The Warlord's Wife (4 page)

“All of Turku is talking of this supposed great jarl of Norrland,” Lida said. “They say he rules his northern kingdom of icy steel with justice and honor.” Lida looked to her mother and they both burst into giggles.

“Since when could you trust a Swedish sailor not to brag with bloated tales of his homeland?” Ingerid’s laugh sounded as light as a song.

“He sounds like a warlord to me,” Lida said, and her throat closed up. “He may be wealthy and powerful, but it is only because he has the biggest and sharpest sticks. Rarely are such distinctions earned from justice and mercy.”

“True, true.”

Lida slumped her shoulders as she felt a weight pressing in on her. “They say he is the king of Sweden’s favored cousin, that his children would hold titles and power throughout the Baltic Sea. Why would he make an offer for me?”

Ingerid tenderly stroked Lida’s cheek. “Impeccable taste. The man does have eyes.” She sighed. “From my window, his strapping shoulders did strike me as terribly judicious,” her mother said with another small giggle. “Tell me you were not a smidge flattered.”

Lida did not giggle. Instead she closed her eyes to the remembrance of pain, the rejection, the black pit of loss that had taken her years to climb out of. “How can I accept a man I do not love, a man who does not love me, and is most likely incapable of love? I would be nothing more than his high-titled whore.”

“Thus is the plight of all women. You have your answer then.”

Lida exhaled, feeling defeated. “Katia needs a name.”

“Her name is lovely.”

“You know of what I speak. Why should my sin, my mistake, cost her so dearly?”

“Do you consider her a mistake?”

“Never.” Her daughter was not a bastard, but a child conceived in love; a blessing, not a curse.

Lida’s thoughts were reluctantly catching up with her mother’s as she began to understand her line of reasoning.

“Destiny has two ways of crushing us; by refusing our wishes and by fulfilling them,” Ingerid said. “That is what the Greeks say anyway.”

Lida dropped her confused head onto her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t want to admit to the twinge of flattery she’d felt at Magnus’s offer. It felt wrong and sinful. “He would be more a slave owner than a husband. Nothing as you and father are.”

Her mother rubbed her back. “The Greeks say there is no such thing as chance and choice. We fail to see that we can control our own destiny; make ourselves do whatever is possible; make ourselves become whatever we long to be.”

“I hate the Greeks,” Lida mumbled. Why could she not have a regular mother as her friends in the village? Reading and writing in four different tongues was not a fruitful skill for a farmer’s wife. Studying herbs and seeds would have been far more useful than shallow proverbs. “I don’t care what the Greeks say. I want to know what you think! Tell me what I should do.”

A serving girl tripped, sending her silver tray of smoked fish crashing to the floor. Lida blankly stared at the mess, still lost in her thoughts.

Logic and reason warred with instinct, her need to protect Katia fighting with her desire to spare her own heart and stay with what she knew: her family and the security of Turku. Her stomach twisted, the back of her head throbbed, and her leg jitter persisted. Was it greedy to desire a better life for Katia, a secure future for her aging parents, and—aye, the buried desire for more children? And what of her secret yearning to feel wanted by a man, to give and take pleasure from him? So many nights she had wished that she had never tasted the pleasures of the marriage bed. How could one long for a food they had never tasted? ’Twas the longing for that taste that burdened her.

The deluge of feelings was followed by the memory of the heartless, icy stare of the jarl. She thought of the forbidden, intoxicating musk that she’d resisted indulging in and the obvious waves of power that had fairly rolled off his shoulders. He held the power to consume her and leave her decimated beyond repair. To never be loved, but more likely be degraded as chattel. Could she bear such treatment?

Lida tried to take comfort from her mother’s wisdom, but the entire day had truly been one troubling moment after another, leaving her mind swimming with unanswered questions.

Mute and feeling numb all over, she watched people move around her as if in a dream, a very nerve-racking, unpleasant sort of dream. The kind of dream where she was standing on the edge of a cliff, suddenly falling, falling to the ground—

“Jarl Magnus requests the honor of speaking with you, my lady,” Tero said, snapping Lida out of her internal conflict.

