“Greta is an exceptional healer. She will see to your care when necessary.” That it was an order was undeniable, his voice raised and his tone commanding.
She had meant no insult, but she feared that was how everyone saw it.
“I have met, Hertha, your healer,” Greta said. “She is an extremely pleasant and somewhat knowledgeable young woman. I will teach her much and I look forward to helping you birth your first of many bairns.”
Cheers and shouts rang out and fists pounded the tables in joy.
Greta stepped closer to the dais. “We will talk, my lady.”
“Join us,” Bhric offered.
Greta nodded and Sven stood and pulled out the chair beside his wife for the healer.
Bhric leaned his head down toward Tavia once again. “Greta is revered in our tribe. Do not insult her again.”
“I meant no insult, my lord,” Tavia said. “I feel more comfortable with Hertha that was all.”
“Comfortable or not, Greta will tend you when necessary.”
Tavia acknowledged him with a nod and turned to stifle a yawn.
“You are tired?” he asked.
“I am, your lord,” she admitted with hopes he would allow her to retire.
“You have slept and yet you are still tired.” He shook his head. “Find some strength, for we are meant to leave this celebration together and it is far too early for us to do that.”
He turned away from her before she could acknowledge his command. She looked around the Great Hall. She was a stranger here and she worried that she might always be a stranger in her new home. Unless, of course, she found a way to change that, but how? She had kept herself busy at home though if she were truthful with herself, she would admit that after the accident and forced isolation while she healed and the pitiful glances once free to walk about had forced further isolation on her. And she had allowed herself to grow comfortable with it.
She did not think it would be wise to do the same here.
“My lord,” she said softly to get his attention and when he did not respond, she hesitated to rest her hand lightly on his forearm, but fearing it was her only way since she was not prone to raising her voice, she laid her hand on his arm and tried again. “My lord.”
He turned with an angry scowl and Tavia quickly removed her hand.
“What is it?” he snapped. Her gentle touch had startled him and sent a stirring through him, and he had gotten annoyed, the reason for his abrupt retort.
“I was wondering my duties here in the keep,” she said. “So that I may see to them without delay.”
“Marta sees well to the keep.”
“Then what am I to do?” she asked, surprised since running the keep was a wife’s duty.
“Your one and only duty is… me. Make certain you see to it wisely.”
His dark blue eyes reminded her of the dark depths of the sea and how one could not see what lay deep beneath the water. She wondered that now. What lay buried deep down inside him?
Her hand went of its own accord to rest on his forearm once again and words tumbled out of her mouth without thought. “I will make you a good wife.”
Bhric stared at her, her words slipping inside him to squeeze at his heart. How did she do that? How did she sneak past his defenses so easily and touch him where he least expected it?
The night wore on without further incident until Sven stood and raised his tankard. “It’s time for Lord Bhric to take his wife to bed.”
Tavia had to keep herself from cringing against the cacophony of cheers and fists pounding on the table.
Bhric stood after swallowing the last of his ale and held his hand out to her. She stood, turning her head slightly so no one would see her wince from the pain, though she failed to realize she squeezed her husband’s hand. She had sat too long.
Bhric made a show of scooping her up in his arms and planting a firm kiss on her lips and more cheers rang out.