by Mariah Stone
Mia’s pulse always made a little leap when she heard his voice or felt his presence, as if feathers brushed her skin.
“It makes me look what?” Hakon said. His voice gained that velvety quality again, and sweat broke through her skin at the back of her neck.
She looked at her hands. “It doesn’t make you look ugly,” she said and coughed. “If that’s what you’re worried about, you shouldn’t be.”
She still didn’t look at him. He was doing that thing again; his gaze was scorching her skin.
“You do not think I am ugly?” His voice, coarse and low now, vibrated against her skin.
“No,” she said. Why had she said that? All air left the room. “But that doesn’t matter, does it?”
She met his gaze and regretted it. His eyes were so dark, they were almost brown. He looked at her as though she held all the pain and anguish in the world in her hands and was about to decide what to do with it. “What if it does?”
Her mouth felt as dry as paper. “I thought this marriage was not about happiness for you.”
“It was not. What is it about for you?”
She swallowed. “Survival.”
He frowned. “Survival? Is he—” Hakon’s face became so livid he choked on the words. “Is he threatening you? Your father?”
“No! No. He isn’t. I just meant, in general. For a woman—” Mia shouldn’t have blurted the word “survival” out loud. She was out of her depth, improvising, and she hoped she was headed in the right direction. “As a woman, you leave your father’s house, go to your husband’s. You depend on him. On men. So, it’s survival. My life kind of depends on you, doesn’t it?”
And not just her life. Her baby’s, too. Oh god. How would Hakon react if he found out about her pregnancy? A chill prickled her skin. He would probably be furious. Disappointed. Feel betrayed. But something deep inside her now knew that he wouldn’t hurt her no matter how he felt, and the realization released a small knot of tension in her gut.
Hakon cocked his head. “I suppose so. Did you finish your dinner? How did the whole pig’s leg fit into your stomach?”
Mia coughed, a little embarrassed. She’d had a crazy appetite ever since she’d gone into her second trimester a week ago. “Yes, finished.”
“Come, I want to give you something.”
Hakon offered her his hand, and Mia put her palm in his. Whereas in the beginning she had been terrified, now she accepted his touch without hesitation. A buzz ran through her veins. His skin was always warm and dry, a little calloused, and pleasant. His big strong hand wrapped around hers made excitement bubble up in the pit of her stomach.
Hakon led her towards the bedroom, and Mia tensed. “Why are we going there?”
“Arinborg, we have been sleeping in that room for a week now, and I have not lifted a finger to touch you.”
In the bedroom, the fire burned, the air was warm and pleasant. The whole week whenever they had been in the bedroom together, she’d been aware of his every movement until her head touched the pillow and she passed out from exhaustion. But now something changed; she had never felt like this. Even though Mia’s feet were tired and she ached to lie down, the electricity in the air made all the hair stand up on Mia’s skin.
“I have a gift for you,” Hakon said, and moved to one of the chests standing by the wall. He rummaged there, the muscles of his broad back rolling under his tunic. Then he turned to Mia with something in his hands.
It was some kind of white fur, maybe arctic fox or mink. It looked rich and absolutely gorgeous.
Hakon looked at it with anguish, briefly closed his eyes, opened them again and glanced at her. He held out his hands with the furs to her.
“This is for you.”
Mia took the bundle and saw that it was a cloak with a hood—long and broad, and so soft, Mia wanted to brush it against her cheek.
“The cloak belonged to my mother,” Hakon said. “I never gave you a wedding present. You deserve so much more than a fur cloak. You are a princess. You are the most skilled healer I have ever known. And you are—”
He cut himself off, and the urge to find out became so strong in Mia, she wanted to pull the word out of his mouth.
“I am what?”
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Mia stopped breathing. Her heart began pounding so hard, the warriors in the great hall must have heard it.
“I can’t accept this, Hakon.” Her voice sounded like the creak of an old hinge.
