The Warlord's Wife (6 page)

Cloaked in the crisp autumn night, Lida allowed herself a few deep, cleansing breathes. The distance to her father’s house was not very great, especially if she cut through the forest to the back fields. With renewed spirit, her legs sprang to life.

Approaching the final meadow, Lida slowed her pace. Off in the distance, long, silver veins of moonlight spilled across the Baltic Sea, outlining the shape of her family’s home with strokes of pewter. She had studied the landscape countless times, yet tonight she saw its true beauty. Would she ever again have the opportunity to stand here, under an autumn moon, and bask in this perfect serenity?

The sea breeze licked at her cheeks, prickling her skin and sending a shiver to her toes. She imprinted the image of her home on her heart and released her legs to the pull of the hillside, allowing the slope to dictate her speed. As a child, she had imagined gliding down the meadow as a hawk in flight. With her arms cast out, she surrendered to the night, savoring the rawness in her lungs from her exertion.

In the magic of the moonlight, her heart opened, feeling everything all at once. No longer weighed down with heavy stones from her past mistakes, she felt renewed, reborn.

As if . . . as if she could soar.

Her woman’s pleasure had awakened something deep within her that she had buried long ago.

***

Magnus kicked in the door to Lida’s room, toppling over a small table, pieces of parchment flying high into the air. Hunched in the small doorway, he glared down at his errant wife, who had draped herself protectively across a small ball of blankets.

Torch in one hand, sword in the other, he demanded answers. “Who brought you here?”

“No one,” she whispered.

“Do not try my patience, woman.” His voice rose with his temper. “Who brought you here?”

“No one. I came on foot.”

“Alone?”

“Aye. ’Twas the middle of the night.” Her eyes were wide, her movements slow and calculated, as she twisted her shoulders to sit up, blocking his view of the child.

His relief at finding her in bed with only her child would not be enough to quench his burning desire to draw his blade on the lover he had expected to find. A woman this beautiful and carnally responsive must regularly have a man in her bed.

The small girl child sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“My love, this is Jarl Magnus,” his wife said, revealing her skill for artifice in her forced tone of excitement. “He has come to escort us to his ship. We are going on an adventure.”

“Adventure, truly, Mama? Grandma as well?” the girl-child said, her voice building with eagerness.

Lida kissed her daughter’s head. “No, my sweet. We shall pack your charcoal so that we may make her drawings from our travels. Does that not sound like fun?” For some reason, it was so easy to lie to her child if it was done to protect her from fear.

She turned her attention back to the raging bear in the doorway. “Would you give us a few moments to dress, Jarl Magnus?” The jarl switched his glare back and forth from her to her child, turned abruptly, and left. Perhaps he wasn’t the sort to beat his wife after all, or perhaps he would beat her at a later time, alone, without the presence of Katia. At least he showed restraint. She could be thankful for that.

But the polished longsword he had gripped was clear evidence of his bloodthirsty nature . . . yet what had she expected? She
had
wed a Swedish warlord, after all.

***

With dawn’s first light, her entire family and half of Turku traveled in silence down to the port. The sight of the fleet of Norrland ships felt imposing; there were ten massive cargo vessels, the likeness of which she had never seen. All were equipped with sky-high masts, mile-long oars, and protective shields of engraved iron flanking each side, identifying them as the lords of the sea.

Under the jarl’s close watch, Lida bid farewell to her loved ones. The concern in her parents’ faces and their carefully crafted words of farewell to Katia tore at her heart. What if this was their last embrace? She held back her words, squeezed both of them harder, and locked their sweet apple scent deep in her heart.

Before the sun had fully risen on Turku, the jarl’s ships lurched forward. The retreating tide and fair winds made for a quick withdrawal from port.

After depositing his wife and her child at the stern of his vessel, Magnus took a turn at the oars with his men. He needed to work off some unsatisfied rage—for what, exactly, he did not fully understand. His new wife had not run off with a lover; she had gone to see after her child. ’Twas not acceptable, but not punishable either. Hence the need to row harder, setting the pace for his men until the crew made the midday shift change.

