by Sandra Lake
“That decides it, poppet,” his cousin bellowed. “I am firing all my council and stealing you back to Götaland.” He grabbed her up off Magnus’s knee, and Katia shrieked.
“Nay, you cannot! Jarl Magnus said I am his.” Quick as a cat she climbed back to Magnus’s lap, flinging her little arms around his neck. He patted her back with pride.
The table roared again, all except for the Danish count sitting next to him. He was silent, staring at the child. “Where in Finland is your wife from?” he asked, the smile fading from his face.
“Turku,” Magnus said. “Our union was blessed by Bishop Henry.” He raised his chin. Was the count challenging him?
“Your wife, the child, they . . . they are familiar.” He continued to look hard at Katia and then down the table to his wife, who was engaged in conversation with the king. Magnus’s unease grew at the attention the count paid to his family. “Katia, does your grandmother have any other wise sayings?” the count asked.
“She has things to say all day long, but no more sayings about small things . . . or maybe I forgot them.”
“What other things does she like to say? What is her favorite?” This Dane was walking on thin ice with his suspicious manner.
“‘Love is not in our choice but is our fate.’ She told me that one over and over, sometimes twice a day. She said I would not understand until I grew up. I think it is funny because I choose to love all the time: my dog, my new uncle, my new chamber, my new cat spot cloak. I guess my love for my brothers is my fate. Is that what she meant, Jarl Magnus?”
“I do not know.” He stroked her flushed, soft cheek. “Your grandmother sounds too wise for me.”
“Excuse me, Jarl, King Birge.” The count tripped on his chair in his rush to depart.
“Tero!” Magnus summoned his steward.
“Yes, master.”
“See after the count. He may be ill.”
“At once, master.” Tero nodded.
“Are you getting tired, my little Kat?”
Katia rested her head against his chest. He enjoyed the feel of her sleeping in his arms, but an itch scratched at the back of his mind. Instinct warned him that an unspecified threat had been delivered by way of the count’s questions and strange reaction to the answers. Would the count try to use his wife’s lowborn status against Magnus and his position? History did have a pattern of repeating. His gut told him treachery from the Danish shore was now in play.
Chapter 24
Lida leaned forward and closed her eyes as her husband rinsed her hair. “I think you should go,” she said, more firmly this time.
“I should not have asked you. I will decide.” He scrubbed her scalp harder with the soft lavender soap.
“Magnus, it will only be for a month. I promise to not burn down your fortress while you are gone.”
“Hold your breath.” He poured water over her hair. Lida tied her clean hair in a knot to keep it out of the soapy water and turned her face up to kiss him. The price for having her hair thoroughly washed.
“I have changed my mind. You should quit your role as jarl and be my official hair washer until the end of time. Who has time to do both?” She deliberately rubbed her breasts against his chest to tease him.
He snatched her up out of the tub.
After the twins’ birth, Lida’s body had remained sensitive in a few secret places. Her husband had become very creative in caring for them. The result was a softer, more sensual time together. They had opened their martial bed to all manners of pleasure. The countless ways Magnus worshipped her body made Lida all the more eager to return his affections in kind. She admitted that having the babes sleep in the nurses’ chamber a few nights a week was quite wonderful. However, she did not get much more sleep.
With her lustful desires now satisfied—fully, more than once—Lida lay naked and sweaty in her husband’s arms.
They both needed another bath. She stroked her hand across his mighty chest, in continual awe of the power and strength he possessed. Her mind wandered back to the lengthy arguments and conversations between her husband and his aggressive cousin.
War clouds hung heavy in the air. The king had a hobby of crusading, which came at a steep price—heavy losses of men, weapons, and gold, plus frequent land disputes. Factions in the Dane, Saxon, and Swede courts plotted against them, hence the urgency of the king’s visit to Tronscar in need of her husband’s support.
