The woman needed no protector. She was half man herself. Just as he decided she was, indeed, some freak of nature, Rika threw off her heavy cloak and absently brushed the snow from her hair.
’Twas a decidedly feminine gesture, and George found himself fascinated by the dichotomy. In fact, he could not take his eyes from her. ’Twas his first opportunity to observe her undetected, and there was something about it he enjoyed.
She called for horns of mead and, once delivered, she chatted easily with the youth. Ottar looked on her with a kind of boyish awe. God knows why. The youth had actually warned him off her. What nonsense. He had no intention of touching her, though he didn’t like anyone—man or boy—telling him what he could or could not do.
No matter. The youth was harmless enough. Yesterday on the cliff, George could have snapped his neck with one hand, if he’d had a mind to. At the time, he’d been more concerned with throttling the woman. Even now, as he looked at her, he could feel his hands close over her throat. The scar she bore told him he was not the only man who would see her dead.
The brew house door swung wide again, and Lawmaker came in from the cold. He spied George immediately and nodded. Rika followed the elder’s gaze and, when her eyes found George’s, her fair brows knit in displeasure.
He read something else behind that perpetual mask of irritation she reserved for him, but what it was, he could not say—only that he felt strangely warmed by her cold scrutiny.
Lawmaker settled beside her. He was an unusual man—patient and clever, with an air of intellect about him that was refreshing in what was otherwise a barbaric wasteland of humanity.
Rika pulled her gaze from his and cocked her head to better hear Lawmaker’s conversation. She looked up to him, relied on him. George could see it in the way she seemed to consider the old man’s words before replying—as a daughter would reflect on a father’s advice.
Lawmaker was clearly not her father, though he figured all important in her scheme. The elder was, in fact, the man in charge at the moment. Their laird, or jarl, was away. Gone a-Viking, the children had told him.
What surprised George most was that Lawmaker apparently condoned this marriage scheme. Mayhap the man had not the sense he’d charged him with.
Regardless, ’twas time George learned more of this plan, exactly what would be expected of him. At the moment, he had no other option for quitting this godforsaken place. He rose and moved slowly toward their table.
Rika froze in midsentence, then drew herself up to acknowledge him. Christ, the woman was irritating. “Have you something you wish to discuss?”
“Aye,” he said.
She nodded for him to sit. Why he waited for her consent in the first place, he knew not. He took a place on the empty bench opposite her.
“I have questions about this proposed…marriage,” he said.
Her face brightened. ’Twas the first spark of cheer he’d seen from her, and it made him feel all the more strange.
Ottar snorted, and drained the cup before him. “I’ve work to do,” he said, and pushed himself to his feet, his eyes on George. “I’ll see you later, at table?” The question was for Rika.
“Of course,” she said.
Ottar quit the brew house like a young bull elk gone to sharpen his sheds against the nearest tree. The lad itched for battle, and George had the distinct impression he was the enemy.
“Now,” Rika said. “What would you know?”
“This…marriage,” he began.
She raised a hand to silence him. “’Twill be a marriage in name only, of course. And short-lived at that. You do take my meaning, Grant.”
’Twas not a question but an order, and George took orders from no one, least of all heathen women. Her confidence irked him. Yet a hint of color tinged her cheeks, and he could swear she was unnerved by the topic.
“I understand ye well.” Good luck to the poor sod who dared breach that icy exterior. George was happy to have none of it.
“In name only,” she repeated, louder this time.
“Name only?” A silver-haired man at the next table rose abruptly at Rika’s words. “Name only?” To George’s astonishment—and Rika’s, too, from the look on her face—in a voice both commanding and strangely melodic, the elder recited a snippet of verse:
“‘When a man is wed
Ere the moon is high
He shall bed his bride
Heed Frigga’s cry”’
Hmm. What the devil did that mea—?
“He shall not!” Rika slammed her fist on the table, and her drinking horn clattered to the floor.
Now here was something unexpected. George’s interest in the matter grew tenfold with her response. He watched as the silver-haired man exchanged a pregnant look with Lawmaker.
“Who is Frigga?” George asked, intrigued.
The silver-haired man smiled. “Goddess of love—and matrimony.”
Rika swore under her breath.
“And who are ye, if I may ask?” George said.
“Hannes,” the man said. “The skald.”
“Skald?” George frowned, trying to recall where he’d heard the word before.
“He’s a poet,” Lawmaker said.
Rika shot Hannes a nasty look. “Not much of one, in my opinion. There shall be no—” she crossed her arms in front of her, and George saw the heat rise in her face “—bedding.” She spat the word.
“Oh, but there must be,” Hannes said. “It’s the law.” He arched a snowy brow at Lawmaker, who sat, seemingly unmoved by both the skald’s declaration and Rika’s outrage.
“Hannes is right,” Lawmaker said finally. “It is the law. Without consummation, there is no marriage—and no dowry.”
Rika shot to her feet. “You said naught of this to me before.”
Lawmaker shrugged and affected an expression innocent as a babe’s. “I thought you knew.”
Until this moment, George had not seen her truly angry, and it fair amused him. The self-possessed vixen had finally lost control. Her cheeks blazed with color, setting off the cool blue of her eyes. Those lips he favored twisted into a scowl.
Somehow he must use this opportunity.
“If the coin is all ye want,” he said to her, even as the idea formed in his mind, “ye need not a marriage to get it.”
Her scowl deepened. “Explain.”
“I told ye,” George said. “I shall pay ye well for my transport home.”
“How much?” Her eyes narrowed.
He hesitated, wondering how little he could get away with offering. His clan was comfortable, but not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. He had his own bride-price to pay for Anne Sinclair’s hand. That silver had gone down with their ship and would have to be raised anew.
Lawmaker cleared his throat. “It makes no difference, Rika, what the Scot offers. If your dowry remains intact, with your father…”
George watched as her mind worked.
“Ah, you’re right, of course,” she said. “It solves not my other problem.”
George had no idea of what they spoke, yet the matter intrigued him more than it should.
“So