The Heart's Warrior (20 page)

She rose from the bed and put the lid back on the pot of aloe before setting it aside. She didn’t speak as she gathered up discarded linens and tidied the room. She picked up the basin of bath water and was about to leave.

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“Kerstin, if I hadn’t awakened, would you have left today with Elezer?”

Her back to him, she halted before the door. When she spoke, her voice reached him, clear and strong. “You know the answer already. I would never betray my people by seeking refuge with the Eirikssons. I am no traitor.”

“But what about your brother, Einar? You could seek refuge with him at Orkney.”

“Aye, I could go to Einar at Orkney.” She nodded and turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. To see her eyes glitter with unshed tears surprised him. She left the room without answering his question.

Jonas lay back on the bed and relaxed, pondering on the woman he wed—a curiosity. Would she flee to Einar, or stay with him? He had no doubt her motives for nursing him back to health had been out of fear of the king’s wrath. But she didn’t need to bathe him. Servants could do that well enough, though they wouldn’t like the task. And she had taken the time to rub that ointment on him. Aloe, she called it. Jonas didn’t believe it would help his scars, but it did have a soothing quality. Already his skin felt softer, less tight. And he enjoyed the feel of Kerstin’s hands moving over him, soft yet firm, easing his tense muscles.

Aye, he wanted her. In time, he would take her to him and give her his child. Gradually, her love for Elezer would fade as she accepted her role as his wife. Though a bit reluctant, she seemed more tolerant of him now, yet he suspected she still longed for her former betrothed.

Jonas hardened his heart. Let her brood over Elezer all she wanted. She was his wife now, and nothing but his death would change that. And he didn’t plan to die anytime soon. He didn’t care if she hated him. He didn’t need her love.

Or did he?

The thought made him grimace. Somehow, he

wanted more, but he had long ago learned to live with life’s disappointments.

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“It’s a good day to die,” Alrik said as he smiled at Kerstin.

She stood with him in the middle of the yard and

came outside to bid him and the other men farewell. “It’s an even better day to live,” she replied in earnest.

A pleasant breeze teased the air, enough to stir the square sails of the dragon warships and speed them on to battle. Kerstin wrapped her cloak about her shoulders.

Though she wasn’t cold, trepidation filled her. How many times had she stood like this and watched her father and brothers go off to war or raiding? A normal occurrence, something most Vikings loved, yet Kerstin hated it.

Would she ever see her father again, or would he die in battle? She envisioned his beloved body, mutilated and bloodied, left for the wolves to devour. Who would see to his burial? Her heart pounded at the thought and tears clogged her throat.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I always return.”

Not worry? Her mother had died just last summer,

followed by her brother Tostig. She couldn’t stand to lose her father, too.

Then she thought of all Jonas had lost. His wife and brother, his body scarred. No wonder he was so angry.

“You’re not immortal.” Kerstin didn’t want her father to go. Yet, he must. Never would she ask him to shirk his duty to lead his people against oppressors. If they didn’t stop the Eirikssons, they could destroy all she held dear.

Dressed in full battle gear, Alrik stood tall and proud. With his shoulders pressed back, he looked younger than his years. The blade of his sword gleamed in the morning dawn.

“How handsome you look, Father.”

He returned her smile and patted the coarse woolen scarf covering her head. It hid her red hair from view.

Sigurd’s superstitious men believed she was a witch. She 133

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needed no accusations to ruin the day.

All around the steading, armed warriors stood

talking together or packing provisions and weapons to carry on board the ships. Women bustled about with supplies, bidding their sons and husbands a safe journey while making sure their little ones didn’t get trampled. By tomorrow afternoon, the men would be fighting a bloody battle with the Eirikssons.

The air smelled of dust and sweat. Kerstin welcomed a cleansing breeze that blew up from the river. She blinked several times and swallowed, forcing herself to be brave.

“You don’t have enough men to fight the Eirikssons.”

Her voice quavered.

“I’ve sent a ship to Ulster and then to the Orkneys to fetch Einar and Thorir. Your brothers will bring their men and come with haste when they understand our

need.”

