The Warlord's Wife

by Sandra Lake

  “Unfortunate adventure? I have so many new stories to tell my friend Tosha back home in Tronscar! She won’t believe all the things that I have seen.”

  Once he had his family safely aboard his ship, Magnus began to see straight. But a small battle still had to be fought and won.

  “Count Charles,” he said, “you mentioned that a few pirates owed you a favor. Would they be Slav, by chance?”

  The count pinched his brows tightly together. “As a matter of fact, they are.”

  “And they hire out their blades to whoever holds the right price?”

  “That’s usually how sell-swords work, Magnus.”

  “Do they run a scarlet flag with a set of black wings in the center of their sails?”

  The count’s bewildered expression brightened to smug pride. “As a matter of fact, they do.”

  “Would you care to sail with me around the inlet, Charles? I think I may have just found a convenient use for having pushy in-laws.”

  “It would be my honor, Magnus.”

  The jarl turned to his wife and kissed her hard before gently shoving her away toward the hatch of the hold. “Perhaps you wish to rest and bathe below deck. Your uncle and I will not be long.”

  “My uncle—what is happening, Magnus?” Lida asked.

  “All is well, wife. There is only a small matter of a battle to extinguish.”

  “Can’t someone else go? I—I can’t let you go—I was so scared—”

  “You did very well, Lida,” he whispered. “I am very proud of both my brave girls.”

  She lowered her eyes and unclenched her fist from his armor. He relished that she had taken such a possessive hold on him.

  “Do what you must,” Lida said. “I pray you be careful, Magnus.”

  “As you wish, my love.” He kissed her temple, released her, and marched off his ship, leaving instructions that no one was to board the vessel in his absence.

  They sailed over to the cove in the count’s ship, flying his colors and banners high. The count ordered the horns to announce a coded message, and the small battle waging at the mouth of the cove halted at once.

  An hour later, One-Eyed Ivan and his crew of kingdomless men were sailing south in search of a new patron. A single vessel remained in the cove, a sleek, fast ship that was penned in by Magnus’s ships. Klara and her sons were aboard, awaiting their fate.

  Magnus called out to Aleksi on the ship next to him. “Do not risk one Norrland life in capturing them. Whoever raises a blade to your men, strike them down. Whoever remains, chain and stow them with the livestock. I want them returned to Tronscar to be tried before all.”

  Aleksi nodded. “What of Axel, Roffe, and Hakon? They are not on board—”

  Magnus raised his hand to silence him. “My thanks, Aleksi. You are wise to advise me. Before Klara and her dogs reach Tronscar, we shall smoke out the traitors who worked with her to bring death and war to their countrymen.”

  As Dag and Casper and their men surrendered, Klara continued to order them to arms. Once they were all chained and loaded aboard a ship, Magnus ordered that the witch be gagged out of pity for the crew that would be escorting her home.

  The skies had cleared and the wind settled, but a cloud of discontent still hung over his men. The exuberant euphoria of victory had been swallowed up with the rancid stench of betrayal.

  Magnus’s soul was troubled by the fact that so many of his men had turned against him to follow Klara.

  His wife and daughter waved from the bow of his ship, their golden hair shining brighter than the sun, lifting his chin and filling his chest with pride.

  Rejoining them, he folded them into his arms, holding both close. He turned to his daughter. “Katia, I must ask your permission for something.”

  She smirked at him, petting her dog. “I will probably say yes. You saved my mother, so I owe you forever now.”

  “May I burn down your grandfather’s house?” he requested formally.

  She thought about it for a moment. “Aye, but leave the village. I have a half brother who has six half sisters. He will need someplace to live.”

  Magnus looked to his wife for an explanation. Lida told him that during their days of captivity, they had met a boy and his mother inside the fortress. The boy was named Urho, after his father. He was the same age as Katia.

  Magnus ground his teeth. His wife did not need more pain added to her burden.

  He cupped her cheek. “I—” He didn’t have words to comfort her.

  “Never mind all that.” She patted his chest. “’Tis long in the past. We need to be underway to collect our sons. I beg you, Magnus, can we leave this instant?” his wife asked.

  “We shall travel without rest. I will have them back in your arms in less than a day, wife.”

  “They are not in Tronscar. They were not safe there. I do not know where they are,” she whispered with a new, rising panic. Fresh tears were welling up in her eyes.

  “Who took them?” He clung to her a little tighter.

  “Your brother. We had no one we could trust, Magnus. Please believe me, ’twas the hardest choice of my life. Valto had an order signed by the bishop, demanding the return of Katia to the house of Lyyski.” His wife spoke with increasing speed. “Axel and Hakon said that the order must be upheld, that it was the law, and since Katia was not your daughter that she must go with them. Hök said that hiding the babes was the only choice. ’Twas so hard to let them go, Magnus. I need them.” Lida could no longer speak.

  “And you shall have them.” Magnus pressed her head to his chest.

  “Hök said that only you would know where they are,” she said.

  “My love, I know where they are. It will take longer than a day, but we will leave this hour. They are safe. It was very wise of you to send the boys to safety while you protected our daughter.”

