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

by Sandra Lake

  “Sovia is my wife. The boy is my son,” Hök said. “Any man who wishes to challenge me on that can take up their sword against me.”

  Voinovich stepped forward. “Challenge accepted.”

  “No!” Sovia shouted out from behind and rushed forward. She threw herself at the foot of the king’s chair.

  “The child is Hök’s. No one can prove or give evidence against the words of a child’s mother and father.”

  Sovia could never allow her son to be placed in the hands of a vile degenerate like Voinovich. She would do anything.

  “We all have eyes,” Hakon said. “That child is the blood of Voinovich.” He then directed his attention at Hök. “Jarl Brosa will be informed as to these events and very disappointed that you have gone against his efforts, be assured. Take the woman, but be prepared from reprisals from Jarl Brosa. But the boy stays. The Birkebeiners will not give you trouble, King Sverre, as long as the little lord remains in residence. I say keep your agreement with Voinovich here—grant him the lands and titles you promised him, along with the child, and let this whore leave your lands.” Hök moved toward the chief council threateningly and the king’s guards stepped toward him, encroaching on the circle.

  Sovia was desperate, for the safety of both her son and husband. “Leif is my son. No one can take him from me.”

  “You haven’t seen the child in almost a year,” King Sverre said snidely. “No one is taking him from you. You abandoned him.”

  “Never. My father forced me from home last year to travel to your court, Sverre.”

  “King Sverre, to you, wench,” Hakon snapped.

  Hök grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet, and pushed her behind him. “Go stand with our son and Aron. Your words are useless with these hounds,” he whispered to her. Sovia felt a burst of hope—her husband was entirely on her side. Without question or explanation, Hök was on her side—our son! He would not reject Leif, but instead, had instantly placed him under his protection and claimed him. Her eyes watered; now was not the time for tears. She did what he asked and retreated to stand with Aron.

  “Trust him, Sovia,” Aron whispered. “Hök knows how to handle royal swine like them.”

  Leif reattached himself to her side and whispered, “That mean one was the one that hurt Aina.” Her son pointed at Hakon. He was shaking, but held his head high. What other horrors had her son suffered in her long absence?

  “Whatever happens, my love, you must know I love you and everything I have done has been to ensure that you and Aina will be safe. I never wanted to be away from you,” she said.

  “I know, Mama. Hunt told me. He said if you didn’t come home soon, that we would go into the mountains and find you.”

  “Nay. No mountain climbing for you, not just yet.” She shivered with the thought of her son in peril on a mountainside, as she had been. Her attention returned to King Sverre as he spoke.

  “Hök, this is not what I had envisioned for your return, my friend.” The king was frustrated now. “Come sit next to me. You will do what’s best for Norrland, as I will do what’s best for Norway, and Sir Voinovich will do what is best for his family.”

  “King Sverre, as your advisor Hakon will inform you, I have no authority to negotiate or make compromises for peace on behalf of the Swedish empire. I am simply the second son of a jarl and a steel merchant. I came here to claim the land that my wife holds, and support your pursuit of peace among the northern men that you wish to unite under your reign.”

  The king shrugged. “That was the plan, until Bishop Absalom was able to bring the Rus princes into the arrangement. Now I don’t need the support of the Lendmann party in the south. With Rus support, I will strip them of all power.”

  Hök said, “And so I have no reason to remain here. I wish you peace and prosperity, King Sverre.” Hök turned his back on the king, which was a grave insult and blatant display of defiance. Sovia’s heart swelled with pride while simultaneously shuddering in fear.

  He began walking toward her, his brother Stål a step behind him, the soles of their heavy boots striking the stones in an assured march. The power of the hall was shifting, and from the fidgeting, frustrated faces of the men sitting around the king, they all knew it.

  Hök picked up her hand and laced it under his arm. He smiled at her son and said, “Leif, be a good man and take your mother’s other hand and help me escort her to our ships?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t look back,” he whispered under his breath. “I will see that your servants from Toraslotte are found, and they may join us in Tronscar.”

