The Iron Princess (9 page)

Keeping her eyes closed, she turned around and grabbed a drying cloth off a chair, tossing it behind her.

“Thank you, Kat,” he said, soft and low. Her name on his lips felt intimate, like a tender caress. At least it did in her imagination.

“You are welcome,” she said curtly, and quickly returned to the other side of the chamber to comb her hair as if nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. So why was her face burning hot, her palms sweaty, and her heart racing out of control?

She would simply reject the idea that he had caught her looking at his backside. She would erase it from memory, just as she would erase the image of his perfectly formed naked back. It had never happened. She had never seen it.

“So, Turku,” he said as he dressed in the fresh linen tunic and trousers they had purchased. “Tell me more about it. You told me once that your birth father was from Finland.”

“Yes, he died before I was born, killed during the first Swedish crusade into Finland. His name was Urho Lyyski. My half brother by him has the same name and is the new chief of Korski, a village they built after Lylasku burnt down. But my mother’s family lives much further south, just outside of Turku. I was visiting them this summer when I met by chance with Otso. He’s originally from Lylasku and is very good friends with my parents.” She was speaking to the back of the wardrobe, continuing to comb her hair.

“Why do you not use your real father’s name? I would expect that to be an insult to your father’s family.” He walked around to face her. He stood very close to her, smelling very fresh and much too good. Katia wished he would back up a bit—either that or come much closer. This middle ground was torture.

“Well.” She tried to remember what they were talking about. “It is a bit of a long story.”

“We have about a month before we reach Lubeck. Do you think you can finish before then?” He smiled generously. She hated and loved it when he did that, his pearl white teeth showing and everything. The swirling storm of bees in her stomach had multiplied by a hundred.

“I will try to finish before the end of our meal,” she mumbled, looking him in the eyes. All she could still see in her head was his spectacular wet, soapy, naked backside.

“Good. Then I won’t have to bother coming up with dinner conversation. I hate having to think of polite questions and appropriate comments on topics I care nothing about,” he said, which made her laugh.

“Are you trying to convince me that you normally bother to come up with dinner conversation? If so, I confess I have not noticed.” She wiggled into her new leather over-tunic and added her new belt. She made a quick, single braid of her wet hair.

“Traveling with a girl who blathers on about every subject under the sun has taken the burden of entertainment off me. I didn’t say I was complaining.”

“Blathers?” She wasn’t sure if she should bite at that one—she did have a terrible habit of tittering away when she was nervous or overexcited, and at the moment she was both.

He opened the door for her. “Shall we?”

She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from smiling like a lovesick twit and moved toward the stairs.

A hearty meal of stewed meat and freshly harvested vegetables awaited them below, and Katia explained her history in between shoveling spoonfuls of stew into her mouth.

Lothair’s carefree air had infected her. She was . . . happy, joyful even; nervous, tired, and hungry yes, but underlining that was a rare contentment she could not remember feeling before.

***

Lothair ate and drank, hanging on to Katia’s every word. Her voice soothed him. The candles in the tables had burned down low, yet still they lingered.

Lothair had suspected the jarl to be an honorable man, but even so, to go against tradition and give his name to his stepdaughter spoke volumes about the jarl’s love for Katia. A sharp pain twisted in his gut as Lothair realized that his own father was not half the man as Magnus Knutson. The duke had put up false pretenses for political gain, hiding his bastard children and living a double life, while Knutson went against social norms to make his love for his wife and stepdaughter known to all.

“My father said that all his children would have a ring bearing the family crest, but that as his—” She suddenly seemed shy about her tale. “As the daughter of his heart,” she whispered, “he wanted me to have his father’s ring. Even though he was not my sire, he said I was his true firstborn. He had a hard time learning how to tell the people he loves that he loves them. So for years, he used to give us ridiculous gifts instead. You should just see some of my mother’s jewels. She nearly buckles under their weight. He is—” She swallowed and her smile left her face. “He is the greatest father a girl could have, and I . . . I lost his ring.” A single, heavy tear ran down her cheek.

“I guarantee you he cares nothing for that piece of gold compared to how much he values you,” Lothair said. She was twisting her lips to the side and he did not know what to say to make her stop looking so pained. “My father has a few things in common with the jarl. He thinks that gifts are better than words. Somehow titles and castles are supposed to make up for his inaction.”

She whispered with a sincere look in the eye, “The way the duke looks at you—he is very proud of you. It must be torture for him not to claim you openly.”

“No. He is only proud of himself and his own cursed bloodline to the German throne.” He began grinding his teeth. He should have never brought up his father.

“Someone once told me that situations are not black and white,” she said quietly. “That problems are complicated and sometimes cannot be simplified down to one answer.”

