Dangerous Talents

by Frankie Robertson

  Ragni glowered, and Dahleven looked like he was going to break a blood vessel, but neither one spoke in her defense. Apparently, Neven’s control was absolute, just as Jorund had said. Still, Cele felt some comfort that she apparently had friends, even if they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, act on her behalf.

  “Did your friends attempt to poison Kon Neven?” Gris asked, changing direction. “Or was Jon their intended target?”

  Cele stood stunned, uncertain she’d heard correctly. “What?”

  Neven rose smoothly from his chair. His voice was resonant and powerful, but Cele didn’t think he was using his mind control. “Thank you, Lady Celia, for helping us understand what happened. Please accept our regrets that any of this occurred. Go now, and rest.”

  That was it? He wasn’t throwing her in a cell? After all of that badgering and bullying, he just says, “Thanks for coming, see ya later”? Cele stared for a moment, speechless, then slowly she turned to leave. She didn’t perform any courtesy. I’ll be damned if I curtsy to that bastard.

  “One more thing.” Neven’s voice stopped Cele as she neared the door.

  She faced Neven again, half expecting the dungeon after all.

  “Thank you for saving my grandson. I am in your debt.” Neven bowed deeply.

  Cele gaped. He certainly has a strange way of repaying it. Then shut her mouth and straightened her shoulders. Neven’s behavior made no sense to her, but in this instance, it didn’t matter. “You’re welcome, Kon Neven, but I didn’t do it for you. I was only thinking of Ari.” Cele paused. “Is he all right?”

  As Neven answered his face softened, and Cele saw that the bully loved his grandson. “He’s well, to the delight of his mother and aunt and grandmother. They’ll call on you tomorrow, no doubt, to convey their thanks to you personally. Goodnight.”

  Anger and frustration gave Cele strength as she started back to her room, but after a while, the adrenaline that had kept her going during her audience with Neven drained away, leaving only fatigue and confusion. Her feet were dragging and her head was spinning as she returned to her room, escorted by not one, but two guards. She tried to make sense of her situation, but nothing lined up. Gris had grilled her at Neven’s request, and then Neven had graciously thanked her for saving Ari. Neven treated her like a welcome guest, then accused her of attempted murder. Thora sang his praises, but belonged to a secret organization, and Jorund claimed Neven was a tyrant and had the scars to prove it.

  Dahleven treated her like she was precious, stirring her to passion, yet he stood by while Neven’s lackey ravaged her.

  By the time she reached her room, Cele’s head ached and her thoughts and feelings were thoroughly tangled. She barely spoke two words as Thora helped her to bed.

  *

  Gris faded into the background as his Talent allowed him to do, and Dahleven had to concentrate to continue glaring at the chamberlain. He flexed his fingers, wishing he could wrap them around Gris’s neck. The Kon’s servant took too much pleasure in his work, in Dahleven’s opinion.

  Neven broke Dahleven’s focus, and Gris faded from his awareness, but not his memory. “What of the lady’s story, Ragni?”

  His brother unclenched his jaw. “As you’ve probably already guessed, she’s telling the truth about her abduction. If she were lying, she probably wouldn’t have got that bit right about how the gelemuskel would feel. I felt no deception from her about that.”

  “Will you back off now, Father? She needs our protection, not this persecution,” Dahleven demanded.

  “Dahl—” Ragni hesitated. “She was kidnapped, but she wasn’t quite straight about everything.”

  Dahleven looked at his younger brother. “What are you saying?”

  “I think she left something out. It was all tied up in the questions about her escape, but it was clouded by a great deal of fear and anger.”

  No. Oh, gods. She said she got away. Before or…after? Dahleven’s gut twisted tight. She’d been adamant that she hadn’t been raped, and come willingly to his embrace, but she’d also sobbed brokenly in his arms. What happened?

  “What else?” Neven asked.

  “I think she knows more about why she was kidnapped than she’s saying. But when Gris mentioned the attack on her again, fear washed out everything else. Whatever happened, her terror is real.”

  “And?” Neven prodded.

