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

by Sandra Lake

  The rawness was exquisite, the punishing pace rewarding. She pressed her face into his neck and cried out as she reached yet another intense peak. She feared they would never again have a moment this pure and consuming. He covered her mouth, kissing her with lasting ownership.

  Sovia curled her arm around his shoulder, holding up some of her weight. Her arm muscles were screaming with strain but already she knew she never wanted to let go. The sweat from Hök’s brow was running off him onto her neck, his sweet odor clinging to her skin, bringing her more comfort that she could not express. She was safe in his arms—exhausted and perhaps slightly bruised, but protected and breathtakingly well satisfied.

  Hök groaned loudly for the second time that morning, and buried his face into her neck, panting for air. She raised her hand and touched the side of his face, and brought her lips to his forehead.

  He jerked his face away and tossed her to the bed.

  She landed with an unexpected “oof.”

  “Don’t play your games with me, Sovia. What this is between us is practical. I need my child in your belly to secure your lands, so that they will pass on to my son and not some Norwegian bastard.” He pulled up his breeches and tied them angrily, as if nothing more had just passed between them—no tenderness, no passion, nor any gifts of pleasure given or received.

  Norwegian bastard? What would that make Leif? “And will you shun your firstborn when he arrives with his mother’s devil hair? Shall I start making plans to hide him among the field hands and mountain women?” she asked.

  “Any child born from my seed will be a child of Tronscar. I won’t have him poisoned by your plots or schemes.”

  She dropped her head down to the pillow and breathed in Hök’s scent, closing her eyes and pulling the fine linen bedsheet up over her shoulder. “The only poison our son is in danger of receiving is from your hateful heart. Hate is a poison consumed only by the one who produces it.” She curled her legs into her chest. She remembered the magical feeling of a life moving and growing inside her. When a child eventually was conceived, would it be a son or a beautiful daughter? She sighed and heard the heavy-booted step of her husband walking out the door.

  Hök had promised he would take her home, she remembered, as soon as she was a proper, obedient wife. She didn’t need his affections if she had her son. She smiled to herself and drifted off into a restful slumber.

  When she next woke, the sky was bright and blue, and a warm breeze coming through the window filled the chamber with a sweet fragrance of the forest in spring. She stretched and tossed off her sheet to find a bath prepared, along with a tempting tray of currant tarts and soft cheese.

  She hummed a merry tune as she bathed and dressed. She was truly Hök’s wife now. He may not like her, but he was an honorable man, and therefore Toraslotte would be safe, and that would mean Leif was safe. His brutal handsomeness and passionate bedding were added bonuses. Her future was bright indeed. Today was a glorious day.

  A light knock came from the door.

  “Come in if you dare. Yet be warned, Lady Sovia is within,” she said in a silly voice, with hopes of making the maids smile.

  Friherrinna Lida entered, a small basket in her hand. “I would inquire as to whether you have had a pleasant rest, but from the sound of your merry tone, I conclude that you have.” She smiled warmly and crossed the chamber to sit at the window seat.

  Sovia hesitated, not knowing whether to sit next to her mother-in-law, flee from the chamber, or hide under the bed. She knew little about mother-in-laws, only mostly the common generalities that they were never pleased with their son’s choice in wife, ordered their daughter-in-laws around, and complained about everything.

  “I hope I am not disturbing you?”

  Sovia shook her head and tugged at the side of her cropped hair, as if pulling on the jagged ends would somehow make them grow instantly longer. “No, friherrinna, you are not disturbing me, it’s only that I was not expecting company.”

  “Yes, Hök told me that you were tired and did not want me to bother you.” She patted the cushion next to her. “But what Hök wants isn’t always what Hök gets.”

  Sovia walked to the window and slowly sank onto the fine cushion. “The embroidery in Tronscar is lovely, Lady Lida. Am I correct in assuming it is your talent?”

  “How thoughtful of you to notice.” The matriarch slowly reached out and took Sovia’s hand and held it. “Something I have noticed of you, my dear, is how considerate you are to compliment every small detail that comes into your notice. You have a generous spirit, I think.”

  Sovia’s cheeks felt hot. She was not used to receiving compliments, nor kindness. “’Tis—I mean to say—I appreciate the hard work and effort that goes into so many small things that men at large seem to take no notice of. They have no idea of the time and careful consideration that goes into every meal, or even a simple dinner roll. A good dough is nothing to take for granted.”

  The friherrinna laughed and patted her hand. “You are a treasure. I am so glad Hök brought you to us. Though I was saddened to learn of the trying events in your past, my dear. I have been so lonely when Katia must return to Lübeck, I will enjoy having another female to converse with.”

  “As will I, Lady Lida.”

  “I have brought you something.” Lida handed her an opaque piece of cream fabric, trimmed in gold thread and delicate gold vines embroidered on the edges. Delicate beading formed flowers that adorned the corners. “Aron worked his magic with this gold wire and I think it would look lovely as a headpiece. Every princess needs a crown, does she not?”

  The artistry was exquisite. “I couldn’t possibly accept anything so fine. This must have cost a small fortune.”

