The Heart's Warrior (12 page)

As he packed her up the steep grade, he caught the welcome scent of wood smoke.

By the time they crested the hill, Jonas gasped for breath. Damn this weakness! The arrowhead must be removed and the infection cleansed soon, before it was too late. Why could his men not get it out? He dared not let Kerstin help him. Already, he feared he had fallen under her spell and did not want to give her any more

advantage against him.

He tried to ignore the wound, but the pain became almost unbearable and he knew it was swollen and hot to the touch. Had it begun to fester? He would have Halfdan look at it again and try to lance it.

As they passed a giant birch tree, larks flew from their nest. They swooped overhead, then returned to their roost. The scent of damp soil reached his nostrils as he carried Kerstin past the fields. He welcomed the cool evening air against his heated skin.

His limbs sagged with fatigue. After the marriage, he 76

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would rest a day before he went into battle with the king...unless he died from his wound. No doubt Kerstin would like that. He silently prayed he didn’t give her the satisfaction.

Somewhere in the steading a dog barked. Boisterous laughter came from the hall. Jonas heard the booming voice of his father, followed by Hakon’s delighted chuckle.

What was there to be happy about? He was about to force a woman who loathed him into marriage. A woman he himself wanted to hate. And yet, something almost magical softened his emotions toward her. Something he couldn’t explain.

He shifted his weight and hers, trying to ease the constant burning throb in his shoulder. It had spread to his arm and he shook with it. Damn the arrowhead. His new bride had put it there! Breathing hard, he trudged onward.

Jonas’s men remained outside, calling greetings to him as he passed by. They set up shelters for the night near the forest edge. Standing before their campfires, they warmed their hands and feasted vigorously on roasted meat and ale. Alrik’s people kept their distance, glaring with animosity, unwilling to engage the enemy in

conversation.

There would be no unity between their people until Kerstin accepted Jonas. Without harmony, they would not join forces to fight on behalf of the king against the Eirikssons.

Jonas heaved a labored sigh. His shoulder burned

like the fires of Hel. He was tired of war and bloodshed and wanted nothing more than to return to his home at Hawkscliffe where he could raise crops, flocks and children. Would Kerstin give him heirs? It was all he wanted from her. If she gave him sons and a daughter, he would ask for no more.

“I can walk on my own. Put me down,” Kerstin

ordered when they reached the hall.

Jonas quirked a brow. “I don’t think so.”

She grumbled under her breath and he couldn’t

contain a slight smile. She was a spirited woman, something he always admired. A weak woman didn’t

survive long.

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As he ducked inside the hall, he looked up and saw Kerstin’s father sitting in his massive chair, on the raised dais at the head of the room. The king and Sigurd sat beside him, their heads bowed close together as they conversed in camaraderie. They looked much the same as when Jonas had last seen them, except friendlier.

Numerous warriors sat at the long tables, enjoying a cup of ale or wine. Empty platters littered with scraps and bones sat on the long tables, attesting that their stomachs were replete from an earlier meal. Several thralls moved about the room, cleaning up the mess or filling drinking horns with more ale. Upon his entrance, the woman named Minin wrapped a gray woolen shawl about her shoulders and sidled past him as she left the hall, closing the heavy door behind her.

Sigurd looked up and grinned. “Ah, here you are. Our scouts sighted your ships some time ago and we knew your mission must have been successful.”

Jonas noticed Kerstin glared at them all, but she refused to look at her father. Would she ever forgive Alrik for betraying her? Though he didn’t cherish the thought of being wed to a vengeful woman, Jonas couldn’t help feeling sorry for her plight.

“Put me down.” She struggled in his arms and he set her on her feet.

In her haste to get away from him, she stumbled and fell to her hands and knees. The room filled with raucous laughter. Her hair blinded her until she pushed the thick curls away from her face and glared her wrath at each man in turn.

Her father didn’t snicker, nor did Jonas. Sigurd and his men laughed. Because his father believed she

murdered Bjorn, he would show no empathy toward her.

