The Northman's Bride (A Sons of the North Romance Book 3)

by Sandra Lake

  Hök yanked the fork out of her hand. “What is Pavlik the Pitch to you? What do you know of him?”

  “You’ve met the man?” she asked and picked at a roll, focusing her interest on the food rather than the question.

  “Answer my question!”

  “Pavlik and my father were allies, like your brother-in-law just said. What more is there to tell? He has black hair, hence they call him the pitch.” The less she said the better. She stuffed a roll in her mouth, but with Voinovich’s memory filling her brain, her food was suddenly sitting wrong.

  “Pavlik is a degenerate warmonger, a sworn enemy of Tronscar. A trusted informant has reported that you and your father were his agents. What you know of that madman, you will tell us,” Stål demanded. He was sitting on the other side of Sovia’s chair, so she had no need to raise her voice or turn her head for him to hear her.

  “I have nothing more to add. You have already given the perfect description of Pavlik—I know not how to improve on it.” She tapped her finger to her lip. Changing the focus of the discussion was all she could think to do. Provoking an argument would serve her plan to be ejected from Tronscar. “But, then again, now that I think on it, the description of your enemy as a madman, is the same reasoning I have heard every king and ruler use to justify charging headfirst into one war or another, sending young warriors to die on some foreign shore.” She avoided Stål’s eyes by working on cutting her meat into bite-sized pieces.

  From further down the table, Katia said, “You missed that the basic principle of war is not to die defending your country against degenerate swine, such as Pavlik, but to make the bastard die for his.” Her sister-in-law bit into a crisp piece of cabbage to punctuate her point.

  “That is a sound theory, but a touch simple, don’t you think? War with a foreign country begins when the ruling classes think they are going to profit from it, is that not so? It sounds grand and noble to speak of cleansing all the Baltics of godless, mad rulers. I agree it is an excellent subject for bedtime stories for your children—but let us speak the truth amongst the mature family members. Kings only go to war for two reasons: profit and greed. Greed for more power. Profit of more land.” She speared a piece of elk roast. “Is that nutmeg in the seasoning?” She peeked down the table to the friherrinna and found the woman smiling broadly, in direct contrast to the other heads that were turned in her direction.

  “Well spoken for a whoremonger’s daughter,” Stål said bitterly.

  “Stål—” Hök slammed his knife into the table and began to stand, but Sovia cut him off. She cared not for the insult—in fact, she wanted them to dislike her. The sooner they forced Hök to get her out of Tronscar and back to Toraslotte, the better.

  “I readily accept my role as villain here, for is it not true that war does not determine who was right or wrong in a conflict, but only who is left standing at the end? So I’ll play my fated part as daughter to a traitor and your enemy, but let us not deny the universal truth that all war is a sin against humanity and all of God’s creation.”

  “A whore who champions for God’s moral virtues?” Katia laughed. “How amusing.”

  “Katia!” Hök snapped. Sovia had actually started to feel a touch sorry for him.

  “I understand that you and I both have seen a battlefield, my good sister,” Sovia said. “Would you not agree that only the dead have seen the end to war? The living continue on for another day, and therefore shall fight another day.” In Greek, she quoted one of her favorite passages and then translated for the table, “‘Vengeance is mine said the lord.’ Are we to believe that was God’s purpose for mankind, for his creation that he formed in his image, was for us to be born, to be loved by our mothers, and then sent out into battle by our fathers? Is that the purpose of the life God intended for us all?”

  The hall echoed with the sound of a single clang of a cup dropped to the ground, far across the hall.

  “That was well said, my dear,” Lady Lida said, after many minutes of silence. She directed her words to Sovia alone. “Surely in God’s eyes, no one won the last war, and no one will win the next. Mothers and fathers, wives and children, will always be the ones whose hearts are defeated on both sides of any conflict.”

  The jarl stroked down his wife’s cheek with the back of his knuckle and softened his eyes upon her. “And God’s solution to man’s violent heart was you, my love, the caretaker of life and comfort to men. Yet the world that surrounds us does not have a mother’s heart, nor did God design it as such. We secure peace only by being ready and willing to do battle with those that would threaten our shores. It will be for God to judge each man’s soul when he meets his end.”

  The jarl tore his attention away from his wife, whom he openly adored, and turned his sharp gaze upon Sovia once more. “I will grant you this, the optimal strategy in war is to conquer your enemy without raising a blade in battle. It is not enough to speak poetic words about not waging war—it is necessary to love peace, sacrifice our pride, and to bend our free will to serve stability.

  “Whether you be friend or foe to Tronscar, Lady Sovia, my son’s sacrifice for peace is noted,” the jarl said. He turned his focus back to his lady wife, whose loving gaze had instantly turned icy, evidence that she was none too pleased with the jarl’s final comment.

  “May we all partake in the rich blessing of peace that this sanctified union has brought us,” he added, inclining his head toward Hök.

  The friherrinna lifted her jewel-incrusted chalice toward her son, and the hall raised theirs with her. “To my son, Hök, and his wife, our welcomed daughter, Lady Sovia.”