“Do not try to compare this, Kat,” he said, his temper flaring. “You know nothing about him, and you know nothing about me.”

She swallowed hard and looked down.

He felt like a worthless codpiece, growling at her to shut her up when he did not want to have to explain his true feelings. She had a loving and supportive family that announced their affection from the high walls of the Iron Kingdom. Lothair’s father had hidden him away; his mother was treated like nothing more than a servant.

He tried again to explain. “He calls me his nephew and makes up lies to explain my origin. He grants me titles and land, says he wants the best for his children, but he makes his true intentions well known. All he truly wants is an heir to carry his name and he will do anything to get it.”

“Anything but acknowledge your mother,” Katia said quietly. He looked up at her and did not see pity in her eyes, but understanding.

“My mother was his mother’s maid. Above stairs, she said she was treated with kindness, but below stairs she was treated like she did not exist.” He took a long drink of ale.

“Where is she now?”

“She lives in my house. She . . . she introduces herself as my head housekeeper when my father is about with his dignitaries and politicians.” He loathed admitting his part in the continued deception out loud.

“She must be a very strong woman,” she said sincerely.

“Strong? Being a man’s doe-eyed mistress for thirty years with no chance of ever being acknowledged as anything more than a serviceable slut; you think that is wise?”

“Do not call her that!” Katia’s eyes filled with hot intensity. “Is Tosha’s mother a slut? Is my half brother Urho’s mother, Leki, a slut? Those women do what they must to survive and work hard for their children. They are to be respected, not degraded.” She leaned in closer and pointed her finger in his face. “I have met many real sluts, spending too many summers at court. I also know of what a woman is capable of, how much suffering she must bear and how little choice she usually has in the matter of deciding her own fate.” She swallowed and stared at him more seriously than she ever had before. “I am sorry to tell this to you, Lothair, but you know nothing about women. You have no idea what we go through.” She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I know all I ever want to about women.” He glared back at her from across the table.

The innkeeper slapped his hand on Lothair’s shoulder and laughed. “Lovers’ quarrel? Makes a man wonder if they’re worth all the trouble, aye, lad.”

“I ask myself that question every day, sir,” Lothair answered.

“Truly, Lothair, I don’t mind.” Katia sat on the large, rickety bed. “After sleeping on the ground next to me all these nights, what is the difference in sleeping next to me on a more comfortable surface?”

“Some would say there is a big difference.”

Outside their door, a group of drunkards stumbled down the corridor, their raucous noise filling the dark chamber with even more tension.

“Most of my time spent away from Tronscar will never be repeated to anyone,” Katia said. “I promise to keep my hands to myself if that is what you are worried about.” She began removing her boots.

“Aye, Kat, you have me guarding my virtue more closely these days,” he replied dryly.

“I changed my mind. You should sleep on the floor.” She stomped around the large bed and flung the blanket back.

This infatuation was getting out of hand. She needed to get ahold of herself and find a cure for her unrequited love.

Lothair sat on a chair across the dark room, staring at her. Moonlight from the open shutters painted silver lines across his sharp features. He removed his boots and rose to push the heavy wooden wardrobe in front of the door for added security. He blew out the candle and she heard him removing his belt, his sword and dagger, then crossing the room to place them on the foot of the bed. He did not pull back the blanket but lay down on top of the bed, with all his clothing still in place.

“Sleep well, Kat.” He let out a soft exhale. Her eyes were closed and she imagined he was whispering it right in her ear.

“Sleep well, Lothair.” She turned on her side and let her body sink into the straw mattress. Clean, fed, and lying in a comfortable bed, life did not get more ordinary, nor more wonderful. She fell asleep quickly.

***

Katia carefully followed Lothair’s horse down the side of a densely wooded hillside. As she swayed in her saddle in time with the slow pace, her mind began to wander. The last week of their journey had almost felt like a holiday. They had hearty meals, better weather, and even though the evenings were getting cooler, they were warm and dry under the extra blankets and goatskin tent. Since their horses were well fed, they pushed them to travel faster throughout the day. The ever-changing landscape was beautiful, and riding every day was pure joy. She savored every sunrise and sunset, and shared soft smiles and easy conversation with Lothair throughout the day.

Lothair told her little things about his sisters. The oldest, Margery, had recently wed one of his good friends and lived only a few miles from his holding. He did not speak much more about his mother or father but he did tell her stories from his childhood. The tales of mishaps and adventure reminded her a great deal of her own brothers, and more than once she had to swallow back her tears of longing for home.

The evergreen forest that they were currently riding through had swallowed them up as if they were nothing more than small insects hidden within the thick fur of the foliage. Dry leaves and sticks crunched under their horses’ feet.

