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studied the sweep of Konáll’s collarbone while her thoughts bobbed and weaved like flotsam in storm-tossed waves. Why could she not recall the details of what had happened on Thrimilici save being staked? ’Twas terrible torture to have only faint impressions of his mouth at her core, his arm lying heavy on her belly, to remember the flutter of his tongue, the softness of his lips, and no more. Had he been inside of her? Spilled his seed?
    She snapped her teeth together. Nay. She was too proud to ask him and realized the details were of no import, not when her people were suffering, Nyssa jutted her jaw and met his stare. “It matters not. The curse is broken. I care little about the how of it. ’Tis over and done with. I thank you for your service and I am in your debt. However, I must see to the retaking of my keep.”
    When she tried to squirm from his hold, he wrapped one arm around her waist, tipped her chin, and growled, “ I will see to the retaking of our keep.”
    “ My keep. We are not wed. The lands and castle are not yours.” He curled his thumb and forefinger around one wrist when she tried to jerk away from him.
    “You owe me a life debt. My price is our wedding this eve.” His eyes glittered and became so blue as to appear black when he squinted.
    Honor demanded she acquiesce. A life debt price could not be refused, not without loss of her good name and status. Her heart hammered. How to delay the ceremony? She chose her words with care. “I agree to the vow saying. After we regain my keep.”
    “Nay.” Though his lips parted, showing even teeth made whiter by his bronzed skin. The slight flaring of his nostrils told her of his growing irritation. “We say the vows, consummate the marriage, and then, we will see to the retaking of Castle Caerleah.”
    Her belly tightened and hollowed as it did after Ánáton had “corrected” her behavior. The Viking had no need to say more. Either she wed him or lose the keep and doom her people to a lifetime of torture, hunger, and cruelty. His words rang in her ears, we will see to the retaking of Castle Caerleah . Hope blossomed against the band compressing her chest. Did he mean to allow her to fight?
    “Your men and mine await us.”
    “My men?” She clutched his forearm and a flutter of victory sprouted beneath her ribs. “Has Rán’s stone armor healed Castle Caerleah’s warriors?”
    He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Nay. Though the boulders vanished when I broke the curse, neither Mús nor I could find any signs your father’s legions still live. We found a score elderly men from your holding wandering the forests on our journey here.”
    Nyssa fought to stem the tears prickling her eyes. Would naught go in their favor? So many lives lost, so many women left widows, so many children now fatherless. And it all fell on her shoulders.
    Konáll chucked her chin. “We have much to do. In the trunk behind you is a cyrtel for the ceremony. ’Twas one of my bride gifts for you.”
    She worked her jaw. “You believed me dainty and petite. Your cyrtel will not fit.”
    “You will find the gown will fit as will the slippers. I have ordered a hot bath for you. Do not test me with this, Nyssa. I will not have you defy me in front of my brother and Thōrfin the Skullsplitter.” He set her to one side, rose, and snatched his hose and tunic from the ground.
    Thōrfin, King of Orkney, was to oversee their vow saying? Had she been rescued from burning at the stake only to face a slow death under a husband’s thumb?
    “Why did you disrobe if you intended us wed this eve?” Nyssa averted her gaze and stared at the iron trunk in the corner of one tent. The chest she had retrieved from the beach.
    “I had thought to accustom you to my touch. The consummation of our vows is to be witnessed by Thōrfin, King Harald’s Lovsigemann , the priest, and my brother.” He had finished dressing and now stood magnificent in a tunic