The Heart's Warrior (32 page)

sounded hoarse, he stepped near the ship and touched the torch to dried kindling stacked along the sides until it caught flame. Haki and Halfdan cut the moorings and the lapping waves pulled at the vessel. It leapt free and sped out onto the river. With the high winds to fan them, the blaze ate hungrily at the war ship, a giant bonfire to celebrate Sigurd’s glorious life—and death.

This was the last honor they could give Sigurd. To send him to Valhalla in fiery glory, as a great earl deserved. As the ship moved away, Kerstin made out Sigurd’s body, lying still within the licking flames, silent and unmoving in a mass of fire and water. Almost

magical. The red blaze, the dark billows of smoke, and the golden glow of the distant horizon.

Jonas looked down upon his mother and opened an

arm for her to cuddle in against his side. With her arms wrapped around his waist, she stood beside him, watching the fading ship, as their people left to find their warm beds. This was a personal moment between mother and son. Kerstin should return to the hall, yet something kept her there.

Guilt. Regret. Perhaps both.

The ship was no more than a fiery speck in the

distance.

“He was a good man and we’ll never forget him.” Tovi smiled tearfully at her son.

Jonas squeezed her close. Tovi pulled free of his embrace and headed toward the path leading up to the 217

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hall. She caught sight of Kerstin, standing alone, her teeth chattering. Kerstin longed to say something.

Anything. But there was nothing that could take the pain from Tovi’s heart.

Tovi walked to her and Kerstin tensed. For several moments, the woman looked at Kerstin, her eyes red with tears. Her mouth opened, as if she wished to say

something. Then, she closed it without saying a word and trudged up the path.

Left alone with Jonas, Kerstin watched Tovi go. A feeling of helplessness blanketed her. She wished she dared follow the woman rather than stay here and face her husband. Something kept her rooted where she stood.

When she tried to comfort Jonas after Sigurd died, he spurned her. Dare she try once more? Jonas accused her of casting a spell over him. Now, she wondered if she was the one spellbound.

She looked at him, standing beside the quay, large and towering, solemn and quiet. Minutes passed and neither one of them spoke. Kerstin felt Jonas’s gaze upon her, probing deep into her soul.

He hated her. She was a burden forced on him by

their king.

Jonas approached, stopping an arm’s reach away.

Kerstin met his gaze. His face was tight and forbidding, his blue eyes sharp with suspicion.

“Why are you still here?” he asked in a harsh tone.

Kerstin swallowed hard and squirmed beneath

Jonas’s glare. Standing on the dock, she shivered as the wind changed directions and buffeted them. His shoulder-length hair danced about his shoulders. Her gaze centered on the hollow at the base of his throat. The urge was strong to look away, but she resisted.

She glanced up to see his dark scowl became a

perplexed frown. “What do you want?”

“Nothing. I-I wanted only to say I…I’m sorry.”

He snorted. “You don’t have to pretend you care.”

His words speared her.

“I’m not pretending, Jonas. I know what Sigurd

meant to you and Tovi—to all our people.”

Cocking his head to one side, Jonas’s mouth curved in a mocking smile. “
Our
people? Do you really expect me 218

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to believe you’re sad he’s dead?”

His words stung her more than his pounding fist

could have done. He knew so little about who she was.

Jutting her chin, she glared at him. “Jonas Sigurdsson.

You—are—an—ass.”

She turned to stomp away, but he snaked his hand

out and grasped her arm. Panic struck her. The memory of that night in the forest after Sigurd died flashed through her mind. Jonas had been angry enough to kill.

“Nay!” She swung her arm in self-defense.

He ducked to the side; she had forgotten how quick his reflexes were. Without his chest to stop the blow, she lost her balance and fell off the dock into the River Tyne.

Kerstin gasped. She plunged deep in the icy water but resurfaced, choking, wheezing for breath. Terror clawed at her throat. She couldn’t swim! She thrashed in the waves as she tried to propel herself to the dock.

She gulped great drafts of water into her lungs and coughed. Where was Jonas? Where was the dock? Her hair blinded her.