Jonas couldn’t blame him.

Jonas felt a tightening in his chest, like a piece of dry bread swallowed whole, without water to wash it down.

He also could not forgive her for what she had done to Bjorn.

****

father and the king, her back stiff. Sigurd’s laughter ceased as she jutted her chin.

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“I knew you’d bring her back,” King Hakon said to Jonas. Then, he turned his burning gaze on Kerstin and his eyes narrowed. “It’s a good thing Jonas found you. I was prepared to banish you, had he failed.”

A hush fell over the hall with only the sounds of crackling from the fire pit. Somewhere outside, men laughed and a dog barked.

Kerstin swallowed heavily as the king’s words sank into her heart. Banished? Forced to leave the Danelaw forever? She would never see her beloved home again. If found on English soil, the first man to recognize her could kill her without being punished.

Where would she go? She would never see Elezer’s

smiling face again.

“I would go to my brother, Einar, and wed the man I love.”

The king showed an ominous frown.

Though she spoke bold words, Kerstin’s body

trembled. They had the power to banish her, but she would not cower before them.

“Kill her, sire,” Sigurd shouted. “She’s a witch. Burn her at the stake.”

Dread settled on her like a leaden weight. Being

banished was one thing. Burning to death was another.

Would her father allow it? She stood unmoving, hands clenched at her side, awaiting her fate. She longed to plead for mercy but doubted it would make a difference.

The king beckoned to her, smiling, not seeming angry that she still denied him. “Bring her here, Jonas. We will discuss this small dilemma.”

“I can walk on my own.” She moved forward on shaky legs. Jonas stood at her back and she felt surrounded by ravening wolves. Her heart hammered against her ribs. A chill rose at the nape of her neck.

The coals in the fire pit winked at her as she walked past, taunting her. Would her father forsake her if the king demanded she be burned? She no longer trusted him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Letta peek out of the storage room. Wringing her hands, the woman

whimpered and Alrik waved her and the thrall women away. Pity filled their eyes as they scurried from the 79

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room. Kerstin swallowed hard. Never had she been so alone.

Not even Elezer could save her.

Jonas frowned. “I believe she prefers Elezer.”

The king scowled and Kerstin clasped her fingers to keep them from shaking.

“There can be no union between this witch and my

son. She has been with another man.” Contempt filled Sigurd’s growl.

Kerstin gasped. “That’s not true.”

Sigurd’s eyes glittered like ice. “My people must have retribution. This witch is treacherous. She murdered my first son, now she has betrayed my second son with another man. I demand her death.”

Kerstin didn’t move. She barely breathed. Jonas’s arm bumped ever so lightly against her side and she had the impression he protected her, offering her his support.

What an insane thought. Surely he would welcome her death. She blinked, prepared to plead for her life.

The door to the hall opened. Glancing over her

shoulder, she watched Knut come to stand beside Jonas.

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his face stony, daring Alrik to send him away.

Bless Minin. She must have gone to get Knut. Yet, it did no good. If he defied the king, they’d kill him and she couldn’t live with that guilt. If Sigurd had his way, she would be put to death. She could not ask Knut to give up his life to save hers.

“You must not protect me. They’ll kill you, too,” she told him in a pitiful whisper.

His jaw hardened and his gaze moved to rest on the king. Knut did not speak a word, but she knew his mind was set on this course. She almost cried with gratitude and regret.

Father in Heaven, help me! Please don’t let me burn.

The king accepted Knut’s presence with a grudging nod, then turned his attention to the matter at hand.

“What do you say, Jonas? Will you still have this woman as your wife, or do you want her death?”

Kerstin felt the blood drain from her face. A lump of fear clogged her throat. She would be condemned or given life this very night. By Jonas. The man she betrayed.

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His shoulders tightened as he weighed his answer.

Reaching up a hand, he cupped his injured shoulder, kneading it. The gesture tore through her self-control. She knew he thought about the injury and humiliation she inflicted on him. He would never accept an apology from her. “I was compelled to do what I must,” she said in a low voice. “Just as you are compelled to order my death.”

