Page 56 of Heart of Iron
“Didn’t expect to be here meself,” he replied.There was no point in trying to play word games.He was who he was.No amount of polish could change his nature or make him comfortable with the games the blue bloods enjoyed.
Astrid gave him a sidelong look.“Why not?”
“This ain’t my world.”
She examined him as if he’d done something unexpected.“You’re Scottish, yes?”
“Originally.Were born on a crofter’s farm outside o’ Edinburgh.”
Easing closer, she let her arm brush against his.“How old were you when you received the gift?”
He glanced over her shoulder toward the ball.Through the arch he could just see the glittering skirts of Lena’s pink ball gown.Talking to some young pup who hung on her every word.Safe for the moment.
He turned his attention back to the woman in front of him.“I were five.And it weren’t no gift.”
He could barely recall the stranger who’d ridden in on the back of a cart one day, feverish and sweating, his arms raked with bloody scratches.They’d called for the physician, but the man had gone berserk, throwing men aside as if they weighed nothing.Will had been the only one left standing, staring at the stranger in virulent fear.He couldn’t remember what happened next.But they said it took five men to pull the stranger away from his throat.
Nobody expected him to live.The man had torn him apart like a nice, fat rabbit.But somehow his body reknit itself.By the time they realized why, it was too late.He was well into the first transition of the loupe.
“I see.”Her eyes softened in sympathy, but her scent was still hard.A lesson in that for him.Trust his nose and not his eyes.“How did you learn to control yourself?Were there others?”
“Me mam sold me to a travelin’ showman.”An old wound, healed and crusted over, but still scarred.“I were locked in a cage for ten years.If I tried to escape they whipped me until I went down.”He took a mouthful of champagne, the bitterness of it bubbling on his tongue.“I learned the hard way not to lose me temper.”
Astrid’s fingers went to the amulet around her neck and she toyed with it, a troubled look on her face.“How can you stand to be here?Around them?Knowing that their laws locked you away for years?”
“I’m simply doin’ a job.”
“An attempt to soften our favor?They do not know us well, do they?”Another brush against his sleeve.Her hand slid over his, gloves rustling.“So how much does this little task of yours cost them?”She took a deep breath, her breasts swelling.“What does it involve?”
He let her stroke his hand.She was beautiful, but she was no Lena.“I get you to sign the treaty.”
“And what do you get?”
“I get freedom.”
“Worth more than your weight in gold,” she murmured.
“For all the verwulfen in the Isles,” he added.“No more cages, no more pit-fightin’ or prices on our heads.Free men.And women.”
Unease prickled her scent.Despite the smile on her face, he’d pricked her conscience.
“A worthy cause.”Her finger stroked his knuckle, but her mind was miles away.She frowned.“You should come and meet my uncle.He may be interested in what you speak of.”
“Your uncle?”
“Magnus.”
Will considered it.Then nodded.He gestured to the plate.“Let me just take this to my companion, Lena.”
Twelve
It had taken him all of ten minutes to ingratiate himself with the Norwegians.
Lena bit into a lemon tart, smiling at the young lord in front of her as she surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder.Will clasped hands with the grizzled Fenrir and greeted his son, Eric.
Movement shifted.A hand, sliding over the small of his back.Lena nearly choked on her tart.Her eyes narrowed.That Norwegian witch.She’d known him barely a quarter of an hour and she was already trying to stake a claim.
Stammering a vague reply to something Lord Folsom asked her, she maneuvered herself for a better look.The blond goddess smiled up at him, her hand possessively stroking the smooth tailoring of his coat.Will looked down at her with an amused expression crinkling his eyes.
