The Warlord's Wife

by Sandra Lake

  No one insulted her family and got away with it. Demoting her left her only one clear path.

  Klara wanted Tronscar. She had helped build it, so she had every right to rule it.

  If that could not be accomplished, she wanted it torn apart, decimated beyond repair.

  Have them try and erase her name after she brought down the greatest fortress in the north. The jarl would learn the consequences of ejecting her from her rightful place.

  ***

  Katia and Lika ran down the corridor, chasing each other, while Magnus paced outside his wife’s chamber. Her continued residence across the corridor from him was his penance for failing her. He had not asked for her forgiveness because he deserved none.

  There was a loud shriek and the girl tumbled to the floor, squealing as the dog pinned her down, licking her face.

  “Off, Lika!”

  “All is well, Jarl Magnus. She won fair and square. This is her reward.” The girl giggled louder, rolling on the floor with her pet.

  Magnus rubbed the back of his neck, tension rising high around his ears. At least the girl was returning to her true nature, which calmed him slightly.

  The door opened and two old women smelling of herbs and sheep-fat ointment shuffled past without looking up at him. That was not a good sign.

  His wife sat propped up in her bed, a mountain of pillows crushing in around her. Her hair was down, cascading to the sheets in long, gold waves.

  “Neither one,” Lida said sharply. “I do not see why this is so difficult for you to understand, Tero.”

  “When the longships sail, I will have more success in the southern territories,” Tero explained.

  “There is no more time. These babes will come in days, perhaps.” His wife looked to the doorway and her eyes locked on Magnus’s. She forced a false smile and he instantly knew she was hiding something from him.

  “What was wrong with the last selection?” he asked her. She looked out the window.

  “Your wife has specific instructions for the women, and they either do not agree with her or have no knowledge of how to perform what she asks.” Tero set his jaw in a grim line.

  “Explain,” Magnus demanded.

  His wife let out a loud sigh of annoyance, and then tears began to form. As of late, she seemed to have every known emotion all at the same time.

  “Tero, I need to speak to my husband alone,” she said.

  His steward nodded and left.

  “They were the best midwives from Bolina. Is it that you want your mother?” Magnus asked.

  “Nay . . . Well, aye, I want my mother, but that is not why. Only one has delivered two babes for the same birth, and neither has ever saved a babe from a dying mother. They say if the mother dies then ’tis God’s will the babe die too. The priest says the same.” She tossed her hands up in the air.

  “What!”

  “If I am not able to push them both into this world . . . if they became lodged . . . I need a woman with the skill to cut the babe free. I have seen it done. When the mother cannot be saved, the child may still live. Those women have no experience with a blade nor the interest to learn. There must be someone here who is capable.” She shifted and continued to rub her taut, mountainous stomach.

  “There will be no cutting into you, wife! I would strike down anyone, male or female, that puts a blade to your flesh. You are not leaving me.” He forbade her to die.

  “Magnus, do not come in here and growl at me,” Lida said. “You are not the one with two precious lives inside you. Two lives for the price of one is my choice, not yours, so you can take that grouchy bear growl of yours and be gone with you. Now, help me up, I need to use the chamber pot.” She raised her arms and he did as instructed. She scrunched up her face as she tried to move. Her hips and back were bothering her.

  “I will carry you.” He bent down.

  “Do not dare touch me or I will leak on the floor. Stop being so maddening and merely help me with what I ask.” His wife spoke in a soft tone that did not match her words, confusing him ever more.

  She shooed him away, demanding privacy behind the screen. “Can you ask Ragna for more of that powder she sent me? And I would love a bath this afternoon. Perhaps I could take my meal in the hall tonight. I long to be out of this chamber,” she said over the screen.

  “Permission granted, on the condition you let the me carry you—”

  “Put it out of your mind. I will not be made a spectacle. I am not an invalid,” she said, hobbling back to bed. She clutched her stomach, groaning loudly. “They are so strong, I swear they are going to tear out the middle themselves.”

  “Should I get the women?”

  “Do not look so scared, Magnus. I promise I will tell you when it is time to panic, but until then, we still have much to do. Did Rakel and Brita see to all the provisions on my list?” He nodded. Perhaps it was wise to say as little as possible. Everything out of his mouth seemed to anger her. Although he was coming to enjoy her temper. It was quite entertaining sometimes.

  “I would like to write a few letters as well,” Lida added, “and we still need to discuss Katia.”

  Magnus helped his wife’s legs back onto the bed, noticing the swelling had increased. “What of Katia?” He sat on the bed, picked up her foot, and began rubbing and stroking with the firm pressure she preferred.

  Closing her eyes, she rested against the headboard and sighed with pleasure, stirring his desire to life. It had been more days than he could count since he had last heard her soft sighs and moans of pleasure. He hungered to hear them again, yet he felt undeserving. How would he regain trust in her bed?

  “We need to discuss what will happen to her if I do not survive the births,” she said, as if it were some minor inconvenience. “Our babes will live, you will be sure of that. Nevertheless, I need to understand that Katia will be returned to my mother. I know you will see to our children’s care and well-being, and I am certain that you would keep Katia safe. ’Tis merely . . . I need to make sure you do not delay. If you delayed returning her, she would be stuck here for the winter, and—”

  “Katia is not leaving Tronscar.”