Jonas’s mouth compressed and his eyes narrowed.

She saw his hatred and knew he would have her killed.

Perhaps death was preferable to being married to him.

Her heart thumped. A lone tear fell unheeded down her cheek. She felt clammy and weak. Her knees knocked together and she could barely stand.

And still Jonas stared at her.

“Let it be a merciful death,” she whispered in a

ragged voice.

He blew out a breath and reached a hand to wrap

around the slim column of her throat. She felt his fingers against her flesh, callused and strong. His grip tightened and she closed her eyes, accepting her fate. He would strangle her and it would be a blessing. He was merciful after all. To burn at the stake would mean terrible pain.

She opened her eyes and stared at his handsome face as he squeezed her throat. Her vision darkened, her world narrowed to only his sea-blue eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and she could not inhale. Darkness closed in as she found herself pulled into a dark void and everything went black.

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Blinking her eyes open, Kerstin squinted at the dim light in the room. She lay on her back, a thick bear robe thrown over her. She caught the pleasant scent of a birch log burning in the small brazier. Looking about, she saw the familiar surroundings of her parent’s chamber.

A bolt of sadness tore through her and she gasped, sitting up.

“Shh, lie down, or you’ll faint again.”

Minin? Here in the room with her? Relief swept her.

She wasn’t dead.

“Oh.” She clenched her eyes shut. How humiliating to faint in front of the king. Her brothers would tease her unmercifully if they found out.

But that would not matter if they intended to burn her. Opening her eyes, she stared at the wall where a lighted torch flickered. The door was open wide, allowing the tangy aroma of roasting meats and oat cakes prepared for the next morning’s meal to fill the room. It was still night. The chirp of crickets and the distant snoring of men inside the hall reached her ears. She moved her head to the side. Except for her hungry stomach, she felt wonderful.

She lifted her hand to her throat. She felt no soreness there, no pain at all. Jonas had not strangled her.

Believing he would kill her must have prompted her to faint. Why was she here in a comfortable bed? She had expected to be tied to a stake and burned alive.

Minin’s face appeared above her, worried and

careworn. The woman smiled, then drew back to speak with someone else in the room. “She is awake.”

The rustle of clothing and scuffing of a shoe on the hard-packed floor could be heard before Alrik sat beside Kerstin on the bed. His features haggard, every crease of his aged face seemed deeper and more pronounced. When 82

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had he come to look so old and tired? Now, he appeared vulnerable and sad.

He took her hand in his own and gave her a relieved smile. She remembered the kind man she had loved all her life. As a child, she had fallen out of a tree and was knocked senseless for several hours. She had awakened to find her father holding her hand, an anxious expression on his face. It had been the same when she nearly drowned so many years ago.

“Oh, Father,” she cried, launching herself at his chest.

When his arms closed around her, she melted against him. Father was here, he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. He would keep her safe, just as he had always done.

In the privacy of his room, where their people

couldn’t see her, she squalled like a little child.

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stared at his new bride. Her coppery curls fell about her shoulders like a silken mass of flame. He flinched at the sound of her tears. He did not believe she knew he was there. Could she be acting, or was her misery real? His first instinct was to ease her sadness somehow. To comfort and protect her. But a witch knew very well how to gain sympathy from those around her. He had met her less than two days before, yet his heart ached for her plight. Surely he must be under her magical spell.

Alrik didn’t speak as he held her. He pressed his rough face against hers, his eyes closed. The old warrior showed such emotion after demanding she wed a man she hated. Jonas had believed Alrik didn’t care for Kerstin.

But nay—Alrik loved his daughter.

Jonas tried to harden his heart to the tenderness of the scene before him, but he couldn’t. Over the past years, he had become inured to compassion. Frozen to any deep feelings or emotion. He had forgotten everything but anger and hate. Never had he expected to feel empathy toward his worst enemy.