Tina elbowed her in the ribs. This was why they had been invited to the fortress. The price she must pay for their meal.

Tero led her down a series of long, torch-lit corridors. Lida’s nerves frayed a little more with each step.

At last, they came to a large, well-lit chamber. Before she could catch her breath to settle her racing heart, the door clanged shut behind her, leaving her alone with the fiercely handsome, very problematic jarl.

Stacks of parchment and piles of scrolls littered the tables, with the exception of the table before the jarl. A quill, stamp, elk-horn handled dagger, and blotter were all neatly laid out in front of him.

He glanced up from the scroll. “Be seated,” he said in a deep, velvety voice, and pointed to a chair directly across from his own.

“I would prefer to stand,” she said, while struggling to maintain the serene tone her mother insisted upon.

“I would prefer you to sit.” He pointed again to the chair.

How barbarically charming of him.

She sat on the edge of the chair, her back straight and her hands folded in her lap.

“I have chosen to speak with you, to hear your counteroffer and conclude the negotiations.” He leaned forward, his stare nailing her to the uncomfortable seat. “Was the farm not grand enough for you?”

“My usual price for breeding illegitimate children has gone up,” she replied softly.

The corner of his mouth raised slightly with what appeared to be a hint of amusement.

Her discomfort grew. His eyes roamed over her torso, lingering on her bosom.

Rudeness of the highest order.
He may be handsome, well-groomed and important, but under his fancy garb he had nothing more than the manners of a barbarian.

Lida noticed powerful men rarely bothered with politeness or modest decorum. The women that sought the coveted role of wife to a wealthy man usually paid a very high price, often surrendering their self-worth. She had little interest in finery; basic material possessions were all she needed to live a comfortable life. The wife of such a man as the jarl would never be cherished. She would be polished and put on a shelf, taken down when he had use for her, and surely only spoken to when necessary.

“Tero reported that he rectified your assumption. Need I do it again? I offer matrimony. Is your hearing damaged?”

The insult was a gift, removing any remaining debate in Lida’s mind.

“Shall we skip to the end, Jarl Magnus? I gather you are a man of great importance, so I will be brief. I strive to be a modest woman. I live a simple life and am content with what I have. I am honored by your
proposal; however, I must humbly decline.”

“You are content to toil in the fields?” he asked bluntly. “Breaking your back in mindless labor? The friherrinna of Norrland is not expected to dig in the dirt for her evening meal.”

“Indeed, I intend on continuing my mindless labor, as you put it, for my family’s benefit.” Lida rose, preparing to take her leave. “There is nothing shameful in hard labor. Some refer to it as honorable.”

“What of your child?” he asked, freezing her in place. “Will she remain content with your modesty?”

“Aye. She will. She must.”

“When it is time, will she make a worthy alliance in matrimony, here in Turku?”

Lida pressed her lips into a hard line, working to collect herself, praying that her shattered nerves were not apparent to him. “We all have our crosses to bear, do we not, Jarl Magnus?” Lida turned away from him, not wanting to say more. As she staring at the closed door, the black pit of despair in her belly began to burrow deeper. She knew the world to be an unfair and cruel place, where love and honor were of little value. What a fool she was to think that God would shelter her from more misery.

Magnus could not look away from the captivating sight of the stubbornly strong woman. “I will let you keep the child with you if that is your concern. The Norrland winter is long, but if she is strong like her mother, she will fare well.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Let me keep her?” Her brow peaked. It seemed something he’d said had surprised her.

“Tero did not make mention? Aye. She may journey to you once my first son is born.”

She smiled honestly in amusement for the first time. He should have made mention sooner and saved them time.

“Does this actually work on women? Aye, forget it.” She waved the question off. “Do not bother. I am sure it does. Purely out of Christian charity, let me pass on some advice.” She took one small step toward him. “When speaking to prospective wives, do not threaten to separate them from their children. You will lose both ways. A real mother would never accept your offensive offer and the woman who accepts your proposal is a maggot willing to eat her own young. Not what I would consider good mother material.”

