The Warlord's Wife

by Sandra Lake

“Nay.” He’d order her milk and a roll. Her mother always ordered that for the child’s refreshment. Or perhaps he would ask Klara what to order.

  “Darling. Mama calls me ‘darling’ sometimes.”

  “Nay.”

  She let out a loud sigh and patted the dog’s head. “I will have to think about it. I have no more names,” she said, sounding concerned.

  “Bear,” he suggested. She shook her head. “Beast.” Again, a shake of her head, with her nose turned up. “Hunter.”

  “She’s a girl, Jarl Magnus, not a boy.”

  “She is a bitch, not a girl.” If she corrected him, he would correct her.

  “Helika.” The girl smirked.

  “Better.” This child was bright. Associating “bitch” with her father’s family was impressive. “What of Heli or Lika? Her entire name may bother your mother to be frequently repeated,” he reminded her.

  “Lika! Oh, it is perfect.” She squeezed the dog’s neck and then flung her arms around his waist and squeezed him with a surprising amount of force. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. After my cat spot cloak, this is the best present anyone has ever given me.”

  “My jarl. I beg your pardon.” The nurse pried the child away from him. “I have been searching everywhere for the girl.”

  “Where were you?”

  “She ran off from me. I—I have—” the nurse stammered.

  Magnus crossed his arms. “She is small. She could have been injured if she had wandered into the smelting houses or been stepped on by a horse in the yard. You must do a better job or you will need to find a new position.”

  “Her mother said I could leave her for short periods of time.” The nurse began to make excuses and blame others for her actions. Unacceptable. There was nothing he hated more than a servant making excuses for his or her errors. “Her mother said she was a good-natured child. Her mother—”

  “You will leave the girl in my care if you need to leave her for a short while. She follows direction very well.” He studied the flustered nurse. Klara had wanted her daughter to supervise the child because she trusted no one to be more qualified, but he was not so sure. The young woman seemed more interested in smiling at his men than in training her young charge.

  “I will prepare her for the evening meal, my jarl.” The nurse lowered her eyes. “It will not happen again.”

  Magnus flicked his wrist to dismiss her.

  “Many, many thanks for my dog, Jarl Magnus,” the child called out over her shoulder. “Can Lika take my bath with me, Janetta?”

  “Of course not, Katia,” the exasperated nurse said as she dragged the child by the arm from the hall.

  He stared at the bottom step, wondering if he should follow the child to make certain her lecture from her nurse was not severe.

  “My jarl.” Klara approached. “You appear a man in need of refreshment—or perhaps you would care for some solitude in the sauna? I will send Ylva to rub the tension from your shoulders?”

  “Aye, ale. Have a bath prepared in my chamber. Has my wife returned from the village?”

  “I suggested she return at a reasonable hour, yet she was distracted with learning the names of all your guardsmen,” the housekeeper answered.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Like you, I’m wondering where your wife is. I am loyal to you, Jarl Magnus, in all things,” she said, digging her fists into her waist, assuming an authoritative stance.

  “Aye, Klara, as you have always been.” Magnus reined in his temper. “Send your mistress above stairs when she returns.” He began his ascent, then reconsidered. There was no reason his wife needed to know the names of his guards. He would collect his wife himself.

  He marched to the main entrance. In a dark alcove, he spied Klara chastising Ylva heatedly. The domina squeezed the younger woman’s arm with such force that the maid was bent over. He continued out into the yard, wondering what had the young maid had done to upset his head housekeeper.

  Klara had been in charge of his keep going back to his father’s day. No doubt adjustments had to be made with serving a new mistress. Magnus would be wise to stay out of the affairs of women.

  Chapter 16

  Pacing in their bedchamber, Lida unbraided her hair as she awaited the arrival of the copper bathing tub that had been sent out for repairs. Her possessive husband preferred her to bathe alone above stairs, as opposed to in the beautiful cedar-lined bathhouse that the majority of the household made use of.

