Scars (Time of Myths: Shapeshifter Sagas Book 2) by Natasha Brown

Author:Natasha Brown [Brown, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Future Impressions
Published: 2017-03-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Ásta woke from a loud burst of laughter. Her eyes fluttered open. She was alone in bed, still wearing her underdress. Voices and movement came from the other side of the wooden door, and the previous day’s events came flooding back to her.

She was married. And she’d told him he shouldn’t have done so and cried in front of him before—had she really fallen asleep before consummating their marriage? She barely remembered the end of the night. If she hadn’t felt bad enough the prior evening, she felt far worse now.

After she’d determined to make this marriage work, she’d spoiled it all. What man would want to deal with a woman with so many problems without anything in return? She would have to admit that she hadn’t lain with her husband the way wives are supposed to. Of course, that was likely what Torin was doing right now—telling everyone that he had not been able to test the validity of the claim that she was, indeed, still a maiden and virgin.

Not only did it mean he could divorce her if he was not pleased, even if he decided to look past it, there would be no morning-after gift. She did not care for beads, but it would be a great loss if she didn’t receive new linens or household items when they hadn’t been replaced for so long.

Ásta sat up and sighed. It couldn’t be helped now. What was done was done. If Torin thought she was a sniveling woman with farmland haunted by an angry wolf, she would have to prove him wrong. At least, to prove she was strong enough to scare that beast away. She would hold her head high no matter what. She had purpose: to keep her ancestral land safe so that she could pass it down to her children. There would be no hope of reaching that goal if she gave up or stopped trying.

She found her folded apron skirt and slipped it over her head. The brooches were fastened and her shoes tied on her feet. Ásta took a minute to comb her hair, which made her think of her mother. She nearly stood up and left before remembering to secure her locks in one long braid that she tucked in a coil at the base of her neck, something she’d never done before.

Frightened of what she’d face, but prepared, she opened the door to step into the hall. Daylight beamed through the small opening in the roof. The smell of the cooking fire consumed the room. Many of the women were gathered around it, preparing breakfast and talking. The children were playing on the benches, and the men were nowhere to be seen.

“It is the bride! Do I detect new spring in your step, Lady Ásta?” Frida called.

Ásta gave an uncomfortable grin, not sure of what to say. “Where are the men?”

Guthrún took a bite of something that was handed to her by Elfa. The matriarch leaned forward to say, “If

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