  “To Hök and Lady Sovia,” the hall said in unison. Sovia felt increasingly queasy. Uncertainty was a state that she never could get used to, though she had so much of it in her life that she should have been well versed by now.

  As Jarl Magnus and Friherrinna Lida returned to their food, conversations broke out across the hall. Hök ignored her and conversed with his mother, while Sovia pretended to pick at the meat left on her plate.

  “I assume you must scorn the food before you,” her husband’s twin said. He was leaning forward onto the table, forcing Sovia to raise her eyes to him. His large, discerning eyes were locked on her, scrutinizing her, waiting for her reply.

  “Why must I?” she asked, not returning his gaze but for the smallest of glances.

  “Because by your reasoning, the food before you is provided through ill-gotten gains,” Stål said.

  “My father was a liar, a cheat, a murderer, and a thief, and those are only the four most prominent qualities that spring to mind. If I were to reject all nourishment through ill-gotten gain, I would have perished of starvation long ago.”

  “Enlighten us on when you have had the time to study the art of war and strategy while serving all these years at court,” Stål said dryly. He left little doubt in his tone of what he meant by serving.

  Her husband exploded up out of his chair, his twin the target of his wrath.

  But having a ruined reputation had certain advantages, one being that Sovia could speak her mind without fear of further ruin. She was not about to let Hök steal away her fun. She raised her hand and touched the center of her husband’s chest and he halted instantly. His eyes on her were heated, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check.

  Sovia turned her attention to her brother-in-law. “Even a simple-headed woman, given the opportunity of course, can learn to read, brother Stål. A bishop who was friends with my father took a liking to me for a time. He educated me for many years. The Norwegian court, unlike many courts that I have frequented, was progressive and allowed women to visit the great library, a practice I continued even after my face grew to fit my teeth.”

  “You studied philosophy?” Katia scoffed.

  “I preferred the history of kings in the Hebrew scrolls. The Greeks tend to contradict themselves too much fo
r my taste,” Sovia said, taking a sip of wine.

  Katia’s head tossed back with a laugh. “Your study of Jezebel must have been riveting, for you have her so well perfected, right down to your harlot-red hair.”

  A throaty sort of angry growl came from Hök. For certain, he must regret bringing her down to dinner. The poor man had taken less than two bites of his meal, he was so distracted by glaring down any family member that lobbed an insult in her direction.

  Sovia touched the jagged ends of her hair. “’Tis true, sister, vanity makes us fools. I admit I miss my hair,” she said, and then sat up straighter. If she did not register the insult by acting sorely, then the perpetrator would have missed their intended target. “Nevertheless, I will share with you one sound theory I have learned from my studies on how to prevent war. If a general or ruler was forced to pay his debts for his last campaign of wars in full before starting his next ambitious, bloodthirsty rampage, the well of resources that feed such campaigns would be dried up and the flood of tragedy would slow to a trickle.”

  Katia raised her fork, pointing at Sovia but no words came out. Finally she said, “That’s not a half-bad point.” Her brows pinched together. It was clear she was not happy to agree with Sovia.

  Sovia leaned forward, avoiding Stål’s disapproving gaze, and locked eyes with the woman down the table. Lady Katia cowered for no man and wielded her sword and influence across the northern shores with a good measure of justice. She was a woman worthy of study.

  “Minstrels and storytellers only write and sing of the rulers and generals who acquire their kingdoms through stealing their neighbors’ land, in the name of security, but yet the true intent is expansion of their kingdoms,” Sovia said. From beside her, Hök groaned in annoyance and flopped back in his chair, and his mother shushed him. “Kings of peace and compromise are forgotten.” She paused, wondering if it was wise to continue. She decided to press on. “Attila was a fierce leader. But, his people’s safety and security was not his aim. Conquest and expansion of his power was. Hannibal wasn’t satisfied with holding his position as the leader of the Carthaginian forces but marched against Rome. All gluttonous, power-hungry men will not think twice about overextending their troops and bleeding their countries’ coffers dry.”

  Katia had a soft smile on her lips and turned to one of her younger brothers. “Grandmother always said, ‘When a man steals his neighbor’s cow, he is called a thief and hanged. If a man steals his neighbor’s country, they write songs in his name and call him a Caesar.’”

  Hök chuckled softly. “I forgot how she used to love to say that.”

  The mood was becoming far too comfortable again. Sovia needed to needle her new family further, to ensure she got what she wanted: ousted from Tronscar. “And lest we forget, Eric the Victorious.” Sovia tuned her head and caught the angry expression of the jarl. She quickly returned her eyes to her plate. “He wouldn’t be satisfied to rule a single realm—all of Sweden had to come under his control, did it not? He claimed to desire to unite his people but truly, was it not for a bigger crown and castle? Has Sweden seen ten years of peace since that day?”

  Hök leaned into her chair and whispered harshly in her ear, “My father is a direct descendant of the House of Eric. I am from the House of Eric.” Of course Sovia knew they were of the House Eric. Insulting the host and being ejected from Tronscar as fast as possible was her mission.

