s face.
He was grinning like a cat given a bowl full of cream. What was he so happy about? Why were Snorri and his warriors here? What did they want?
“You never mentioned to me that your sister was also a warrior, Geir,” Snorri said. “Vragi tells me that she wishes to join the raids this summer, is that true?”
“No,” my brother blurted out, then tried to cover the outburst with a laugh. “Freya knows only of gutting fish and keeping house. She’s no warrior.”
I bristled, then bit the insides of my cheeks when Snorri gave me an amused smile. “You disagree, Freya? You believe you can fight?”
“I…” I swallowed hard, sweat trickling down my spine because they were all staring at me. Best to give the truth, especially since my skills were known. “My father taught me to fight when I was a girl. I can handle myself.”
“Your father is Erik.”
“Was,” I corrected. “He died a year ago.”
“It was in a fight, wasn’t it?”
My cheeks stung as I bit into them, unsure whether my brother had lied or if the lord had simply not cared enough to remember the details. “No, my lord. Dropped dead the night of my wedding. Herb-woman said it was his heart.”
Snorri rubbed his chin. “Shame. Erik was a fierce warrior in his prime. We fought side-by-side in many shield walls. If he taught you, then what you’ve learned is good. And I can always use more warriors.”
“She’s a married woman,” Geir responded before I had the chance to answer. “With respect, Freya should be focused on family, not fighting.”
“Agreed,” Snorri replied. “But Vragi tells me that’s not the case. That Freya thinks more of fighting than of babies.”
Oh gods.
Understanding of what was happening struck me at the same time it did Geir, his face blanching. Vragi wished to end our marriage and had asked the jarl to witness it. Bile burned up my throat, because as much as I wished to be rid of him, I knew the consequences. Knew it would be my family that suffered because I couldn’t keep my cursed mouth shut.
“Let us see if Freya is a better warrior than she is a wife,” Snorri continued. “Give her a weapon, Geir.”
My brother didn’t move.
The jarl’s eyes hardened. “You would defy me in this?”
“I would not see my sister harmed.”
Geir would protect me out of pride. I knew it, and I refused to watch it happen when all that needed to be done was for me to accept shaming. Maybe that would be enough to appease Vragi, and he’d reconsider. “Give me your sword, Geir.”
My brother whirled on me, amber eyes blazing. “Freya, no!”
I held out my hand.
He stared me down, and I silently willed him to understand how this would play out. To see that the only harm I’d come to was a few bruises and a solid blow to my pride. A blow that I was willing to take for the sake of him and our mother.
Seconds passed, the tension in the clearing mounting. Then Geir reluctantly drew his weapon, handing it to me hilt-first. I closed my fingers over the leather grip, feeling the weight of it. Feeling the rightness of it. Behind the jarl, one of the warriors began to dismount, but Snorri shook his head at him and looked to the dark-haired warrior I’d flirted with on the beach. “Bjorn, you will test Freya’s prowess.”
Bjorn.
My confidence shattered at his name, understanding of who he was hitting me like a battering ram to the gut. He was Jarl Snorri’s son and heir. Which would have been bad enough, but he was also a child of Tyr, the god having granted him a drop of blood and all the magic that came with it at his conception. My brother had told me many times of this man’s prowess on the battlefield—a warrior without equal who left only the dead and dying in his wake. And he was who Snorri wanted me to fight?
I might have vomited, but Bjorn started laughing.