Kerstin nodded, but her heart felt like a leaden

weight in her chest. They all would be at risk and she wished not to lose any of them. “I made certain the blacksmith was meticulous in mending any weak links in your chain mail.”

Alrik laughed, holding his conical helmet beneath his left arm. “I have no doubt you stood over his shoulder while he did the work.” He brushed his hand over her cheek. Though his face was lined with age, his gray eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“May Odin protect you.” Kerstin spoke in a strong voice as she turned her face and pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Aye, daughter, and also you,” Alrik whispered.

Kerstin fell into his arms. The links of his mail dug into the soft flesh of her cheek but she hardly noticed. He smelled of leather and wood smoke, for he had sat up most of the night around a fire, making plans with Sigurd.

“God be with you, Father. If He is generous, we will meet again.” Her broken whisper was for Alrik’s ears alone.

Though her father continued to worship his pagan

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and he made no comment about it. “Don’t cry, little one.

Your mother taught you better. Besides, you don’t want our people to think you’re weak. They’ll need your guidance while I’m gone. You must show your new

husband what you are made of.”

Kerstin nodded and dried her eyes. Alrik flashed her a self-assured grin. Then, bending down, he picked up his heavy pack and slung it over his shoulder. Turning, he headed toward the quay without a backward glance. It was their way.

As Thorir’s wife, it should have been Letta’s duty to lead in the absence of their men, but she was in no mental condition to do so. The chore should then fall on Jonas, but Kerstin’s people didn’t trust him. Awaiting her brother’s return, they would look to Kerstin for guidance.

One day soon, Jonas would take her to his home,

something she dreaded. No doubt she would be a stranger there, hated and reviled.

Kerstin looked toward the river where it meandered through the valley and out to sea. The azure waters wound around the rolling hills, clear and smooth as glass.

She saw the war ships, their sails whipping in the wind.

Hundreds of ships filled the river, their square sails striped blood red and vivid green. Their dragon prows led the way to victory or death.

Kerstin heard the beat of a drum, its low, bass tone keeping pace with her heart as the men rowed away from shore. Clenching her jaw, she turned from the river and faced the hall. Her husband stood beside Sigurd as the elder man sheathed his mighty sword and adjusted his gleaming helm upon his head.

Dressed in a loose, woolen shirt and trousers, Jonas wore the knife used to threaten Elezer the day before. His gaze rested on Kerstin but he didn’t smile. He looked ashen and gaunt. The illness had taken its toll, but his eyes were still fierce, his jaw harsh. His appetite had returned and she knew it was only matter of days before he was well again, though his wound would take longer to heal completely.

He stood straight and tall, but no doubt he did so to keep from showing weakness before their men. She had washed his long blond hair for him earlier that morning 135

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and it brushed the tops of his shoulders, fine as spun glass. In his eyes, Kerstin saw his regret and damaged pride. Because of the wound, he wouldn’t be able to join the other warriors.

Just this morning, Kerstin had entered their room to find him standing naked in the new dawn. Unaware she watched, he had hefted his sword and tried to swing it in a cutting arc, a lunge and thrust. He grimaced with pain and dropped the sword, a vile curse upon his lips. Only she had seen his mighty shoulders slump with fatigue. He swore bitterly, unwilling to admit any weakness.

When he had discovered her watching, he glowered

at her. She laughed and changed his bandage. His dark looks didn’t scare her. As he sat beneath her

ministrations, he stared at her face. When she finished, he pulled her close for a torrid kiss sending tremors of delight down her spine.

She did like kissing him.

Now, in the yard, Kerstin looked away and shifted beneath his gaze. When Knut approached, she welcomed the distraction and breathed a sigh of relief. “Guard Father well, my friend,” she told the giant Viking as she placed her hand on his arm and nodded at Alrik’s

retreating back. “Last time, if not for you, his injuries would have caused his death. I want both of you home safely.”

