by Sandra Lake
Casis had quietly made inquires for Hök and discovered that over the years, Baron Losna had been a frequent guest in Ryazan, Voinovich’s family home. The thought of his wife there, among those men, had robbed Hök of sleep for the past few days. “She is a woman without shame, without honor,” he said.
“Then give her some! She has no honor because it was stolen from her. What innocent child willingly lays down their virtue for coin? Do you think I fault her for setting a trap for you in her chamber that night?”
“She lost her virtue long before that night.”
His father glared at him. “Losna forced dishonorable acts on his own child. If I could dig him up and castrate him, I would. Sovia was molded from a tender age to do her father’s bidding. Forced to submit. Your wife is courageous and clever, and carries an unbreakable spirit. She managed to survive her harrowing formative years, and transformed herself into a powerful creature of whom I am not sure you are worthy.” With that, his father nudged his warhorse to gallop, flicking mud into Hök’s face.
The rain had faded to a mist and the evening fires were lit by the time they dismounted at the entrance to their family keep. Inside the great hall Hök was received with none of the usual smiles or embraces.
The hall had filled early due to the rain, and groups of men played dice around the tables, mugs of ale in hand. But Hök did not see any of his family members.
He took the stairs to his chamber, arriving at his family’s private floor to find the corridor crowded. Guards, servants, a priest, chambermaids all turned their heads to see who had arrived, and halted their hushed conversations. Shoulder first, Hök squeezed through the bodies, and found the door to his chamber open.
Pike turned and raised his hand to bar the intruder. “Oh. It’s you.”
“My chamber, no?” Hök pushed in. His brothers stood in various positions, while his sister and mother sat on the edge of the bed, his niece and nephew sitting cross-legged on pillows.
Speaking in his ear, Stål said, “She won’t eat. Hasn’t for a week. We have to force her to drink even water.”
“Your last report said she was fine and improving.”
“She was. From what we put together, she scaled out my window, and spent three days hiking before we found her. She . . . We found her blind and near dead. Her eyes were badly burned by the snow glare.”
Cold settled under his skin.
His brother remorsefully added, “She seems she’s lost the will to live. The healer is not certain if she will fully recover her sight.”
Chapter 25
“Who was with her?” Hök hissed.
“We found her alone. Only one set of tracks,” Stål said solemnly, his eyes fixed with concern on Hök’s bed.
“Who helped her?”
“She tricked Ylva into trading her some boots and clothing for one of her silk gowns. Other than that, she planned her escape alone.”
“Escape,” Hök grunted. “She abandoned a well-protected home to risk her life to prove a point.”
His brother grabbed his arm and pulled him in closer. “I do not believe it was like that, brother. Her spirits have been low since you left. I believe she acted from profound desperation.”
Hök pulled free and stepped closer to the bed. His mother looked to him first. She grimaced and with sad eyes looked back to the small heap on the bed.
He took another step closer to the bed and he saw Sovia’s head raise a small amount.
“The demon has returned, children. We must hide.” Her voice was small and weak. His niece and nephew giggled and ducked under the sheets.
Meow, Meow.
“Shhh, Hercules. He will hear us,” his nephew Rikard whispered loudly.
“Rikard, shhh,” his niece Inga said. “And stop holding Hercules so tight. You’re hurting him,”
“Come now, children. Let your aunt rest. Perhaps she will eat her diner and you may visit her in the morning,” Katia said.
“No, don’t make them go.” Sovia protested feebly.
“The bargain is playtime in exchange for eating, Sov. You know the deal,” his sister said.
Sov? Who the hell was Sov and when the hell did his sister become best friends with his wife?
Hök came around the other side of the bed and kneeled. Sovia’s face was snow white, with dark rings around her eyes, cheeks sunken and lifeless. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Her lips hardly moved. “Your hand is cold and damp. Is it still raining?”
“It just stopped,” Hök answered quietly.
“I love to ride in the rain. It makes one feel so alive, does it not?” she said, her eyes still closed.