  After the sweet cake ceremony tonight, she would announce to her husband that she was with child. She wished to look her best. The festival of Lucia marked the second cycle she had not bled. Her breasts were increasingly tender, and she felt overly tired in the latter part of the day. She had suspected her condition for a full fortnight but delayed in telling him out of selfishness. Day and night she yearned for his touch. She knew she would long for it once he took it away. A part of her soul now became lost in him each time they came together.

  But by becoming pregnant, she had fulfilled her primary purpose in Tronscar. Now her husband would return to spending time with the women in Mak’s pleasure house. She swallowed down that painful truth.

  Her husband never spoke very much about himself, so she was grateful for Klara’s friendship. The jarl, Klara explained, never spent much time in Tronscar. He preferred to hunt up north, explore his lands for new mines, or sail along with his fleet to various ports, residing for months at a time in foreign lands and making use of their pleasure houses. Some details of her husband’s life, she had discovered, she would rather not know. Would any of that change once he became a father?

  Her mother’s wise council was to never worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. She would worry about the jarl losing interest in her another day. For today, she would enjoy the satisfaction that would come in announcing the summer birth of their first child. She rubbed her stomach and grinned with the warm, full feeling.

  At last, the much-anticipated knock on the door.

  Klara stepped in, her large set of keys jingling in the folds of her skirt. “The smith asked for your understanding but he needs more time to refit the drain. He started celebrating the festival a little early, if you can infer what I mean.” She began to lower the chandeliers to light the candles.

  Lida sighed, “Oh dear, I suppose I do.”

  “The bathhouse will be empty at this hour,” her friend suggested.

  “I had wished to wash my hair. I will collect Katia. Perhaps she and Janetta would like to join me in the sauna.”

  “Katia begged to feed the horses before they must come in to dress.”

  “Shame. It feels I have seen so little of my daughter in weeks. Very well. I will reset my hair and—”

  “Why bother?”

  “Magnus prefers I not be below stairs with my hair down. It takes only a moment to braid it.”

  “Lida, do you know what the differences between a tyrant and a husband are?”

  Lida smiled, preparing for another sarcastic quip. “Nay.”

  “Neither do I.” Klara was as lighthearted as Lida had ever seen her. “Such a submissive wife you have become,” she said.

  After Lida had taken a moment to braid her hair they walked down the stairs, headed to the bathhouse that resided behind the kitchen.

  “There was a time when I feared you would not bend so easily to our jarl’s commands.” Klara said.

  “Bend? Well, I suppose I have. I respect him greatly as leader. I daresay that we are becoming friends, as odd as that may sound.”

  “Magnus is a son to me—he’s family,” her friend said, seemingly in a rare moment of genuine feeling. “I do whatever it takes to take care of my family.”

  “He is fortunate to have such an excellent surrogate mother. Did you ever have the opportunity to know his birth
mother?”

  “Aye, I served her for a short while. I never forget a face, but in her case, I’ve worked hard to make an exception. She was a beautiful, tall woman, much taller than you. Magnus has her eyes.”

  “I understand she did not stay here long.”

  “The annoying thing about her was that she lacked the power of conversation, but not the power of speech. Moaned like a sow stuck in the mud from sunup to sundown. She left Magnus when he was weaned. A few years ago, I heard she died a long, painful death from a wasting disease.”

  Lida’s heart felt heavy. “A few years? Did Magnus go to see her?”

  “Nay. Why would he? After she birthed the heir, she collected her furs and gold and arranged for her father to send a ship to retrieve her.”

  Lida gasped. “And the jarl, Magnus’s father, what did he do?”

  “What do you mean?” Klara halted her path down the stairs, squinting and flattening her lips into a hard line.

  “Did he not want more children? Did he not want a wife to keep his house?” Lida asked, confused by the tale and the reaction of the loyal servant telling it.

