by Sandra Lake
“Tero reported that he rectified your assumption. Need I do it again? I offer matrimony. Is your hearing damaged?”
The insult was a gift, removing any remaining debate in Lida’s mind.
“Shall we skip to the end, Jarl Magnus? I gather you are a man of great importance, so I will be brief. I strive to be a modest woman. I live a simple life and am content with what I have. I am honored by your proposal; however, I must humbly decline.”
“You are content to toil in the fields?” he asked bluntly. “Breaking your back in mindless labor? The friherrinna of Norrland is not expected to dig in the dirt for her evening meal.”
“Indeed, I intend on continuing my mindless labor, as you put it, for my family’s benefit.” Lida rose, preparing to take her leave. “There is nothing shameful in hard labor. Some refer to it as honorable.”
“What of your child?” he asked, freezing her in place. “Will she remain content with your modesty?”
“Aye. She will. She must.”
“When it is time, will she make a worthy alliance in matrimony, here in Turku?”
Lida pressed her lips into a hard line, working to collect herself, praying that her shattered nerves were not apparent to him. “We all have our crosses to bear, do we not, Jarl Magnus?” Lida turned away from him, not wanting to say more. As she staring at the closed door, the black pit of despair in her belly began to burrow deeper. She knew the world to be an unfair and cruel place, where love and honor were of little value. What a fool she was to think that God would shelter her from more misery.
Magnus could not look away from the captivating sight of the stubbornly strong woman. “I will let you keep the child with you if that is your concern. The Norrland winter is long, but if she is strong like her mother, she will fare well.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Let me keep her?” Her brow peaked. It seemed something he’d said had surprised her.
“Tero did not make mention? Aye. She may journey to you once my first son is born.”
She smiled honestly in amusement for the first time. He should have made mention sooner and saved them time.
“Does this actually work on women? Aye, forget it.” She waved the question off. “Do not bother. I am sure it does. Purely out of Christian charity, let me pass on some advice.” She took one small step toward him. “When speaking to prospective wives, do not threaten to separate them from their children. You will lose both ways. A real mother would never accept your offensive offer and the woman who accepts your proposal is a maggot willing to eat her own young. Not what I would consider good mother material.”
“Thus the reason Tronscar is well supplied with qualified nurses to coddle an infant.”
Her flushed cheeks brightened to a stove-hot red. “Safe voyage to you, Jarl Magnus.” She twisted back around to make her escape.
“You will learn I possess nothing that has been given,” Magnus responded. “What I have, I have forged or earned. Be wise and make your counteroffer, before I finalize the contract with your brother. Your father is advanced in years. The bishop has agreed to speak with your eldest brother in his place.”
He watched as the color drained from her face. “Why me?” she asked. “This hall is full of virtuous maidens. I have no virtue. I am nothing to you.”
“I have concluded my trade in the south and will not return until after the thaw.” Magnus stalked around the table. “You have given birth to a healthy child. I see you are fit to produce more. You are not cowardly, nor frail. You speak my tongue, and I desire a wife without the burden of troublesome relations.”
“My husband’s family disowned me. They claim my daughter is not of my husband’s line. Troublesome enough for you?” she said without apology or shame.
“Tero explained you were delayed in wedding the man due to the crusade in the north. On his return, he wed you and presented you to his father. I have no patience for baseless slander. I have been informed that your village holds you in good standing.”
“I would never leave my daughter, nor would I leave any children I bear,” she said. “Your offer to return me to Finland after my sons are but babes is repugnant. I would never leave my sons; and they would be my sons if I birth them.”
Magnus had not anticipated this reaction. His own mother had left for the southern territory before he could remember her. “’Twas a gift, not an insult. Women prefer the comfort of the gentler climate.”
He was intrigued. Her generously curved frame, attired in a plain blue wool gown with a thin brown leather belt, roused him. Her golden hair glowed with a soft sheen. Her ethereal face was unblemished, a bright rose shade returning to the crest of her cheekbones.