  The palace was positioned on the hillside, and when they exited, the expansive harbor of Nidaros was sprawled out in front of them, the afternoon light slipping away over the mountains behind them to the west, casting warm gold hues over the water. The light created a path of gold light directly toward Hök’s ship.

  “Wow,” Leif said with a rush of muted excitement.

  “Wow is right,” Sovia said. “Just wait until you see how fast it can sail.” She pulled Leif into her side and kissed his head, lingering there to take in his scent. The treasures of her family’s fortune of gold and jewels from around the world meant nothing to her compared to this smell.

  “Halt! Seal the gates!” Hakon shouted from behind them.

  “What are you going to do, Hakon?” Stål stepped forward. “Cut down the King of Sweden’s cousins? Arrest us for what, not giving aid to the very Rus swine that slaughtered our own men last spring?”

  “By the order of Bishop Absalom, I order you to release that woman. Take the boy. There is no record of his birth, so his claim to Toraslotte will never stand. You may take him, if you insist, and claim him as your son, Lord Hök. But the woman stays. If you have any objection, you can petition the Swedish court,” Hakon said. Voinovich stepped out of the palace next to King Sverre. A cold sweat coated Sovia’s skin. Voinovich threats were no longer shallow. Leif would be safer with Hök in Tronscar. Voinovich would always be a danger to her son.

  The king looked a little pale, clearly not happy with the situation.

  “Just leave her here, Hök,” the king said. “I will be sure to send you and your father a handsome reward for your loyalty and service to me. Our new Rus allies are most insistent on this one point. Think of how far we’ve come, my friend. Don’t let this woman tear down all we have worked for.”

  Hök pushed Sovia, and Leif with her, aside and into Aron’s protection once more. “No matter what transpires, get them to my ship,” he instructed his younger brother.

  Fighting was about to break out—Sovia could feel it. Aleksi and three more Norrland men flanked Aron, but they were still heavily outnumbered by the king’s guards. Stål remained at his twin’s side.

  “I am tearing nothing down, Your Majesty,” Hök said. “I am loyal and faithful to all my sworn agreements. One I made to you in Bergen, and one I made to my father and his house. I have no authority to broker peace with Tronscar’s sworn enemies. If you wish to petition the Swedish courts, and to steal a daughter of the house of Tronscar, you all know where to find Norrland.” Hök moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

  Voinovich and his men pushed forward toward Hök. “Sovia is mine,” Voinovich said. “Losna gave her to me.” He pointed his gloved hand at Sovia, whom Aron had taken across the courtyard. “Take the boy. I will have more sons by her.”

  Hök stepped backward, making space to draw his sword. “King Sverre, I have a compromise for you. Honor the agreement we made in Bergen and in return, I will kill this diseased animal for you and send his head back to his brother.”

  Voinovich pulled his weapon.

  “No!” Sovia broke free and ran in between the two drawn swords. Her husband and his brothers were outnumbered by a hundred; they would all be slaughtered because of her. “I can’t let you do this, Hö
k. Leave me, take Leif and leave me. Your mother has raised five fine sons.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please ask her to raise Leif for me,” she said in desperation.

  “Sovia, get out of my way,” Hök said, ignoring her, looking over her head to Voinovich.

  “No. Men have decided my fate for my entire life. This is my choice. I will not risk your life. Go home, Hök. Get out of this pit of liars and don’t come back.”

  Chapter 31

  Hök snarled. “Sovia, obey your husband for once in your life and get out of my way.”

  “If you ever loved me, you will take Leif, and the offer for a new life and start again, in the south, with a woman who does not bring this sort of trouble with her.”

  Taking advantage of the distraction, Voinovich grabbed her from behind, pulling her into his chest. He held his blade to her throat, his hot breath in her ear. “My kotik, you have made the right choice.” The steel sunk into her skin, she could feel a trickle of her blood flow down her neck. Voinovich started to retreat to the entrance of the hall, but Sovia’s slipper caught the edge of a cobblestone. Voinovich jerked her to the side and her eyes met Hunt’s. He was standing on the high battlement, archers at his side.