Under she went, again and again. She kicked her

legs but they became tangled in her long skirt. She sank deeper and deeper, the chill surrounding her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream that filled with water. She made a strangled hiss.

Her arms went numb. Blood pounded in her ears.

She would drown. That damned heathen they’d forced her to wed would now see her dead. He would stand there on the dock and watch her drown without lifting a finger to help her. Damn him! Damn him for killing her.

Strong arms lifted her, pulling her upward.

Jonas! He had come for her after all. Would he save her or push her under?

She didn’t want to die. She wouldn’t let him kill her without a fight.

Wrapping her arms about his head, she almost

dunked him under.

“Fool woman,” he shouted. “Hold still or you’ll drown us both.”

Fear and water choked her and she kicked, smacking her shoe against his shin.

Jonas yelped. He wasn’t gentle as he pushed her

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under. She let go of him, clawing for a hold on something solid. She couldn’t fight him. He would kill her.

When her head bobbed up, Jonas turned her and

forced her arms to her body. She fought him, certain he meant her death. Except to kick her feet, she couldn’t move. He was so annoyingly strong. They moved farther out into the river. Terror widened her eyes and she blinked her spiked lashes, trying to see clearly so she could get her bearings.

“Hold still,” he commanded in a hoarse voice against her ear.

Her teeth chattering, her legs and arms felt like heavy tree trunks. He pulled her under. Would he leave her there and let the river push her out to sea? She wouldn’t be missed. Not until morning and then her body would never be found. Jonas would be free of her. She would be free of him—and dead.

“Nay!” she cried.

“Stop fighting. You’re taking us out into the current.”

She didn’t understand. Maybe he dunked her merely to get her to cease struggling. To test his motives, she quieted for just a moment. It took every bit of will power she possessed to trust him. Her heart thumped madly, her veins near to bursting.

“Good. Now, put your arms around my neck,” he

ordered.

She did and he swam for shore. Relief enveloped her.

She coughed and her lungs burned as Jonas pulled her out of the water. Lying sodden on the pebbled beach, she sobbed with release. Her long hair clung to her shivering body. She dug her fingers into the gravel. She coughed and wheezed. The wind blew past, chilling her even more.

Jonas lay beside her. His ragged breath attested to how hard he had worked to get them to shore. Her gaze moved over his chest and arms. Goose bumps dotted his forearms. Sharp rocks dug into his skin. They both needed dry clothing.

“Little fool. Why didn’t you swim for shore?”

Kerstin glared at him, her teeth clenched against the shudders that swept her. She didn’t want to answer him.

“Why?” he persisted.

“Because I can’t,” she snapped.

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“What do you mean, you can’t?”

Turning her head away, she felt mortification heat her face. “I can’t swim.”

Silence.

She looked at him, out of curiosity and nothing more.

His eyes were wide with disbelief, his mouth

rounded. “How can this be? Your people live by the sea.”

“Ohh,” she groaned. Above all her flaws, there were three that always caused her much regret. First, she became ill whenever she sailed on a ship. Second, she couldn’t swim. Her irascible temper was her third. Her father reminded her of these flaws many times. What manner of Viking maiden was she? Other than that, her father told her she was nigh unto perfect.

Kerstin had her doubts.

She sat up, avoiding Jonas’s gaze as she brushed her drenched clothes. She couldn’t confide in him that water horrified her. Because of the near drowning when she was a wee child, she had never overcome her fear. Perhaps that was why she became so ill when forced to ride a ship.

She loved the lonely beauty of the river when she gazed at it upon an evening as the sun went down, but only when she stood safely on dry ground. With a sigh, she got to her feet and started up the twining path leading to the hall. She didn’t look back but knew he followed. She heard his quiet tread behind her, the crunch of gravel as it rolled beneath his feet.

The skirts of her dress clung to her body, molding every inch of her. She folded her arms across her chest, shivering. Staring straight ahead, she kept her gaze from wandering over Jonas. It was not every day a maiden found herself tromping about the yard with a tall, wet warrior. She glanced at him, finding him magnificent.

