Dreams of a Dark Warrior

remembered now. Berserkers could earn
ohalla,
deathlessness, from Wóden once they’d won two hundred battles in his name. They tattooed his mark—dual ravens in flight—upon their chests.
    She wondered if the battles had come before the rule, or if the rule had spurred the battles. “I’m to sit there and wait for you? What if another mortal decides I’m to be his chattel instead?”
    His hands clenched. “You are meant for
me
alone,” he said in a strange tone. “Do you understand what I am saying?”
    “I’m not ignorant of such things.” She was almost completely ignorant of such things—of men, of coupling. She couldn’t comprehend why her sister would ever voluntarily leave the paradise of Valhalla to follow a man.
    One I do not trust.
    “Reginleit, you will not know another male.” His gaze held hers. “I consider us wed from this moment on.”
    What a crazed mortal; how touched in the head. Her father would turn this berserker to ash if he dared kidnap her and force her to wed him. Perhaps she oughtn’t toy with Aidan anymore? “Reconsider. You’re far too old for me. One foot in the grave and the other doddering at the edge.”
    He glowered. “I am not that old! I’ve only thirty winters.”
    She began to fear that he wouldn’t be dissuaded, so she said, “I might look upon your suit, but only if you help me save Lucia first.”
    He shook his head firmly. “You will tell me where to find her. And I will do so only once I’ve conveyed you safely to my people.”
    “You can never locate her without me.” As a sister Valkyrie, Regin could sense her if she got close enough. “And we haven’t time to dally.”
    “You came to me for guidance, and this is my decision—”
    “Guidance! You
are
mad. And arrogant. I am the daughter of
gods
. I came to you for a horse, food, and mayhap a pair of outriders. So I could be on my way!”
    “’Tis a done thing, brightling. In this realm, my word is
final
.”
    They were interrupted by the brunette from the hall, now carrying in a tray of food and drink. As she served two trenchers of some kind of savory stew, she made sure her ample bosom was displayed for Aidan.
    Regin thought of her own barely budding chest. For the first time in her life, she felt lacking.
    And mayhap jealous. Ah, but ’twas Regin who sat at the warlord’s table like a woman grown. ’Twas Regin the stubborn, mad mortal wanted to wed. She cast the wench a smirk.
    “No ale for the girl, Birgit,” Aidan said to the woman. “Do we not have milk?”
    Regin’s face heated. And all the worse, because she would dearly love some milk.
    When Birgit returned with some, Aidan dismissed her so absently that the worst of Regin’s pique was soothed.
    The rich scent of game stew called to her hunger, and she eagerly dug in. The meat melted in her mouth. Gods, mortals did know how to cook.
    “Tell me of your home,” he said, breaking a piece of flatbread for her trencher.
    “’Tis a beautiful land of mists,” she said around bites. “Slow and peaceful.” Usually. Unless Loki descended upon them, or someone released Fenris, the giant wolf.
    “What was your life like?”
    Regin swallowed a mouthful of bread. “You truly wish me to … talk?” Most of the time, her sisters bade her be quiet, serious.
    “I am curious about you.”
    She shrugged, deciding that she might as well enjoy this short time with this stubborn, immovable warlord—because unless he could be made to changehis mind, she planned to slip away in the night and continue her search.
    At least now she’d have food in her belly and likely a stolen horse.
    So she regaled him with stories of Valhalla and the silliness of the demigods. He laughed at all of the tales, seeming genuinely amused.
    At one point, his expression seemed even …
proud,
earning another frown from her. “You do not mind my humor?”
    “Not at all. I’ve not laughed like this …” His brows drew together. “I think I’ve never laughed like this.”
    “Usually I exasperate people. And I jest at inappropriate times. Such as during executions. Freya says ’tis my gift and my bane to frustrate others.”
    “I like your manner, Reginleit. Life is long without humor.”
    She felt like preening in the face of this steely-eyed warrior’s praise—until he added, “We will suit well, brightling.”
    She sighed. “Still you believe we will be together.” Though she sensed that Aidan was an honorable male, he was misled in this.