  Katia bobbed her head slowly, in a sign of cautious agreement. “And don’t forget that dog Valdemar the Great,” Katia said. “Sorry, Father, I know he’s your old friend, but ’tis true. He claims his war is to stop the raiding of his coast, but we all know his real aim is to claim the islands of Pomerania and Rugen.”

  The baron raised his hands and covered his daughter’s ears. The child was already half asleep in her father’s lap. “Katia, what have we discussed? Politics at the table is a bad influence on the children.”

  “Lothair, this is a special occasion.” Katia pinched her brows together again and turned her attention to her son, who was sleeping in her arms.

  With her arms aching to hold her own child, Sovia reached for her chalice of wine, held it to her lips, and closed her eyes.

  With Hök distracted by speaking with Lady Lida, Stål leaned toward Sovia. “Your talent to manipulate and direct conversation is impressive. You have effectively created a smokescreen to keep from answering my question of whether you are still working for Pavlik, but perhaps your clear intent to steer my family astray answers my question for you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Be warned, Lady Sovia. I see through you. I will not allow you or Pavlik to ever hurt my brother again.”

  With the visions of Pavlik and Voinovich crashing around her head, stress, sadness and a sudden weariness of heart took her over. The room began to spin. She was going to be ill. She sprang up from her seat, lifted the hem of her skirt, and moved down the steps to the lower level, where she was met by the young maid, Lanna.

  “I beg of you, I need to escape for a moment.”

  Chapter 14

  Hök was trying to appear relaxed and enjoy his meal, but he couldn’t help straining his eyes, scanning every archway. He felt unsettled while Sovia was out of his sight.

  “How far along is she?” his mother asked quietly, lightly resting her hand upon his clenched fist.

  “How far along is what?” Hök asked and took a gulp of his ale, forcing his fist to unclench.

  “Your wife, Lady Sovia, she is increasing, is she not?”

  Hök sputtered ale across his plate. “She better bloody not be.”

  His mother patted his back. “These blessed events do not take more than a few weeks to take root, son.”

  “She is not with child.”

  “The signs have already begun. She has the nose of a spice merchant, the appetite of a bear, and turned green at the first sniff of wine. I’ve experienced the unpleasantness more times than I care to remember. I will send for my midwife and she will confirm for you the happy report.”

  Sovia had bled on the voyage north—of that distasteful truth he was well aware. His shoulders slid back down. She had spent every hour since their wedding closely guarded and every waking hour in Hök’s presence. She could not be carrying any man’s child. A wave of relief passed through him and he picked up his cup again as his stomach resettled. His mother was an incurably softhearted idealist who would be glad to see every man and woman paired off to breed more offspring for Tronscar. She was a good mother, albeit a bit lunatic in the matters of the heart.

  “Sovia is not with child; I assure you, she will never be,” Hök said with a bit too much enthusiasm, catching the ear of Tero, who as of late was becoming too nosy for Hök’s liking.

  “I beg you to reconsider, young master Hök,” Tero said, raising his hand from further down the table. “The king and Jarl Brosa have—”

  “The king and Brosa have done enough damage to my brother,” Stål said, jumping to Hök’s defense.

  His mother’s face sank into a frown of concern.

  Hök slipped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Fear not, Mother. You have far too many sons who will marry well and breed you a herd of fine Magnussons. Stål here will sire several sons at the least, and Katia has already given us more than we can handle with her two little demons.”

  “Did she suffer great injury at her father’s hand, then?” his mother said. “Is that the reason for her barrenness, because my woman in the village can do wonders with a blend of—”

  “Mother, I beg you, no more. Sovia’s barrenness is not a concern of yours,” he said gently. “She is here to sustain peace with our neighbors, not breed some crimson-haired spawn.”

  As the last words left his lips, Sovia returned to the table and serenely sat back down into her chair, next to him. Sard. He regretted his choice of words.


  His mother shoved his arm off her and reached across him to touch his wife’s arm. “My dear, you look pale. Would you like me to see you to your chamber?”

  His wife flinched away from the touch of concern. “Do not trouble yourself,” she said. She didn’t raise her eyes to look at his mother while she spoke. “May I return above stairs, Hök? Or have you found a new place you would prefer to jail me for the night?”

  He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. She squared her shoulders, nodded her head toward his parents, and glided from the dais, leaving the normally boisterous family table eerily quiet.

  Hök could sail his fleet directly into the gale of the worst of winter storms, but raising his eyes to meet his mother’s gaze at the moment seemed to be a feat he did not have the conviction for.

  “I suppose there could be an argument made that she at least holds value in stirring lively conversation,” Katia said, sending Hök a begrudging grin. “At least she’s not dull.”

  “Not dull? Have all of my children been raised so selfishly and sheltered that they do not understand the ways of the world? What that poor creature is, is a beautiful girl born to a dangerous man.” His mother, who almost never lost her temper, slammed her open palm on the table. “She is a person, deserving of our kindness like any other.”

  “Aye, yet, Lida,” his father said, with a distinctly meeker tone than he used with the rest of his family. “This girl wounded our son without mercy only a short time ago. She first revealed herself as a liar and a person not to be trusted.”