FREYJA GRABBED THE milking bucket as she opened the front door, and nearly went head over heels. Dawn light silvered the sky in the east, gleaming on the thing at her feet.

An ancient Viking helmet sat on the stone step, the burnished brass filled to the brim with gold and gemstones. Freyja’s heart dropped to her stomach and she stepped over it, staring around. A single day had passed without a sign of her lover. She’d spent most of it tending to the jobs at the farm, but she couldn’t deny that every whisper of wind made her heart race a little faster, and every shadow that flitted over her made her shoulders slump when she looked up and found only clouds.

He hadn’t pursued her.

He hadn’t even reached out to her.

Until now.

And she didn’t know how she felt about that.

The world was quiet. Freyja’s gaze took to the skies, but there was no sign of him there either, curse him. “You cannot buy me,” she whispered, glaring down at the treasure.

She stared so long at its gleam that the sun began to warm the back of her neck, the single milking goat they owned bleating at the fence. Freyja sighed. Would one of the dreki even think this was mercenary, or would he consider this a courting gift? She had no way of knowing. Not without confronting him in his lair, which she was loath to do.

But if she accepted the treasure—even for one day—then he would think he had won. Freyja grumbled under her breath, despite the way her body heated. Every moment she’d spent in his arms was imprinted on her skin like a sensory burn. “Cursed wyrm.”

A part of her wanted to go back there.

A part of her didn’t dare.

The jingle of tack caught her ear, and Freyja realized what she’d been hearing, but not acknowledging, for several minutes: the soft thud of hoof beats on the marshy ground. The blood drained out of her face and she swung her milking bucket over the helmet to cover it, turning just in time to see a threesome of riders trot around the end of her barn.

Freyja hurried forward, trying to draw their attention away from the house and what rested on the doorstep, tucking her hands in her apron.

“Good morning,” she called in a barely civil tone, as Haakon rode into view through the morning mists.

He had some nerve in coming here.

His fur bristled over his shoulders, rimed with the morning’s frost, and the rasp of stubble darkened his cheeks. Those cold blue eyes locked on her through thick dark lashes. “Good morn.” He gave her a clipped nod, his gaze searching the yard as if looking for something.

Freyja’s gaze slid past him to the two riders that followed silently at his heels. A chill ran through her, though she didn’t know why. Magnus and another man, one she didn't recognize. Both were dressed in menacing black leathers, with a crossbow strapped to each of their backs.

Magnus and Haakon had been involved in her kidnapping. And if they’d returned to further their mischief, then she was going to unleash all of the rage and frustration she felt.

Magnus caught her eye and bared his teeth in a smile. She swallowed hard against the instinct to step back, toward the safety of her home. Something about him set her on edge. Bristling with weapons, he turned his huge black stallion in a circle, ignoring the creature’s uncertain snort as he urged the beast closer to the barn. Steel spurs gleamed against the unrelieved black of Magnus’s boots, and his fingers were bare as he gripped the reins negligently in one hand. The other hand rested on the powerful muscle of his thigh, a garnet ring winking on his finger in the soft light.

“What do you want?” Freyja asked coolly. “For I warn you I am almost done with the three of you. If you have something further in mind than kidnapping, then we are going to have a serious disagreement.”

No ambush this time. She was ready to make her point, as the thunder that suddenly rumbled on the horizon proved.

“You seem none the worse for wear,” Magnus pointed out, and in that moment she hated him, he who had threatened her Loki.

“That’s enough,” Haakon warned him, and shot her an almost apologetic look. “We are not here to cause you further grief.”

Civility held. One didn’t speak of what happened when a dreki carried off a helpless young woman, though word of it was certain to be spreading around her small village.

None of her neighbors would ever receive her again. It was a curiously freeing realization.

The younger man swung down from his horse in a fluid movement, his raven-dark hair tumbling over his forehead. Those stunning blue eyes met hers and he smiled, white teeth dazzling. He’d not been involved in the kidnapping, and she hadn’t seen him on the village green. “Mistress Helgasdottir. You might consider this early morning visit my fault.” With a rueful smile, he slung his horse’s reins over its glossy bay head and patted it absently. The gelding’s nostrils flared, but he did not seem as unsettled as Magnus’s black.

“Andri's horse threw a shoe some miles back,” Haakon said. “He’s beginning to favor his leg.”

“I’m not surprised.” Freyja reached out, offering her fingers to the bay to sniff. He snorted and danced at the end of the reins, not quite certain about her. Freyja stroked his velvety muzzle. “Hush, sweet boy,” she whispered, reaching out to brush her senses against his, a touch full of warmth and gentleness. She’d always had more affinity for animals than she had for people. “I won’t hurt you.”

Pure foolishness to bring a horse like this out through the marshy terrain around Lake Mývatn. The lichen and moss concealed all manner of rocks and uncertain footing. A horse’s leg could twist before the rider knew it.

It was one of the reasons she preferred the stocky ponies that seemed to thrive in Iceland’s conditions. Poor Hanna might not be half as beautiful as these three beasts, but she would outlast them by miles.