  Hunt’s hand raised. “For Cecillia!” And in a moment, guardsmen turned on one another. The king’s men and Voinovich’s men were caught unawares, too slow or late to draw their blades.

  The king’s own Birkebeiner guards turned against him. He held up his hand. “Men, put your weapons down. This woman you defend is but a fraud. She has no claim to Sigurd’s bloodline.”

  “He lies!” Hunt shouted. “Show him, Sovia. Show our king and the bishop your claim!”

  Sovia closed her eyes and cringed. This was madness—Hunt was endangering all their lives, and all for what? Some silly trinket? She personally had no faith in the thin piece of metal and wood that hung around her son’s neck, which she had carried for most of her life. To her, it was no more than a talisman from her mother that she wore to honor her memory. But to Hunt and Aina, the small metal disk, which held a very small wooden cross in the center, had always been something sacred. Her father had tried to take it from her many times out of fear of its power, which she had always thought silly.

  Her son sprinted to her, Aron lunging after him. He held the thin chain in his hand, nearly choking himself as he pulled the medallion from his tight collar. She knew it meant a lot to her friends to see her wear it—it was a reminder of her mother and grandmother—and so she always kept it close to her. But whenever she was forced to leave her son, she had always left it in his possession. Out of respect for those that she had loved and who had loved her, she had kept the medallion safe and honored it.

  Leif held up the talisman, offering it out toward her, his little chest heaving up and down in fear, staring at the blade still held to her throat.

  “Go, Leif. Please, my sweet. Go with Aron.” She had started to cry and was furious with herself that she could not stay calm for her son.

  Leif, her brave little man, stepped slowly toward her and placed the talisman in her hand. She felt the weight of the medallion in the palm, and closed her hand around it. This would be a good time to say a prayer, but God never seemed to hear her prayers.

  With Voinovich’s arm still locked around her waist, his blade only slightly lowered, she raised the medallion to her lips and kissed it. “May your holy spirit watch over and protect those I love.”

  “Sovia, hold it high, for all the men to see,” Hunt bellowed across the courtyard. She held it up and several of the men dropped to their knees.

  “Behold, the true cross!” one man cried.

  “The paragon that Sigurd the Crusader was granted by the King of Jerusalem for saving the holy city,” Hunt declared for all to hear. “King Sigurd said this paragon would always be the symbol of his rightful heir!”

  “What blasphemy is this?” Bishop Absalom pushed forward.

  “Don’t let him touch it, Sovia. It is yours and yours alone to hold!” Hunt commanded.

  But Voinovich’s blade was at her throat, biting into her flesh again, and Sovia held out the medallion, about to surrender it to the bishop when he came near. Yet when he drew close and saw the medallion in more detail, the clergyman dropped to his knees and crossed himself, bowing his head.

  “Give it to the bishop, kotik.” Voinovich shook her slightly.

  “Take it,” Sovia said to the holy man, who had now gone pale and would not look back at her.

  “Give it to me, for I am the true heir of Sigurd the Crusader,” the king said, pushing forward. Just then, an arrow from the high parapet flew forward and landed a few inches from the king’s feet. The archers stood at the ready.

  “Your Majesty, you are the right leader, the defender of the people of Norway, and we support you,” Hunt said. “But you are not the heir to the paragon of Jerusalem. The paragon is for the one to whom it is handed down by birth, and no one else,” Hunt said. At that, his men chanted, “Cecillia, angel of the true cross.”

  “Oh no,” Sovia said under her breath. She had never believed one lick of the fable about her grandmother. Her grandmother had most likely started the rumor herself. If the sliver of wood that made up the cross on the medallion truly was from the cross that Christ was slain upon, so what? It was not like a person could perform miracles and turn water into wine by simple holding an old piece of dried-up wood. Leif snatched it back from her and held it up higher, shoving it in the direction of the bishop, who tripped over his own robe to back up.

