Andor caught his wrist in a bone-crushing grip. "I cannot say how you treat your wife, but this woman you will not beat." He threw Leif's arm away from him, and pulled Gillian behind his protective stance and into Freyda's open arms.

  "She is a slave girl," Leif said. "You said no claim has been made of her."

  "I said Rollo makes no claim. I did not say I did not."

  "And what might be this claim?" Leif demanded to know.

  "I claim her as wife."

  "By what right?"

  Andor remained calm. "'Twas your wife who caused me to lose my wife and child. This woman is adequate compensation for that unpardonable loss." Leif would not dare argue with that logic. He turned to the woman behind him. "Gillian, daughter of Conor and Gwynneth, what say you? My wife has passed to the other world. Iceland can be an unforgiving land for one alone. Will you be the keeper of the keys to my properties and partner me?"

  Gillian looked from Andor to Leif and back again. Honorable marriage to one, enslavement to the other. As with her decision to go with Rollo, there seemed little choice. At least Andor had done the unheard of by asking her preference, and he and his had been kind to her...so far. She had endured her life with Evan - it could be no worse with Andor. And it was not the first time Gaill had married Gaedhil.

  "Marriage to you."

  There was a flicker of a smile on Andor's lips before he turned to Rollo. "You took her in. I look upon you as guardian. What bride-price do you place on this woman?"

  A crowd had gathered around. Rollo could not answer. Gillian's standing among his people would be reflected by the price he asked for her. Too low would be an insult, too high might anger Andor.

  "Let me offer a bride-price then," Andor said.

  Rollo gave a single nod.

  In a voice loud enough for all to hear, Andor said, "I offer forty ounces of silver and one-quarter of my land."

  There was a collective gasp, followed by the low hum of murmuring. The significance was not lost on Gillian - Rollo had just become an independent man.

  "Do you agree?" Andor extended his hand to Rollo.

  With a broad smile, the other man accepted. A handshake sealed the betrothal.

  "She comes to you with a fine dowry," Rollo said. "Six chickens, a milch cow, a fine plow horse, and enough seed to plant your land thrice over."

  He removed the bag from around Gillian's shoulders and passed it to Andor. So much had happened since she boarded the ship, she had forgotten she had it. Andor walked to a large wooden chest in his sleeping area. He unlocked it and removed a small, gold-festooned box which he also unlocked. Gillian heard coins clink as he measured out a portion into a pouch. Once he was done, the box and chest were relocked, and he returned to them.

  "'Tis with great honor I pay this bride-price." Andor presented the pouch to Rollo.

  Rollo bowed his head slightly to show his respect then handed the pouch to Gillian.

  She frowned. "I do not understand."

  Freyda slipped her fingers over her shoulder. "'Tis yours. Your bride-price. It stays with you always and passes to the children of your marriage."

  With shaking fingers Gillian accepted the money. She felt a sudden rush of tears. It was she who had become well off, not Rollo. In less than an hour's time, she had seen more kindness among a people she had been told were barbarians than she ever saw in the year of living with a man of her own kind. Was it trick or truth? At that moment, she couldn't trust herself to guess.

  "Our stores are low," Andor said to all. "We cannot have a wedding feast 'til we reach Iceland. But break out the ale so that my bride and I might drink before you."

  There was a bit of scurrying about and in short time two cups of ale were placed in Andor's hands. In solemn regard, he gave one to Gillian then linked her arm through his. As they drank together, Gillian was aware of the muscle which flexed against her arm. He was as strong as she had first thought - in spirit as well as body.

  Their cups drained, they faced each other once more. Each person aboard drank in their honor, then a cheer went out among the small group, and everyone settled back to their tasks.

  "Freyda, see my wife has the things she needs. I must speak with Rollo."

  Gillian stared at his back as he walked away with the other man. Maybe it was the heady effects of the ale, or perhaps it was simply events catching up with her. Whatever it was, her tongue had finally found itself.