His wife was sitting with her face to the wind, her eyes closed, her beautiful skin bathing in the sun. She resembled a queen—his queen. Magnus approached the pair of females and stood above them, looking down, not knowing what to make of either of them. He examined the girl-child, who slept with her head in her mother’s lap. She was a disturbingly beautiful little creature. If she grew to resemble her mother there might be a problem keeping her in the north; the tribal chieftains were notorious for snatching comely girls from the fields in summer. He would have to add more guards. But no sense overthinking it now; he had enough steel and gold for it if necessary.

“How long will we keep in sight of the Finnish shoreline, Jarl Magnus?” his wife asked in a serene tone.

“We follow the coast for a day. After we pass the red rock of Lylasku, we cross west at first light, if the weather holds.”

“Lylasku,” she said with a shallow gasp.

“Tero informed me that your child shares blood with Chief Lyyski.” Magnus studied her face. He needed to learn how to read her expressions soon.

“I was instructed never to return by the chief,” she said.

“You are no longer the chief’s concern. You are mine. Did you curse them on your departure from Lylasku?”

His wife turned her face, looking out over the gulf. “No, I do not wish to curse any of them. I pity them. They are the ones that have lost the most. They have never met their son’s child.” She returned her eyes to him, proving the truthfulness of her words.

He pushed his chest out and crossed his arms. “They will gnash their teeth with words of regret for exiling you. As friherrinna of Norrland, you hold great power over them.”

“A power neither welcomed nor claimed,” she said, biting. She breathed deep and added softly, “I want nothing from them, not revenge, not pity, nothing. A part of me will always love them, for they are a part of my child. My husband was an honored son among his people. His father may have been wrong to send me away, yet it was out of the madness of grief over the death of his firstborn. I pray that you never understand such pain, Jarl Magnus. It is a powerful force that overtakes a wise man’s sound judgment.” Speaking of her past had rendered Lida breathless.

“Save your softness and mercy for your servants and slaves. Leniency to those that betray you will only lead to your ruin,” Magnus said.

“Do you speak of family bonds or trade alliances? They are not one and the same.”

“I disagree, wife. I warn you of this point but once. Remain loyal and benefit from my protection. My word is as strong as my steel. Betray me and lose my trust forever.”

He locked eyes with his wife. Neither flinched.

“Never leave my bed without first giving notice. You are a stranger to me. Until I understand your true nature, you would be wise to not test me as you did this day.” It pleased him that she never looked away. “Lylasku fortress is but a two-day journey from Tronscar. Prove your loyalty and in few years I shall grant your child permission to journey to be received by her kinsmen. Chief Rein has been a trusted ally to my father.”

Lida stroked the child’s silken hair. In a quiet but firm tone, she said, “I shall never set foot on the red stone of Lylasku Hall again. I would not wish my daughter to either. She has been gently raised and I would not subject her to hearing her mother addressed as a whore.”

His chest tightened. “My wife would never be addressed in such a way, if the man did not wish to incite war.”

“’Twould not be a man with whom you would wage war, but a woman. Mistress Helika is very . . . vocal. She would not hold back if she had the opportunity to shame me, nor Katia, I fear.”

“Mama, I am thirsty. What is a whore? Who is Mistress Helika?” The child pushed herself up to a sitting position. Magnus had forgotten about the little person. She made little noise and took up very little space. Her fair hair whipped around her head in the wind, intriguing him with its untamed appeal.

“I shall fetch us some water, my love. Wait here.” Lida made her way to the supply crates, thankful for the excuse to escape the nerve-racking conversation.

On her return, her knees locked. The jarl stood above Katia with a menacing stare, gazing down at her daughter like a bug he was about to crush under his foot. A jolt of protective panic surged through her limbs. His reputation was that of an honored warrior. He would never sink so low as to harm a child, would he? “Here you are, my love.” She passed the cup of water to Katia. “Jarl.” She passed her cup to him. He drank it and handed back the empty cup. He strode away, looking angrier than before. She must use added caution and not upset him further. Who knew what the consequences could be?

At the opposite end of the ship, she could see the jarl standing shoulder to shoulder with his steward and top commanders. His legs were planted wide apart, arms crossed over his thick leather and steel chest plate, observing her with disdainful eyes. His natural posture and temper, Lida concluded.

