Page 7 of Shared By the Vikings

Ingrid snapped her hand from his.

I can’t marry this man. I can’t lie with this man. I’d rather die.

She pushed back her chair. She had to get out of there. She’d suffer the wrath of her father and the gods. The thought of being married to Bjorn sickened her. It was a fate worse than death. Worse than not being welcomed into the afterlife.

Suddenly Raud was behind her. He pressed his hands on her shoulders, keeping her seated. “Smile,” he said against her ear. “Smile and get through this feast.”

The heat of his palms seeped onto her shoulders, down her spine, and into her core.

“Get through this,” he whispered again. “Then we’ll make a plan...” He paused. “A plan of whatwe’regoing to do.”

He lifted his hands and walked to a long table and where he sat with his back to her.

‘Whatwe’regoing to do.’

Thanks be to the gods, Raud understood her dilemma, and his fast brain would be concocting a plan, a way to persuade her father that this was all a terrible mistake. Perhaps Raud would offer to marry her morrow—that would certainly be a tolerable resolution.

“We will make many sacrifices to the gods, Ingrid, to garner good luck for our union,” Bjorn said as he chewed on a goat shin. “And when you bear me sons we will make more sacrifices to ensure Thor and Odin watch out for them in battle.”

The spittle at the corners of Bjorn’s mouth was white and frothy and caught in his beard along with shreds of meat.

Ingrid gulped her wine. There was no way she could eat a thing, not now—not now that she knew what her future held.

She closed her eyes. Was this what the seer had meant when he’d said change was on her horizon? Was that change marriage to a revolting man whom she would never or could ever desire? Would the bloodstone help her weather the storm of having to spend her nights being pawed and groped, penetrated and inseminated by a great bear of a man?

Bear.

A shiver went through her.‘Beware of the bear and the wolf.’Was Bjorn the bear? And if so, who was the wolf? Her father? He favored his wolf cloak and there was no doubt about it, this had been a sneaky, conniving act. He’d never even hinted that he wanted her to marry a friend of old to further the family position.

Is he losing his mind?

“Eat, Ingrid.” Her father pushed a plate of cheese and a bowl of boiled oxen her way. “It is mid-winter, you need strength and meat on your bones.” He nodded past her at Bjorn, who was now devouring bread and butter as though he’d never seen it before. “And that man there won’t want a skinny bride.”

“I don’t want to be his bride,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “Surely you know that, and—”

“Stop.” Beneath the table he squeezed her knee. “I will not hear of it. Icannothear of it. The arrangement has been made and announced.” He paused; a flash of sadness crossed his eyes but then his jaw tensed and the sorrow was replaced with iron. “And you will do as you are told.”

There was no point arguing with him, not now when he had that look. There would be a loser and it would be her.

She reached for a square of cheese and nibbled the edge.

“Good girl,” he said, releasing her knee then sighing. “Eat.”

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