“No? I also have her jewelry—”
“No! No! I don’t mean it’s not enough. I mean, it’s too much. Her things must mean a lot to you.”
Mia sat on the edge of the bed, her legs beginning to feel wobbly.
“Please, Arinborg. I want you to have it. She would want that.”
Tears blurred Mia’s vision. “Thank you.”
Hakon pointed at the cloak in Mia’s hands. “There’s a brooch to fasten it. My father had it made from the hacksilver and amber he got on his first raid.”
Mia brushed her hand across the fur and felt the cold metal of the brooch. It was big and round like a small Viking shield, with amber in the middle. Around the stone, patterns of dotted, interwoven branches and beasts curved.
Mia’s fingers trembled a little. “It’s breathtaking.” Her throat clenched. “What was your mother’s name?”
“Dota.” Hakon looked at his hands.
“What a beautiful name. Tell me about her.”
Hakon’s face fell, then tensed so much Mia thought she saw his bones sharpen through his skin. “I haven’t talked about her since she died.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve winters.”
“Twelve winters… That’s young.”
The ache of losing her own mother at fourteen still pierced Mia’s heart. Was Arinborg’s mother alive? Without knowing, she couldn’t share her own pain with Hakon.
“What was she like?” Mia asked.
Hakon sat on the edge of the bed next to her and did not respond for a while, staring into the distance. “She smelled of meadowsweet. Her hair was golden. She liked to laugh. She was strong. And she loved my father. She was the only one who did not think I was cursed.”
Mia squeezed the fur in her hands, wishing she could meet Dota. Hakon’s eyes locked with Mia’s, and his were burning.
“You are the second person who does not think that.”
Mia swallowed and lowered her gaze. “Dota was a smart woman, then.”
Hakon chuckled softly. “She would have liked you.”
Mia smiled, and for the first time in a very long time, she did not feel like she wanted to run anywhere.
“What happened to her?”
The warmth left his face as if she had hit him. Hakon stood up, went to the chest and closed it.
“Enough stories for today. Time to go to sleep.”
His rejection stung a little, although she knew it was for the best. She had seen yet a new side to Hakon, and the gesture of giving her his mother’s cloak meant so much to him. And to her.
Good job keeping your distance, she chided herself as they were doing their ritual of Hakon standing with his back to her as she changed into her night gown.
“Done,” said Mia while diving into the softness of the bed full of furs.
Hakon turned to her, and Mia’s favorite part of the evening began.
It was called shirtless Hakon.
Hidden in between folds of the furs so that Hakon wouldn’t see, Mia watched him. He removed his tunic, and the canyons of his muscles showed, his smooth skin glistening in the dancing firelight from the hearth. His shoulders and biceps were like rocks. His six-pack and the V of his side muscles were sculpted in smooth lines. And his pecs were broad and strong. Her fingers itched to touch the light layer of blond hair on his chest. Hakon glanced at her, and she shut her eyes.
Mia heard him lie on the floor. He breathed unevenly, so he wasn’t asleep
yet. Talking about his mother had obviously upset him, and Mia wanted to comfort him, to feel his strong arms around her, his warmth on her skin. She yearned to hug and kiss him.
But she wouldn’t. That would be the beginning of a disaster.
“Hakon,” she said.
“Hm?”
“Come to bed.”
She heard a quick rustle of the sheepskin. “What?”
Mia rose on one elbow and looked at him. His face showed alarm.
“Come sleep in bed, next to me.”
“Do you want to—”
“No! Not that. You’ve been sleeping on the floor ever since I arrived. I doubt you sleep well there. You must be exhausted. Just lie here, next to me. You can’t touch me though, all right?”
Hakon’s eyes darkened. “I do not know if I can restrict myself, Princess.”
Mia’s eyes widened. “Oh… Then forget it.”
“No. I will come.”
He stood up, his muscles thick and powerful, and walked to the other side of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, he climbed in and covered himself with the fur blanket. Mia turned her back to him, breathing heavily.
