was closer to the truth. When that was allied to a keen intelligence and a ready wit, it made for a challenging combination. Challenging and intriguing.
‘Take a bold man to tame that one,’ Unnr went on. ‘My oldest brother, Sveinn, married a redhead. Lovely to look at but a temper like a fiend when roused.’
Sturla frowned. ‘Regretted the match, did he?’
‘Certainly not. Sveinn loves a challenge—always did. A timid sort of woman would never have suited him.’
‘Each to his own.’
‘I’m with Sveinn,’ said Vigdis, who, like several others, had been listening with close attention. ‘A spirited woman has to make for a more interesting relationship.’
Murmurs of agreement greeted this.
Thus encouraged Unnr continued, ‘That’s right. Sveinn had fancied Halla from the start, see, because she was a real looker, but it wasn’t till she went for him with an axe that he really understood the depth of his feelings.’
Vigdis nodded. ‘I can see how something like that could help you make up your mind.’
‘It did. He fell head over heels in love.’
‘So he told her right away, then?’
‘Not quite. It wasn’t until he’d wrestled her to the ground and taken the axe away that he finally managed to convince her. Anyway, they made up the quarrel and married the following week. They’ve got five sons now.’
Ketill shook his head in admiration. ‘Your brother sounds like quite a romantic.’
His companions nodded.
‘I think he is,’ replied Unnr, ‘though of course he’d never admit it.’
‘Action speaks louder than words, eh?’
‘Correct. And love’s a funny thing. Take my cousin Snorri for instance...’
* * *
As the others pressed closer to listen Finn detached himself from the group and moved aside. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, evoking memories that he’d have preferred to leave alone. Unnr was right though: love was a strange thing. It entered in by the eyes and embedded itself in the heart. Its removal left a wound that never healed. Betrayal was always ugly no matter what form it took. Unnr’s brother was lucky in his choice of wife: evidently deception was not part of her nature. A man knew exactly what to expect from an axe. Moreover, he could see it coming. He didn’t know about betrayal until it was too late.
He should have read the signs, but he’d been so besotted with Bótey that he’d been blind. When he’d finally understood how blind, love had given way to jealousy and killing rage. She knew what his reaction would be and sought to put as much distance between them as possible. Not enough distance though, not nearly enough. He’d caught up eventually. Slaying his rival was a matter of natural justice, an act for which none would condemn him. A man must defend his rights and avenge himself on those who wronged him. That was the way of things. He had no qualms about killing his wife’s lover. It was what followed that sickened him and for that, in his own mind at least, he would stand forever condemned.
* * *
He and his men slept in the hall that night, or rather his men slept and soundly too. Finn found it much harder. His mind was too busy, not least with concerns about the immediate future. If he didn’t take care of Steingrim it was over. He and his men would be hunted down and slain. The mercenary force wouldn’t give up until that was accomplished. However, Finn had no intention of allowing them to keep the advantage. When he had the extra swords he needed the fight would be taken to his enemies, and when they least expected it. We’ll choose our own ground. Leif was right about that. He wondered how his brother was faring and whether he’d got his woman away safely. Presumably he had: once Leif had a goal in mind he invariably achieved it no matter who tried to stop him. Anyway, Astrid was a pretty girl.
Finn acknowledged the fact even though he felt dispassionate about it. His taste ran more towards dark hair, dark or deep red. For a moment Lara’s face floated into his thoughts. It was remarkable that she was still unmarried at eighteen. She could not have lacked for suitors. Surely among their number had been those who were not deterred by the kind of challenge she represented; any red-blooded man in fact. It suggested that Lara must have rejected them. Had she used an axe? He smiled to himself. It wasn’t hard to visualise such a scenario. The fey didn’t seem to like men very much. She certainly didn’t like him. There were admittedly some grounds for her dislike, but it didn’t explain her antipathy for the male sex as a whole, and that made him curious.
When his marriage ended it had been a while before he’d embarked on any kind of sexual adventure. At first it was the sort a man paid for; uncomplicated and mutually beneficial. Later there were longer liaisons with palace courtesans; more complicated and more expensive but more enjoyable too, while they lasted. He was all in favour of the giving and taking of pleasure and was generous when it came to rewarding the objects of his attention, but he never offered more than that. His terms were made clear at the outset. That way there could be no misunderstandings and no one got hurt.
Had Lara suffered a disappointment? Was her manner a defence against being hurt again? He didn’t know why his thoughts should keep coming back to her. He regretted his thoughtless words earlier: they had cost him an entertaining discussion. All conversations with her were entertaining. He had never met a woman who challenged his opinions before, or who held her own in argument with such accomplished ease, making him think on his feet. She made no attempt to flirt either and clearly resented it when he did. That too was novel. Women invariably enjoyed flirting with him. Some went out of their way to do so and the invitation they extended was blatant. Usually he was happy to oblige them with an hour of his time. He couldn’t imagine Lara seeking five minutes alone with him, never mind an hour. Probably it was just as well. There was no question of any dalliance with her, even if she had been so inclined. To take advantage of his host’s goodwill in that way was dishonourable. It would also jeopardise his mission here and that would be foolhardy in the extreme.
All the same Lara roused his curiosity. If he were honest she aroused rather more than that. Vigdis was right: a spirited woman was infinitely more interesting than a timid one. Finn smiled to himself. Had she been a lady of the court he’d have taken up the challenge she represented: in his experience every woman could be wooed and won; every rebel conquered—eventually.
Chapter Three
Somewhere amid these thoughts he dozed off and eventually slept until dawn. Around him his sword brothers snored on. Wanting to stretch his limbs he rose quietly, taking care not to disturb his companions, and slipped out of a side door. The morning smelled of dew and damp earth. It had rained in the night but the clouds had passed over and the new day looked promising. That was just as well when there was so much to be done. He was mentally listing it all when he glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye.
Automatically he whipped round, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. He wouldn’t put it past Steingrim to sneak up on his foes as they slept. However, far from being the enemy’s bulky form, the figure was slight and female. A proper look revealed her identity. He relaxed. She hadn’t noticed him at all and was heading away from the buildings along a track that led towards the trees. For a second he hesitated, debating with himself. Then curiosity won.
* * *
Lara