  “Hunt,” Sovia said. “It truly does not matter to me what the medallion means. As long as Leif is protected, none of this matters. Help Hök get my son out of here, I beg of you.”

  “Sovia, hold your tongue. Come here, son,” Hök said. He took the medallion from Leif and looped it back around his neck. “Be a good man and go stand back over with your uncles.” He spoke to Leif as if they were lifelong friends, not strangers who had met moments ago. With one more worried look to Sovia, Leif obeyed.

  “Voinovich, you are surrounded by Birkebeiners who will cut down their own king if it means protecting their lady. Put down the blade, and you and I will finish this as men,” Hök said.

  “Hök, no.” Sovia had started to cry in earnest now.

  “Steady, my love,” Hök said. “Go stand with our son.”

  He loved her—it was in his eyes, and for the first time, she truly believed him. His words were not for show. He called her his love because he loved her. A new wave of goose bumps crossed over her skin, making it impossible to either comply or disobey. She was frozen with indecision. If Hök loved her, then maybe, just maybe, she was worthy of that love.

  Suddenly, Voinovich flung her out to the side and she went sprawling across the yard. Stål ran over and helped her to her feet.

  “Come, sister,” Stål said quietly. “Let your husband do what he does best.”

  “Which is what, get himself killed? Voinovich is an excellent swordsman. No one has ever bested him in the ring.”

  “Then he is in for his rightful humbling,” Stål said.

  The two swordsmen circled each other. It was clear to all that this was a match to the end—her husband would be the victor, or he would die before her very eyes.

  “Please stop him,” Sovia said to Stål.

  “Nay, sister, I think not,” Stål said. “He’d knock out my teeth for taking away his fun.”

  Suddenly, Norrland steel connected with Kiev steel. The two men were of equal height and strength. Sparks flew at the force of the metals connecting, and Sovia’s vision blurred, she was so overwhelmed with fear.

  Leif’s little hand slipped into hers and he squeezed. “Aina says God favors those who put faith in his true cross.” Leif kissed the medallion.

  “God never has anything to do with bloodshed, my sweet. This is the work of men, as will be the o
utcome,” she said. She would not glorify killing in the name of her honor or in the name of anyone.

  Leif pushed into her side more and whispered, “I hope Hök wins. Even if God does not.”

  “He’s just exercising, Sov,” Aron said firmly. “We’ve all been in the ring with him. We know what the difference looks like.”

  Yet, the battle waged on.

  “If it is simply exercise, why not end it and put us at ease?” Sovia snapped.

  “So that he can kill Voinovich,” Stål said bluntly, grinning with approval. “If Hök kills him on the first swing, reports will say the match was unduly won. He will grant the Rus at least one small hit and then—”

  As the words left Stål’s mouth, Hök suffered a slice to his right side, above the hip. Sovia gasped and lunged forward.

  Her husband stumbled, his hand clutched over the wound, blood pouring through his fingers.

  Chapter 32

  “Wait for it,” Stål said in her ear.

  The battle continued, with spectators now shouting out encouragement. Voinovich tripped Hök and he went crashing down to the stone yard, crumpled on his side, his back to his opponent.

  “Hök, look out!” she screamed.

  But it had been an act. Suddenly, her husband flipped onto his back, sword in hand, and stabbed Voinovich through the heart. Voinovich’s sword fell to the cobblestones with a loud clang. The yard went silent.

  Her husband shoved the prince off his blade, and blood poured from Voinovich’s chest. He staggered to the side and then tumbled backward, falling into a crowd of soldiers that moved away, avoiding his collapse.

  Time slowed and sounds fell away. For so many years, Sovia had lived in fear of Voinovich, lived in fear of him coming out of the dark and claiming her son . . . so many years . . . and now, her nightmare lay lifeless. Her dragon lay slain in a crumpled heap, suddenly seeming puny and pathetic compared to the man who stood tall and indestructible above him.