Page 54 of Her Celtic Captor

Of him?

"You have me, little one. And I have you. Whether we marry or not, you are mine."

"Because you took me."

"Aye, and because you stayed. Fate threw us together, but I would not have it otherwise. We shall not wed if that is not your wish, but it changes nothing. You are still mine. Now, and always. You know the truth of this."

"I do," she agreed softly.

"Then we have arrived at an understanding, you and I."

She shook her head. “Not yet, though I hope that we will.”

“You speak in riddles, little Viking.”

"I... I am not affectionate. I am distant, cold sometimes. I would make a poor wife, you are correct on that score, and a worse lover."

"You are not cold now." He hugged her warm body to him. "And I shall determine whether you make a good lover or not since I consider your judgment on the matter to be flawed." He lowered his head to brush his lips across hers, his voice rough with need when he spoke next. "I want you so much it hurts."

"I want you," she repeated. "I want all of you. But there is much to settle first."

He would have deepened the kiss but instead he drew back. He rolled onto his back and wrapped his arm about her shoulders to pull her to him in the dark.

“Once before, I asked you who had put those notions in your head, the nonsense you just spouted about being cold and unlovable. You refused to tell me. Will you tell me now?”

“I… yes, I will. I want to. I need to.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Go on. We shall talk, the two of us. You will tell me what this is all about, and we shall decide what is to be done."

"But—"Brynhild gaped at him. The past was past, there was nothing to be done.

Taranc seemingly had other ideas, "It has to end. Here, now. Whatever troubles you, it must stop. You must see this."

"It will never stop."

"When did it start?"

"What?" the sudden change of tack threw her. "What do you mean?"

"When did it start? This thing which has you tied in knots and fills you with self-loathing? If you cannot tell me about that, then tell me about the time before."

She could do that. Taranc was making this easy for her, as she should have always known he would. Brynhild drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "It was... a long time ago. I was little more than a child."

"What did you dream of, when you were a child, Brynhild?"

Another question she had not anticipated. "I... I dreamed of growing up, of marrying a fine Viking warrior. I dreamed of a horde of rowdy children running about my longhouse. I would be wealthy, and beautiful, a woman of the Jarl, like my mother."

"I see. Fine dreams. Youarebeautiful, I have always thought so. Tell me more of your mother."

Brynhild closed her eyes and allowed her head to rest on his chest. She smiled as memories assailed her, the scents, sounds, impressions of her childhood. "My mother was called Solveig, and she was a fine lady. She was stern, we all obeyed her. Apart from my brother, Gunnar. He was her favourite although he was not her natural son. I... I always wanted to please her."

"I see. It is good, is it not, to strive to please your parents?"

"I failed. I disappointed her. She was angry with me. She died angry with me."

"Did she say as much?"

"No, but she must have been, after... after..."

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