“And what is my fate should I bear you no sons, but daughters?” She raised her chin higher. The small display of pride amused him.
“I shall have sons. From the look of you, you offer me as best a chance as I’ll get.”
Her eyes cast downward. “I have but one need,” she said. “A name for my daughter. Will you grant her yours upon our union?”
Magnus looked down at his empty cup, considering the counteroffer. From the moment he’d decided upon her, he’d intended to grant the protection of his name to her child, but she did not need to know this. He would not allow this opportunity to gain the upper hand pass him by. “On the birth of my first son, I will grant the protection of my name to your child.”
“On the birth of our first child,” she countered.
Magnus stared into her flaming sapphire eyes. He nodded, concluding the first stage of this evening’s business.
Her eyes widened. “And I am never to be separated from any of my children.”
“Aye—maggots. You explained.”
“And—” She hesitated, rubbing her wrist, looking down at the floor.
“The negotiation is done.”
“The farm you offered,” she said quietly. “If I should perish in childbirth, what would become of my daughter? The farm can be placed under her name with the bishop’s seal. Then I shall agree.” She raised her chin and wisely held her tongue. She trembled, revealing her weakness for the first time.
“So be it. I shall meet this stepdaughter of mine at dawn.” Magnus flicked his hand toward the doorway. “Let us not keep his excellency from his feast.” She spun around as the door opened and the bishop, along with her relations, filed into the chamber. Magnus stifled a rogue yawn. “Bishop Henry will execute our covenant efficiently.”
Magnus was exhausted after months on his ship, trading at port after port, haggling, bartering, and blaming Tero for his displeasure. Finally his mission was completed and he was homeward bound. “My gratitude, Bishop Henry. You may begin.”
An expression of bewilderment crossed Lida’s beautiful features. “Tonight?” She clasped her wrist, anxiously toying with a leather band.
“Aye, everything has been arranged.”
“Nay—I—we . . .” Her eyes filled with fear. But he would not grant her the opportunity to retreat. Not when he was so close to victory.
“We shall be on the first vessel departing Turku at dawn,” he said.
“Nay, I—” she said, her gaze shifting to her father, then remembering that until the contract was signed, her brother held the power.
Magnus seized hold of her upper arm, pulling her to his side, securing his prize in place. “Aye, we shall. Know what is good for you and hold your tongue, woman.”
Chapter 4
Installed between the mighty jarl and the lecherous bishop, Lida felt detached from her surroundings, like she was watching some other out-of-place Turku woman sitting at the head table. Her sisters-in-law waved with sardonic smiles. They had known all along that this was the inevitable outcome.
The jarl leaned across Lida to speak to the bishop, ignoring her and making her uncomfortably warm, invading her personal space with the
scent and heat coming from his expansive chest. Her nose nearly touched his wavy, shoulder-length hair, forcing her to take in his scent of pine and a male musk. Unbelievably inconsiderate.
Actually, he did not smell unpleasant, and appeared to be a frequent bather. Or perhaps his cleanliness was simply for the bishop’s benefit? On closer examination of his auburn hair, she noted streaks of gold from the summer sun. Dark whiskers sprouted along his strong, square jaw. His large hand lay siege to her armrest—it was massive in scale, to match the rest of him. On his right hand he wore a thick gold ring with an elaborately etched pattern of bear claws. A dark green stone the size of her thumbnail stood in the center.
Was that an emerald?
“More wine, Friherrinna Lida?” A young steward smoothly addressed Lida with her new title. Still stuck in her mute daze, she smiled her gratitude.
“Mikko,” the jarl said, startling her and the young steward. “Take Riku and a wagon to the Starkka farm. Master Svin will direct you. You are to pack the friherrinna’s goods and chattel and have them loaded directly onto my ship.” At this, the jarl returned his attention to his discussion with the bishop and his Turku hosts.