“Good night,” she said.
He didn’t respond for a while, then said in a coarse voice, “Good night.”
And even though she did not see it, she could feel his gaze burning into her back and her whole body flooded with warmth. She was playing with fire. And everyone knew how those games ended.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A nother week of torture had passed, Hakon sleeping in his bed with Arinborg by his side but unable to touch her. She had been exhausted every day after taking care of about half of the village. All of the children and babies were now sick, but Arinborg had allowed the first three to go back home, claiming that the worst for them was over and they could not pass the disease anymore.
Arinborg slept on her side, facing him. One hand lay on the pillow, palm up, and he suppressed the urge to place his hand in hers just to feel her warmth and softness. Her face looked peaceful and so beautiful, long lashes framing her closed eyelids. Her lips, round and softened in sleep, looked so inviting.
Hakon growled as he was trying to fall asleep, refusing to look down where he would probably see the curve of her breast under the night shift.
The gods must be laughing at him because the person he felt the closest to was his enemy’s daughter. He wanted to give her everything she had ever wanted. But he was about to rob her of her father, and the thought gnawed at his gut like a hungry dog.
He climbed out of bed and walked through the quiet mead hall, then outside into the coolness of the night. He was restless, his muscles burning with the need for her. Gods, how he wished things were different between them.
Later that day, in the hospital, Hakon was pouring water into a cauldron to boil and Arinborg was giving a child honey and garlic water.
A babe that lay in a crib stirred and began a coughing fit. Hakon looked around to see if its mother would come to soothe it, but no one came.
“Hakon, can you please take Mette?” Arinborg asked.
Hakon drew his mouth into a straight line. “Her mother will not be happy if she sees me with her babe.”
Arinborg grimaced. “Nonsense. We need to make sure the baby doesn’t suffocate from mucus. You need to hold her straight. Come on.”
Hakon clenched his jaws and put the bucket he was holding on the floor, but still did not take a step towards the baby. He was the nightmare people scared their children with. “What if I pass it on?”
Little Mette continued coughing, and her face turning bluish.
“You’re not sick and she already is. Come on, you see she’s struggling.”
“Not the disease. The curse.”
Arinborg frowned at him. “There. Is. No. Curse! Now take that baby before it’s too late!”
Hakon hurried towards the crib and took the babe in his arms. She was so fragile, so small and tense, her little body shaking from the coughing spasms.
“Hold her vertically, slightly inclined forward, so that it’s easier for her to cough out the mucus,” Arinborg instructed.
Hakon felt like a bear with a kitten in its paws. “Will I not squeeze her to death?”
“No! Have you never held a baby?”
“No.”
“You’ll be fine. Quickly, do as I say. Slap her on her back, not too hard, though, to help mucus come out.”
Hakon held the babe straight and inclined it slightly forward as Arinborg had told him. He patted her back, but she continued to cough, desperate. Then she stopped. She gulped for air but could not take a breath. Her lips turned blue. Fear the likes of which he had not even felt on the battlefield gripped his gut in its cold claws.
“She doesn’t breathe,” he mumbled.
“Talk to her. Slap her back a little harder.”
He did as she said, probably slapping too hard, then softer. “Breathe, Mette. For Freya and for Odin, breathe.”
The babe sucked in the air with a thin whoop sound and cried. He pressed her warm little body against his ribcage, still holding her upright. “Good girl. The gods are with you. Breathe now. You are all right.”
“See, that wasn’t so bad.”
Arinborg finished with the child she had been busy with and went to the next one.
Hakon gave a relieved laugh. “I suppose not. I almost shit myself.”
Arinborg laughed, too. “You did well. You are good with babies.”
Hakon wanted to reply that he was not, but the door opened and a woman entered, her eyes as wide as armrings. It was Oda, Mette’s mother. “Get away from my baby, Beast!” she yelled as she rushed towards him.
Shame washed over Hakon like an icy wave in a storm, as if he had done something wrong.
