Page 5 of Wulver's Flame
My head snapped up as hope emerged.
“Wulverson telt him if he didnae want peace through bloodlines, he would sentence Dunraith to death and take yae regardless,” she paused to sit down beside me.
No. There was no hope. I shook my head. In our great-grandfather's time, we suffered a significant loss. Here was another brute set to destroy my kin. My heart raced in fear.
What a horrid fate. Why me?
“Lass, yer Da had nae choice,” she said, taking my hand onto her lap. “I scribed the treaty myself. We have very favourable terms.”
“Naw,” I said, but my voice cracked.
I swallowed and licked my dry lips before trying again.
“Yer Da’s decided,” she said before I could utter a word. “The scroll has been marked by baith o’ em.”
“My Maw will be turning in her final resting place,” I spat out, pulling my hand away.
“Am sorry, lass. It’s already done. The ceremony is in two days,” she said before she stood up. “I saw yer fate. Ye’r goin’tae outlive us all. There’s magic in our stones and blood. The Viking is crucial to us all.”
Betrayal coated my tongue like bitter ash. Part of me battled with myself. My wee brother, barely seven summers, would live.
The pain was too great. My father was giving me away to the enemy.
“Tell ma Da ah dinnae want tae see him,” I said with my voice flat and body numb. “Ah willnae look him in the eye and I willnae eva’ come back tae his hoose.”
Silence.
I refused to cry, even if my heart shattered like a clay pot.
“Yae willnae understand right now, but yer Da had to think of the cost tae Dunraith. He’s fond o’ yae mair than the rest of his bairns even though he will ne’va tell yae.”
I kept my head down, furious at the tear, travelling down my cheek.
When I remained silent, she sighed.
The door scraped, and I saw Fergus on guard before Brìghd wedged it shut again.
I got up and searched for my bag from foraging.
I’d keep my dagger and gut the Norseman myself.
Treaty be damned.
Chapter 3
Vargr
Her linen dress was edged with delicate embroidery, and a crimson cloak draped over her shoulders, fastened with bronze pins. Wildflowers laced her hair, but her curls refused to obey. Sköll snarled inside me, impatient for her eyes—for our bride, but she didn't look at a single soul.
As the seeress bound our hands with the woven cord, her fingers went limp and slipped from mine.
I bared my teeth.
Patience thinning, I seized her sleeve, anchoring her beside me. Her scent curled around me like smoke and sap—sweet, defiant, dangerous. The urge to finish the rite and drag her away was nearly unbearable.
She would be mine in name. In bond. In flesh.
I raised my voice to the stones, loud enough for her Gods and mine.