  Katia giggled. Both Magnus and Lida frowned. It did not seem like the time for laughter.

  “You called my mother ‘my love,’” she giggled. “’Tis all right, Jarl Magnus. Mama calls me that all the time.”

  Magnus kissed his wife again. She melted into his embrace.

  “I shall return. Stay here.” He pulled away, but Lida did not obey. She had not released her fists from his clothing.

  “Oh, Magnus.” She kissed him harder, softening.

  If he did not break away from their embrace, he risked ravishing his wife in front of his crew. “I must leave instructions for the men to secure the prisoners and burn the hall. I will need to reorganize my men before we return north. ’Tis three days’ journey to reach our sons.”

  She instantly let him go and gave him a little shove. “Hurry, then.”

  He chuckled, enjoying the small, feisty display.

  ***

  From the deck of her husband’s ship, Lida watched the fire consume the thatched roof of Lyyski hall, covering the forest in a billowing cloud of black smoke. As beautiful as it had once been, the great house would never be missed. It had become infested with vicious enemies. Sadly, sometimes the only solution for such an infestation is to burn it all down and start fresh.

  ***

  They traveled alone across wide, barren fields of short grass and rocks on horseback. Her husband explained he wanted to ensure the secrecy of Hök’s kinsmen hence the reason for leaving all the warriors behind on the ships.

  Lida’s confusion grew when he said this. She had imagined the northern realm to be full of savage beasts and cutthroats, but her husband had only laughed, and said that was exactly what his father had hoped the southern realms would always believe. He explained that the Sami and Seal peoples of the north did not understand war or gold or the concept of owning land. They were a people of the land, as rooted here as the evergreens that boldly grew against all odds of severe climate. They were a people of peace. They had no
use for rulers or clergy, but rather lived by the simple laws of nature.

  A collection of animal-skin huts speckled the horizon as Lida and Magnus’s horses trudged across a field. Far off in the distance, Hök stood on a rounded hilltop, waving. Her heart leapt into her throat. Her husband increased his speed, reaching his brother first. He swung down from his horse with Katia in his arms and locked his brother in a tight embrace. A large bundle was strapped to Hök’s back, two small faces peering over his shoulder.

  Lida vaulted off her horse and ran the last few feet. Both babes were smiling as they were released from their pouches.

  Lida and Magnus swapped babies back and forth, kissing, hugging, and stroking each one to make certain that they were real and as happy and healthy as they appeared. It had been a fortnight since she parted from them, longer for her husband, and it had felt too long. Much, much too long.

  After a satisfying meal of reindeer stew, Lida lay down on the bed of furs with their sons and nursed them. Although she had tried to keep her milk from drying out, she was not able to give them much. Ylva helped fill them. The women settled into a soft-spoken discussion about every small detail of the journey north, every smile, every cuddle, and every sleepless night.

  Magnus and his brother took Katia on a short walk to give the women some time alone.

  “Would you like to meet our father, Katia?” his brother asked.

  “I know this is a trick. He is dead like mine is,” Katia said bluntly, rolling her eyes.

  “If he were dead,” Hök said with a song in his tone, “how would he grow so tall and shelter so many flying creaturer?”

  They stood under a mighty ash tree that did not fit the barren landscape. His brother sat down and leaned against it. Magnus followed.

  “Wow!” Katia looked up. “We will have to bring the boys when they are older, Jarl Magnus. I will tell them about this tree but they will want to come see it for themselves,” Katia said as she spun around, her head back, looking up.

  “We shall bring them,” Magnus assured her.

  “Do you think he sees you better here?” she asked.

  “Our father?” Magnus asked.

  “Aye.” She sat down next to him.

  Magnus picked her up and settled her more comfortably on his lap. “I am not sure. Hök believes so, but my father speaks to me all the time. He taught me how to make decisions and swing my sword. I hear him in my ear warming me, correcting me. I do not need to come here to remember him.”

  “My half-breed brother—” she started to say.

  “Katia, that word . . . that term is not honorable,” Magnus said, correcting. “People use that word to separate, to judge, to hate.”

  “Oh.” She furrowed her brow. She walked over and sat next to Hök, taking his hand in hers. “I am sorry. I heard Klara and Janette and a few of the other servants call you that. I thought that was just your title.”

  His brother smiled at his daughter. “I know you do not use it to be cruel. My mother was Sami, my father of the Swedish tribe. I am half of each, but consider myself a whole person.”

  “I am half Finnish, half Danish, I have found out. Jarl Magnus does not like the Danish even though he is half himself.”

  “Pity us both, Katia,” Magnus chuckled.

  “I have a half brother the same age as me,” she continued. “But meeting him did not make me feel closer to my father at all.” She sighed loudly.

  Magnus said, “You are trained by your mother. You will always hear her. You will know me and remember my instruction for the sword and hear Hök for his instruction with useless tongues.”

  Katia pulled out Magnus’s ring and twirled it around her finger. “You said this means I am your daughter. But does that mean you have to be my father, or does it mean you want to be my father?”

