only to provide sexual pleasure and children.
After the meal Ragnild had a fine mare—white, the cutest gray boots on her front hooves—brought from the camp’s remuda.
“For you, my daughter’s cousin,” said the leader proudly, stroking the mare’s silky forehead. “May she carry you without stumbling, onward to meet your destiny.”
A horse was a very big gift—one that Brit accepted gratefully. A good horse would come in handy during her stay in the Vildelund. Also, having her own horse meant she wouldn’t have to share a ride with Eric to get back to the village. They’d travel faster if they each had their own mount—not to mention that she could skip the forced intimacy of having his body pressed against her back for the next six or seven hours, providing a constant reminder of what she’d promised herself she was not going to do with him.
“Thank you, Ragnild. Does this fine horse have a name?”
“Svald.”
“And that means?”
“Why, whatever you would have it mean.”
Brit took the reins.
Rinda handed her three small, hard apples. “Here, cousin. A few apples always smooth the way between a horse and her new owner.”
Brit offered the apples to Svald. The mare lipped them up and chomped them, then nuzzled for more. Brit stroked her fine, sleek neck and blew in her nostrils.
Eric said he’d help her to mount.
“No, thanks. I can manage.” She grabbed a handful of braided mane and hoisted herself to the horse’s strong back. The muscles of her legs and buttocks complained. But the long soak in the hot spring the night before had helped a lot. The stiffness wasn’t as bad as it might have been.
Brit promised to visit again, and she and Eric set out through the trees.
At the top of the first rise, they paused to survey the rugged, tree-covered land before them. Eric said, “You will have trouble finding those women again.”
“I know the way.”
He smiled. That smile warmed her—intentions to the contrary. “They will move camp now. They’re probably packing things up as we speak.”
“But why?”
“They live free. They can’t allow outsiders to know where to find them.”
“They can trust us. We’d never betray them.”
“We? High praise.” He was grinning.
“I never mistrusted you. I know you’re an honest man—well, except for that big lie you keep telling me about Valbrand.” She put up a hand. “Don’t say it. I don’t need to hear it—and are you telling me I’ve found Ragnild and my cousin only to lose them again?”
“You will see them, in the future. On that I would wager my best hunting rifle.”
“But you just said—”
“That you would have trouble finding them again. I didn’t say anything about them finding you. I’m certain they will, when next they feel a need to seek you out.”
They reached the village at a little past three that afternoon. Asta came running out, followed by her daughters-in-law and a chattering knot of children. There were glad cries of greeting and warm hugs all around.
Mist grabbed Brit around the knees and squeezed. “Bwit, I miss you. Miss you, miss you, vewwy much…”
Brit scooped her up and held her close. “Give me a big squeeze. See? I’m right here—and you are so strong!”
The little one was already squirming to get down. Brit let her go with some reluctance, glancing up to see that Eric was watching, looking way too smug.
Oh, right. Back to what a wonderful wife she was going to make. Because she loved kids and would no doubt be yearning to breed a passel of them. Yeah, sure. As in, don’t hold your breath.
Asta took her arm. “Eric, see to the horses. Brit, come inside immediately. I must check your bandage, and then you are to eat a hearty meal. After the meal no doubt you’ll enjoy a trip to the bathhouse. And after that you’ll have a long, healing night’s rest.”
“Sounds terrific,” said Brit. “Good food, a bath and some rest.” She might as well drop the bombshell now. “I’ll need all that to be fresh for the big day tomorrow.”
Asta’s eyes narrowed. Eric looked bleak.
“Oh,” Brit said, with an offhand wave. “Sorry. I’ve been meaning to tell you. Tomorrow I’m heading for Drakveden Fjord. I want to have a look at what’s left of my plane.”
Chapter Nine
Asta let out a small cry of outrage. Then she started objecting. “Brit, you’ll do no such thing. It isn’t safe for you to be wandering all over the Vildelund.”
“My safety isn’t the issue here. I’m going.”
“Of course your safety is the issue. You are the daughter of our king, and your life is precious above all else.”
“Asta. There’s no sense in arguing about this. I’m heading out tomorrow at first light.”
“Eric.” Asta was actually wringing her hands. “Talk to her.”
Eric looked as if he wouldn’t mind strangling someone—and Brit had a good idea who that someone might be. “Take her inside,” he commanded. “Feed her. I’ll see to the horses. Then she and I will share an evening stroll.”
* * *
The “evening stroll” happened an hour later, in waning daylight. And as it turned out, there was no strolling involved. Eric must have decided he didn’t want to argue with her on the village street, where anyone might hear them going at each other. So he shooed the others out. They faced off as they had the morning before, alone in Asta’s longhouse, on either side of the deal table.
“What is the point of this?” Eric demanded. “You put yourself in harm’s way for the mere thrill of it.”
“No, I do not. And there is a point, since you asked. I want to have a look at that plane.”
“To what purpose?”
“I want to see what was done to it, to make it lose oil pressure out of nowhere like that.”
“Ah,” he sneered. “Not only a licensed pilot, but an airplane mechanic, as well.”
“I just want to have a look, okay? I just want to see if I can—”
“No.” His voice was carefully controlled—but his expression was thunderous. “It is not, in any way, okay.”
“Well, fine. It’s not okay. But I’m