  “Consider it a belated wedding gift.” Lida draped the transparent cloth over Sovia’s head and secured it with a delicate gold head ring.

  As Sovia traced the embroidery with her finger, the urge to cry swept over her. She was comfortable and familiar with people treating her with contempt and disdain, but kindness—that made her throat thicken with the strain to keep her emotions under control. “I—it is too precious for me. I’m not sure if your son would approve of me wearing such a fine garment.”

  “Forget what my son wants. This is my home and if I wish to give a gift to my new daughter, I shall. Will you call me Mother, my dear? We are family now, after all.”

  “I—you are very kind, Mother. My gratitude.” She could not bear to look at Lida, as she felt unworthy of such treatment. If Lida only knew the depth of Sovia’s past mistakes, she would surely be repulsed.

  “Would you care for a tour of the fortress? I would be happy to show you the gardens and the kitchens.”

  “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Good. Now, let us just change you out of my chambermaid’s frock and into one of your own gowns and we shall be off.” Without waiting for a reply, the matriarch began searching the one travel chest Hök had allowed up to his chamber. “Lanna said she saw that you had a yellow gown, which I think will go perfectly with your new veil.”

  Her mother-in-law pulled out a beautiful yellow silk overgown.

  “My dear, you have quite the beautiful wardrobe.”

  “They are lovely, are they not?”

  “Is the silk from Francia?”

  “East Francia. My father designed them and had them made just this past year.”

  “Your father designed them?”

  “Yes. It was very important to my father that I be the most fashionable woman in the room.”

  Her mother-in-law nodded. “He must have been very devoted to your care to take such an interest.”

  Sovia took a deep breath. My father, devoted?

  Chapter 18

  Sovia picked up the yellow silk and fiddled with the pearl beading. Oh, what extravagance her father went through for what he called an e
veryday garment. She sighed at the waste.

  “My father never took a wife after my mother died. He was not interested in women at all, you understand. I would have liked to have brothers and sisters.” But then again, that would have only provided her father with the means to exploit more children—nay, it was best she never had a sister. Sovia sank down into the chair across from the hearth. Her legs felt heavy with the flood of unpleasantness that weighed upon her once again. How much should she share with the kind, wholesome woman?

  Sovia was drained. She didn’t have the will or energy to lie and conceal the truth any longer.

  She bowed her head. “Once, my nurse Aina tried to explain my father to me . . . she said he has always been a . . . desperate sort of man. Perhaps he felt he was being a good father to me in his own way, in that he prepared me for the true nature of life at court. Possibly, the reason he allowed . . .” She took in a shaken breath. ”. . . men to use me was because he had been treated harshly by the world of men. He once told me I should be grateful that he took time to have me trained and have matters explained. Better to be the hunter than the hunted, was how he put it.”

  The friherrinna sat stiff and silent next to Sovia for several minutes, the birds serenading them energetically through the open window. It seemed like a contradiction to have such beautiful sounds as the backdrop to such a dark tale.

  “My mother died when I was three.” Her thoughts trailed off as she remembered the shine of her mother’s red-gold hair. “As I grew to understand the world better, I later began to believe that my father’s subtle cruelty came from a deep well of self-hate. He was always low on coin, always falling into company with those that would do him harm and exploit him. He learned the art of exploitation in return.”

  Lida stroked Sovia’s hand sympathetically. “And when he fell on difficult times, he put it on you to pay the price to get him out of his difficulties.”

  “What else are daughters good for?” Sovia said, trying to make a jest of her troubled past, but the kind woman only grimaced. “In truth, I was not much use to him at first.” Sovia shrugged. “I was not making a jest last night when I explained how I had the good fortune of learning to read Greek and Hebrew. I was not very attractive for much of my life. On the other hand, my father was a particular friend to an influential bishop, and with his help my father acquired a method of lining his coffers with precious treasures from every shore that we visited. My father used to seduce rich men, or their stewards—whoever had access to the coffers—and then he would threaten to exploit their secrets. You could say I had a most educational childhood.”

  “My dear, what you must have suffered, and yet you thrive in goodness,” Lida said. Sovia felt the shame and guilt that she tried to keep down well up inside her.

  “Friherrinna—”

  “Mother,” Lida said, softly correcting her.

  Sovia bit her lip. “I do not wish there to be falsehoods between us—I must tell you that I am all that your sons and husband know me to be. It would be repugnant of me to accept your words. I—my father forced me to bed men, on both sides of the last conflict . . . I lured them in . . . I took part—so that my father could exploit—I am not at all worthy of such distinction from you.” She raised her hands to the head ring to remove it, but Lida stilled her hands. “I am forever grateful to your son for his protection of Toraslotte, but it is true. I am not worthy to be his wife and certainly not worthy of this fine garment.”

  The friherrinna’s eyes glassed over with unshed tears. “Forgive my tears. I grieve for the innocence robbed from you. How old were you when your father first misused you?”

  Sovia couldn’t bear to look at the kind woman. “I must have it all said and open between us. Your son deserves far better than I. I swindled your husband those many years ago, and cruelly embarrassed your son.”

  “You never answered my question,” Lida said softly. “How old were you?”

