The Enchantment Read Online Free PDF Page A

voices, the heat that radiated from them, the force of their manner. She had felt their eyes upon her like hands, probing, testing her. And she knew Serrick was right; they would come for her soon.
    Turning back to the women’s house, she lifted her cloth bundle and stepped into darkness, which bore the familiar and reassuring scent of women.

    A CROSS THE CLEARING, the great hall was awash in both ale and speculation. Borger huddled in his great chair, glaring at his contentious sons and warriors, who were gathered around him, drinking and arguing themselves into exhaustion.
    â€œI let so much blood on Gunnar’s field, the stream will run red till the twilight of the gods!” Young Garth Borgerson proclaimed, smacking his chest. It was an exaggeration, all knew, but in the clans of the Norsemen, a well-crafted boast inspired almost as much admiration as a deed itself. He stalked before his father’s high seat and braced his feet apart to steady himself. “I deserve a woman of my own . . . and I claim that little wench garbed in green. By Thor’s Right Arm—did you ever see such hair?” He paused and swayed, his eyes losing focus. “Like golden sunlight gathered ’round her face . . . so fair . . .”
    â€œYea—give Garth her hair,” came a drunken rejoinder from Hakon Freeholder, “and give the rest of her to me!” The short, flat-faced warrior made a series of pelvic thrusts and laughter erupted all around.
    â€œJust one night with the blue-eyed nymphs, Jarl,” came another drink-roughened voice. “I’m not a greedy man . . . I’ll leave ’em well-stretched and eager for the rest of you!”
    â€œYea, Jarl, give them the soft, pale ones!” Thorkel the Ever-ready shoved forward and jerked a thumb toward his chest. “And give me the big, fiery one . . . that battle-maiden. I’ll soon have her begging for a taste of my
blade
!”
    â€œHave you ever seen such a woman?” another howled. “Flanks and legs like a highbred mare, beggin’ to be ridden! And damn near big enough to ride double!”
    Borger felt their laughter buffeting him in great hot waves generated by competitive male pride and sexual heat. Never in his long, eventful life had he faced such a dilemma: what to do with three beautiful women, whose pleasures were forbidden to him personally, but whose fate had been placed squarely in his hands. Well, mostly in his hands. There was the little matter of an enchantment to deal with.
    An enchantment. He’d been lucky enough to escape such a thing until now. How the gods of Asgard did love to torment men . . . puzzle and trick and stir bad blood between them. But then, who was to say it wasn’t for men’s own good? If the gods didn’t interfere, how long would it take for men to pick up swords and fight and find glory in battle? All his life he’d been eager to fight and had shed blood on many shores. Until now, he’d believed the gods were pleased with his conduct.
    What had he done—or not done—that they should saddle him with such a vicious enchantment? Sending him that old man with that wide, floppy hat and those strange, deep-seeing eyes. Declaring that he was to forgo fleshly indulgence. Hadn’t he always given the gods their due—roared the Red Thor’s name at the peak of his pleasure? Why send him such a luscious morsel as that battle-maiden, Aaren, and forbid him to touch her?
    The image of the Sword-stealer’s eldest daughter was scored into his mind. A woman warrior . . . a great, strapping handful of female . . . a magnificent wench with the strength to turn a roll in the furs into a raging, glorious battle of raw power and lust. Heat seared Borger from head to toe, only to be doused a moment later and vented as useless steam. Frustrated, he quickly turned his mind to thoughts of breaking the enchantment.
    In his mind, he paired each of his