The Viking's Captive(50)

“You are not?” Halvor asked.

“No. The way you looked at her when you visited, Halvor. There was much more in your eyes than a master pleased with his new slave.” She pressed her hand over her chest. “You have been in love with your Celtic woman for a while; you cannot tell me I am wrong.”

Halvor chuckled, his chest moving against Duna’s back. “No, I cannot tell you that. She is an incredible woman and I want to care for her and protect her for the rest of my life.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Duna’s head. “However this stubborn Celt of mine will not take to my bed until she has said vows before a reverend, it is her beliefs.”

“We,” Duna interrupted. “We both have to say the vows.”

“Aye, I have heard of this,” Nadir said. “It is their way.”

“And I want to do whatever makes her happy,” Halvor said.

“And whatever it takes to get her into your bed.” Nadir gave him a knowing smile.

“Aye, that too.” He pointed ahead. “Where does this reverend live?”

“Yonder that hill,” Nadir said. “But Asmund will go and get him.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I think it will.” Nadir reached for Duna’s hand. “Your bride needs to look like a bride, not a woman who has been sitting on a steed for an hour with the sun flushing her cheeks.”

Duna looked down at her dark green dress. She was wearing her precious steel brooch—something she normally kept safely tucked on a shelf for fear of losing it—and it held a paler green shawl in place over her shoulders.

“She looks perfect,” Halvor said.

“I agree, but on her wedding day there are a few things Celt women like.”

“You know a lot about this.” There was irritation in Halvor’s voice.

“I am old and wise.” She laughed. “And I spend time sharing wine with the reverend, he likes to talk about his travels, and the traditions he’s encountered along the way.” She paused. “Be patient, son of mine, and you will not be disappointed. Come, Duna. Come with me.”

Halvor swung down then reached for her.

As Duna’s feet hit the ground, Nadir spoke to Asmund. He appeared to make a mild complaint and pointed at the boar, but then he set off around the side of the longhouse.

“Halvor,” Nadir said, curling her fingers with Duna’s. “You may get a cask of ale and sit in the sunshine to await the reverend.”

He frowned. “How long will that be?”

“You have waited months, a few more hours will not hurt.”

He huffed and walked toward the door of the longhouse.

Nadir chuckled and pulled Duna close. “He is not the most patient of men. I’m surprised he’s shown so much with you.”

“I fear it has given him some pain.”

“In his breeches, yes.” She led Duna away from Ivan who’d wandered over to a patch of long grass. “But it does not do long-term damage for them to wait, and you, Duna, have found yourself one of the best Viking men I have ever known to be your husband.”

“He is the only Viking I would take as my husband.”

“I knew you were wise.” She nodded ahead. “Look, daisies, let’s collect some to put in your hair. The white petals will go so well with your black locks.”

An hour later Duna sat in the longhouse by a fire, which held a pot of mutton stew, and holding a cask of ale.

Nadir was fussing with her hair, filling it with flowers. “Where did you get this hair color?”

“From my mother,” Duna said. “Hers was longer than mine, past her waist.”

“I would love to have such a color. Mine was white, before it went silver, now it is like a polished sword.”

“Which is very pretty.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Duna smiled. It was nice to have female company after so long. She’d missed her friends from the island.

“When you have bairns,” Nadir said, “you must let me come and help you during the…” She paused. “What is it called in your tongue?”

“Labor, which means hard work.”

“Aye, it is hard work. I will come and tend you.”

“I do not know when that will be.”

“In about nine moons time.” She nodded at the door. “If ever there was a man born to sire warrior sons, it’s that one.”

Duna nodded, though couldn’t help a little tremble of nerves. Oh, she knew it was the male seed that resulted in bairns, of course she did. But having Halvor’s? He was big, that would mean big babies.

“And you will be strong and capable in labor,” Nadir said. “For you are young, healthy, and I suspect not one to give up easily.”

“No, I don’t like to give up.”

“See, all will be well.” She stilled and tilted her head. “It is time. I can hear the reverend.”

They walked toward an elm tree, dappled shadows littering the ground surrounding it.

When he saw her, Halvor stood straighter and brushed his palms over his leather tunic.

The reverend was a stout man with red cheeks and wore his belt too tight, creating the illusion of an apple wrapped in a tight band as it had grown and over spilled the sides. His rosy jowls didn’t help the image.