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 marriage it is,” Lawmaker said.
Hannes made for the bar. “And consummation,” he called back over his shoulder.
“I refuse to submit to such a thing! He’ll not touch me.” Rika fisted her hands at her sides and seized George’s gaze. He was certain, if she held it long enough, those crystalline eyes would burn holes right through him.
Her breathing grew labored, and George was all too aware of her breasts straining at her gown. ’Twas cold in the room, and before his very eyes her nipples hardened against the thick fabric. All at once, he felt something that startled and disturbed him.
Arousal.
He shifted on the bench and adjusted his tunic. The thought of bedding such an offensive woman—and one so tall at that—was repugnant. She was everything an alluring maiden should not be: domineering, opinionated, and with a roughness about her that was appalling in one of her sex.