One of the vocal opponents of the Dane-Swede alliance had been the very man the king had dragged to Tronscar, Count Charles Flander, the top advisor in Demark. The king had wanted the Danish count to be impressed by Magnus’s strength and ability to trade with his raw steel, forged weaponry, and battle-ready troops. Regrettably, the opposite had happened—Count Charles disappeared the day after he arrived, leaving behind a letter stating that he must return directly to Denmark.
“I think you should go,” Lida said. “I feel terrible, Magnus. I was distracted with the children. I was not a proper hostess. Perhaps the count was offended?”
Teetering on the verge of sleep, her husband mumbled. “Are you trying to be rid of me, wife?”
“Aye, that is exactly what I have been doing for the last hour. Trying to get you to flee from my bed.” She tickled under his rib, a place she had found a while ago. He wiggled and twisted away until his big arms came crushing down on either side of her head, pinning her to the bed. He kissed her until she was nothing more than a sack of bones beneath him.
“You should not test your man in such a way. He will not let you sleep while he inflicts punishment.”
“Sleep is overvalued.” She slapped his backside. “Besides, I have three maids to help me steal a short slumber midday.”
He went strangely still, turning serious and looking down at her so intensely she wondered if something was amiss.
“I do not think I can leave you or our children,” he confessed quietly. His face would have looked angry to anyone else, but Lida found she could finally accurately read his expressions. This was his look of wanting and concern. He wanted her, and it pained him to admit it.
“Then hurry home. I will be waiting, impatiently.”
He shifted his eyes back and forth, as if he would say something more, but then the look was gone. He lay back in the bed and pulled her into his arms.
***
Reclined with one foot up on the bench opposite her, Klara balanced on the back legs of her chair and let the unexpected good news sink in slowly. It seemed too convenient to be true.
Her sons and collection of servants huddled around the table. “You swear, his ship sailed south, down the coast, not directly across the gulf?” she asked her youngest son.
“He will be in Sodermanland in four days,” Casper answered.
Klara let out a satisfied breath. Her plans of war had begun. “Eat your meat, son. We sail for your sister’s at first light.” Finally, she would have the result of her months of planning. She would be comfortably housed where she belonged by winter, if not sooner.
“Are you certain, Mother?” Axel asked. “You wish war for Tronscar? Many good Norrlanders will be slaughtered.”
“Isn’t that the point, Axel? What do you think we do up here in the north, make steel sticks to love-tap our neighbors with? Bloody hell. Mikko! Send a message to Hakon that I want to see him in my private chamber immediately. Warn him to not keep me waiting,” Klara instructed.
“Aye, mistress.” Mikko bobbed his head like a puppet and left.
“Go see the witch at gray rock,” Klara told Dag. “Your sister will most likely be running low with her supply. Tell the old crow that I want the same as last time, and do not let her cheat you on the price.”
Finding enemies to align against the Finnish whore had been nearly effortless. Casper had returned from Turku with all the information she needed. Janetta was a lazy l
ack-wit, but her body was sound, and she had paid attention to the trade of a domina, earning her way into the principal house of the chieftain within a month of arriving in Lylasku. Janetta now ruled over the spineless Valto, Urho’s brother, who had wanted to marry Lida after his death. All Klara needed now was for Magnus to leave Tronscar, and she would have the opportunity to smoke out the false friherrinna.
The well-timed gift of the disappearance of Hök was yet another asset to Klara’s plan.
Klara slapped the back of the head of her son. “Dag, shut your mouth when you eat. You are full. If you eat more, you will be as bloated as your sisters.” Her son turned tail and departed to see after his duties.
Klara sat alone and savored a rare moment of satisfaction. She raised her wine to the empty chair and toasted the ghost of her traitorous dead lover. “I will come for you yet, Knut. You dare toss me aside as a used-up whore? We’ll see who rightfully remains. In a hundred years, no one will remember your precious son Magnus. Only those of my lineage will rule this land.” Her near-victory was so sweet, she could taste it on her lips.