Leaning down, Freyja ran her hand down the horse’s foreleg, feeling the heat in the muscle. She tugged at his fetlock, and he lifted his hoof obediently as she examined the spongy sole, fishing out muck and stones from the arrow-shaped frog. One of the nails still clung to the walls of his hoof.

“You need to get that out,” she pointed. “Why in heaven’s name you would need to shoe a horse here is beyond me.” There were barely any roads, and fewer tracks to follow.

Cornflower blue eyes danced into view, a crooked smile twitching over that devilish face. “Yes, mistress,” Andri said.

And she realized she was berating three powerful warriors.

Freyja let the hoof down and stepped back, brushing her hands against her hips. “Take him back to the village. Old Tóki will remove the nail, and then I suggest resting him. There’s heat in the muscle. Is that all?”

Andri raked the yard with a hard glance, though his manner seemed apologetic. “We came to speak to the scholar.” Those eyes locked on her with an intensity that made her shiver. “Master… what was his name again?”

“Rurik.”

“Rurik,” Andri repeated, as if it held some meaning to him.

Magnus shot them both a sharp look.

“I’m afraid you’re too late. He’s no longer plaguing my household.” Only my heart. Freyja crossed her arms over her chest, a cold sweat springing up against her forehead. “I believe he took himself off that way.” She pointed vaguely to the south, and the west. “Wants to see if the rumors of trolls are true.”

Haakon dragged his gloves off reluctantly. “Mistress Helgasdottir. It pains me to mention what happened in the village—”

“You dare bring that up?” Rage erupted inside her, though she was doing her best to maintain her temper. “How is Benedikt faring this morning?” The last she’d seen of him, he’d been pinned to the wall and squealing.

“Better than my ballista,” Haakon countered coolly.

Freyja crossed her arms. “A true shame.”

“It was never my intention to lower myself to such a ploy,” he replied, his gaze dropping and heat flushing against his sharp cheekbones. “I allowed the heat of the moment to sweep away my sense of decency.” His lips thinned. “I will never forget my shame, and I apologize for the part I played, but I must ask… would you speak to us of the layout of the dragon’s lair?”

Of all the nerve! “Get off my farmstead.”

“It is not yours, is it?” Magnus spoke up, his horse dancing in slow circles. “But your father’s. Perhaps we should take matters up with him?”

If her father heard of what had happened…. She couldn’t imagine the shame on his face. Many years ago there had been no censure in being staked out for the dreki, but with even the crofters out here succumbing to religion…. And her father believed. Truly believed. Freyja stepped toward him, her fists clenched. “If you dare disturb my father—”

“You’ll what? I would not be making threats if I were you, mistress.” Magnus’s gaze slid sinuously over her breasts, seeming to strip off each layer of clothing.

Magnus wasn’t the first man to make her feel like this, and he wouldn’t be the last. But she was so tired of being made to feel like an outsider, or a piece of cattle to be traded. If he weren’t sitting on that horse, she might have lashed out with her power, but the poor creature snorted, as if sensing the slight shiver of her gifts across its skin.

Magnus’s gaze sharpened and he urged the stallion closer, forcing her backward. “You—”

“That’s enough!” Haakon snapped, grabbing his stirrup and yanking at it.

The two men locked gazes, something seeming to pass in the air between them.

“You’re here at my discretion,” Haakon challenged him. “Not yours.”

“Magnus,” Andri pleaded.

Magnus finally smiled, a chilling sight indeed. He bowed his head, though the gesture was barely a sign of submission, and more an indication that he would take up this fight at a later date. “As you wish.”

Haakon let go of the stirrup and stepped back, turning on her with almost vicious intensity. Freyja drew back and he noticed it, his gaze flickering to hers. For the first time she saw the coldness in his expression melt, a sense of true shame creeping over his hard mouth.

“My apologies.” He nodded to her, deeply. “We mean you no harm, you have my word.”

Magnus glanced at her over Haakon’s shoulder. Haakon might actually be speaking the truth, but the other mercenary had given no oath.

“Get off my land,” she repeated quietly. “And don’t ever come back. You’ve done enough.”

Haakon opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated. He swung up onto his gray gelding and gathered the reins.

Andri swung the reins over his horse’s head. Freyja licked her lips. He’d not done anything to her. “We use moss out here to make a poultice. He’s strained the muscle in his foreleg, and you’ll get few miles out of him today, if any. You’d be best to walk often, or you’ll lose the use of him for several weeks.”

Magnus snorted under his breath and kicked his black into a canter. Clods of dirt flew up as he rode directly past her. Good riddance.

“Thank you.” Andri watched the bigger man go, then gave her a troubled look. “I won’t let him trouble you again, mistress. My word on it.”

“As much as your word is worth,” she said pointedly.

He actually colored.

Haakon and Andri she could manage, for they were bound by some sense of common decency at least. But the look in Magnus’s eyes left her cold, for he had seen her as nothing more than a common whore, a worm beneath his heel. Something to be used and discarded.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t help the rise of shame that filled her. All three men knew what had happened to her in the dreki’s lair. She had not felt shame until then. What had happened between her and Rurik had been both wondrous and private; a memory to last a lifetime and to warm her on cold, lonely nights.

For she knew now she would never make such a choice again.