The woman took the babe away from him and curled over it with her back to him, like she thought he would throw himself on her.
“Oda,” Arinborg said. “He was just comforting her. She had a fit—”
“No! He cannot touch the babies. It is bad enough that he is our jarl. He will curse her.”
Arinborg stopped giving the healing water to the child and stood up, her eyes throwing lightning bolts.
“He what?”
She walked slowly towards the woman.
“He will curse her. Like he is cursed,”
“You stop this nonsense at once,” Arinborg said. “He’s not cursed. No one is cursed. He has probably saved your baby’s life. There was no one around and Mette needed to be held.”
“I just went to the privy.”
“I know. That’s not the point. He didn’t curse your baby. Stop saying that. All of you.” Arinborg turned to look around the hospital. There were several dozen people there; some of them slept, but many listened. “You’re all lucky to have Hakon Ulfsson as your jarl. He is doing everything for you. He gave up his own house so that all of you can heal faster. If anything, his mark is the sign of a blessing.”
“You are protecting him, Princess,” Oda said while rocking the baby. “I understand. He is your husband. And we are all grateful for you, for you healing skills. But do you know what he did to his mother?”
Pain pierced Hakon, as if Oda had just peeled off his skin. Arinborg frowned.
“No,” she said. “But I’m sure whatever happened was not his fault.”
“But it was. He cursed her—that is what happened.”
Arinborg glanced at him, her eyes questioning. Hakon felt helpless. He had never wanted her to find out. Let alone this way. If she did, he might lose the second person in this world who was kind to him.
But it seemed that the time had come.
“Come, Princess. I’ll tell you.”
He offered her his hand, and she studied it.
“Don’t go, mistress,” Oda said. “I’m fearing for you.”
That seemed to have done it. Arinborg rolled her eyes and put her hand in his. “Let’s go. I’m not afraid, and you shouldn’t be either, Oda.�
��
Hakon did not think he had ever held anything so precious as her hand. He led her to the longhouse and asked the servants to bring bread, cheese, butter, and water, since he knew she would not drink mead or ale. He took a few sheepskins, his cloak, and Arinborg’s arctic fox cloak.
“Where are we going?” Arinborg asked.
“You will see. We will need to spend the night there. Do you think the hospital can spare you for one night?”
Arinborg looked back towards where the hospital was. “I suppose they would be all right for one night.”
“Good. I have not taken anyone there before. You will love it. Do you trust me?”
Her answer suddenly became more important than taking his next breath. She studied him with a frown, but then her features smoothed. She smiled, and her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“I do.”
A giant iceberg thawed in his chest. The servants brought their things, and Hakon put the rolls of sheepskins on his back and a travel purse with food on his belt.
“Let us be on our way. It is a bit of a hike.”
Arinborg smiled and followed him, and as they were approaching the mountain that had been his escape since his mother had died, happiness flooded his whole being. But the thought of sharing the tale of the worst night of his life invaded that happiness like raiders landing on a vulnerable shore.
CHAPTER TWELVE
M ia thought her chest would burst. They had been hiking for about one hour now, and even though she was only fifteen weeks pregnant, the strain took more out of her than she had thought it would.
When Hakon announced that they had finally arrived, she whispered, “hallelujah.” His arched brow said he’d heard her.
And it wasn’t even the top of the mountain. Hakon led her into a little clearing between the pines and boulders.
The clearing was a combination of rocks that formed a natural balcony without rails, and it protruded into the air with nothing but a rocky mountain slope under it. When they stepped onto it, the darkening sky seemed so close that if she stretched her arms, she could touch it. And the air felt so fresh she could almost drink it. Down below was the fjord, winding like a wide blue serpent among the mountains. To the right, in a little valley, was Lomdalen. It looked like a miniature toy village, the houses dark with yellowish roofs. Smoke rose from some of the homes as dinner was prepared. And Mia could see tiny people and animals move from up here.