  "Is that it? Am I to be dismissed? You call this a wedding? I call it foolery. I know your ways are heathen and you have not embraced the Christian faith, but you have lost your mind if you think I am willing to accept this as proper."

  She had drawn attention their way once more. There were titters of laughter among her captured villagemen.

  "Maybe the wedding night will make her feel more proper wed," a man shouted from the rear.

  Gillian jammed her fists at her sides and stomped toward Andor. "Is that what this is about? Tell her she is wed and she is yours to bed?"

  Andor stared down into eyes the color of fiery blue diamonds. She had spice to her - he liked that. His property would be well protected by her in his absence.

  "I married to protect you, but I am thinking it might be me who needs the protection...from you." With a smile, he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around until he could pull her back against him. Gillian stiffened.

  "The lady wants a proper Christian ceremony," he said, addressing the crowd. "Is there a man among those captured who might perform this deed?"

  "Seamus trained as a monk," a man called out. "He'll be knowin' the words."

  Andor lifted a questioning brow Gillian's way. She pursed her lips, still unsure as to how proper this would be. Finally, she relented.

  "Unbind our captives," Andor said. "They will travel with us or jump to the sea, whichever suits them. Send Seamus forward."

  A young man with the face of a ferret was pushed to them, and a second ceremony performed.

  "Is there something else you require, wife?" Andor asked when they were done.

  "No, 'twill do."

  "Then I graciously request leave of you that I might conduct my business with Rollo." He took one of her work-roughened hands in his and bowed low over it. As he righted himself, he paused long enough to kiss her knuckles. After a wink to her, he stepped away with Rollo.

  Gillian caught the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. He had deliberately mocked her and the sanctity of the Christian ceremony she had requested. She crossed her arms on top of her belly and tapped her foot. She felt Freyda's hand on her arm.

  "I welcome you as sister. I hope we will be as close as Astrid and I were."

  "Who is Astrid?"

  "Andor's first wife. She, my husband, and several of our people were lost in a storm not long ago. She was trying to save Thora when a wave washed her into the sea."

  Freyda motioned with her head, and Gillian saw an expectant woman sitting near the hold. Her head was bent low, as if she sought to hide herself.

  "You and yours will come to no harm in Andor's home. You will be protected and well cared for. My brother is a good man."

  Gillian thought it best to make that determination on her own.

  "Come," Freyda said. "I have some bolts of cloth which will do for you and the babe. We must work quickly so the babe does not arrive with nothing to wear."

  She took Gillian to a chest filled with cloth and soft leathers. The colors were striking - red, blue, green, and goldenrod. Gillian caressed the linen. It was well-made and would be comfortable against the skin.

  Freyda pulled a length of blue out and draped it over Gillian's shoulder. "'Twill be difficult to size while you are with child."

  "The wait is not long," Gillian said. "I can make do. My wee one has naught."

  She nodded. "Then we shall plan for the child now and you after. If need be, we might borrow from Thora."

  Still suspicious, Gillian listened to Freyda plan for the child, adding a preference from time to time. From the way of things, it looked like her baby would have more than she had managed to gather in the eight months previous. Gillian felt her discomfort ease, then drew herself up short.

  Where is your grief, girl?

  Evan had been killed only hours before. Why hadn't she cried? Why didn't she mourn? She rested her hands on her belly and stole a glance at Andor - her new husband. He and Rollo sat with their backs to her, their heads bent close in conversation. A strange man he was. To lose a wife and take another? To protect her, he said. And to have a helpmate for his lands.

  Gillian narrowed her eyes. And for what else? What man didn't want that? They were all nothing more than rutting beasts. Well, you wed him so now you have to do your wifely duty, her conscience scolded.

  It couldn't be as bad as the first time with Evan. Still, he was a stronger man. Gillian felt tears prick and blinked them back. She'd get through it, just like with Evan.

