Katla Grímsdóttir has lived with her Viking father’s anger and abuse for all of her eighteen years. And she has watched him mistreat the two people she loves most in the world – her twin sister Gull and their slave “milk brother” Freyvior – until her heart is nothing but fire and steel. When Gull is sold in marriage to one of their father’s brutish warlords, Katla turns that fire and steel into the strength of fury.
She can no longer deny that her love for her beautiful slave Freyvior has changed, nor can she resist her desire to be owned by him, body and soul. But while together they awaken a fierce storm of passion between them, they must also face a violent destiny as they set out to rescue Gull. And first, those who have betrayed and abused them will be made to face the young shield maiden’s long repressed wrath.
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Without undressing, he slipped between them, lying on his back and crossing his hands over his chest like a corpse. Gull rolled onto her side, her back to him, and was soon breathing the heavy breaths of the exhausted sleeper.
“I’ll slip out the loose board if your father comes,” Frey said.
Katla rolled onto her side, facing him. She could only see his silhouette against the dying candle on the bench. “That would be advised.”
They both snuffled with laughter.
Frey turned and faced her, reaching up to finger one of her braids. “There’s a fortune in gold and saffron woven in here. Did you know that?”
“What is a fortune to you is pennies to my Father.”
Frey nodded. “You could buy my freedom with three strands.” He gathered two more braids and twirled them around his fingers.
“I would with all my heart, dear Frey, if Father would permit it.”
Frey dropped her braids, laying his hand instead on her cool cheek. “You would? Then what would you have me do? Leave the village? Sail south and search for my gypsy father? Do you want me to be a free man? Free of you?”
Katla reached up and touched the thin iron collar that marked his enslavement. She might cling to it with all her strength to keep him from leaving her. Or perhaps she could let him go. Or perhaps not. Her mind bounced back and forth, unable to formulate a decision.
“A little slow to answer, mistress.” Frey said, with a sad smile.
Perhaps Katla was able to voice feelings with her eyes that her lips had never managed. Perhaps Frey could somehow hear the words her mind was screaming.
That she would be his slave, happily.
Something changed in Frey’s face as he looked at her. He inhaled sharply and sighed, his lips slightly parted. Without taking his eyes from hers he let his hand slide off her cheek, over her neck, her exposed collarbone. He kept going lower, unlacing her night gown as he did.
“Gull,” Katla whispered. “She’s right there.”
“Asleep.” Frey spoke in a deep authoritative voice. “And you are going to be very quiet.”