The Enchantment Read Free Page A

added with a canny smile: “Upon two conditions.”
    Borger swallowed hard, sending a hot eye over the lush swell of the maidens’ breasts and the promising curves of their hips. His face flamed as his frame went taut with lustful anticipation. He could only manage one half-growled word.
    â€œMine?”
    â€œYea, Red Beard . . . if you accept the terms.” Serrick watched the old jarl closely as he laid forth his conditions. “Though given in payment, they are to be freewomen. Will you agree?”
    Borger nodded, swallowing hard. His gaze was hungry; his mouth was watering as he surveyed the lines of their nubile young bodies.
    â€œAnd you, Red Beard, will not take them to your own furs . . . nor ever pierce them with the spear of your flesh. Do you agree?”
    That stopped Borger short. He sputtered and glowered while raucous excitement broke out in the hall. If Borger himself could not mate them, his men realized, the maids would be available for his sons and warriors! Around him a drunken howl went up, demanding he agree.
    Borger hitched about and lumbered back to his chair, throwing himself into it with a scowl while his men crowded closer, shouting at him. He glared and muttered and fumed, knowing that in the end he would have to consent to the old man’s terms. His sons needed women, and from the fierce looks and words they were hurling at him, there was a good possibility they would slit his throat if he refused. He finally bashed his haranguers aside and rose, glowering at Serrick.
    â€œThese be
your
daughters, you say? What proof have you?”
    All quieted and strained closer to hear.
    â€œNo proof but their loyalty to me . . . and the story of their making. They were sired upon a Valkyr, whose swan plumage I stole as she bathed in a mountain pool. I compelled her to stay with me a while and she gave birth and set them upon my knee.”
    Mutters raced through the hall at that. It was widely known that Odin’s warrior-maidens, Valkyrs, assumed the guise of swans in the sky and that they sometimes cast off their plumage and returned to human form as they bathed in isolated pools. A mortal man who stole that plumage while a Valkyr bathed could compel her to mate with him.
    Borger stared at Serrick, comparing the Serrick of old with the crafty new creature before him. The warrior he had known years ago had stolen the legendary jeweled sword of Ibn Hassadan—the very sword they had used to barter their freedom from the sea-raiders of Alexandria. A man who could steal such a sword could probably steal a Valkyr’s plumes, as well. But the most convincing proof of the old man’s brazen tale was standing before them with flaxen hair, and faces and curves worthy of an immortal mother.
    â€œThey are mine to give, Red Beard. Never fear,” Serrick assured him. Both maids nodded, verifying his story and casting respectful looks at him.
    â€œThen . . . I agree, old man,” Borger snarled, unleashing a tumult of reaction in the hall. He stepped down from the dais of the high seat, staring hungrily at the heavenly pair. “I accept your two daughters in payment of—”
    â€œ
Three
,” Serrick declared.
    â€œThree?” Borger frowned. “But I see only—” He jerked his head up as he caught sight of Serrick holding out a hand behind him.
    Aaren took a deep breath and strode forward, pushing her way through the throng to her father’s and sisters’ sides. Borger exchanged looks of consternation with his men . . . which became stares of astonishment as she halted before him.
    â€œMy third daughter,” Serrick announced. “My eldest. Aaren, by name. Sired on a rare raven-haired Valkyr some years before the others.” He had to stretch to reach the hood that cloaked her head.
    As the covering slid, Borger Volungson instinctively held his breath. He was stunned to behold a mass of dark, burnished hair, held in place by a