Lord of Fire and Ice Read Online Free

said that those who find it were bound so tightly, they even share the same thoughts.
    Early in her marriage to Osvald, he’d shown her bed sport that made her skin riot in pleasure. But after the month of their honeymoon, Osvald hadn’t spent much time on love play. His main goal was an heir. In truth, there were times when Katla felt more like a sexual receptacle than his wife.
    Perhaps if Osvald had lived longer, or if she’d been able to conceive, they’d have discovered inn matki munr , but now she had little hope she’d experience the bonding that knit two souls together.
    Clearly, taking a bed slave was not the path to the mighty passion. It wasn’t even as good a choice as taking a lover, if her disappointing dream held any truth.
    Katla gave herself a mental shake. Plenty of people lived full, productive lives without knowing that deep blending of spirits. She had too much to do and too many depending upon her to waste time mourning over what she didn’t have.
    And probably would never have.
    She decided to ignore the hollow ache in her chest. It was a selfish wish anyway. Wanting to be loved would not feed her people. It wouldn’t see them warm come winter.
    Or fill the empty cradle in the corner.
    She swiped away the weak tears that trembled on her lids, sat up, and peered over the end of her bed. Brandr Ulfson was still asleep on his pallet. If she was quick and quiet, she could dress for her busy day before he woke. She stole out of bed and opened her cedar-lined trunk.
    ***
    Brandr had always been a light sleeper. During his service in Byzantium, he further honed his ability to be instantly awake at the first audible change in his surroundings. It was a matter of survival. The skill was the difference between avoiding an assassin’s blade or waking up in Hel .
    So when the trunk lid creaked, he was aware Katla was up, but he didn’t betray himself by opening his eyes. Instead he peered from under his lashes to take stock of his situation.
    She was laying out her dress and tunic for the day. She bent over and, in one smooth motion, pulled her night shift over her head, baring her body completely.
    The women of the South had come in a myriad of hues—dusky olive, warm cinnamon, black as jet, and milky white. The wellborn ones even used a concoction of alum to further lighten their skin and make it shine brightly. Regardless of color, they were all exotically lovely.
    But none could match the glowing alabaster of Katla’s skin for pure radiance. And without a single dollop of cosmetic enhancement.
    Last night, he’d caught a glimpse of her delectable curves when he held her upside down. That had been a fair treat. But right side up, she was magnificent. Her breasts were high and full. Her waist was pleasingly narrow compared to her hips. And her heart-shaped bottom was perfection.
    Since Katla’s hair was so dark, he guessed her mother must have been a Gaul. Northmen had been bringing dark-haired women back from the coasts of Europe for several generations. Brandr’s father always said the women should be glad to come, since the men in their lands obviously weren’t strong enough to protect them.
    What a man has, he must hold. He must defend what’s his; else he deserves to lose it.
    Katla the Black. He wondered if anyone else had named her thus. It suited her. Surly and strong-minded, she was a veritable warrior and deserved a name fitting for one. She had no man to defend her, but the vixen didn’t seem to need one.
    Her breasts fell forward as she leaned down to pick up her linen underdress. Brandr ached to hold them, imagining those firm yet soft globes in his palms. He throbbed with need.
    She slipped her dress over her head and down to cover herself, ending his torment. When he saw the ornate silver brooches she used to fasten the tabs of her tunic, he revised his estimate of her status upward. She obviously controlled the bulk of the wealth in her family, since her brothers didn’t sport so