  “She had nothing to do with Jon’s death. She was completely bewildered by the question.” Ragni rubbed his eyes. “Father, she’s angry with you, but she doesn’t hate you. Not quite. Not yet. Your gratitude for Ari surprised her, touched her. She isn’t closed to you. You could make her an ally.”

  Neven shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

  *

  Cele couldn’t move. Filthy, distorted hands grasped at her while her muscles refused to respond. She couldn’t breathe. A voice grated in the dark, “Miss me, sweetheart?”

  Cele jerked awake, heart pounding. Twisted shadows cast by the lantern Thora had left burning loomed on the wall, then slowly resolved to their normal shapes. She stared at the ceiling as her pulse slowed.

  I wish Dahleven were here. Then she pushed the thought away. It wasn’t a good idea to get more involved with him, no matter how good he made her feel. He was Neven’s son, and she was going home. Even so, she wished he were here with her, making her feel safe.

  *

  Cele was dressed and finished with breakfast when Thora pressed a small drawstring bag into her hand. “Here, my lady. You’ll be needing this.”

  The bag crunched slightly, and when Cele looked within, she found it full of dried flowers and leaves. It made her think of the sachets some women put in their lingerie drawers, only she didn’t have any lingerie here. She looked curiously at Thora. “What for?”

  Thora looked at her sternly, then her face softened. “You don’t know, do you? It’s to stop the babies from coming. If you’ve been with a man, make a tea from this for three days just before your monthly is due. It’ll keep the seed from taking root.”

  “Thank you, Thora, but I don’t need this. I told you before. I wasn’t raped.” Cele held out the bag to the woman.

  Thora pinned Cele with a sharp look and didn’t reach for the bag. “I’m relieved to hear it. But I think you run a greater risk from another quarter, do you not, my lady?”

  Cele looked at Thora in surprise. She should have thought of this before, considering the way things were going with Dahleven. “Does this really work?”

  “Usually. Sometimes the tea is too weak or the seed is too strong, but it works for most—as long as you remember to use it.”

  “I will.” While her mom had done a fine job of raising her alone, and while Nuvinlanders seemed at ease with single motherhood, Cele didn’t want to repeat her mother’s experience. And if she did get pregnant, would she still be able to return to Midgard if something of Alfheim was growing within her? Would she still want to?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A knock startled them both. Cele set aside the pouch of herbs as Thora opened the door.

  “My lady!” Thora exclaimed, then curtsied very low.

  Gudrun entered the room like a ship at sail, followed by Ingirid, Kaidlin, and Aenid. They all wore gauzy gray veils framing their heads and shoulders. Cele stood, surprised, and did her best to curtsey. “Lady Gudrun, welcome. Please, be seated.” Cele gestured to the cushioned window ledge and pulled forward the chair Dahleven had brought. “Thora, perhaps you could arrange some refreshment for our guests?”

  “No, my dear, we didn’t come to put you ill at ease,” Gudrun said. “We know you are barely recovered and not prepared to entertain visitors.”

  Thora hesitated by the door. Cele weighed her etiquette options. Lady Gudrun was the ranking woman present, and Quartzholm was her domain. Yet this was Cele’s room and Thora, ostensibly, was her servant. In this small environment, she decided, hospitality was her obligation. She waved Thora on, and the older woman slipped out the door.


  “Prepared or not, I’m honored by your visit. Won’t you make yourself comfortable?” Cele gestured toward the chair and window seat again, and Gudrun and Ingirid sat down.

  Kaidlin came forward and took Cele’s hands. “Enough of this formality! You must know why we’re here. There’s no way we can thank you enough for what you did!” Then she hugged Cele and kissed her cheek.

  Ingirid rose. Tears shimmered in her reddened eyes. “Dahl told us how you put yourself at risk to save Ari. I’d have been lost myself if he’d died. He’s my baby, you know, and now with Jon dead, he’s my last.” The tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Dead!” Cele exclaimed. “Lord Jon is dead? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” Cele laid her hand on Ingirid’s. What had Gris said? About Jon being her target? “What happened? He seemed quite well at the Feast.” Maybe his liver gave out. No, that wouldn’t be so quick.

