Ice Maiden. Debra Lee Brown

      George paced the dirt floor of Lawmaker’s cottage and shook his head. “She must be mad if she thinks I’ll recite such pagan words.”

      Lawmaker arched a brow in what George knew was exasperation. They’d been over the details of the ceremony a dozen times that day. “It’s not up to her. It’s the law. You have your rituals, and we have ours.”

      “But it’s…heathen.” He didn’t want to offend the old man, but there it was.

      “It’s a Christian ceremony for the most part.”

      “Oh, aye? Well where’s the priest then?”

      Lawmaker shrugged. “The only one we had died years ago. Besides, the people like the old ways. There is little left to remind us of our ancestry. The wedding rites are something we all enjoy.”

      “Hmm.” Well he wasn’t enjoying it one bit. He supposed he should be relieved there was no priest. ’Twas not a proper Christian wedding and, therefore, ’twould not be recognized by God or king. That was some consolation. No one would have to know about it once he was home.

      Home.

      Again, he thought of Sommerled.

      “Take this,” Lawmaker said. To George’s astonishment, the old man offered him the hilt of a sword.

      His fingers closed instinctively over the finely crafted weapon. The weight of it felt good in his hand.

      Lawmaker grinned. “It suits you.”

      “Why now? And why a weapon so fair?” He ran his hand along the rune-covered blade.

      “Oh, it’s not for you to keep. The ceremony requires that you bestow on your bride your family’s sword—as a vow of protection.”

      George frowned.

      “You have no family here, so I offer you my weapon.” Lawmaker looked at him, waiting for his acceptance, and George knew from the elder’s expression that the gesture was no small honor.

      He was moved by the man’s trust in him. “Thank ye,” he said.

      “Rika, in turn, will offer you her family’s sword. Her brother’s.”

      “As a sign of…?”

      “Obedience.”

      “Ha!”

      “And loyalty,” Lawmaker said. “Do not scoff. I told Rika this, and I shall tell you—” Lawmaker snatched the sword from him and sheathed it. “This marriage will change you both—for the better, methinks.”

      He snorted. “The only thing ’twill change is my location. For if I do this thing, I expect to see the bonny shores of Scotland posthaste.”

      “Hmm, Latin. You are as I thought—an educated man. It will be a fine match.”

      “Stop saying that.” The old man annoyed him to no end. He’d sent George into that sauna deliberately, knowing Rika was there. George knew it, and Lawmaker knew he knew it. Damn him.

      He’d not been in his right mind when he agreed to the wedding, but by the time he’d come to his senses, the news was all over the village. He’d given his word, and he was not a man to go back on it. Lawmaker knew that, the canny sod.

      “Take this, as well.”

      “Huh?” He hadn’t been listening.

      Lawmaker handed him a small, devilishly heavy tool—a hammer.

      “What’s this for?”

      “Put it in your belt. It’s a symbol of Thor’s hammer. For the ritual.”

      He looked at it skeptically before tucking it under his belt. “What does it signify?”

      Lawmaker smiled. “Your mastery in the union. And a fruitful marriage, if you take my meaning.”

      “Oh, aye.” George shot him a nasty look, and the old man laughed. What fruit ’twould bear would be bitter at best.

      “Bear with me, son. We are nearly ready.”

      ’Twas a good thing, too. He didn’t know how much more of this pagan nonsense he could stand.

      “Now, about the bride-price. I expect—”

      “Bride-price? Surely ye dinna expect me to pay for her? And with what, pray tell?” This was too much.

      “Calm down.” Lawmaker placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I was about to say, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. When you meet Rika’s father.”

      “Fine.”

      “For now, all that’s needed is for you to present her with a morgen gifu—a morning gift, after the, uh…consummation.”

      George felt his eyes widen of their own accord.

      “Well, on the morrow sometime.” Lawmaker fished something out of a chest behind him. “Here, give her this,” he said, and dropped it into his hand.

      “What is it?” He examined the delicately crafted silver brooch and marveled at the workmanship. For all their roughness, these islanders were excellent craftsmen.

      “Something I’ve had for years. It was Rika’s mother’s, in fact. It’s time she had it.”

      George slipped the brooch into the small pouch at his waist and nodded.

      “Well, are you ready?”

      “As ready as any man who faces the hangman’s noose.”

      Lawmaker smiled like a cat who’d cornered a tasty field mouse. “Come, your bride awaits you.”