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.”
The youth thrust it toward her. She nearly dropped it when he let it go and stormed off into the surrounding crowd. Later she would find him and again try to make him understand.
Lawmaker nodded at her to proceed.
She studied Gunnar’s sword. Though it had been their father’s, she had always thought of it as Gunnar’s, and was now loath to part with it. She had little left of her brother, and the weapon had been one of his most treasured things.
“Rika,” Lawmaker said.
She met Grant’s eyes, and read something new in them. Amusement? Ja, the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. Lawmaker must have explained the significance of the ritual. Her hackles rose.
She gritted her teeth behind tightly sealed lips and thrust the sword toward him. Grant’s hand closed over it, and for a moment she hesitated. He jerked the weapon from her hand and smiled.
Thor’s blood, she hated him. That hate fed her resolve, and her confidence. She knew men, and the Scot was no different. They fed on power and domination. Tonight’s victory would be his, but she would win the war.
Lawmaker fished something out of the pouch at his waist, and Rika’s eyes widened as she recognized what he held.
Wedding rings.
No one had said anything about rings.
She narrowed her eyes at him, and he merely shrugged. Hannes stood behind him, grinning.
Grant had obviously been well instructed, for he proffered the hilt of her family’s sword while Lawmaker set the smaller ring upon it. She pursed her lips, and did the same with the weapon Grant had given her.
They exchanged the rings, each on the hilt of their newly accepted swords. Without flourish Rika jammed the silver circle on her finger. Grant followed suit.
There. It was done.
Save for the speaking of vows—a Christian custom Rika never much cared for. Grant raced through the lines he’d been taught, and Rika mumbled her response.
A