Lida could not abide by this. Recovering her tongue, she said, “My gratitude for this fine fare, your Excellency. If you will excuse me, Jarl Magnus, your excellency.” She bowed her head.
“By my word, Mikko is trustworthy. He will see to your chattel.” The jarl shook his head condescendingly, then dismissed her from his notice and returned to the political discussion.
“’Tis naught a question of trustworthiness.” Gripping her armrest, Lida pushed up from her seat. “He will not know what to pack. I will be at the port at first light as I have heard you instruct your other servants.”
“You will not be returning to your father’s farm this eve, wife. Enjoy your wine. You may instruct your family as to your requests, although you best leave what you will for them to make use of. You will require new garments and outerwear befitting your station. Tero will see to it.” Again, he effortlessly dismissed her from his notice. Lida sank back into the uncomfortable high-backed chair.
Not return home? But who would take care of her garden? “He will see to your chattel.” What of her cat and horse—Katia! “She may journey to you once my first son is born.”
She bolted straight back up. “I beg your pardon. I must—personal matters.” Lida did not wait for a response. She pushed the heavy chair back and darted around the table to the side doors.
Within a few brisk strides, Lida was breathing in the crisp autumn air, a surge of panic sweeping through her. She did not have much time. She sprinted to the stables, her heart pounding in her ears. Her father’s horse was saddled and tied to a post.
She leapt up, landing hard on her belly. “Ugh!” Her wind was gone, but she recovered enough to hoist herself onto the horse’s back, swinging her leg around. In seconds she would be at the gates of the compound, minutes later halfway home, free from—
Out from the shadows, a large, dark figure rushed toward her. She screamed, and Daisy reared. Holding on with all she had, she clamped her thighs and fisted the horse’s mane. The mare came down hard, launching her forward.
The menacing jarl snatched the horse’s bridle, locking it under in his control. “Personal matters?” he snarled. “I thought you meant the privy, not an awaiting paramour you thought to bid farewell.”
She gasped, “How dare you? I withdraw to my daughter. I must attend her and see after my mother. I will be prepared before your ship departs.”
Through his clenched teeth, he said, “Your father shall present the child to my ship at dawn. But fail to please me and he will not. Understood, wife?”
Perfectly, you barbaric, heartless lout!
“You will reside here this eve, with me,” he said . His heart was surely made of ice and steel.
“This eve—here—now—already?”
“Aye. ’Tis time to begin fulfilling the terms of your contract, wife.”
Lida struggled to swallow down her anger.
Without hesitation, Magnus reached up and grabbed her around the waist, tugging her off the horse in a single swing. He held her, feet dangling off the ground, eye level with him.
“I would thank you to set me down, Jarl Magnus.” Lida was finding it difficult to breathe, the jarl’s stare dangerous and intense. In the moonlight, his dark blue eyes appeared a sinister black, the color of his soul, no doubt. Heaven help her, she had wed Lucifer.
“You will retire with me,” he said with the same amount of feeling he would haved used to direct a servant to empty a chamber pot.
Lida tried to rein in the sense of impending doom that had begun to rise from her belly. He intended to lay with her here, now, this eve, before they left Turku. Her legs wobbled, as a goose. At least with the iron fist locked around her upper arm, she had the support she needed to remain upright.
Jarl Magnus led her up a rear corridor to the principal chambers above stairs. The hard soles of his boots pounded the timber floorboards. He opened a door and, as callously as he had returned Daisy to the post, he tugged her inside.
A well-established fire warmed the grandiose chamber. Next to the hearth, a large copper bathtub glowed, light bouncing off its curves. Lida scanned the room, recognizing several of the motionless servants from the village, expressions of shock and fear plastered to their faces.
“Bathe. Prepare for my return,” he said to her. Without speaking a word, the jarl banished the servants with a sinister glare and flick of his wrist. They scurried out.