  When night had fallen and she eased into her sleeping skins, Gillian kept telling herself that over and over. One by one those around her settled down. A few snores drifted to her ears. She prayed he would not seek her out, but he did. As he approached, Gillian's courage failed. She squeezed her eyes shut and lay stiffly on her back. There was a draft of cold air as Andor raised the skins and furs, then she felt the warmth of his body beside her.

  "Please have a care." Her voice quivered with apprehension. "Be done with me quick and please do not hurt my babe."

  Andor leaned up on his elbow to study her face in the pale moonlight. She was genuinely frightened. He recalled his wedding night with Astrid. She, too, had been afraid, yet her trust in him had been implicit. He had not disappointed her. There was no trust in this one. No desire. No love. Only his need, his responsibility, to protect her.

  "I have only just lost my wife and the babe she carried. My heart is still too wounded to want another woman."

  Her blue eyes flashed open. "But you wed me."

  "To protect you from Leif, not to take you to my bed," he replied. "But we will not let the others know our secret or Leif might say our marriage is invalid. Agreed?"

  Gillian nodded her consent, and Andor lay back down.

  "There is one thing I would like of you," he said.

  "That is?"

  "May I touch the babe?"

  She groped for his hand and placed it on her belly. The baby responded with a kick. Andor jerked back.

  Gillian giggled. "'Tis all right." She put his hand back.

  Andor marveled at the life rolling within her. His fingers followed the movement, softly caressing the mound.

  Tears welled up in Gillian's throat. It was so tender a gesture, so unexpected. How had she known what she missed from Evan until this moment? She started to cry for the emptiness of her life with Evan, for the generosity of people who were supposed to be barbarians, and for this man who had lost his beloved wife and child.

  Andor gathered her close. "Hush now. All will be well. I meant not to hurt you."

  Gillian couldn't speak for her tears. All she could do was put his hand back on her belly and cry against his welcome shoulder.

  * * *

  SEVEN RINGS BINDING

  by Catherine Snodgrass

  ISBN 1-55316-115-7

  Copyright © 2003 Catherine Snodgrass

  Chapter 1

  1875 New York City

  Libby Claiborne paused, her cup of tea poised halfway to her lips. Odd, this feeling that persisted. She had spent the day trying to shake it, yet it came back in full force the minute Clayton left her alone. She felt as if she was on the brink of some great event and that each step she took brought her closer and closer to it. She had no idea whether that something was rainbows or a giant chasm.

  She slipped her cup onto its saucer with nary a sound and folded her hands beneath the linen napkin on her lap. Where was Clayton? He had excused himself ten minutes before after spotting what he called a business acquaintance, then darted away, leaving her alone in the crowded restaurant.

  Every fiber of Libby's being told her he lied, of course, even though her heart begged it not to be so. Yet, she had known her stepbrother all her life. When had she ever been wrong about him? Tonight, no matter how cleverly disguised, the signs were all there, even if she tried to deny them. Clayton was plotting.

  Perhaps that was the reason for the strange feelings. It made sense when she dared consider it. Clayton knew how much she detested these displays. Yet, nothing she said seemed to make a difference to him.

  She should have seen it coming. He had been far too complacent these last few months, far too willing to let her do things her way. It was she who had been lulled into complacency-so much so she didn't hesitate to accept his invitation. Over dinner his charm was impeccable. She should have known it was a ruse. Why was she so blind to that which she could easily spot in others?

  At one time, she had adored him. Then Libby would have done anything he asked. She did do anything he asked. That was before she discovered his true nature. No more. Clayton could plan to his heart's content. She would have no part in it no matter what threats he hurled her way.

  Libby tossed her napkin on the table and snatched up her reticule. Enough was enough. They had been under his thumb too long. She was a woman now and it was time she took an open stand against him, time to stop being afraid, time to free her mother, grandmother, and herself from his prison.