  “That’s what I was for. He was a true man of the north, only happy when tumbling his maids, hunting, and fishing hundreds of miles from here in no-man’s-land. Died up there eventually. Took Magnus two winters to find his body and return him home. ’Twas a miracle he found his father’s ring at all.”

  “I had no idea. Poor Magnus.”

  “Such effort to find his father’s ring—you understand why a legitimate heir to pass it to is so important for him.”

  What does she mean, legitimate? “Umm, Klara, forgive me, but are you suggesting that the jarl has illegitimate heirs?”

  Klara smiled inwardly. It had taken long enough for the dim girl to follow her. “Beg your pardon, Lida. I forget myself. I should not speak of such things.”

  “How many are there? As his wife, I am duty bound to provide and care for all my husband’s children,” Lida said. Self-righteous cow, Klara thought.

  “Ylva birthed a beautiful boy last spring with the jarl’s eyes. Ragna has three children, but they’re only girls. Eva, at Mak’s, was the jarl’s favored whore for many years. She has four children. Her oldest son is ten winters. Fear not, the jarl is generous with all his women. You needn’t bother; he asks me to see to their compensation.” Before they reached the door to the bathhouse, Lida was whiter than snow.

  Klara had been keeping a very watchful eye on her jarl’s latest plaything. From her spy hole in the adjoining chamber, she had been surprised to see how talented the little whore was in bed. This latest pest would prove more difficult to get rid of than the ones before. This one was a master at moaning and spreading her legs, but she also had something more. She held the jarl with her eyes. That was not a simple skill to learn, and an even more difficult skill to teach. All her trained whores together did not equal the seductive hold this Finnish slut had over Magnus.

  Lida was usurping Klara of her rightful power as domina a little more every day. She needed to drive a wedge between the two as she awaited the opportunity to have Lida permanently replaced. Janetta had not yet found her way into the jarl’s bed. That plan would take a bit longer to work out. Once Lida’s belly began to swell and she could no long bend over to service the jarl on her knees, he would surely then turn to a more eager bedfellow. And with Klara’s daughter sleeping close by, he would easily find a welcoming bed.

  She reminded herself to practice self-restraint a little longer. Klara needed to teach Magnus the treachery of bringing home a foreign wife. His next wife would be northern, be from Tronscar, and, most importantly, be her daughter. It had taken a few weeks to find the perfect opportunity to stage this act in her plan, but finally the day had arrived, and Klara was more than prepared to enjoy it.

  As they approached the bathhouse, Klara slowed her pace and snapped her fingers. “Curse it. I knew I was forgetting something. You go ahead. I will rejoin you in a moment. I neglected to retrieve the spice cabinet key from the cook—she hadn’t finished the lussekatt cakes when I left.” Klara waved to Lida, then slipped around the side of the sauna. She wouldn’t risk missing the entertainment about to unfold.

  Lida entered the bathhouse, her mind a blur of conflicting information. She began to pull her braid apart angrily. Her husband might have as many as eight children, and those were only the ones Klara knew of. What of his travels? There could be a mistress with a child in every port.

  She closed her eyes. Why should any of that matter to her? ’Tis not as though her husband had made a promise of fidelity, and he was a powerful man. ’Twas common for men of power to have multiple women. Still, why did it burn in her throat?

  Wear only a thin robe, she came around the corner into the principal chamber of the cedar-lined bathing house, which contained several large soaking tubs resting on a clean slate floor. An iron stove poured a dry heat into the cedar planks, settling a pure, warm freshness into the air.

  The unmistakable, sultry voice of Ylva said, “My jarl, you are so tense. I will use the spiced oil that helps relax you.”

  Her husband was leaning forward in the steaming water while Ylva knelt behind him, massaging his back. At first Lida froze. Then, like a coward, she peered around the corner. She saw that the beautiful maid was quite naked.

  Her lungs were poisoned with the scent of the exotic oil. She heaved, the need to retch taking her over.

