Chapter 10 #2
Brandr had to admit it was one time when their father’s harshness hadn’t been the wrong course.
“I used to sail to the bird cliffs with my father,” Katla said, her tone suddenly wistful. “My mother used to go with him, but she died when Haukon was born. I’m the eldest, so Father spent more time with me than he might have otherwise. He taught me to handle this coracle.”
“Really?” It was an odd thing for a man to teach his daughter. Work was fairly well divided among the sexes, with the women toiling inside, cooking and weaving, the men out in the elements, farming and hunting.
And Viking, in the not-so-distant past.
“My brothers didn’t care for the sea or fishing or even traveling for trade.
Of course, Finn and the others don’t care for anything that resembles work, but I loved sailing.
How can you even call it work if you can feel the sun on your face and the wind lifting your spirits along with the sails?
” Her smile faded a bit. “My father used to say I should have been born a man.”
“I’m glad you weren’t,” Brandr said as they glided into the deep shadow of the land.
Briny spray misted around them from the waves dashing against the rocks, and the coracle heaved more wildly as they drew closer to their destination.
Her smile returned. “Well, I’m glad not to be a man. Now especially,” she said as they tied up the coracle at the base of the cliff where a huge flock of gulls nested in the craggy granite.
The sheer rock face rose over six times Brandr’s height. Beneath the waves, jagged rocks lurked. A tumble from the cliff into the water was to be avoided at all costs.
Katla handed the climbing tackle to him, her grin turning wicked. “I’m very happy to be a woman. After all, the man gets to climb to the top of the cliff first.”
***
Never should have given the man trousers, Katla lamented in silence as she watched him scramble up the rock face from the bobbing coracle.
The morning after Gormson had arrived, she’d found a baggy pair that covered Brandr decently yet weren’t fine enough to elevate him from his lowly status as her thrall.
She sighed. This climb would have made for a spectacular view if she hadn’t. She’d be treated to the sight of his well-muscled thighs and tight buttocks as he worked his way up the cliff.
But he needed the protection of his trousers. The sharp rocks might cut his knees and other more important parts to shreds otherwise.
Brandr was about halfway up, the climbing tackle coiled over his broad shoulders. He flattened himself against the granite and stretched to reach the next fingerhold.
A chunk of stone broke off in his hand. It tumbled from his grasp, splashing into the sea next to the coracle. Katla was drenched by the spray but couldn’t tear her gaze from the rock face.
Brandr’s feet slipped, and he dangled by one arm.
Katla gasped.
“Are you hit?” he called.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice.
Then he grinned down at her, obviously unaware her heart had skipped several beats.
He swung himself back around, found a toehold, and clutched a different bit of rock.
This one held his weight as he lifted himself with just his arms to a narrow ledge.
The rest of the climb passed without incident, but several times, Katla had to remind herself to breathe.
Once he disappeared over the top of the cliff, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Tie the line off on a boulder or tree and toss the tackle seat back to me.”
“I understand how this works, you know. You’re not the only one who’s ever gathered gull eggs.” His face appeared over the ledge, his features set in a hard grimace. “You may tell me what to do or how to do it, but not both.”
“You warned me to be specific. I don’t want a repeat of the way you kissed my foot,” she called back testily.
“No danger of that, princess.” The leather seat came hurtling toward her, stopping an arm’s reach above the coracle. “There’ll be no kissing today—on your foot or anywhere else—unless you order it.”
“Unless I order it,” she muttered. “It’s a wonder the man continues to breathe without my say-so.”
Didn’t he want to kiss her?
“What’s that?” he shouted down.
“Nothing.”
Absolutely nothing. Why had she even brought the matter up? There was no way she was going to order him to kiss her, and that was final.
Katla stood, balancing in the rocking coracle as he lowered the seat the rest of the way.
She slipped the triangular seat over her head and slid it down her body to fit the wide leather strap under her bottom.
Then she lashed the upper part of the harness around her waist to give herself a secure ride.
She tied the basket holding their food and drink to the harness and pulled on some work gloves.
“All right,” she shouted. “You can—oof!”
She rose, legs kicking, into the air. Then she dipped suddenly, enough to trail her skirts into the water for a heartbeat before rising again.
Masculine laughter washed down to her as he swung her toward the cliff face.