“You have created a fair amount of trouble since I’ve left, and they tell me you are not eating. How are you ever going to earn your way to Toraslotte if you continue to disobey?”
“Go to the devil, demon bird,” she said with weak conviction. “I shall win and arrive first in hell and be waiting for my turn to pester you there.”
Hök looked to his mother, questioning. Had his wife lost her mind entirely?
“She had an unfortunate run-in with a hungry hawk on Firbark Mountain from what we put together,” Katia said.
“Demon bird tried to eat her babes,” Inga said angrily, turning up her nose.
The sheets around Sovia’s stomach moved, and a small lump crawled to the side of the bed. Another lump crawled from her back to the pillow.
“Sov’s babes,” Rikard explained with a serious nod and then picked up a white-and-brown-spotted ball of fur. “Don’t eat dem.” He pointed his finger, threatening his uncle.
“I’ll pass for now, thanks.” He pulled the sheet down and found another fur ball sleeping in the crook of her arm.
“Mountain cats?” He looked over at his mother and sister.
His mother arched her brow and his sister crossed her arms.
“Sovia rescued them from a hawk after the mother had been killed,” Uncle Hök said, emerging from the corner. He moved closer to his nephew and placed his hand on his shoulder. “If the snow blindness hadn’t set in, I believe she would be in Toraslotte by now. She’s one hell of a climber,” he said, with a good measure of respect in his tone.
Sovia stirred and peeked through a crack in one red eyelid. “Your uncle told me how to protect my eyes. Next time you won’t stop me.”
He bent his head close to her, peering deep into her sore green eyes. He knew she could see him and a pang of relief registered in his heart. “Next time? There will not be a next time if you don’t eat.”
“Deciding what goes in my mouth is the only power I have. They don’t trust me with so much as a hair comb. I swore to God I’d die if you didn’t let me go home. It will take longer this way, but I think it still counts as keeping my oath.”
He cupped her cheek and raised her chin up. “Why would I ever let you go to Norway with you acting raving mad? Your Birkebeiner soldiers would murder me before I stepped off my ship.”
“Serves you right, demon bird,” his wife said and Inga shoved his shoulder, coming to her aunt’s defense.
“All right. That is enough meddling by you, little one.” Lothair scooped up his daughter. “Hök is here now to watch over his wife.”
“We need to protect Hercules, Papa.” Rikard stood up on the bed and held his ground.
“Perhaps it is time for Herc and his sisters to stretch their legs and dig in the garden,” Lida said. His mother picked up his angry little nephew and rested him on her hip, then handed the small guardsman a kitten.
“I don’t want the girl one, Oma. I want the boy.”
“You will not get a boy kitten nor a girl kitten with those manners.”
“Please, Oma.”
Katia picked up two cats, leaned over, and kissed Sovia’s cheek. “Eat something for me. I shall come see you late
r.”
“Many thanks, Kat,” his wife said. As if they were lifelong friends.
His sister glared at him and his family trickled out of chamber, reluctant expressions etched across every face.
“You have beguiled them all, it seems,” Hök said.
Sovia raised a shaking hand and touched his face. “Your beard needs a trim.” She smiled. “Your face is too handsome for an overlong beard.”
Ignoring her, Hök set about inspecting her form. He ran his hand down her bony shoulder to her sharpened hip bones. She stayed motionless. Her eyes were weary as she watched his hand roam over her. She did not speak nor object, but simply yielded, surrendering. She was not a wife yearning for affection after a long absence from her husband, but a prisoner of war accepting defeat.
“You’re rail thin. I am not pleased,” he said, an uncomfortable thickness forming in his throat.
“Forgive me. I have had no appetite.”
“She is a woman without shame, without honor,” he’d said.
“Then give her some!” his father had shouted.
“And what will restore your appetite?” he asked.