  A waiter rushed over to pull out her chair when he saw she meant to depart. She spared a hastily uttered word of thanks, then jumped up...and crashed into the most solid bodied male she had ever encountered. Fingers of steel grasped her upper arms to keep her from teetering into the dumbstruck waiter. Libby thought for a moment that the waiter's concern was for her until she watched his widened gaze drift over her to the man who held her.

  "Mr. Blackburn, sir. Please forgive..."

  A voice rich with humor replied as he brushed the waiter's apologies away, "My fault entirely. If I hadn't been so preoccupied with my own thoughts, I never would have run into this lovely young lady."

  Libby dared a glance upward, slowly, her breath suspended with her heart as she did so. Her gaze drifted over the cream-colored silk shirt to the Adam's apple perched above a diamond-studded cravat. His lips twitched with the effort to keep laughter at bay. And finally, her gaze locked onto olive green eyes, earthy eyes that sparkled with the same humor that laced his words.

  Their gazes locked in silent communion and in that moment, Libby felt a recognition she could not explain-two ancient souls greeting each other after a long absence. She forced herself to focus outward on the man, not inward, and in doing so, the feeling faded. The mischievous glint she first saw was gone now-replaced by that odd look most people gave when they first met her.

  Her eyes, a vivid shade of violet, never failed to enthrall male and female alike. Had she been of a more flirtatious nature, she could have left a string of broken hearts and jealous enemies in her wake. Instead, Libby viewed her physical oddity with disdain for the awkwardness it created. She braced herself against the invariable comments he would make.

  His hold on her loosened as his smile returned. "I seem to have made a tumbled mess of you."

  He motioned to her hat, and for the first time Libby realized it had been knocked askew, along with her hair. One tendril of her black curls drooped over her eye while her emerald colored hat pulled the rest of it to the opposite side.

  Libby dusted her fingers over the hat, afraid to touch it for fear her hair would come tumbling down. The gentleman reached out to help, then pulled back. His bewildered expression brought a giggle to her throat.

  "You look as if I've been trampled and dragged through the mud. Is it all that bad?"

  "No, not at all," he was quick to reply. "It's just that I want to help, but..." With palms up, he shrugged.

  "If there is a ladies sitting room, I can make a few quick repairs, Mr.-"

  "Blackburn. Nathaniel Blackburn. And you are?"

  "Libby Claiborne."

  His smile broadened. "This way, Miss Claiborne."

  He reached to cup her elbow, then pulled back and motioned her forward with a sweeping gesture of his arm.

  Anxious to keep the favor of both patrons, the waiter scurried ahead, leading them through the dining area at the back of the hotel where the private meeting rooms were located. The attention made Libby feel princess-like-the loyal servant clearing the path before her, the handsome prince faithfully escorting her. It was only after she settled her skirts enough to sit comfortably on the padded bench in the ladies sitting room that she realized-Mr. Blackburn had not uttered a word about her eyes.

  Another plus in his favor.

  "Goodness gracious. What happened to you?"

  Libby glanced in the mirror to the small blonde woman seated on the padded stool next to her. An attendant smoothed the woman's hair while she studied Libby.

  Remembering her purpose in being here, Libby focused on her image in the mirror. She did look a sight, but it was not as bad as she feared.

  "I had a minor collision with a gentleman." She pulled the remaining pins from her hat.

  The woman waved the attendant away. "Do quit fussing and help her. She needs it more than I."

  "I can manage...thank you." But her quivering fingers belied those words.

  "Must have been quite a gentleman," the woman replied.

  He was quite something, that much was certain. Why else would she feel her skin prickle with heat then awash with chill bumps? At that thought, the sensation overtook her once more. She brushed away goose flesh and gave herself over to the determined attention of the attendant.

  It was ridiculous, of course. The man was a stranger. It was his looks that mesmerized her-nothing more. What healthy young woman would not be affected?

  Still, those olive colored eyes of his held a mystery she could not fathom. It intrigued her more than his handsome features. If she let her mind fold in upon itself, she could return to that instant when gaze met gaze. At that second, she gained entry to the portal of his soul and he hers.

 

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