She kept herself from bashing into the rock with her feet and palms. She bounced a couple times against the sheer face.
Once she came to a complete stop, she glared up at him.
“I wasn’t ready.”
He leaned over the edge and cocked his head at her. “But I was.”
Brandr looped the slack in the rope around one arm and over his massive shoulder, not straining under her weight a bit. Then he straightened and disappeared from her view.
“Let me know if you need more or less line,” he called down.
She snorted. Everything was always a struggle with this man. He challenged her at every step. No matter how long Brandr Ulfson wore the iron collar, he’d probably never think of himself as her thrall.
Katla worked her way along the rock face, swinging out in long jumps from one clump of twigs and dried vegetation to the next.
Gulls usually laid three or four eggs, but she never took more than two from any one nest. Birds screamed and dived at her, but none came close, since they never knew when she might kick out from the cliff face and become as airborne as they.
Katla supposed they must think her a much larger bird and wouldn’t chance a fight.
Each time she called out, Brandr hauled her up higher on the cliff face. She supposed she ought to feel some trepidation, both for her precarious perch above the surf and for the man who literally held her life in his hands.
But despite their wrangling for control, she trusted him.
He’d given her his oath to obey her and not to try to escape his fate.
In the few days she’d known him, he’d proved his honor was important to him.
She felt safer when he dogged her steps.
Her life was spent caring for others. For the first time in a long while, someone was looking after her.
And it felt wonderful.
She reveled in the sense of lightness, in the ease with which she danced along the rock face. When she pushed away from the cliff and swooped to a new spot, it was almost as if she sprouted wings.
She was nearing the top, only another few spans of a man’s arm, when her rigging began to loosen. The knot on the upper part of the harness unraveled, and the piece at her waist gave way. With the next leap, her bottom slipped forward off the thick leather strap.
Katla screamed and grasped at the rigging, catching it with one hand. She spun in midair. Her body slammed against the rocks, but she clutched the leather strap in a death grip.
Every muscle in her body clenched tight. She was dimly aware that the basket with their provisions tipped and all her carefully harvested eggs had fallen into the sea below. But she didn’t dare look down.
If she fell, she’d be dashed to pieces on the rocks. Panic froze her. She could only cling to the rigging, unable to even think what to do to help herself.
“Katla! Grab on with your other hand!” Brandr shouted down to her, leaning so far over the ledge she feared he might topple off.
His words cut through her stunned rigor. She sucked in a quick breath and heaved her other arm up. She managed to wrap her fingers around the rope and gripped it with all her might.
“Hang on.”
She didn’t think she could release her grip even if she wanted to.
Brandr pulled her up, hand over hand. When she was near enough for him to reach her wrists, he dropped to his knees and then flat on his belly. He grasped her so hard his nails bit into her flesh.
She found a toehold and pushed herself up. Brandr’s eyes were wide, his mouth drawn into a hard line. She saw herself mirrored in his darkening pupils, her face a mask of terror. He gave a mighty heave and tugged her over the rugged lip of the cliff.
He rocked on his knees and fell backward, dragging her body on top of his. His arms clamped tight around her, as if he’d never let go, and together, they rolled away from the cliff’s edge onto a bed of spongy moss and salt grass.
Both of them panted for breath. Katla could feel his heart galloping beneath hers. She tried to control the shiver of delayed terror that wracked her body but couldn’t quite manage it. Brandr stroked her hair and down her back, his touch gentle and full of comfort.
“Oh gods, Katla,” he said, when the worst of her trembling stopped. He cradled the back of her head in his palm, pressing her cheek to his. “I thought I’d lost you.”
She’d thought so too, for a moment.
While she dangled over the precipice, the Great Dark had loomed before her, a daunting and unknown place.
She knew all the stories of Valhalla. She’d heard skalds weave the tales of Freya’s hall for unhappy lovers, and how they lived in the land beyond death, reveling in the bliss Fate had denied them here.
She’d even listened politely while visiting priests described the Christians’ blissful heaven and their fiery hell.
Who was to say what really bided on the other side of that dark portal?
Her body hummed with life. And a new awareness of just how close Brandr was pressed against her.
Katla looked down at the man who had saved her life. She’d enthralled him, and yet he hadn’t let her drop to her death. Then she said the two words she’d promised herself she’d never say.
“Kiss me.”