Katia gawked openly at Lothair as he rode ahead of her down the steep incline. He sat so tall in his saddle. She wondered what her brothers might look like when they were men of Lothair’s age. They all had Magnus’s sun-kissed auburn hair and dark blue eyes, except for her fourth brother, Aron, who had a softer blue, more like her grandmother’s. All of them would grow up too fast and set off into the world too soon, swinging swords, and no doubt charming silly girls.

A painful lump formed in her throat. She had to get back to Tronscar—she just had to. Her brothers still needed her. She had so much to teach them.

“Are you ill?” Lothair asked, snapping her out of her thoughts.

***

“Nay. Apologies. I will keep up.” Katia attempted a smile to hide her melancholy from him. As of late, Lothair had learned how to read and understand her moods and expressions.

“We can stop if you need to rest,” Lothair said. They were riding along a treacherous, steep path. She had been in a daze most of the day. She was taking a risk they could not afford.

“No, I am well,” she said, and he knew she was lying to him. “Just . . . homesick.” She smiled apologetically. “I was just thinking of my brothers. This spring, the twins will be twelve. They are all growing so fast.”

He had learned that Katia tried to cover every unpleasant moment with a smile. He wondered who had taught her such an imprudent behavior.

“Your mother was expecting a child when I was last in Tronscar. What did she birth?”

“Another boy. My father apologized to me this time. He said that he had once demanded that God give him sons and now that was all he was destined to receive.” She shook her head. Rays of sunlight bounced off her silken hair, distracting him once again.

“What did they name him?”

“Divine Spear.” Her shoulders shook with giggles. “Ansgar for short. He just turned four and is my current favorite.”

He could not help but join in with her laughter. “I thought you weren’t allowed to have favorites when it comes to children. Sounds a little mean-spirited,” he teased her.

“I am absolutely allowed to have favorites. Parents must love their children equally, not sisters. You get what you give. Zander put a family of snakes in my bed last spring. Trust me, you are allowed to have favorites.” She raised her brows playfully, her spirits lifting.

“I only have placid sisters. I will have to take your word for it. Perhaps when my half brother is born, you will advise me.”

“Your mother is expecting?” Her voice rose with an excited pinch.

“No, my father’s new wife is expecting.”

“New wife? I did not know the duchess had passed. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be—she did not pass and she is not missed.” He’d done it again; slipped into telling her more than he should, more than he told anyone. He could not understand why his defenses were so weak with her. “My father bribed the Pope to absolve his union with the duchess. Of course, he waited until the most politically opportunistic moment,” he said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his tone. “The duchess’s father had finally died, so there was no longer anyone to argue against the annulment. The duchess was unable to provide my father with a heir. On top of that, she happened to be a miserable witch that blocked my father politically whenever she could. It’s in her blood, she is first cousins with
Kaiser Rotbart,
or as you may know him, Frederick Barbarossa. She was caught betraying my father’s secrets to him.. I expect it was her form of revenge for my father being a shameless adulterer.

“Anyway, my father was able to find a man to testify before the cardinal that she had had relations before and after her marriage to my father. I don’t think anyone cared if it was true or not, but it gave him a reason to have his wife replaced with some new young princess to breed his heirs and forge new, stronger political alliances.” He stared straight ahead.

“I am sorry,” she said solemnly.

“Don’t be. Everyone got exactly what they wanted in the end. The duke sent the duchess off wealthy and happy with her Romanian lover. He got a new eager wife. Everyone is happy.”

“But what about your mother?”

He snapped his head around, glaring at her. “What about her? My mother is as rehearsed to smile as falsely as you do, Katia. She is fine.” The look of hurt in her eyes ruined him. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” she said with a serious expression. “It was deserved. I . . . I am sorry you are being forced to return home because of me. I wish things could be different.”

“If I had known Andrei was plotting against Sweden, we would have left. Besides, I must go home eventually.” He sent her a smile of consolation.

She nodded and looked back to the horizon. They were still at a high elevation and the outstretched dark green landscape seemed to go on forever. Lothair changed the subject.

“I remember the eldest twins, Hök and Stål,” he said. “Your current favorite is Divine Spear or Ansgar for short. Remind me of the others?” His tactic worked—her face softened.

“Aron is six—he still has a few years to learn how to truly be a devil—and Zander is short for lunatic or Aleksander. He is nine.”

“That is a lot of A names. Family tradition?”

“My mother has her way of getting what she wants, especially after cursing the house down with every birth. I swear she scares my poor father into submission every time.” She laughed and he could not help join in at the thought of the great powerful jarl bending beneath the will of his soft-spoken wife.

“So that is where you have learned it,” he said as they reached the bottom of the green valley.

“Learned what?”

“How to manipulate grown men with your softly spoken words and pretty smiles.”

