Viking Fire by Andrea R. Cooper Page B

rhythm. He eased away from her, breathing heavily. “’Tis best saved for our wedding day. No more,
ek elska pik,
my
ástir
.”
    She heard the Norse words, but did not understand their meaning. “Best to sate your needs elsewhere, for you will never have any lovemaking with me.” She whispered.
    “I’ve had a few mistresses before.”
    Her mind tormented her with images of his lips upon a buxom woman. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared at all.
    “Leave me.” She straightened. “I will arrange for father to pay you for your troubles.”
    “No.” His tone made her step back. “I will not stray from our bed with another. This I vow upon the Norns.”
    She shook her head. “I will not marry you.”
    “Aye, you will marry me. You will meet my needs and I, yours. I promise you I will not stray from your bed.”
    Curse her. She knew men went through women like pigs rooting for truffles. Regardless if she had love in a marriage or not, she would not allow infidelity. “Pray you do not stray, for if you do I will shoot arrows into you and the wench together.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She spun on her heel at his laughter.

Chapter Seventeen
    Kaireen flipped her auburn hair back and took the narrow steps to the dyeing area.
    Candlelight flickered across the stone walls. Though the sun rose and lit most of the keep, this part of the dungeon was devoid of natural light.
    As a child, her mother explained the necessity of women dyeing here. If an invading clan tried to breech the walls, or dig underneath, then the liquid in the dye barrels would ripple and alert the women.
    Until now, Kaireen had not visited the place again, because Rhiannon spent most of her time here.
    Following the stairs round a corner, a stink crawled forward and choked her. Smell of sour milk, rotten swine slop, and urine. Rhiannon must be oblivious to the stench, because this aroma crept around her wherever she went. But here the odors clashed into each other, each fighting for dominance.
    Kaireen wrestled with the urge to vomit, and wished she could race upstairs. Any punishment, days in the stocks, years in the kitchens, were better than this.
    Now Bram would not want to come near her-which in her mind would be a good thing. Already she had become too used to his presence; she needed distance to strengthen her resolve not to kiss him again. She worried this brief exposure to the dyes may haunt her months to come. No, she was not a quitter. She would take her punishment.
    To ease her nausea, she took breaths with her mouth. But she tasted the tingle of stink upon her tongue. She set her resolve and moved forward. Rhiannon would not be kind, especially if she was late.
    Inside, barrels were filled with crushed berries, sap, onion skins, and various leaves crammed into every open space.
    Wool and linen hung from the ceiling drying. Vats of colored liquid cluttered the floors. Torches lined the walls, sending flickering light across the massive room. Servants scurried about, applying sap to pre-dyed fabric. She watched while others stirred bolts of fabric into the vats. These quarters spread three times the size of her bedchamber.
    Kaireen was amazed that none of these ladies appeared bothered by the stench. Many of them nodded their heads in greeting. Younger ones dipped into half a curtsy.
    Within seconds Rhiannon snapped her fingers and then everyone jerked back to their duties. She strode forward, her gaze shifting down her nose at Kaireen. Her grey hair was tied into her usual tight bun. She wore a stout black gown which made her pale skin look like a shallow frame hiding bones.
    “You are late. I will request your lord father and mother increase your punishment.” She glared at Kaireen. “They have been too lenient on you. Long ago they should have sent you to the convent, or placed under my authority.” Her dark eyes twinkled as if a secret existed somewhere in their