Ice Maiden

“Why now? And why a weapon so fair?” He ran his hand along the rune-covered blade.

“Oh, it’s not for you to keep. The ceremony requires that you bestow on your bride your family’s sword—as a vow of protection.”

George frowned.

“You have no family here, so I offer you my weapon.” Lawmaker looked at him, waiting for his acceptance, and George knew from the elder’s expression that the gesture was no small honor.

He was moved by the man’s trust in him. “Thank ye,” he said.

“Rika, in turn, will offer you her family’s sword. Her brother’s.”

“As a sign of…?”

“Obedience.”

“Ha!”

“And loyalty,” Lawmaker said. “Do not scoff. I told Rika this, and I shall tell you—” Lawmaker snatched the sword from him and sheathed it. “This marriage will change you both—for the better, methinks.”

He snorted. “The only thing ’twill change is my location. For if I do this thing, I expect to see the bonny shores of Scotland posthaste.”

“Hmm, Latin. You are as I thought—an educated man. It will be a fine match.”

“Stop saying that.” The old man annoyed him to no end. He’d sent George into that sauna deliberately, knowing Rika was there. George knew it, and Lawmaker knew he knew it. Damn him.

He’d not been in his right mind when he agreed to the wedding, but by the time he’d come to his senses, the news was all over the village. He’d given his word, and he was not a man to go back on it. Lawmaker knew that, the canny sod.

“Take this, as well.”

“Huh?” He hadn’t been listening.

Lawmaker handed him a small, devilishly heavy tool—a hammer.

“What’s this for?”

“Put it in your belt. It’s a symbol of Thor’s hammer. For the ritual.”

He looked at it skeptically before tucking it under his belt. “What does it signify?”

Lawmaker smiled. “Your mastery in the union. And a fruitful marriage, if you take my meaning.”

“Oh, aye.” George shot him a nasty look, and the old man laughed. What fruit ’twould bear would be bitter at best.

“Bear with me, son. We are nearly ready.”

’Twas a good thing, too. He didn’t know how much more of this pagan nonsense he could stand.

“Now, about the bride-price. I expect—”

“Bride-price? Surely ye dinna expect me to pay for her? And with what, pray tell?” This was too much.

“Calm down.” Lawmaker placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I was about to say, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. When you meet Rika’s father.”

“Fine.”

“For now, all that’s needed is for you to present her with a morgen gifu—a morning gift, after the, uh…consummation.”

George felt his eyes widen of their own accord.

“Well, on the morrow sometime.” Lawmaker fished something out of a chest behind him. “Here, give her this,” he said, and dropped it into his hand.

“What is it?” He examined the delicately crafted silver brooch and marveled at the workmanship. For all their roughness, these islanders were excellent craftsmen.

“Something I’ve had for years. It was Rika’s mother’s, in fact. It’s time she had it.”

George slipped the brooch into the small pouch at his waist and nodded.

“Well, are you ready?”

“As ready as any man who faces the hangman’s noose.”

Lawmaker smiled like a cat who’d cornered a tasty field mouse. “Come, your bride awaits you.”

Rika turned into the courtyard and was not prepared for what she saw there.

The whole of the village was assembled and fell silent when she appeared. Hushed whispers and children’s laughter rose around her, threatening to swallow her up as she walked slowly along the path that opened before her. A sullen Ottar followed in her wake, bearing her brother’s sword.

She was not used to such attention, and her kinsmen’s stares unnerved her. Lawmaker stood with Grant by the well at the courtyard’s center. Mustering her resolve, she fixed her gaze on the old man’s calming features, and moved one foot ahead of the other until she was there.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The weather was blustery, the sky white, and her thin woolen gown afforded her little protection from the chill air.

Sitryg stepped forward, and Rika stooped so the small woman could remove the bronze kransen from her head. It was a symbol of virginity, and after today Rika would wear it no more. Few knew why she’d ceased to do so months ago. Most of the islanders thought her strange anyway and paid her actions no mind.

Lina held the bridal crown. Fashioned from straw and last year’s wheat, it was garlanded with dried flowers, and set with a few precious pieces of rock-crystal gathered from the beach.

Sitryg seated the crown, and Rika stood tall, turning her gaze for the first time on her husband.

Grant’s expression was stone, his eyes cool steel. Attired in rare leather and borrowed fur, he looked every bit a Viking bridegroom. To her surprise, he wore Lawmaker’s broadsword. She glanced quickly at the old man and caught him smiling.

Lawmaker cleared his throat, then nodded at the Scot. Grant stepped forward, and she fought the ridiculous urge to step back. He looked pointedly at her as he unsheathed the sword. His eyes were so cold, for a moment she thought he might use the weapon to slay her.

What did she expect?

This wedding was forced on him. The Scot hated her, and she knew he’d use that hate tonight in their bridal bed, much as Brodir had on many occasions. So be it. She was prepared. Rika swallowed hard and forced herself to hold his gaze.

Grant presented her with the weapon’s hilt and she took it from his hand. Hers was shaking. She motioned for Ottar, but he did not step forward. When Rika turned to prompt him, she saw that his dark eyes were fixed on Grant and that his face twitched with what she knew was pent-up rage.

“Ottar,” she whispered. “The sword.”