“Thus the reason Tronscar is well supplied with qualified nurses to coddle an infant.”

Her flushed cheeks brightened to a stove-hot red. “Safe voyage to you, Jarl Magnus.” She twisted back around to make her escape.

“You will learn I possess nothing that has been given,” Magnus responded. “What I have, I have forged or earned. Be wise and make your counteroffer, before I finalize the contract with your brother. Your father is advanced in years. The bishop has agreed to speak with your eldest brother in his place.”

He watched as the color drained from her face. “Why me?” she asked. “This hall is full of virtuous maidens. I have no virtue. I am nothing to you.”

“I have concluded my trade in the south and will not return until after the thaw.” Magnus stalked around the table. “You have given birth to a healthy child. I see you are fit to produce more. You are not cowardly, nor frail. You speak my tongue, and I desire a wife without the burden of troublesome relations.”

“My husband’s family disowned me. They claim my daughter is not of my husband’s line. Troublesome enough for you?” she said without apology or shame.

“Tero explained you were delayed in wedding the man due to the crusade in the north. On his return, he wed you and presented you to his father. I have no patience for baseless slander. I have been informed that your village holds you in good standing.”

“I would never leave my daughter, nor would I leave any children I bear,” she said. “Your offer to return me to Finland after my sons are but babes is repugnant. I would never leave my sons; and they would be my sons if I birth them.”

Magnus had not anticipated this reaction. His own mother had left for the southern territory before he could remember her. “’Twas a gift, not an insult. Women prefer the comfort of the gentler climate.”

He was intrigued. Her generously curved frame, attired in a plain blue wool gown with a thin brown leather belt, roused him. Her golden hair glowed with a soft sheen. Her ethereal face was unblemished, a bright rose shade returning to the crest of her cheekbones.

“And what is my fate should I bear you no sons, but daughters?” She raised her chin higher. The small display of pride amused him.

“I shall have sons. From the look of you, you offer me as best a chance as I’ll get.”

Her eyes cast downward. “I have but one need,” she said. “A name for my daughter. Will you grant her yours upon our union?”

Magnus looked down at his empty cup, considering the counteroffer. From the moment he’d decided upon her, he’d intended to grant the protection of his name to her child, but she did not need to know this. He would not allow this opportunity to gain the upper hand pass him by. “On the birth of my first son, I will grant the protection of my name to your child.”

“On the birth of our first child,” she countered.

Magnus stared into her flaming sapphire eyes. He nodded, concluding the first stage of this evening’s business.

Her eyes widened. “And I am never to be separated from any of my children.”

“Aye—maggots. You explained.”

“And—” She hesitated, rubbing her wrist, looking down at the floor.

“The negotiation is done.”

“The farm you offered,” she said quietly. “If I should perish in childbirth, what would become of my daughter? The farm can be placed under her name with the bishop’s seal. Then I shall agree.” She raised her chin and wisely held her tongue. She trembled, revealing her weakness for the first time.

“So be it. I shall meet this stepdaughter of mine at dawn.” Magnus flicked his hand toward the doorway. “Let us not keep his excellency from his feast.” She spun around as the door opened and the bishop, along with her relations, filed into the chamber. Magnus stifled a rogue yawn. “Bishop Henry will execute our covenant efficiently.”

Magnus was exhausted after months on his ship, trading at port after port, haggling, bartering, and blaming Tero for his displeasure. Finally his mission was completed and he was homeward bound. “My gratitude, Bishop Henry. You may begin.”

An expression of bewilderment crossed Lida’s beautiful features. “Tonight?” She clasped her wrist, anxiously toying with a leather band.

“Aye, everything has been arranged.”

“Nay—I—we . . .” Her eyes filled with fear. But he would not grant her the opportunity to retreat. Not when he was so close to victory.

“
We
shall be on the first vessel departing Turku at dawn,” he said.

“Nay, I—” she said, her gaze shifting to her father, then remembering that until the contract was signed, her brother held the power.

Magnus seized hold of her upper arm, pulling her to his side, securing his prize in place. “Aye, we shall. Know what is good for you and hold your tongue, woman.”