  Magnus twisted around at the sound of the echoing gasp from across the chamber, and saw his wife, her eyes wide and filling with tears. She whipped around at full tilt, her long, loose hair flapping behind her as she fled.

  He sprang out of the cedar tub, reaching for a drying cloth, and saw what had upset his wife. “Where are your clothes, woman?”

  “My jarl, I was told you requested me.” The maid shrank away, covering herself.

  “Get out!” He pointed to the door. Clutching her gown to her chest, the maid ran.

  Magnus wrapped a drying cloth around his waist, stomping barefoot out into the snow. He would not apologize to his wife. He was the jarl. If he had requested a naked maid to scrub his back, that was his right! Why, then, should seeing the hurt in his wife’s eyes bother him?

  “My jarl, is something amiss?” The domina arrived at his side as he stomped toward the back entrance of the fortress. “May I be of assistance?”

  “Nay,” he said, and then stopped. “Aye, there is. You shall find Ylva a new position in the village. She forgets her place and has insulted her mistress.”

  “Typical Ylva. I regret taking her in. I—”

  “Klara, I need to speak to my wife. Alone.”

  “Oh good, so then you know,” his housekeeper said. Magnus knew her well enough to understand she was feigning the sound of her relief.

  “Know what?” he said sharply, not bothering to conceal his anger. He halted his steps and faced her.

  “Apologies, my jarl, I thought—” Klara shrugged, reluctant to continue. It was a tactic she used on other men in the hall, one that Magnus had witnessed working many times before. She dropped a hint of information, then feigned indifference to spike their curiosity.

  “Say what you have to say, woman. I am in no state to have conversation in the snow,” he bellowed.

  “There has been talk of a couple trysting in the bathhouse and then I saw your wife running in from the outer gates, just moments ago, with her hair down. A short man in a velvet cloak held back around the corner. I could not say for certain, but it appeared to be Tero’s second best. It looked as though she had come from—”

  “You accuse my wife of betrayal? Speak plainly.” He stepped closer, towering over his servant.

  Her hands flew up in front of her. “Nothing, nothing, my jarl. I think only of you—if you do not suspect anything then I am sure that all is well.”

  The housekeepe
r held a neutral expression on her face. He had no reason not to trust her. She was human and must have been mistaken.

  Nay. Magnus had survived enough ambushes at court and in battle to learn to trust his instincts. His nose for deception smelled rot.

  “My wife is suspected of nothing. She entered the bathhouse with her hair down. The bath in our chamber is not yet repaired.”

  “My jarl”—the housekeeper blinked rapidly—“your soaking tub was delivered to your chamber. Your wife oversaw it.”

  Magnus charged up the stairs. He would get to the bottom of this. He entered their chamber to find his wife sitting on their bed, shoulders slouched and head down.

  He pulled on a pair of leather breeches. He wanted to be in trousers for this conversation. “I am your jarl. This is my house,” he started. “You—”

  “Forgive me. I should have announced my presence. ’Twas not my intent to spy,” she said.

  “Look at me when you speak,” he ordered with more anger than he had planned. This situation was out of his realm. He would not beg forgiveness from his woman. He was not in the wrong. “I owe you no explanation.” She nodded, holding her breath. “What you saw—” He had sworn that he would not explain and here he was about to—cursed be all women. “You have kept me well satisfied. I have had no need for another vixen.” She nodded her head, still not looking at him. “I will have your words, wife,” he shouted at her across the chamber.

  “You needn’t lay with me any longer.” She spoke in a wretchedly soft and lifeless tone. “Not for an annum or more, I should think. I shall give birth early this summer. Would you prefer I remove my things to Katia’s chamber?”

  Here now is the truth. She intended to leave him.

  She had drawn first blood in this latest battle of wills. Magnus ground his teeth, balled his hands into fists and steeled himself for battle with a most worthy adversary.

  Chapter 17

  “Nay!” Magnus roared. “You will not leave this chamber. I told you before that you are never leaving me.”