***
Lida strolled the lush green south fields, her skirts dragging behind her, catching on small, fragrant wildflowers. Squinting in the bright sunlight, she raised her hand to shield her eyes. Far ahead, Katia skipped to a stop and launched herself into a perfect cartwheel.
“Mama! Did you see that one?” her daughter called back. Lida waved, cheering.
They were outside, soaking up the fine weather of a Swedish summer. Lida held Hök, Ylva held Stål, and the fledgling lovebirds, Brita and Arne, trailed farther behind.
“She reminds me of myself as a girl in these hills. Before I first fell in love,” Ylva said wistfully.
“First love is a devil of a thing. How old were you?” Lida asked.
“Fourteen,” Ylva said. “He was the son of the master forger. Oh . . . he was a fit lad. Always giving me little gifts. He knew my place with my uncle’s family was tenuous and promised to save his earnings and make me his wife. ’Twas a very sweet summer.” Her friend sighed longingly.
“What happened?” Lida asked.
“Oh, I gave him my maidenhead and then he started to give his small gifts to my cousin,” Ylva said unsentimentally. “They have four children now. You know Sonja?”
“Sonja stole your sweetheart?” Lida gasped.
“She did not steal him. He was in love with her the whole time. He was paying attention to me to get her attention, which he did.”
Astonished, Lida asked, “And you are still friends with them?”
“A girl in my situation cannot be overly picky with her friends.” Ylva softly patted Stål’s bottom. It seemed to Lida that sweet Ylva had been searching her whole life to be loved and belong. She held no bitterness in the way she told her tale. Gazing down at Stål adoringly, she said, “Klara was the closest thing I ever knew to a mother. She made me think that she was doing me a great kindness by allowing me to be one of her chosen girls. I never knew the other women in the village were disgusted with me. Klara praised me for my beauty, gave me a new gown, a cloak. She would . . .” Her head hung lower.
“’Tis alright, Ylva. You need not say it if it pains you.” Lida touched her shoulder.
“Nay, I want you to know. Serving you and the jarl makes me feel useful and secure. I’ve never felt that way before. Klara would lavish her praise on one of us at a time, but she would threaten to expel those that were not pleasing her. To be without her approval left you scared all the time,” Ylva said, with tears forming in her eyes.
“You are a part of us now, Ylva. You will stay with us as long as you want to be here.” Lida embraced her friend. Hök reached for Lida’s braid and gave it a tug.
Lida stopped under a large ash tree. “Shall we take a rest and feed our little men?” Lida called for Katia to come closer. She was playing much too close to the fast-running stream. Lida feared she would fall in and get soaked to the bone with the frigid mountain water. “I will be right back, Ylva.” She lay her son down on the blanket beside her friend. “Katia, too far, my love. Come—” Her words choked to a stop.
“Have mercy!” Lida screamed. Coming out of the thick forest was a large, dark figure of a man who approached Katia, ax in hand.
Lida searched the meadow for their guard, but Arne was far behind with Brita. He would never get to them in time.
“Arne! Help! To Katia!” She waved her arms overhead, racing in the direction of her daughter. The dark, menacing form increased his speed. As they all ran to the same target, out of the corner of her eye, Lida saw a second man coming from the forest. They were under attack by the Morgdor.
“Katia! Come to me. Run!” Her heart was in her throat, and her legs would not go fast enough.
Katia began to run toward her. They slammed into each other and Lida grabbed her daughter around the middle, pumping her legs, running to the group on the hill with all she had in her. Her sons were held tightly to Ylva and Brita’s chests as all three ran toward the high stone walls of the keep.
Arne charged in the opposite direction, sword drawn. A moment later, Lida heard the sounds of clashing steel.
“Don’t look back,” Lida shouted to her companions. “Keep running.”
“Look, Mama.”
“Don’t look back, Katia. Look to the walls and run!”
“’Tis Hök, Mama! Hök is fighting the horned man.”
