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“You know what you want. A beautiful, fast-paced life in the city, free from any man who may want to control you,” I say.
She agrees. “Aye.”
“And I know what I want as well.” I set my jaw. “I want to take down the Hoax.”
“As you should!” she agrees. “How dare they try to turn one of our own against us, to traffic our girls? I get sick just thinking about Clive Smith and how he tried to help those bastards expand their turf to our wee island. I feel better just knowing you and yer men are here in Glasgow keeping an eye on that lot.”
“We’re here now. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” My blood boils, remembering last year when a man from our island tried to help the Hoax of Glasgow expand their diabolical business to our shores. “We’ve not only got eyes and ears on them, we’re setting a plan in place to disable them.”
“Good,” she says.
“Taking down the Hoax isn’t all I want out of life, sister.” I feel that grin Freya calls cocky sliding across my face. “I’ll have my wife as well.”
“And you’ll stop at nothing till ye have her.” Freya gives another dramatic sigh. She could have been an actress if she hadn’t had such a sharp mind for the laws of our land. A flick of her hair and she says, “My little brother and the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”
“Says the most stubborn woman in the world. My big sister Freya. Though only by fifteen months?—”
“And you won’t let me forget it, will you? We do make a pair, don’t we, brother?”
“Aye! That we do,” I agree. “You’re the Burnes brains. And I’m the Burnes brawn.”
She hooks her arm in mine, leading me down the hall. “Come. I’ve just had the shelves installed in your cigar room. I want to be sure they’re to your liking.”
“If you chose them, ye know I will,” I say.
“Your taste is simple. If the Norsemen loved it, you love it.”
We enter the cigar room. She’s not only had shelves put up, she’s decorated them with beautiful wooden sculptures of Norse gods and goddesses. Odin, Thor, Loki, and her namesake, Freyja, the goddess responsible for love, fertility, battle, and death.
So far, I’ve only been capable of succeeding in the latter two. Let’s hope my plan will help me master all four things.
“Aye. I love it,” I say, my fingers brushing over a carving.
Toward the end of the eighth century, Scandinavian Vikings arrived in Scotland. They violently attacked the islands and coastline, looting precious metals and objects, taking what they wanted, and then returning home to tell their tales.
Some with stolen virgins for their brides.
They returned and, falling in love with our wee island's beauty and soil fertility, the Vikings settled there. I like to think they also fell for the beauty and fertility of the virgins who roamed the island’s grassy hills.
“Their blood is still in my veins and yours.” I give a grunt worthy of my ancestors. “It’s the Viking blood that has me plotting.”
“Aye. ‘Tis.” She looks up at me, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Despite your taste in Nordic apparel and furniture, you know we no longer live in Viking times, correct?”
“Meaning?” I ask.
She smiles. “Pillaging and plundering and stealing virgins is outdated.”
“I’m well aware,” I say.
“Good thing you live by your own morally gray code. Otherwise, you might have to take issue with yourself.”
“Like our Viking ancestors, I know what I want and will get it. By any means necessary.” I give her a grin. “And yer the one who will make it legal.”
“Stealing an innocent virgin for your captive and making her your bride?” Her straight white teeth flash with a grin. “What are big sisters for?”
Chapter Two
Fiona