Lida surveyed her lavish confine. Rare furs lay across the velvet canopy bed, a stack of plush white linen pillows at the head. Braziers and scented oil lamps flooded the chamber with sweet-smelling spice and soft golden light.
Heaven help her. She was alone, awaiting an unknown fate in a warlord’s private chamber.
How had she even gotten here? The day had passed in a rapid blur of disjointed events. Nothing felt real.
Closing her eyes, shame and loathing washed over her. Lying with Urho before they wed, blinded by her love, had never felt wrong. Lawfully wed to the cold jarl, by the bishop no less, she felt soiled. She had no affection for the jarl, no feeling for him, no knowledge of this stranger she had meet only this morn. Husband or naught, she was selling her womb to him for a name for her daughter and a farm. Is that not the description of a whore, placing a price on carnal acts?
She drew in a deep breath. It mattered not what happened to her now.
Fragrant rose petals, surely acquired from a distant shore, floated on the surface of the bath. She ran her fingers through the warm, inviting water. She did not fear the act of mating. At times, coupling with her husband had been splendid.
Lida did not expect any of the same sensations with the jarl. He was a barbaric northern warrior with one intention for her, and it was not passion or love. She knew what must be done and how to do it, yet she lacked one key ingredient: desire.
He would deposit his seed in her—it was naught but farming, and she was the field, he the farmer. Her head dropped forward, and she shivered.
She stripped off her clothing, climbed into the steaming water and closed her eyes.
Could she borrow desire from a past remembrance of love? Could she fake her desire as she had heard Tina and Ulla speak of faking pleasure with their husbands? Lida had never allowed herself to dream of more children. The good men in Turku had no interest in taking on the burden of another man’s child, not when so many maidens were available to start fresh.
She slid her hand down the flat planes of her stomach. Another babe? Katia loved her infant cousins, treating them almost as dolls. She would be a most attentive sister. Lida smiled, envisioning her sweet girl protectively holding her cousin in her little tight grip.
Magnus stood at the doorway, silently inspecting his bride rec
lined in his bath. The small lines of her forehead were erased with the steaming water. She was . . . flawless. Her body was ideally curved, soft and feminine.
By Thor’s toes, this one might be a mistake. He should have searched longer. Her feminine powers had the ability to lead him to more trouble than she was worth. Vixens should be stirring. Wives should be serviceable, nothing more. He had been distracted with winning his argument, with taking what she said he could not have. Now that he had her, he questioned if he had picked correctly.
As he idly disrobed while he gazed upon her nakedness, his male member thickened. Her jewel-toned eyes flashed open. Bath water splashed on the floor as his skittish bride sat up and covered herself, clutching her knees into her chest. He stepped one foot into the water and she flew up, preparing to leap out.
“You will remain.”
“I would prefer not,” she replied softly. “I am finished—”
“Sit, my errant bride.” His wife would require a considerable amount of training.
“There is not room for two. I am sure you will be more—”
“Sit.” He captured her hand, tugging her down into the warm water.
She reclaimed a corner of his oval travel tub, which in fact he had designed for two. He frequently bathed with his bedmates, ensuring that they were clean before partaking in their mutual enjoyment.
He stretched his legs out and was amused to see her stiffen as he tucked his feet under her soft rump. She no longer had the mettle to hold his stare.
Wiggling his toes to toy with her, he said, “Why bother with this virginal display? We both understand that producing a child requires that you have experience with a naked male. After seeing one, is it not all the same?” His bride snapped her eyes back up. He grinned with his small victory.
No, ’tis not the same at all! Lida wanted to shout at him, but bit her tongue hard instead. This massive warrior in front of her looked nothing like Urho. Her husband had been but a boy compared to this man. The jarl had a chest the size of a mighty bear. His arms were longer, thicker, and harder, and he had the belly of a Roman shield. He was not slim and nimble as her husband had been. In contrast, the jarl was pure brawn, no doubt molded from his cursed Norrland steel. Muscular limbs wrapped in bronzed skin were covered with soft golden hair.