Lida glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, the second man that had charged from the trees was her lionhearted brother-in-law, not another bandit. The Morgdor man now lay out in front of him on the ground. Arne stood beside her brother-in-law at the ready, searching the tree line for more danger.
Guards poured out of the open gate and surrounded them. Archers lined the high walls. With her children and friends once again safe, Lida slowed her pace and allowed herself to breathe.
“Oh, my love. Let us get behind the wall. That was enough excitement for a lifetime,” Lida said, every muscle in her body still twitching in fear.
“I will make Hök a special song on my lute. He saved me, Mama,” Katia said, bobbing her head calmly, appearing not at all bothered by the near-death experience.
Lida’s heart hammered painfully against her ribs. For Katia’s benefit, she worked to cover her fear. Once inside the hall, Lida spoke with two of Magnus’s commanders to explain what had happened.
As her brother-in-law entered the hall, Lida rushed to embrace him. “I will never be able to thank you enough. I thought we were safe to stay within a short walk of the wall.”
“Normally you are,” Hök replied. “Unfortunately the forest is swarming with knaves and bandits at the moment. ’Tis why I returned. Where is Magnus? I must speak to him.”
“Sodermanland. Oh—my thanks again, Hök. I shan’t stop shaking for a month.”
“Then let me hold my nephew.” He smiled and held Hök up high in the air. “Is it just me or is he starting to look like me as well?”
Lida lightly smacked his arm. “He looks like his father. Whom you take after, in fact. Now, come and greet the rest of them. I must warn you, Katia is about to shower you with her praise and gratitude.”
“Good, I have been needing some attention. The northlands are lonely this time of year. Every creature has a mate and is off making next winter’s flock,” Hök said. Unlike her husband, Hök seemed to require long stretches of solitude. As far as Lida knew, he lived alone in the mountains to the northwest of Tronscar, hunting, fishing, and climbing to serve only his own ends, living a life of quiet contemplation and reverence. Lida expected her mother would like Hök a great deal.
“Oh, you are a beast,” she said with a giggle, releasing a good portion of her skittish tension. “I must forewarn you. Katia received a lute as a gift from your brother before he departed. She is convinced she holds a natural talent. Here�
��you will need these.” Lida placed two small squares of cloth in his hand to block his ears.
***
The midday meal had being cleared away and the twins sent above stairs for their nap. The group remained around the head table, wearing strained expressions of enjoyment as Katia played her hero another originally composed melody.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The iron staff hammered and Katia’s little fingers froze in place over the strings of her lute. Before the steward could make his announcement, Lida had sprung to her feet.
“Valto?” Lida descended the dais to greet her former brother-in-law. “Welcome—what an unexpected surprise.” The past year had not been kind to the man. He had never been as handsome as his brother, but now, with the addition of a large girth and thinning hairline, he held no resemblance to her deceased husband.
“Sister, I have longed to see you again,” Valto said, smiling in an ominous sort of way. His off-putting, eerie manner had not changed. “I bring glad tidings from your family.” He advanced inappropriately close. Her new brother-in-law loomed over the old one. “You are much altered, sister. I heartily approve.”
“I have been blessed with twin sons three months past, Valto.”
“Ah, that would explain your”—rudely, he stared at her chest—“fine form.” His smile broadened, revealing his crooked, yellowing teeth.
“Will you sit and take refreshment?” Lida asked.
“Aye, gratitude, sister.” They stepped up to the head table, Valto rubbing shoulders with her, Hök hovering close behind.
“And are we expecting the jarl to join us?” Valto arched his brow and smiled in a manner suggesting he already knew the answer.
“Nay,” she answered. “Jarl Magnus is presently away serving the king. Forgive me,” Lida said, turning toward Hök. “I failed to make proper introductions. This is the jarl’s brother, Hök Tuisku.
“Hök, this is my . . . this was my brother-in-law, Valto Lyyski,” she said.
Valto ignored the introduction. “And hello, little flower. This must be Katia.” The hair on Lida’s arms stood up, her body on full alert. Alarm bells rang out in her head.
