A Heart of Fire (21 page)

She
could call herself a fool all day, but what had happened in the kitchens was
too strange to ignore.

Finna
slipped into a seat at the end of the hall, in the shadows, somewhere she hoped
she would stray from notice. She ate in silence, contemplating her vision
deeply and watching the thralls cleaning the hall from the festivities the
night before. Two were down on their knees scrubbing the spot where the
prisoners
had been thrown to the floor.
The bloodied rushes had already been removed, and fresh straw had been laid to
the side to be put down.

The
reminder unsettled her so that she lost her appetite.

It
wasn’t so much that Grahund and Bailish were now captives, but that Aldar had
sent men for her—something she'd briefly prayed for, yet now it would be a
curse should they find her.

One
day, she would face her uncle.

But
she was not ready as of yet.

Just
as she washed down her last bite, Valdrik slid onto the bench beside her.

"How
fare thee this morn?" he asked. "'Tis cold out. You slept so soundly
last night I doubt you knew the first real snows had come."

Finna
raised a brow at him, at his easy disposition. "Nay, I did not know until
I left your dwelling." She caught herself. "Our dwelling," she
muttered, covering her words with a drink of ale.

"Your
mother and sister require your help today. They have been working all morning
weaving."

"What
are they weaving?" Finna asked.

"Cloth,
to trade. The women use their time during the winter months to make items to
trade come summer. Didn’t the women you were raised among do the same?" he
asked.

Finna
shrugged. "I only know I did not do it with them."

He
shook his head at her. "Well, you shall do it today."

Her
stare shot to his. "Nay, 'tis a woman's work."

"Aye,
and thus you are a woman to do it."

Anger
suffused her. "You shall not order me as you would a thrall."

"I
am to hunt with your father and some of the other men while the snow is not
falling, for soon we shall be barred indoors as the first of winter sets in
harshly. I need you to occupy yourself with something I do not have to worry
will get you into any trouble whilst I am gone. I want you to stay well within
the walls for your protection."

Her
anger with him abated, and interest perked at the mention of a hunt. "Let
me come with you, then. I would be of more use on the hunt. I tried their
sewing, and 'tis only frustrating."

Valdrik
shook his head, slipping a finger under her chin. "You shall stay with the
women and learn to do a woman's work."

Finna
glared at him from under her lashes, but she didn’t pull away. Even when Valdrik
came closer to her, she did not move.

"You
smell sweet," he said, his nose and lips tickling her neck as he took in
her scent.

Finna
gasped at the pleasurable sensation of his gentle touch.

"I
was not sure you received my gifts until now," he said, his finger
trailing down to the hollow between her breasts, exposed by the dress—exposed
more so than she'd wished, as she'd expressed to Geera
why
she'd wanted a higher neckline.

His
touch threw her off-kilter, and Finna blinked at him, trying to remember what
he was talking about, what he meant.

Oh, aye. The
fabrics.

"Aye.
I thank you. My sister has begun sewing new clothing for me, and this is the
first to be finished." She glanced down to the blue dress and blushed
deeply at the thought of the
other
dress, hidden away in the trunk.

Gods,
she hoped he
did not discover it.

Valdrik
regarded her suspiciously a moment, and Finna feared he might question her.

"'Tis
kind of Geera, but shouldn’t you be sewing clothing for yourself?" he
asked.

Finna
snorted at that. "Were I to attempt to sew a dress I am uncertain it would
stay together. Would you want me to wear something that might fall apart in the
hall in front of everyone?"

He
raised a brow at her, his expression as though he might like that. "Your
mother and sister are above. Find them and stay with them." Valdrik let
her go and came to his feet, towering over her.

Finna
let out a gusty sigh of displeasure as she stood, too. A serving girl came to
take away the remnants of her trencher behind them as Valdrik started away.

"Wait,"
Finna called. "When shall Hadarr hold counsel?"

Valdrik
paused and looked over his shoulder at her darkly. "It has already
happened."

"What,"
Finna cried. She took a step after her husband. "What has been
decided?"

He
did not look pleased. "They shall be granted their lives, but as
slaves." His tone was blunt. "You should be happy with that much, for
had the decision been left up to me, I would have had them executed." His
eyes turned a stormy blue, his look hard. His stare pinned her to her spot
before he turned and walked away.

Chapter
Seventeen

Snow
began to pelt the village later that day, sending the inhabitants of Hadarr's
village in search for warmth. Finna shielded her face with the cloak Geera had
lent her as she tromped through the freshly fallen snow, hurrying toward her
new home. The men had not returned as of yet, but surely under this onslaught
they would soon.

She
rubbed at her fingers. Not only were they cold, but sore after spending hours
at the loom. Her backside ached more than all, for she had not done much.

After
some time, Surguilde and Geera had keenly subjected her to another task in the
room where she was not directly involved in anything that had to do with
threads.

While
she had enjoyed their company, she had not enjoyed the women's work. It was
tedious and lackluster, unlike the training yard or a hunt.

Finna
sighed a clouded breath as she reached her new home and stomped her feet
outside to remove powdery clumps of white before letting herself inside.

Finna
shut herself in, shivering, and shook the snow from her shoulders and hair,
then hung the cloak by the door on a peg. She crossed the room and bent to
collect wood by the raised hearth and began to build a new fire. Even inside
she was freezing. The fire had been out nigh all day—thanks to her husband's
demands, she had not been there to tend it.