She closed her eyes and water formed on the rims of her lashes. “Do not make me say it and then take it away from me again. I am too tired, Hök. You are not cruel or hateful, yet cruelty and hate are all you will ever have for me. ’Tis not your fault only . . .” She laid her hand on his. “I am overtired.”
“You are not tired. You’re weak.”
He reached down and pulled her up by the shoulders, pushing pillows behind her and resting her back against the headboard. He tucked her bedding around her small frame and grabbed the tray by her bed.
“No more bargains, Sovia—only orders and compliance. Toraslotte needs a matron to serve her and her people wish to see their Rosebud.” She looked surprised. “Your cousin’s wife told me the villagers have called you Rosebud from birth. The rose of winter, one old scribe told me.” He raised a spoonful of stew to her mouth. She took it in and chewed slowly. “Roses do not bloom in the north, nor the winter, so to me, the name seems more fable than fact.” He spooned in another mouthful. A large tear ran down her face. He swept the tear away with his thumb.
“You clearly can no longer remain here. My family likes you more than me now. The only place for you is Toraslotte.”
Her bowed head fell further, her red eyes rimmed with tears, and her shoulders collapsed as she wept. He had broken her—his fiercely arrogant princess was gone, and a shell of her was all that remained.
“However, I will not risk taking a skeleton,” he said. He held another spoonful to her lips and waited. After a few moments, she caught her breath and opened her mouth, taking in the cooled stew. “The sooner you recover and gain some weight, the sooner we can depart,” he said in a soothing hush that he usually reserved for calming his horse.
With tears still rushing out, Sovia swallowed and reached for the spoon, taking several bites before Hök seized control of the spoon again.
“I will not have you gorge yourself only to fall ill again. Slowly. When you keep this down, I will send for something richer.”
Clutching the spoon, she nodded. She appeared lost and scared. For as long as he had known her, he had never seen her so . . . vulnerable.
“Gratitude, Hök. I . . .”
He leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were chapped, but she smelled of his Sovia, his curse, his . . . first love. His only love.
“Cruelty and hate are all you will ever have for me.” She was right, and the guilt of that truth pierced his heart. Before wedding him, she had been confident and unbreakable, yet his negligence and cruelty had broken her. He loved her, of that there was no doubt. He had broken the woman that he loved.
“Eat. Slowly. Take some bread. It will calm the stomach,” he said quietly, unable to speak more, emotion choking out his ability to form words.
She nodded, her eyes large and pained and desperate. “I am sorry, Hök . . . I never wanted to disobey you, only—only I need to go home. I must tell you things about—about Nidaros, about Toraslotte, must tell you about my—”
Her tears had started again so he halted her speech with a kiss and was rewarded by another tender touch to his cheek.
When he pulled away from her, she stayed with him, her gaze locked on his eyes. He had never read her eyes properly—had this look of desperation, of hunger, of loss and fear always lived here? His lust for her, his love for her, his hate for her had blinded him to the plain truth. It didn’t matter what kind of woman she had been at court. Her abundant beauty had masked the fact that she was an ordinary, flawed person as they all were, a simple girl who grew into a woman, a woman who made her way in this life by her own terms, defying the odds and surviving the brutality of courtly life and law.
It was obvious to him now that she was the victim of her father. Yet with her unbreakable spirit, her pride, her intellect, she refused to see herself as a victim. She refused to bow her head in shame but continued to hold it high. And he had faulted her for that.
“Autumn is soon upon us,” he said, trying to push down his mounting guilt. Sovia did not deserve another man in her life who forced his will upon her and took from her. She needed a leader, a protector that she could come to respect and learn to rely upon. “I expect you’ll want to be home before the harvest. I won’t risk taking a sickly girl on such a long voyage. You have a month to get yourself in proper shape before we sail for Toraslotte.”
Nodding rapidly, she bit her lip, smiling through the tears that streamed out of her red, sore eyes.