They arrived at the steading. In the yard, Jonas’s men lit several bright fires. She longed to crouch before one and warm herself. The low humm of men’s voices welcomed them, but those men stared as she and Jonas passed by.

She rubbed her arms briskly. Turning about, she

looked at Jonas, who strode close on her heels. Without a word, he brushed past her and went inside the hall.

Kerstin watched him go, keenly aware of him.

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Her teeth chattered. She must get warm, but to do so, she would need to join Jonas in their room and disrobe. And that could lead to other things. Knowing how he felt about her, she didn’t want to expose herself any more than she had to.

Oh, she hoped he dressed quickly. She hopped up and down to get warm, trying to give him time to pull on his clothes. Within minutes, she was colder than an icicle.

She thought her hands and arms looked the color of blue cornflowers.

The breeze swept her.
Burr!
She could stand no more and stumbled into the warmth of the house and hurried to her room.

Jonas sat upon the bed, dressed and rubbing his

sword with a smooth, oiled cloth. He glanced up as she walked in, then turned his attention back to what he was doing and paid her little heed.

Praise Freya, he had lit a fire in the brazier. She grabbed a fur from the bed. Throwing it over her

shoulders, she went to crouch before the tantalizing flames. She shivered.

“Do you plan to stay in those wet clothes?” Jonas asked without looking up.

Kerstin winced. “If you’ll turn your back, I’ll change.”

“I’ve seen all you have to offer. Change your clothes.”

Though his head remained bowed, his gaze lifted and locked with hers. She dared not refuse.

With a huff, Kerstin stood and threw off the fur. She rummaged through her trunk and found dry clothing.

Then, with her back to him, she undressed. Her hair hung down her body in sodden strands. As she reached for her dress, she saw she had his full attention. His eyes gleamed, his jaw locked.

She knew he would watch her. He was a man, after

all. What more could one expect? But his expression was so intense, so…exotic.

“You’re staring.” She pulled her dress over her head and jerked it down into place.

“Aye,” he said without remorse.

“It’s rude.”

He didn’t reply. Now clothed, she gathered up her comb and began to work the snarls from her hair, a 222

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painstaking chore.

Glancing at him, she saw he wore a frown. She took little notice of his mood as she again wrapped a fur about her shoulders and crouched before the fire to dry her curls. Tremors shook her, her fingers felt like sticks of ice.

Jonas appeared by her side and she tensed. He took the comb from her hands and sat beside her on the floor.

With nimble care, he began to comb out her hair.

Kerstin sat with her back stiff. She hated his cold aloofness. If only she could say something that might ease the tension between them. Nothing came to mind.

A chill caused her to tremble. He worked fast and it felt good as he ran his warm hands through her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned back, enjoying his service. Few men would do such a thing for a woman and she told him so. He snorted. His hands moved down her neck,

kneading the tired muscles of her shoulders.

She tingled with expectancy. When she remembered

all they had been through together, she felt like she had known him a thousand years. The way his mouth quirked up on the right side when he smiled, the flash of his eyes when he was angry or amused. His gentleness with her when he had no reason to be kind.

He kissed the nape of her neck and tremors ran down her spine. Turning her in his arms, he kissed her lips and she gasped with delight. She was lost. She couldn’t refuse him. She skimmed her fingers beneath his shirt, to caress the flesh of his solid back. He flinched and pulled her hands away, twining his fingers with hers as he brought her hands to his chest. He kissed her again and she forgot about the barrier of cloth between them.

Their passion turned bittersweet. She tried to push away the doubts niggling at her, but they remained like a cloudy day. Jonas still blamed her for Bjorn, Olga and Sigurd’s deaths. And what about Elezer? Would they just pretend he had never happened?

Love was a luxury she would never know. They could never resolve their problems and have peace. Too many barriers stood between them.

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The next morning, just before dawn, Jonas lifted

himself on one elbow and gazed at his sleeping wife. Lying on her stomach, her head was turned toward him, her arms burrowed beneath his pillow. Her reddish gold hair swept back across her naked shoulders. She had awoken him when she crowded his side of the bed, seeking warmth. She was decidedly a cover hog and he lifted a warm bear fur over her.