“I have no idea what you are implying.” She blushed, fluttering her eyelashes in jest and leaving him blind to the four riders approaching at top speed from behind the tree line.

“Lothair!” She pointed and drew her sword.

Hooded bandits were descending upon them quickly, with weapons drawn. Katia charged the first approaching horseman before Lothair had time to react. He slashed the leads to free their extra horses and charged after her.

Shield held out to the side, Katia locked blades with the first rider, swords high in the air over their heads.

Lothair connected with the second, smaller rider and made quick work of dispatching his opponent with a slash to the gut and kick to the shoulder. He spun around to find Katia blocking a blow with her shield. She was bent near in half by the powerful force of the blow, yet was somehow able to slide off her horse and find her footing on solid ground.

The oldest of the four bandits had a long, gray beard and threadbare garments, and his horse was bone thin. Lothair would have normally just wounded the older man, but he did not have the luxury of being merciful. He had to get to Katia’s side. He pierced the bandit through the heart and commanded his horse toward Katia, who had chucked her shield and now had a sword in each hand, wielding them like a windmill.

She dropped down and with a swift, sure slash, knocked her opponent to the ground. As the man went down, she kicked his hand, sending his sword flying into the air.

Lothair yelled at her. “Get back on you horse—now!” He smashed the last bandit across the head with the hilt of his sword and the man crumbled to the ground.

She put her hands on her hips. Her swords were pointing out to the sides, nearly grazing him. “What were you thinking? We do not know these men. They could have been simply working for their overlords. They were clearly not trained soldiers. You did not need to kill him!” She pointed to the old man on the ground.

“I would not have had to kill him if you had not charged off and almost gotten yourself killed. Have you learned nothing?” He stood over her now, yelling down at her. She never even blinked, her eyes expressing her rage.

“What exactly was I to learn from this? How to be a barbaric, impulsive lout? Because that is what you are, Lothair.” Katia stomped off in the direction of her horse.

She rode hard and did not stop for over thirty miles.

Finally, they came to a shallow stream under a large bartek tree. The sun was slipping down behind the top of the forest, a dull gold hue enveloping the atmosphere. It would be a cold night, but it was much too dangerous to have a fire after what had just happened.

“We should ride a few extra hours tonight. Get as much distance as we can from this place,” he said, kneeling next to her, cupping the crisp, cool water from the stream in his hands. She nodded but did not look up at him. “So you are not going to speak to me now? I never took you for a sulker, Katia.”

“Sulker!” She snapped her head up and stood, pressing her lips tight together. He stared at her full, pouting mouth. He had an overwhelming desire to claim those lips and kiss the anger right off them. “Fine. Let us go.”

“We could rest longer.”

“No.” She pulled herself up onto her mount, sweeping her leg over the saddle in a simple move. She jerked the horse’s head and started heading off in the wrong direction.

“Katia!” He pointed west. It was good she was angry. Brodno was at least two days away and they needed to stay sharp. After they reunited with Lars and Tosha, the road to Prague would be faster but also more dangerous. Two men traveling with two beautiful females and a team of valuable horses would draw more attention than any one man would want.

***

As they approached the outskirts of Brodno, Katia’s heart began to sink. Her time alone with Lothair would soon be over and nothing had happened between them to bind her to his heart. In fact, she was certain their time alone together had made everything worse. Every day, she loved him more and he hated her more.

Sunlight reflected off the silver finial of the church steeple on the edge of town. The bright white exterior walls spoke to the wealth and prosperity of the large village. Houses with thickly thatched roofs lined the road, fat cattle lazed in the fields, and children were running about in loud noisy clusters, shouting greetings and offering apples for sale. The smell of freshly milled timber was in the air as they passed a group of men at work constructing what appeared to be a comfortably sized home. Brodno was the most prosperous village they had encountered on their journey so far. With the prosperity came a measured feeling of security, and law and order at work.

“Lars described an inn he had visited with his father in the past. We’ll try there first.” Lothair rode past Katia. They had said little more than two words to each other since they had been attacked. She nodded and tried to smile, but then remembered that her nervous smiles bothered him, so she just looked away instead. She wasn’t entirely sure what she had done to turn him so utterly against her. They’d fought over the bandits, yes, but it hadn’t been much worse than one of their usual spats.

The inn was empty of guests and clearly in need of paying customers. The hinges of the barn doors hung askew, looking as if one strong wind would take them clean off. Lothair offered the portly innkeeper half the profits from the sale of one of the warhorses in exchange for the entire top floor of the inn, while they awaited the arrival of their friends. The middle-aged innkeeper almost kissed Lothair but Lothair put his hand up in time to stop him and said that he and his wife were tired from their journey and would appreciate two bowls of stew, a bath, and to be left alone to rest above stairs.