Chapter 26
The Iron Maiden sliced through the choppy seas, plunging deep and cresting high on the magnificent, untamed North Sea. Sovia was leaning over the side rail, and as cold salt spray hit her face, she could no longer hide her grin of excitement. She was almost home. She could hardly keep herself aboard the ship—tempted to swim from there.
Hök’s impressively fast ship was advanced in design. Wider at the stern than the usual vessel, the cargo hold was enormous, organized in compartments for horses and a generous supply of raw steel. A second raised deck, at the stern of the vessel, created a high platform from which to navigate the tiller, and under that was a bedchamber for her. High above the waterline, small windows were open to allow in fresh sea air and sunlight. The room was furnished with a comfortable bed, table and chairs, and even a small bath in the corner. It was the most luxurious sea voyage she had ever experienced.
A Sea Dragon patrol ship had escorted them right past the Swedish capital, as well as past the Danish shores and the Viken territory without delay.
Up ahead was Heimfjorden. With its majestic sharp green mountain peaks at its entrance, it was unmistakable. From here it was a few days’ sail until they reached the Helga River. Perhaps less, in such a fast-moving ship. The mouth of the Helga River would mean she was officially home. They would sail up the gentle, winding river and port only a few miles from the outskirts of Toraslotte.
Two Magnusson ships, the Inga of Lübeck and Iron Princess, followed close behind them. Stål and Aron had each offered to sail a ship loaded with the steel, guardsmen, horses, and tradesmen that Jarl Magnus had generously gifted to Hök’s new holding.
What would Hök think of her beloved home? Would he think it plain and drab compared with the grandeur of Tronscar? Toraslotte was built into a hillside, with a mountain protecting her back and a fertile, lush valley spread out for miles on her other sides. The principal keep was long and narrow and raised three stories high, each story smaller than the one below and with high, pointy roof peaks. Six separate stone chimneys provided heat for the twelve bedchambers, which were cozy, comfortable rooms, constructed all from timber, with steep pitched roofs. Even the grain and wool storehouses had beautiful, timber-sculpted framing for the doors and artfully arched rooflines.
But would Hök be i
mpressed? Or would he feel like he had sacrificed too much for what now seemed like a simple farming and fishing village compared with the industry and wealth of Tronscar?
Her husband approached silently from behind, startling her. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her into the warmth of his chest.
“I would have you rest your eyes in your cabin, wife,” he said in a husky tone, a tone that now sent shivers to her toes and a swirl to her belly. Her chest tightened.
“We will be home in a few days,” she said wriggling in closer to his warmth.
“It could take over a month, depending how long King Sverre keeps us at court. After we departed Bergen last spring, he relocated to Nidaros, endeavoring to unite the full support of the Birkebeiner party.”
She rested her head against Hök’s shoulder and pulled his arms around her tighter, suddenly wanting to feel more sheltered, remembering her trial in front of King Sverre’s court.
“Perhaps you could send me ahead with one of your brothers to Toraslotte, to better prepare the keep and kitchen for your arrival.”
“Nice try, Sov.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. You best get used to that idea.”
He raised his hand and swept a wisp of hair away from her ear. Her hair still wasn’t long enough for braiding, but it had finally grown out past her chin. Hök’s small, familiar touches stirred wanting in her. He spoke directly into her ear, sending a new shiver down her spine. “I would have your eyes soft and alert, not red and tired when we arrive. You heard what the healer said—no more than a few hours of sunlight a day.”
She spun around in his arms. “Do you not wish me to stand watch for the Kraken?” she said with a playful smile. Her surge of renewed joy at being so close to home could not be contained. “Perhaps if he sees me on board he will not swallow one of your ships whole? I think I could charm him for you.”
Hök grinned. “You can charm the sea monster, can you?”
“Tis a well-known fact that Heimfjorden is guarded by a legion of Kraken. The odd one washes ashore every few years. When I was a child, Hunt brought me to Skarvan to see one. It was splendid and stinky. It had eight long arms, and Hunt said it was but a babe of the Kraken, not even half grown.”