It
took her time, but at last, a spark began to quicken, and she stood from the
hearth to stretch before turning for her trunk. Her husband might object, but
she was not accustomed to dresses and having her legs bare to the cold.

Finna
pulled her leggings from the trunk, and then sat on the bed to remove her
boots. When she was done, she pulled the leggings on underneath her dress.
Already she was warmer. Satisfied, she put her boots back on and went for her
cloak to bring in more wood before night came.

She
shivered as she stepped out again, but she was not
as
cold. Finna went around the dwelling, circling until she found
the wood stack at the back and uncovered it. She took an armload and then
flipped the oiled canvas back over the stack.

She
retreated into the growing warmth of the dwelling and set the wood down. She
was just removing her cloak when the door opened behind her and Valdrik stepped
inside. She whirled on him just as he shook snow from his shoulders and began
to remove his cloak.

"How
was the hunt?" she asked, a surge of jealousy hitting her.

She
hurried across the room as far as she could get, and when she caught sight of
the open trunk, she kicked it closed and scooted it out of notice with her foot
to the end of the bed.

When
she turned, Valdrik regarded her closely for a moment, almost suspiciously.
"Well enough," he said, and went to the hearth to hold out his hands
to the flame. "I was told you were not of much help at the loom," he
said with a smirk.

Finna
tilted her chin at him. "I tried. I told you I am no good at such
things."

"You
shall learn. 'Tis Aldar's fault for not having raised you as a daughter should
be."

Finna
looked away.

"What
have you prepared to eat?" Valdrik asked, coming to sit at the table. He
glanced between the barren tabletop, the fire, and her.

Blanching,
Finna turned sharply to him.

What
a horrid wife she was turning out to be.

"Nothing,"
she said. "You told me to stay at the loom with the women all day. I do
not even know where you keep your foodstuffs." She frowned. Not that that
sounded like any excuse, not even to her own ears.

Valdrik
rolled his head back on his shoulders. "Why do the gods hate me so?"
He pointed to the other side of the table closest to Finna. "There is the
key to the larder. I left it for you this morning."

Her
cheeks warmed a degree. "I am sorry," she said and took a step closer
to the table to pick up the small brass key. "This is all very new to
me."

"You
are lucky I am not a violent man. You shall learn." He sighed hard,
watching her with a mix of weariness, frustration, and humor. "There is
salted fish and bread in the larder. Bring that so we might eat. I am ready for
bed. ‘Twas a long hunt, and as I'm sure you are aware, ‘twas cold out."

Finna
turned for the larder with the key and stooped to open the wooden shelf. It was
almost as tall as she, and on the inside there were shelves. At the top, dried
herbs dangled from strings, and just below were smoked meats and the salted
fish in baskets covered with linen. Spices in small earthen jars were on
another shelf, as was a loaf of bread and a round of cheese.

She
bent and began to gather the items he requested in her arm, only minimally
aware that Valdrik had risen from the table. His movement caught the corner of
her eye.

When
she turned back to set the things on the table, she jumped at his nearness. He
took the fish and bread from her and set them behind him, moving closer,
slowly, cornering her to the wall.

Finna
backed away as far as she could go and smoothed herself to the flat surface,
her heart beginning to thump wildly. What was he about?

Aye,
she could imagine.

He
came so close she could feel the heat of his body through her dress.

Finna
swallowed hard, meeting his gaze.

"What
are you wearing?" he demanded in a whisper, lowering his lips to her neck.

Her
pulse throbbed under the gentle kiss he bestowed there, and she closed her eyes
tight. She wondered if he could feel the rush of her blood under his lips.

Finna
gaped then, her eyes flaring as she remembered the leggings beneath her dress.
She frantically searched for an escape as Valdrik reached for her arms, but she
had little place to go, flat against the wall beside the larder, trapped every
way she looked.

"I
only put on my leggings because I was cold," she said, giving him a
pleading look. "I do not see why you dislike them so. Other women wear
leggings under their dresses for warmth."

He
narrowed his eyes. "They were supposed to be done away with, wife."

She
swallowed. "They are mine to do with as I please."

"As
you
are mine," Valdrik said. His
hand skimmed down her side, little by little, to her hip where he balled the
material of her dress and kirtle both in his fist.

Finna
panicked at the thought of his hands on her as he hiked the bottom upwards in
one thrust of his arm. He pressed her into the wall with his hard body,
flattening his palm against her slender thigh and running his hand up to her
buttocks. The only thing between her flesh and his was the thin leather of her
leggings.

"What
are you doing?" Finna asked.

Valdrik
bent down before her, to his knees, and with her lifted dress in one hand, he
held her to the wall. His palm pressed into her belly. He reached down with his
other hand to unlace one of her boots slowly and pulled it from her foot and
then the other.

Finna
swallowed frantically at his calmness, though his ferocity rolled off in
droves.

When
he had removed her boots, he looked up to her and slid his free hand up her leg
to the apex of her thighs, his thumb slipping over her feminine parts.

Finna
gasped sharply at the shock of his touch, the hardness of his stare.

She
didn’t dare move.

Valdrik
slipped his fingers up and yanked at the laces on her leggings in a forceful
tug.

"Nay,"
Finna cried at the sound of a rip, grasping for his hands.

Her
heart beat franticly, drumming in her ears as he looked upon her.

With
one last mighty wrench, Valdrik tore her leggings from her until the top came
to her ankles.