  Magnus pulled her to his lap again. “I want to be your father. You are the daughter of my heart. Your great uncle Charles took a scroll with my seal to the bishop. I have asked the church to rename you Katia Magnusdotter, from the house of Tronscar. No one will ever take you from me again.”

  She twisted her lips. “Will it be odd if I call you Father?”

  Magnus twisted his lips to mimic her and looked away. “Nay, I do not think that sounds odd. Does it sound odd to you, Hök?”

  His brother arched his brow, twisted his lips as well, and frowned until she laughed. “Very odd, Katia. This old grouchy bear is not father material.”

  “Aye, he is.” She threw her little arms around Magnus and kissed his cheek.

  The three of them headed back to the Sami village, and at first light, the newly formed family of seven departed. Magnus was surprised, though his wife was not, that Hök insisted on escorting Ylva safely back to Tronscar.

  Chapter 31

  Midsummer Solstice—1159 A.D.

  “Magnus, I can smell the bonfires. We are late. My parents have been waiting for hours. We must dress.” His wife was trying to argue her way out of bed. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back with a little too much force, banging her chin against his chest in the process. “Ouch—that was a bit rough,” she giggled.

  He rolled on top of her, grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. His thigh pushed in between her legs, prying them apart. “You like it a bit rough. Do not bother to pretend otherwise,” he growled in her ear, sucking and biting down her throat.

  “Nay. I do not,” his wife lied, and shoved for him to release her.

  “I am going to prove that you are wrong and I am right.”

  “You are a beast, an arrogant . . .” His wife’s eyes drifted closed, and she melted beneath him, proving that he was right and she was wrong, again.

  He took her fast and hard as she wanted, until she called out his name, biting down on his shoulder, shouting her release. She lay before him with hooded eyes, panting for air. She was his, and he was never going to have another moment where he felt more connected, more satisfied, more . . .

  He jerked up, staring down at her with the sudden knowledge.

  She owned his body and soul. She took him when she wanted, how she wanted, not the other way around. He launched up out of bed.

  “Magnus, are you all right? Are you ill?”

  He stepped farther away, looking back down at her. She lay on the bed, naked and warm. Her skin glistened with their combined sweat.

  This was dangerous. This was a very big problem.

  “Magnus, what is the matter?” Lida crossed the chamber. The sultry line of her hips dipped and swayed with every step. Her body controlled his. He could not master himself in her presence.

  She controlled him. He would do anything for her.

  She touched the center of his brow with her thumb, smoothing away the peaked point. “’Tis alright, you can tell me if you want. I feel the same.” She imprisoned him with her stare. “Magnus, I love you. I have loved you for a very long time, and I have known for a very long time that you love me.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him, softly at first and then deeper, harder, sealing her words, spreading her love throughout his very being.

  “’Tis an unnatural feeling,” he said through a clenched jaw. “I have never felt this desire to surrender before. I tried to fight, but I grew tired of pushing it down. I wanted to possess you, make you mine in body and soul. Only, you—you have crushed me under your will, Lida. I cannot surrender this feeling to you. I will not submit to you.”

  She shrugged. “Then don’t. It makes no difference to me, Magnus. I know I own you just as much as you own me. Tell yourself that I do not if it makes you feel better. I care not. I know you love me.” Her smile broadened. “I can feel it from you”—she leaned in to whisper in his ear—“all the time. When you look at me, I feel it. When you order me around, I feel it. When you are deep inside of me, I feel it.” She exhaled a sweet breath across his neck and throat. “
I love you, Magnus, and I will tell you I love you whenever I want from this day forward. I will call you my love if that is my wish.” She smirked wickedly, walking toward her clothing.

  Magnus grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly back. He swallowed down his remorse. “I love you and I will declare it to you whenever I wish.” He crashed his mouth down to her and she leapt her body up, locking her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  She really was a remarkably strong woman. That was good. She was going to need her strength for what he had in mind for her.

  Magnus carried her back to bed, laid her down, and made slow, passionate love to her, whispering his confession of love in her ear as they hovered between bliss and madness.

  A hour later, very, very late for the midsummer solstice feast, Magnus and his glowing wife joined the hall full of their friends and family. No one had missed the hosts, not with so many relatives to entertain the year-old twins, showering kisses on rosy cheeks and cheering on first steps. Katia was in her element with all the attention from her royal Danish great-aunt Caecilia, who made up a game of switching languages with every other sentence.

  Later, the challenge went out to the head tables that if someone addresses you in one tongue, you must reply in a different.

  “My daughter has made you a most becoming new tunic, Magnus,” Ingerid complemented him in Swedish. “The color suits your eyes,” she said, garnering the attention of the crowded hall, and of all the Danish and Swedish diplomats who had made the long journey to celebrate the festival with them.

  Magnus nodded his thanks to his mother-in-law and in a well-rehearsed, fluent Finnish tongue replied, “Your braids are very lovely as well, Ingerid.”

  The hall fell silent, several smirks and a few gasps escaping. His brother slapped the table and started howling first, followed by his brother-in-law Peter, and then Tero.

  Ingerid patted Magnus on the shoulder, looking away as she tried to stifle her own giggle. “Though you are not yet my greatest love, Magnus, I will say you are in my heart as well.”