Hotter Than Hell(129)

The chieftain’s frown turned into an effusive smile. “You’re quick, I see. Good. Good.” He glanced toward the hand Bern still rested on the pommel of his sword. “Welcome to Ched,” he went on. “Come to worship at the well, have you? For the festival?”



Bern nodded. He was aware that Virginia White had moved back into the shadow of an arched doorway. He wanted nothing more than to follow her, but he had to stay in character and deal with the local potentate first.



Bern brought out a small leather pouch, heavy with gold, and handed it over. “Please accept this small gift, in honor of the goddess and your hospitality.”



The chieftain tossed the little purse to feel its weight, glanced inside, and beamed.



He looked at Bern’s people—an obvious unit of soldiers—waiting by the gate, alert for Bern’s orders. “Those are fine-looking lads you lead.”



“We come in peace for the festival,” Bern reassured the chieftain. Then he saw the speculative look in Ched’s eyes. He smiled. “But afterwards, our swords are for hire if you are interested.”



He hoped that made him sound like a friendly and useful fellow to the chieftain, just in case his unit needed an excuse to stay on after the festival. Though he hoped he could find out what Virginia White was up to before then.



Lord Ched’s grin widened. He put his arm around Bern. “Join me for some wine. What’s your name, lad?” he asked as he led Bern into the main hall.





Ginger considered going back to her duties at the spring, but curiosity got the better of her. That, and an irresistible craving not to let the man who named himself Bern out of her sight made her follow the men into the hall. For some reason being close to Bern made her feel as if she was not alone anymore, and she needed that nearness after all these months. She knew very well that any attraction to a man was foolish, and not even because intimacy with an indigenous resident was against Project rules.



If the gleam in Lord Ched’s eye was any indication, this dangerous stranger would soon be the Year King sharing the bed of his daughter Morga. Jealousy ripped through Ginger at the thought, but she knew it would be for the best. They needed a warrior hero right now and Bern looked to have all the qualifications for the job.



He was tall, dark, and handsome, with broad shoulders and big hands and the brightest, most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. There was an aura of steely danger around him that should have scared her to death, but instead it sent fireworks shooting through her. He wore a knee-length tunic that left his legs bare. Over it was metal-studded leather body armor buckled and strapped into place and a light woolen cape. Her fingers itched to pull off all those layers and thoroughly explore what she found underneath.



But they were in public. Even by the debased Roman standards still observed here, it was unseemly for a woman to jump a man in the middle of a meeting—unless she’d been purchased or hired for that purpose, of course.





Ched sent for his daughter and settled down to explain his plan to Bern over cups of strong wine, unwatered, as was the local custom. Effete Romans might drink their spirits diluted, but not Ched. Here business was usually conducted once the menfolk were well on the way to being drunk.



So Ginger stayed in the background to listen and watch. She took a seat at the side of the public space among a group of women working on spinning and embroidery. The men were barely into their second libation to the goddess when Morga came flouncing in. At least she’s dressed, Ginger thought. Morga was beautiful, knew it, and had no qualms about showing it even if she wasn’t lying naked on her back on the holy altar.



I live like a nun, Ginger thought, and she gets to whoop it up anywhere, any time.



Until a few minutes ago this hadn’t bothered Ginger a bit. Now she very nearly snarled as Morga caught sight of Bern, licked her perfect lips in appreciation, and made a beeline to sit beside him.



“Daughter,” Lord Ched announced once the girl was snuggled up against Bern’s side, “meet your new husband.”



Morga bounded to her feet, looking appalled. So did Bern.



“What?” Morga screamed.



“What?” Bern echoed.



His voice was firm, but anger crackled off him.



Morga gave Bern another once over, and her lips curled in disdain at the lack of signs of rank or fortune. “I don’t mind giving him a toss, but I like the husband I’ve got,” she told her father.



Lord Ched banged a fist on the table. “You’ll take the man I choose.”



“The goddess chose for me already.”