  Sovia’s breathing stuttered. A ringing had started in her ears, and the chamber seemed to pulse with every beat of her heart. “Older than many girls who are forced to wed at the age of ten or twelve . . . I really have no one to blame but myself. I never said no and I never fought back.”

  “Of course you did not fight back. My dear, you were but a trusting child. You took no willing part in such wickedness.”

  “That’s not true. I never spoke up to refuse and I kept the gifts they would give me.” Although she never kept them for long. Whatever her father could not sell, Sovia usually found a way to burn or drop in the sea, sickened by the sight of the jewels and furs she had been given.

  “And do you hold those young girls to blame when—”

  Growing intensely uncomfortable, Sovia interrupted. “Never. A girl . . . a daughter does not even hold the power to decide when she rises and when she sleeps. The idea of blame holds the impression of choice in some way . . . yet with the things that I saw, I quickly learned the difference between a pure heart and a foul spirit. But I was different. I knew what I was doing and I always sided with my father. He always told me how much he loved me and how proud he was of me . . . I wanted to please him. It was not till many years later that I realized my father was not able to be pleased.” That realization had come the year her son was born, when she’d realized how pure and deep her love for her child was, and how murderous she’d felt in even thinking of her son one day being used by her father in one of his schemes. “I often wondered if he hated me from birth,” she confessed. “Perhaps his rare moments of kindness toward me were simply an act to keep me in line and do his bidding. Love was a weapon that he could turn against me.”

  “My dear, no words can express the sympathy I feel toward what you have suffered.” Lida reached out to put her arm around Sovia but she shrugged away.

  “I do not need or want anyone’s sympathy,” Sovia said, rather sharply. “I told you all this so that you may beware and understand the rightful mistrust your son displays toward me. Hök has every right to be distraught with his fate.”

  Lida swept away several tears that had fallen down her cheek, and regained her composure. “My dear, may I ask you if you have plans to carry on as your father trained you, and to work against my son?”

  Sovia squeezed Lida’s hand. “Never. I swear it. Tronscar will be a great ally to Toraslotte, and the more secure the region of Nidaros . . .”

  “The more secure your friends and loved ones will be.” Lida finished her thoughts, and sniffed lightly, dabbing her nose with an embroidered pocket linen. “The older I get, the only thing I know for certain is that it is not for me or for anyone to judge what a woman does to survive this cruel world and protect her loved ones. You must have kin waiting on you in Norway?”

  “I ache to see Toraslotte again. It’s more than an ache, it’s a longing pain I cannot describe.” Sovia kept her head bowed, suddenly unable to speak more, the threat of collapsing into tears looming ever closer. Leif’s sweet face was all she could think of. “I have the dearest of servants there,” she said. She hated the lie—yet her son’s security was more important than the truth in this case. “They are loyal to me due to their memory of my mother and grandmother.”

  Until she understood Hök better, she would be wise to keep Leif well protected. That thought tripped her mind down a new path of concerns. She needed to send word to Toraslotte before she arrived home with her new husband. Hunt and Aina must prepare a place to hide her son. Far too many people knew Leif was her child. Aina masked her son as one of the many orphaned children that Sovia housed in the principal keep, but many knew the truth—not all servants would do well concealing the truth from their new master from Norrland.

  “Was she as beautiful as you?”

  “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  Sovia pulled at her cropped hair. “Nay. She was a goddess. She had hair spun from gold and kissed by field berries, her eyes wer
e the color of the sky before it storms, and she had the body of a Persian dancer. She was loved by everyone.”

  “I am certain you look just like her.”

  Sovia tugged at the ends of her hair, not feeling up to making polite remarks about her looks at this particular moment.

  “I hope all of Hök’s children have their mother’s hair,” Lida continued. “Speaking of which, would you like me to . . . shape it a bit? Not shear it, only . . . cut a little on one side to make it even?”

  Sovia nodded and tugged the delicate gold head ring off her head.

  The friherrinna stepped in front of her and reached for a pair of scissors that she had brought with her in her basket. She cut Sovia’s hair in small snips, collecting the clippings carefully in her hand and placing them in a small pile on the table. “There.” She stroked her fingers through each side with a tender, gentle touch that Sovia was not used to.

  Sovia swallowed hard, willing herself not to cry. She accepted the helping hand of the friherrinna, and dressed in the yellow silk and set the delicate veil and ring on her head.

  “Lovely, simply lovely. May peace and prosperity bless you for the rest of your days, my daughter. Come, let us share a pleasant afternoon outdoors. Though we must hurry down to the kitchen first, for a moment. I want the cooks to have time to put in Hök’s favorite dessert.”

  “What is his favorite dessert?”

  “’Tis tradition that I make him my mother’s apple and berry tart before he departs on each of his missions.”

  “Departs?”

  Lida’s fine brows furrowed, baffled by Sovia’s question. “He requested an early evening meal for his departure for the port. He sails to Nidaros at first light.”

  “Huh!” Sovia’s hand flew to cover her mouth, holding in her exclamation of joy. Hök was taking her home! He was keeping his promise the night after they had made their agreement! She leapt up and headed quickly for the door.