With his good looks and charm, Geir had the pick of women, though I knew he only had eyes for my friend Ingrid, whom he’d loved since we were children. Knew that he hoped to earn enough raiding this season to build a hall and ask her father for her hand.
“She loves it. Especially the way it tickles when—”
I gave him a shove hard enough to make him stagger. “You’re a pig.”
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.