  “He drank a poison intended for my husband,” Gudrun said quietly.

  “Oh, no!” Neven’s harassment made more sense now. “And you haven’t caught the person who did it yet?”

  “No, but the Skald has been consulted. The stones have spoken.”

  Cele shook her head, confused.

  Gudrun explained. “Eirik’s skills include casting the runestones and interpreting their oracle. When the gods choose, they can reveal much that is hidden in the Norns weavings.

  “But we came for a happier reason,” Gudrun went on. She rose, smiling and stepped closer. “Because of you, Ari is still among us—getting into mischief, no doubt, even as we speak.” Gudrun kissed her more formally than Kaidlin had, on both cheeks. “We are in your debt, my dear, though I can’t imagine how we could repay such an amazing act.”

  Aenid stepped forward and added her own kiss to Cele’s cheek. “Uncle Dahben said Ari was dead.”

  Cele shook her head. “He just looked that way. He wasn’t quite gone. He’d just stopped breathing.”

  “‘Just stopped breathing?’ Can everyone in Midgard breath life back into a child?” Gudrun asked.

  Cele felt herself blush. “No. I have special training. But we were lucky, too. We got to him quickly. The water was cold and his heart was still beating. I could teach you what I did, if you’d like.”

  Thora returned with a servant bearing a tray, interrupting the conversation. Gudrun and her daughters accepted steaming cups of the dark, spicy-sweet sjokolade and sipped enough to be polite before rising to leave.

  “You are as generous with your hospitality as with your Talent, Lady Celia. Thank you again,” Gudrun said as she stood by the door, held open by a guard. Then she spoke to the others. “Go on. I have something yet to say to Lady Celia.” She looked pointedly at Thora, who followed the rest into the hall. The guard closed the door.

  “I meant what I said about being in your debt, Lady Celia, but that does not extend to giving you my son.” Gudrun paused, letting her words sink in.

  Cele said nothing, speechless with surprise.

  “I can see he’s taken with you,” Gudrun continued. “You’re generous and open-hearted and brave. But Dahl will be Jarl one day, and possibly Kon. His wife must understand the duties associated with that responsibility, and he would be wise to make an alliance with the house of another Jarl. But you could bring him great happiness as his elskerinne. Be his mistress. Don’t reach for more.”

  Cele could not have been more surprised if Gudrun had donned a clown nose and capered around the room before slapping her. She stared for a moment, at a loss about which point to respond to, hoping that Gudrun would choose to make a dramatic exit after her astounding and offensive offer. But Gudrun waited, expecting an answer.

  Cele was drawn to Dahleven. She couldn’t deny it. He was both safe and dangerous, and integrity oozed from every pore in his body. And Lord, the man was sexy. But she had no intention of marrying him. She’d known him less than two weeks, for goodness sake. And she certainly wasn’t going to be his mistress. She was going home. But when she opened her mouth, she said, “Don’t you think this should be Dahleven’s decision, at least in part? Since he hasn’t asked me to be either his wife or his mistress, I think this conversation is rather premature.”

  Gudrun wasn’t put off. “And when he does? What will your answer be? Will you be sensible, and become his elskerinne?”

  Cele reminded herself that the cultural expectations must be different here, but that didn’t make them any more attractive. “Where I come from, having an affair with a married man is, at best, considered stupid. I’m not stupid.”

  Gudrun looked at her oddly, as though Cele had missed the point. “You’re no longer in Midgard, Lady Celia. It’s an honor to be the elskerinne of a Jarl, and your sons, though they could not inherit, would be powerful men.”

  The memory of seeing Dahleven on the stairs with Kaidlin hovered in Cele’s mind for a moment, then she shook her head. “I won’t share a man I’m in love with.”

  Something like approval flashed in Gudrun’s eyes, but was gone too quickly to identify. “So you’ll injure him then, by marrying him?”

  Despite her bruised pride and Gudrun’s prejudice, she answered honestly. “No, Lady Gudrun. While I’m sure I could learn what I need to know to be his wife, I want to go home. This isn’t where I belong.”

