Ice Maiden

’Twas then he noticed the scar. An angry, razor-sharp line running from her left ear under her chin. He’d not noticed it that morning on the beach. Someone had cut her throat—or had tried.

The tiny bairn squealed, his hands flailing madly. Rika reached out—on impulse, it seemed—and captured the infant’s chubby fist in her hand.

A warm, bittersweet smile blossomed against her cool features. The contrast startled him. ’Twas as if she were a different person altogether.

The moment was short-lived.

Rika caught him staring at her, and the smile vanished from her lips. She scowled at the babe and waved the woman off. “Take it away.”

Hmph. As he’d suspected, she had not a compassionate bone in her body. And yet…

“Here, eat.” Rika thrust the trencher toward him.

The woman shot him a cautionary glance, then hurried back to table. No one else seemed to pay them any mind—save Lawmaker, who watched his every move, and a sandy-haired youth whose twisted scowl and dark eyes were reserved entirely for George.

Nodding at them, George grasped the trencher and accidentally brushed her fingers. A shiver shot through him. She, too, felt something. He watched her eyes widen as she snatched her hand away.

He had no appetite, but forced himself to eat some of the food. ’Twas fish mostly, both salted and pickled, and a gruel of what smelled suspiciously like turnips. He picked at the meal while she studied him.

As his head cleared and his strength returned, he took stock of his situation. ’Twas not the best of circumstances he found himself in. Shipwrecked and alone, without a weapon to his name.

His hosts, if one could call them that, were folk the likes of which he’d ne’er seen. They spoke his tongue, but mixed it with strange words. Norse words. Though they were not like any Norsemen he knew. They were grittier, more primitive—as if time had passed them by.

He counted at least a dozen men in the smoky room, and half again that many women. Somehow, he knew this wasn’t all of them. This was but one house, and he seemed to recall others when they carried him up from the beach.

Fair Isle.

George knew not where it was. Only that he’d been bound for Wick from Inverness, and a winter gale had blown them off course, far to the north. Past the Orkneys, if he had to venture a guess. How would he ever get back?

“You wish to go home,” Rika said, reading his mind.

He dropped the bit of fish back into his trencher and met her gaze. “That I do.”

“You shall, as soon as you’re fit.”

“Ye have a ship then! Thank Christ.” His spirits soared. They would leave immediately, of course. “Who shall take me? Whoever it is shall be well paid for his trouble.”

“I shall take you, as soon as our business together is finished.”

“What business?” His brows collided in a frown. Something in her voice, and the way she seemed to look right through him, caused gooseflesh to rise on his skin.

“Simply this,” she said. “You wish to return home, and I can arrange that. But first, there is something you must do for me.”

George set the trencher aside and sat up in the bed. “What, pray tell?” He wasn’t used to dealing with women, and this one had rubbed him the wrong way from the start.

For a long moment she didn’t answer, just sat there staring at him. He could almost see her mind working. Once, she opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

His gaze lingered on her lips. They were lush, ripe, as they’d been on the beach that morning when she hovered over him, her breath hot on his face. He felt an unwelcome tightening in his loins and grasped the edges of the wool blanket that covered him.

Finally she spoke. “You and I shall marry.”

“What?” His eyes popped wide. He thought he’d dreamed that bit of conversation she and Lawmaker had had on the beach. God’s truth, it had seemed more nightmare than dream. “Say again?”

“You heard me. We shall marry.” Her eyes were inscrutable, yet her lower lip trembled, belying her confidence. “I need a husband to claim my dowry. Once I have it, you may go home.”

“Ye’re daft, woman.” He’d be on his way now, thank you very much. He glanced around the bed box for his plaid, but saw neither it, nor any kind of garment. Wrapping the blanket around his waist, he again tried to rise. This time, when Rika tried to stop him, he slapped her hand away.

“I have a bride,” he said, and rose shakily to his feet. “’Tis all a—” Rika rose with him. Sweet Jesus, the woman was nearly as tall as he. “Arranged,” he croaked. “By William the Lion, my king.”

Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, as if he’d said or done something unexpected. She eyed him up and down, then frowned. “You’re tall, Scotsman.”

“As are ye.” He raked his eyes over her body with a lack of tact that matched her own audacity. “Not like a woman at all.”

She flinched at his words. “It matters not.”

Oh, but it did. Women should be small and delicate. Submissive. A proper Christian woman wouldn’t dream of talking to a strange man. Her brash demeanor repelled him, yet his body felt strangely stirred.

“About your bride, I mean. Once we are divorced you may go home and claim her. The dowry is all I want. It’s mine by right, by law, and I will have it.”

He shook his head, not understanding her at all. What kind of scheme was this? “There can be no divorce. Ye are mistaken. A man weds for life.” He tried to move past her, but she stepped into his path.

The sandy-haired youth at table shot to his feet, eyes blazing. George had guessed the lad would be trouble. No matter. George was about to snatch the dirk from Rika’s belt when Lawmaker reached up and yanked the youth back down to the bench.

“Not always for life,” Rika said, ignoring the lad’s move. “Ask Lawmaker. He’ll tell you. Divorce is not common, but does occur among my people and suits my purpose well.”

The woman was clearly touched. “And what purpose is that?”

“I told you. I want my dowry—nothing more. Once we are wed, you shall acquire it for me from my father. When the silver is in my hands we’ll declare our divorce before the elders.” She shrugged. “After that, I care not what you do. Our ship will take you anywhere you wish.”

George opened and closed his mouth. Twice. He shook his head again, as if he didn’t understand her, but every word was clear despite her strange accent.

“Just like that,” he said.

“Ja, just like that.”

What she proposed was unthinkable. Outrageous. ’Twas a blasphemy against God. Did she think to use him to gain her fortune, let her think again.

Marriage was a sacrament and, at its best, an arrangement designed to secure an alliance between clans. ’Twas not a pagan ritual to be done and undone on a whim, simply to gain the bride her coin.

“I willna do it,” he said.

“Fine.” She stretched her lips into a thin, tight line. “I hope you enjoy our island, Scotsman, for you’ll be here a very long time.” She turned her back on him and marched toward the table, where all eyes were now trained on him.

“A lifetime, perhaps,” she called over her shoulder, and didn’t miss a step.

Chapter Two

The Scot was stubborn beyond belief.