Lida shivered under the bright blue sky, raising the collar of her cloak up higher around her neck, as if it could dull the persistent fear that coiled inside her. She pretended not to be disturbed by the warlord’s scowl and concentrated on playing with her daughter.

A short while later, Tero approached. “This game looks like a lot of fun. May I play, Katia?”

“Aye, sir. You may be the mama horse and I will be your colt that has run off.” Her daughter beamed her sweetest smile.

“Excellent, I always wanted to be a mama horse.” Tero smiled awkwardly, his eyes cast downward. “Pardon me, friherrinna. Your husband requests a private word with you below deck. He wishes to present you with a warmer cloak.”

“My gratitude, Tero. You may inform the jarl that I am perfectly warm in the one I have.”

“Friherrinna, I do respectfully suggest you tell him that yourself. He will receive it better from you.”

“Very well. Katia, stay here with Tero and mind his instructions. Ships can be dangerous and we do not want a mishap when our adventure has only just begun.” She turned her attention to Tero. “Do we?” She glared her instruction at the steward. He nodded.

A massive warrior with bare arms and a thick leather belt, apparently her husband’s second-in-command, led her down the narrow steps to the hold. She had never seen such a vast hold before. There were sacks upon sacks of fine grains and spices, bundles of fabric stacked from floor to ceiling, and so much diverse and fine merchandise that Lida could barely take it all in.

“A full accounting of the new domestic goods will be delivered to you when we reach Tronscar.” Jarl Magnus startled her as he come out from behind a towering stockpile. “This mission was primarily for delivery. We return heavy in gold and wine over much else.” He grabbed Lida’s hand, dragging her to the far end of the hold. A curtain of fine fabric had been nailed to the ceiling, excess linen pooling on the floor, creating a private area sectioned off from the rest of the hold. Her unease soared.

“I would serve you better in the keeping of your household than in selecting from these things,” Lida said. “I have little experience with such finery.” He ignored her words, yanking open a porthole, spilling fresh air and sunlight into the makeshift bedchamber. Without another word he set his attention to removing the side laces of her gown and belt.

“Kitchens, gardens. I have a good eye for choosing horses, I am told,” she mumbled as the jarl undressed her.

“Unneeded, wife. Tronscar is abundant with capable servants,” he said, examining the swell of her breast. His heavy belt and sword dropped to the floor. “You know your duty.” Half undressed, he pushed her down onto a bed of furs and followed after, caging her in with his limbs. “I have need of you. Now.” Breathing on her neck, he reached under her shift, testing her readiness between her legs. He kissed her hard, prying her mouth open, demanding entry. To Lida’s shock, her body responded, moistening and swelling against his stirring fingers.

Her eyes closed and she clawed her fingers into his tunic. A moan spilled from her, her body unable to contain the powerful rush of pleasure.

The jarl entered her swiftly, locking his hips to her, and rolled onto his back, keeping them connected so that she came astride him. She was still partially clothed, her bunched linen shift covering their place of their joining . . . the place of so much pleasure, which stripped her of self-control.

He yanked the leather tie from her braid and spread her hair out around her shoulders. With a rough hand, he tore down her thin shift, exposing her breasts.

A small sigh of excitement, mixed with an edge of wantonness, escaped her lips. Her body was unable to suppress its primitive response to his possessive touch, making her ashamed and disgusted.

His lips were powerful, matching the other parts of him, and he kissed her with a savage need. Though she had wished not to find pleasure in it, she did. She lost herself in the kiss and the magnificent sensation the rocking of the waves created. Perhaps the suddenness of his touch was to blame, maybe it was his primal intent or, perhaps, it was the undeniable pleasure he had given her the night before. Whatever the reason, she was shamefully open to his demand, losing herself, surrendering to the feeling that built inside of her. Lustful and eager for more, she ground down harder against him.

The increasing tempo of the pitching sea intensified the pounding pressure of each reconnection. Without warning, she crashed against the shore of her release, faster, harder. Startled, she screamed out her pleasure. Returning to her senses, she found the jarl’s face burned in the valley of her breasts.