  “Magnus, she is a daughter of Finland and my family would see better to her future care. Here she will be—”

  “Mine. The terms of our agreement were that she would bear my name. Why are you going back on your word?”

  “I am not going back on my word. She is very fond of you. I apologize if you take offense, but still, it must be said. I have no time for compromises or complaining. I will face death when these babes arrive, and I need to have my mind and heart clear. I do not wish Katia to remain here if I do not.”

  She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “These babes will be yours. You will make an excellent father. You are so concerned for my care that I have no doubt that you will do everything in your power to raise them well. You will love them.” She laughed airily. “Babes have a way of demanding love from us that we did not realize we had the ability to create or carry. These two will govern your heart and they will thrive in your love. But Katia . . . she will not be your blood, not ever. Regardless of if you grant her use of your name, it would only be a name. She would witness your love for these two and suffer the feeling of not having a real father. She will not be treated equally—not to say that it is your fault. You are a good man, Magnus, I know you care for her, but please appreciate there are just some things that you may not yet understand.”

  Breeding has softened her head.

  She continued to babble her lunacy. “If she were to return to Turku, she would live with a family that would love her equally to my brothers’ children. She would be accepted as their blood and never compare herself to the love she would or would not receive here.”

  Magnus reached out to still his wife’s shaking hands. She did not say these words without conside
rable cost. He could see she was struggling to keep her tears from falling.

  “I would never treat her with indifference. She shares blood with our children and will be reared as their equal,” he said, keeping an even tone to calm her. A ripple moved under the thin nightgown. She stroked her taut belly.

  “Last summer, Katia came to me in tears. Some children had teased her that no father wanted her. I told her that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Those other children merely had one father, but she had a grandfather who adored her and two uncles who played games with her every day. A few days later she came to me and told me that the love of her grandpa and uncles was better than the love from one father.”

  He searched in her eyes for answers, not understanding what she was endeavoring to explain. “You would take her from me because you would not want to be proven wrong in her eyes?”

  “Nay, not take her from you. When she sees you love these babies, the look of adoration that you will hold for them in your eyes, she will see the difference. She will know that I lied to her, that the love of one true father is worth more than that of two uncles and a grandfather.” She wrinkled her nose—the floodgate of tears was about to burst. “She will question it one day.”

  “She lives here.”

  “Magnus, this is . . . you agreed . . . you—” The dam broke, and tears took over.

  Magnus found his wife’s conclusions inane and confusing. He needed to think. Sitting next to her, leaning back on the headboard, he pulled her into his arms, pushing her head to rest against his chest. She stopped crying, and a short time later her breathing became soft and even. Mercifully, she had fallen asleep.

  He placed his hand on her stomach and felt the sea of movement below. His sons were battling it out in the sparring ring. He rubbed lightly, sending them a silent instruction to settle because their mother needed to rest.

  His sons paid him no mind.

  ***

  Magnus sat in the comfort of his council chamber before a large fire with a belly full of roasted meat. Tero place a tankard of ale before the jarl and his guest.

  “He says, “Tis fine.’” Tero translated.

  Magnus grunted. Although he trusted and relied on Tero for all things, he did not wish to receive personal information through a translator. Magnus glared at the fisherman. His wounds had fully healed and he was dressed in a thick wool tunic with leather breeches and fur-lined boots. Housed in the chamber across from Tero, the Finnish man had now been in Tronscar for many months. “How much of our tongue do you understand?” Magnus asked. He had come to believe the fisherman understood much more than he admitted. “Tero, stay. If there is a need, speak up, but if not, this is between me and him.”

  “She have babe?” Otso asked.

  “Nay. Soon. She is anxious for the birth.”

  “He say two,” Otso said.

  “Twins, aye,” Magnus said. “My wife said that you had information from Lylasku you wished to give her. If you have some thing to say, you will speak it first to me. I will decide what news of her past life to burden her with. How long have you known her?”

  The man drank his ale and thought for a moment. “She a girl in market. She is bright like sun.” He took another long drink. “She is . . . free. She is good.”

  “Were you present when my wife was sent away from Lylasku?”

  Otso’s eyes cast down. “No one stop Helika beat her. Lylasku not home to me that day. My mother died. My brothers are men. I take Lida to Turku. I make new life. West of Turku, I have wife and son.”

  “I swear you will be returned to them.”

  Otso nodded. “Last winter, I hear fighting in north bad. We stop boat. I speak with my brother. He come away to my village. Lylasku . . . not Lylasku, people, slaves, beaten for many things. Children no run by shore. No food in belly to run.”

  “I have witnessed the changes. I know of what you speak,” Magnus said.

  Otso pointed to his head. “I know why Helika beat Lida. If Urho’s babe be son, then he would be next chief, not Helika’s son. Helika second wife. Katia not safe in Lylasku.” Otso stared at Magnus with resolute eyes. “What I see is Chief Rein sick. Valto soon be chief.”