  Gudrun nodded. Cele thought she saw some respect in her eyes as the older woman said, “Though Dahleven is beyond you, I do hope you find some happiness here—if you can’t find your way back to Midgard.”

  “Thank you, Lady Gudrun. I’m sure I will; I’m pretty resourceful.” Then a perverse impulse made her add, “After all, there’s still Ragni.”

  Gudrun looked at Cele from under lowered brows. “Good day, Lady Celia.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Cele stared at the door after Lady Gudrun left, thoughts and feelings swirling in her mind like debris in a dust devil. She didn’t want to listen too closely to some of the thoughts, like the whisper that suggested it wouldn’t be so easy to leave Dahleven when the time came to go home.

  He was a good man. He loved his nephews, and he cared for the men in his command. And his kisses were world-class—in both worlds. She smiled as the memory of last night’s caresses sent heat skating through her body. Dahleven wasn’t like her father or Jeff. He took his responsibilities seriously. He took her seriously. And he obviously wanted her as much as she wanted him. But what was she to him, really?

  What did she want to be?

  Thora knocked and came in, interrupting Cele’s thoughts. “You have another visitor,” she said, opening the door wider for Angrim.

  Angrim’s smile looked a little pinched, but her voice was as light and bantering as ever. “You’re quite the heroine! Let me add my congratulations. First you survive being lost in the drylands, then you save Kon Neven’s grandson, and you manage to escape from kidnappers not once, but twice! No wonder Lady Gudrun honors you by coming to your chambers.”

  “Is that unusual?” Apparently, Gudrun’s visit meant even more than Cele thought.

  Angrim looked at Cele as though she’d made a bad joke. “I’m glad your adventures haven’t robbed you of your sense of humor, my dear.”

  Cele glanced at the barely touched tray, at Thora in the back of the room, then back at Angrim. She was starving, and she would gladly have eaten what was there, but she couldn’t offer a guest leftovers. “Would you like something to eat? Thora could get us something fresh.”

  Angrim accepted enthusiastically. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.” As soon as Thora left, the small blonde pulled Cele to the window seat and leaned forward eagerly. “Tell me what happened! Was it romantic, like a skald’s tale?”

  Cele pulled back a little, dismayed. “No! It was terrifying.”

  Angrim seemed doubtful. “Your kidnaper wasn’t handsome and dashing?”

  Jorund’s rich, melodious voice echoed in Cele’s mind, rippling over her skin like his casual caress of her arm. He was handsome, despite the mask, and his
bright eyes had teased more than one smile out of her, but she could hardly tell Angrim that. The memory of Harve’s foul breath made it easy for Cele to answer, “No. He was awful.”

  Angrim’s brow furrowed.

  Cele had met girls like Angrim before, who confused real life with romantic notions. “It wasn’t like a puppet show or skald’s tale. It was painful and frightening. You shouldn’t imagine otherwise. Don’t envy me. Be glad you were safe at home. I wish I’d been.”

  Angrim pulled back, surprised, but she quickly recovered her composure. “I’m so sorry. I wish I’d been there with you. I’d have given him a piece of my mind.”

  If you had any to spare. But the image of Angrim shaking her finger in Orlyg’s face was so ludicrous that Cele chuckled.

  Angrim seemed pleased with the effect. “That’s better. If you can laugh, the wound can’t be too deep.” She stood. “I’d better go now. I’m sorry I can’t stay, after all. I’ve just remembered an appointment with my dressmaker.”

  Thora returned with a fresh tray of glazed fruit and a pot of steaming sjokolade not long after Angrim left.

  “I’m sorry your trip was for nothing, Thora. Angrim’s gone already. Why don’t you sit down and have some with me?”

  Thora hesitated, and Cele remembered her first day when the older woman had seemed so uncomfortable joining her meal. “You needn’t if it goes against protocol, but I’d enjoy your company.” Cele didn’t wait for Thora to be persuaded. She bit into a large sugared berry and had to slurp to keep the juice from running down her chin.

  It was just as well that Thora declined her invitation, Cele realized as she popped the last berry whole into her mouth. The large assortment of fruit had been just enough to take the edge off her hunger. Her eyes were drooping as she finished the last of her drink.