With an obedient nod, Knut’s words reached her

above the loud voices in the yard. “He has had several close calls and I’ll guard him with my life. But I fear to leave you alone. There are dangers here.” He inclined his head toward Jonas and Sigurd.

“Sigurd will go with you and Jonas wouldn’t dare

harm me.”

He showed a doubtful frown but nodded. Then, he

strode over to where Minin dragged his pack out of the hall. Though heavy for a woman, Knut picked it up as if it were a feather and pulled Minin to him for a hearty kiss.

As he walked down the trail leading to the quay, Minin’s face showed a moment of uncertainty, then it vanished, replaced by a happy smile.

The women worried for their men, yet they pasted

smiles on their faces so they could stand to let them go.

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Soon, Kerstin would bid Jonas farewell. She tried to tell herself it would be no great loss if he fell in battle.

So, why did she feel hollow inside when she thought of never seeing him again? ****

“I’ll not be there to guard your back,” Jonas said to his father. His gaze shifted from Kerstin, who stood conversing across the yard with several of her father’s men. A scarf covered her burnished hair and he found himself wishing she would pull it free and let him look upon the willful curls.

Sigurd gave a carefree laugh. “You haven’t been

there to guard my back these past two years while you’ve been away fighting. Clovis has seen to it.”

Jonas stared at his father, his mind troubled. “Clovis is in the enemy camp, spying for us. I only hope he gets word to us soon of the Eirikssons’ plans. You’ll be alone in battle, Father. Have a care.”

“Ah.” Sigurd waved his hand. “Don’t worry about me, son. You’ll have a greater battle to fight here at home.” He jutted his chin toward Kerstin.

Jonas didn’t smile. “She is a headstrong woman.”

“Aye. An unusual woman, difficult to handle. With her temper, I’ll wage she’s fire in the sleeping furs.”

Sigurd gave a delighted laugh and held out his hand. A necklace rested on his open palm.

Jonas took the adornment and stared at it with awe.

“Is this the arrowhead Kerstin dug out of my shoulder?

“The same.” Sigurd nodded. “Remember the witch

put it there. I thought you’d like it to remind you to be wary of her treachery.”

Jonas chuckled and closed his fist around it. “I’ll remember.”

“What will you do about her?” His father asked with an amused grin.

Jonas smiled. “Why, I’ll do what any good Viking

would do with his woman. Keep her abed until she ripens with my child.”

Sigurd hooted with laughter and slapped Jonas on

his good shoulder. Jonas grit his teeth to keep from flinching as it still jarred his wound.

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“You’re a fine son, Jonas. No better could I ask for.”

“There was once another.”

Their smiles faded.

“Aye, Bjorn was a great man. Pity that he didn’t die in battle, a sword in his hand. I can forgive the witch everything but that. She cheated my son out of his birthright. He should have gone to Valhalla, with the other warriors.”

Jonas frowned. He believed a Viking warrior could not get into Valhalla unless he died in battle, his sword clenched in his hand. Clasping Sigurd’s arm, he stared him in the eye. “I promise you, Father, Bjorn will be in Valhalla with us. If I have to fight the very angels of Hel to drag him in, Bjorn
will
be there.”

A half-smile curved Sigurd’s mouth. “I believe you, son. If any man could do such a thing for your brother, you could.” He paused. “If something should happen to me, you’ll see to your mother and lead our people.”

Jonas nodded at this statement. “You know I would, but nothing will happen to you.”

Satisfied with this, Sigurd turned and went with his men down to the quay, where he boarded a war ship and took his position at the front of the prow. Jonas followed him, raising a hand in farewell as the ship sailed away from the dock.

Though they had not spoken the words, the two men knew one another’s hearts. Warriors did not speak of love, but no two men loved one another more. Sigurd could fall in battle, with no one to defend his back. The thought made Jonas’s heart pound. How he wished he were strong enough to join his father. Muttering a curse, he prayed Sigurd would be safe.

Turning, Jonas made his way back to the steading.

Normally, the trail wasn’t difficult for him to climb.

Today, when he reached the hall, he huffed for breath, his lungs burning.