  Magnus knew he needed to tell Katia the truth about her family, for her own protection. Every person has the right to know the truth of where they are from. But for now, she would be sheltered and reared to be a woman with her mother’s heart of compassion and courage. Magnus had come to accept that his wife knew more than him on a variety of topics, though he would never admit that aloud to a living soul.

  “My wife spoke well of you. You will be rewarded for your loyalty. I will return you to your village with steel and furs that you may trade and sell. Mayhap you would wish to work with Tero as an agent in trade. You can speak with him and make your own decision. For tonight, I invite you to take your meals at my table as my honored guest.” The man stood to accept Magnus’s outstretched hand. “With one condition.”

  Otso clenched his jaw.

  Magnus pulled him in, speaking into his ear. “She was a good wife to your friend and mourns him still. I will not have remembrances that would bring her more pain. Your warning is well received. From this day, Katia Magnusdotter is of the house of Tronscar.”

  Otso pointed at him. “Lida is good queen for iron castle.”

  “She is indeed.” Magnus raised his tankard of ale and toasted his new Finnish ally.

  Chapter 21

  Late in the spring, Lida learned that Ylva’s babe had emerged blue, the cord wrapped around the infant’s throat. Brita, her tenderhearted maid, had come into her chamber with red, swollen eyes, and a running nose, prompting Lida to question her. Since it was so close to her time, Magnus had instructed the servants to not speak of the tragedy. He was treating Lida as if she were made of glass.

  Lida clutched the sides of her stomach. “I am glad you told me, Brita. Ylva is a good woman who has been treated most cruelly by this world. Tell Tero I would like to speak with him. I will place Ylva under my protection. She will need time to grieve. Poor dear.” Tears stung her eyes, but she pushed them away. Lida would cry for Ylva’s babe another day. For now, she needed to stay calm, ensuring the health of the two precious lives that she was responsible for protecting.

  After spending some time freshening up her bedchamber and relating other small household news, Brita added, “This may lighten your spirit. Your daughter asked me to braid her hair this morning. Not tight, she said, but she asked me for two braids.”

  Lida put her embroidery down. “Truly! That is news.”

  “She took them out after she was finished with her practice. Her hair gets in the way of seeing her target,” Brita added casually.

  “Target! What target?”

  “You know”—Brita shrugged—“when she is sparring with your husband.”

  “Sparring. What!” Lida flung off her bedsheet and waddled through the door and down the corridor. Sparring with her child—teaching her daughter the sword without even speaking with her? She would not have it. “Brita, come take my hand on the stairs, and please bring my slippers and robe.”

  “Magnus!” she called at the bottom of the stairs. He sat at the head table, taking his midday meal with her daughter next to him.

  “Is it time?” He rushed straight for her.

  “What is this I hear of you teaching my daughter the sword? Are you mad? She could be hurt. She is just a child, a little girl. She should be learning about . . . other things.” She waved her hands, trying to be more specific. “Not learning to make war. So typical of a Swedish lout to teach of violent . . . where are you taking me?” Her husband had grabbed her arm, leading her out under the archway to the kitchens.

  “The rain has stopped and the sun is out. Since you’re here, you shall take some air.” He ignored her ranting and smiled at her, a big, toothy smile.

&n
bsp; “Magnus, you must listen to me. I will not have her . . . oh, it has indeed turned into a lovely day.” The sun warmed her face, and her nose filled with the smells of spring. The yard held mounds of melting snow, puddles of mud warming in the sun. Off in the distance, birds sang, busy in the trees. Trickling water ran off the roofs, taking her mind back to her farm in Turku. She closed her eyes and let the smells and sounds of spring awaken her senses.

  Her husband laid his black wool cape over her shoulders, directing her to sit on a carved stone bench. “She is a little girl,” he said. “A very bright little girl who will grow into as beautiful a woman as her mother. She will learn the sword while she holds the interest. Next season, she will want to learn the things that other girls learn. Did you see her braids? She finally made use of the ribbons.” Her husband placed his arm around her and closed his eyes, smugly lifting his face to warm in the sun.

  Lida tried to hold on to her anger but it had melted away with the snow. “You should have spoken to me about it.”

  “Nay, I should not have. It got you all upset, causing you to plow down the stairs recklessly.”

  “Plow! I do not plow.”

  “Aye, you do a bit.”

  “Magnus!” She flicked her eyes up to meet his, ready to give him a piece of her mind. His eyes were bright with restrained laughter. He was teasing her, and she did not know what to make of it. “I am just being an obedient wife. You said you wanted me to get larger, so here you have me.”

  He bent down, ran his hand over her stomach and kissed it. “That is big enough, my sons. Time to come out and meet your sire.” He turned his attention back to her and smiled. It was a different kind of smile, and his jaw was clenched, his eyes blazing with a fire she had not seen in months. Oh, how she had missed this look.

  “I never agreed to give you two sons,” Lida said. “I still think a daughter might scare you straight. Wait until your girl holds a sword and then we will have this conversation again.”

  “My daughters will hold swords, and a bow, and learn to throw a blade. My daughters will be unmatched and have no need of a man to defend them.”