Reluctant Berserker: Isaacson Trilogy Book One

Chapter 13

Gunnar blinked, then sputtered, "What-Without provocation? He started it!"

She shook her head precisely three times. "That is no excuse. When have I ever condoned such uncivilized behavior between you and your brothers?"

He ran his left thumb along the top seam of the back of the sofa, where fabric met ornately carved wood. The next time he saw his beloved twin, he would be tempted to do far more than break his jaw.

Had their scuffle been the first thing Ulric had thought about upon waking this morning? He couldn't wait to go tattle-telling on him and sending Mother to give him a spanking and punishment?

If Ulric suddenly walked through the door, he'd gladly punch him in the face once again to show him what he thought about his loose lips.

Striving for a calm tone, he tried to reason with her. "We're Berserkers...violence literally runs through our veins, Mother."

Helena drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Well, according to Ulric, you no longer want to be a Berserker; therefore, you can no longer use that excuse in your defense."

"Did the almighty Ulric explain why I quit?"

"Only that you want to find a woman and settle down, which I will admit is excellent news."

He scoffed and absently nodded. Blowing out a breath, he leaned back on the sofa and ran his hands through his hair. Of course, Ulric only mentioned that part; it wasn't even surprising Ulric had neglected to mention the other, more important reason why he resigned.

"Neeners, look at me."

She had that tone. Forget the fact that he was a man of thirty because the moment she used that tone of voice, he felt no older than a boy of six years old, minutes away from receiving a spanking.

It was ridiculous, yet he was helpless to comply with her demand. He immediately met her gaze and felt all the muscles tense up and down his body, locking up quickly and preparing for the worst. There was no way out, absolutely no chance for escape.

Her eyes gentled, easing some of the tension, but not all. "You have that same expression on your face that you had when I caught you helping yourself to your father's secret tin of shortbread cookies."

A smirk creased his lips at the memory. "It wasn't much of a secret if I found it, though, was it?"

Several minutes passed in companionable silence before she said, "You've always been the tenderhearted one."

He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and averted his gaze as he ran his palms over his thighs to dry them, rolled his shoulders to ease the ache that had set in, and then swallowed.

She used this tactic to get him to talk about things he'd rather not talk about. How often had he and his brothers sat on the sofa in their home, cringing under her gaze until he admitted who'd been the perpetrator of their most recent antics? It worked on him then, and it was working now. She knew him too well.

Softly, she cleared her throat and waited for him to meet her gaze, as he knew was expected before she would speak her mind.

Helena's voice softened, "Your brother also told me about what happened before you quit, perhaps even why you felt you must, but I would hear it from your mouth. I give my full support in your decision, regardless of your reasons."

He chewed the inside of his cheek, waiting for the words to leap off his tongue, but they failed to emerge. He struggled to find anything that would show what he wanted her to know without hinting at what he must keep hidden.

Gunnar ran a hand through his hair and scratched his head, "I want to settle down and start a family if possible." Looking at her and speaking his mind would never work, so he dropped his gaze and stared instead at the beams of light shining through the wavy glass panes of the large bay window to his mother's right.