One I do not trust.

“Reginleit, you will not know another male.” His gaze held hers. “I consider us wed from this moment on.”

What a crazed mortal; how touched in the head. Her father would turn this berserker to ash if he dared kidnap her and force her to wed him. Perhaps she oughtn’t toy with Aidan anymore? “Reconsider. You’re far too old for me. One foot in the grave and the other doddering at the edge.”

He glowered. “I am not that old! I’ve only thirty winters.”

She began to fear that he wouldn’t be dissuaded, so she said, “I might look upon your suit, but only if you help me save Lucia first.”

He shook his head firmly. “You will tell me where to find her. And I will do so only once I’ve conveyed you safely to my people.”

“You can never locate her without me.” As a sister Valkyrie, Regin could sense her if she got close enough. “And we haven’t time to dally.”

“You came to me for guidance, and this is my decision—”

“Guidance! You are mad. And arrogant. I am the daughter of gods. I came to you for a horse, food, and mayhap a pair of outriders. So I could be on my way!”

“’Tis a done thing, brightling. In this realm, my word is final.”

They were interrupted by the brunette from the hall, now carrying in a tray of food and drink. As she served two trenchers of some kind of savory stew, she made sure her ample bosom was displayed for Aidan.

Regin thought of her own barely budding chest. For the first time in her life, she felt lacking.

And mayhap jealous. Ah, but ’twas Regin who sat at the warlord’s table like a woman grown. ’Twas Regin the stubborn, mad mortal wanted to wed. She cast the wench a smirk.

“No ale for the girl, Birgit,” Aidan said to the woman. “Do we not have milk?”

Regin’s face heated. And all the worse, because she would dearly love some milk.