Blind Redemption (Viking Romance) (Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

  Aaron crossed his arms over his chest. Whatever the jarl knew wouldn’t surprise him. “Your cousin has fathered two sons.”

  “Yes.” Aaron knew already. “I often inquire after him.”

  Erik’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I had the pleasure of speaking with Tyr last season at the Thing.”

  Aaron nodded. “And his wife?”

  “Beautiful and as virtuous as first snow.”

  Yes. Aaron couldn’t envision his cousin’s wife as anything less. He remembered the short time he held that lovely creature in his arms four years ago. The sweetest bit of temptation he’d ever been challenged to resist. There was nothing ordinary about Rachelle Sigurdsson. Forcing those bitter memories aside, he said, “I’m not here to reminisce.”

  “No, I doubt you are.” Erik placed his folded hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’ll be blunt, Jarl McNally. What does the king want?”

  “Men.”

  “For what end?”

  Aaron felt like laughing. This man’s disdain rivaled his son’s. With the power and authority of King Olaf behind him, Aaron knew he’d get what he needed quickly. “Churches are being vandalized in the northlands. I’m forming a new army—soldiers to man the cities and protect the priests and holy sites from further destruction.”

  The elder jarl snarled. “You expect my support?” he shot up, then paced behind his desk. “I donated gold and pledged thirty of my best warriors to the invasion of England four years ago. Do you know how many returned from Stamford Bridge?”

  Aaron could only guess.

  “One.”

  “Many households suffered the same fate.”

  “Does that ease my burden?” Erik snapped. “My youngest brother’s body was never recovered from that Odin-forsaken wasteland.”

  Ten thousand men had died at Stamford Bridge—including Aaron’s own cousin. He understood the pain and bitterness, but would not tolerate disobedience to the king. “I share your sorrow.” He picked up the wineskin and opened it. He took a long swig. “Olaf desires peace.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Erik rubbed his head, clearly frustrated and angry, then slammed his fist on the table. “Olaf hasn’t the resources or men to spare to protect his own assets. Our young king is too busy fortifying cities, instead of making peace with the men he needs most. Now he’ll steal the sons of the most powerful families in Norway without showing his face?”

  “You misunderstood me, Jarl Erik. Every household is subject to this draft. The king has left this to my discretion.”

  Erik’s eyes flashed. “I’ve worked side-by-side with just about every sort of man, Jarl McNally. Criminals and saints. Pagans and Christians. Do you know what kind of man I have no tolerance for? An outcast who betrays his kinsman out of jealously and hate. Do you understand?”

  Aaron rose abruptly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His reputation preceded him wherever he went, much like a bad stench. Goddamnit. No matter how hard he tried to separate himself from his dishonorable past, someone always seemed to remember.

  “Your personal opinion of me is of no consequence, Jarl Erik,” he spoke through clenched teeth, slowly forcing his rage aside. He refused to grovel and beg forgiveness for his sins. He’d done that four years ago at the standing stones. Yet his conversion remained a secret.

  For the king, he reminded himself. Not because he feared reprisal from the arrogant jarl. Olaf’s words rang in his head, I have great need of an experienced captain. Someone with a keen sense of justice and a slow hand for violence.

  “Oh?” The elder faced him. “And what if these men you plan on recruiting knew the true nature of the devil intended to train and lead them?”

  “At risk of losing their heads for treason, I’m sure they’ll understand. I require able-bodied men. I demand one of your soldiers and your youngest son.”

  “Gunter?” Erik looked surprised.

  “No, Kara.”

  A strange look crossed Erik’s features. “Where did you meet Kara?”

  “We haven’t met. I watched him fight in the forest. He shows great promise.”

  “Does he, now?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’ll join my guests tonight,” Erik laughed vigorously. “You’ve made me happy.” Cursed man. What had changed his mind? Perhaps the threat of execution for treason? Whatever it was, he didn’t trust him.

  After a short rest in the bedchamber he’d been assigned, Aaron dressed, then found his way downstairs. The great hall was crowded. He took his seat at the high table as instructed. Geilir sat at his father’s right, Gunter to his left. The youngest son hadn’t made an appearance yet. Aaron suspected he was on his way out of the country.

  Before the main course was served, skalds recited poetry, musicians played, and young women danced to the haunting music of the lutes. Aaron drank generous amounts of mead and dipped fresh bread in delicious dark broth. After having time to think about his confrontation with Erik, Aaron wondered if he’d acted impetuously. Respect and trust is earned. If a stranger showed up wanting custody of his youngest son, Aaron would only offer two options—leave or die. At this point, the jarl hadn’t accepted or refused his demands.

  As his gaze swept the room, he noticed a group of finely dressed courtiers enter the hall. Three girls wearing cream-colored linen curtsied in front of Erik, who raised his cup in response. Then a beautiful maiden garbed in embroidered blue silk, wearing a circlet of white roses on her head, stopped and embraced the jarl. Applause ended the music as the women headed to their seats at the far end of the high table. Once they’d settled, Erik stood.

  “In honor of King Olaf and his representatives, I bid you all to eat your fill.”

  His words were spoken a bit too sanctimoniously for Aaron’s taste. He scratched his head, then aimed his attention at the goddess staring at him, the maiden in blue. When he offered her a smile, she averted her eyes. He grinned, appreciating the cat and mouse game women and men often played. What he’d do with a sweet, unspoiled morsel like her. A jolt of lust shot through him when she looked his way again and delicately placed a grape in her mouth. Her lovely lips puckered as she sucked on the fruit before swallowing it.

  Her pearly skin reminded him of the blossoms on her head. And her wide blue eyes blazed as he continued to openly admire her. She ate fruit so seductively, he wondered what else she could do with that little mouth. He’d gladly teach her. Everything about her was perfect—from her golden curls to the slight blush on her high cheekbones. Tall and lithe, she commanded his attention. How long were her legs? He fantasized about the slim ivory towers concealed by her skirts. The last thing he’d ever expected to find here was a woman who caught his eye. He’d love to press a few kisses on her forehead and pert little nose, working his way down to the apex of her legs—the same imaginary pathway his gaze cut down her body.

  In return, her stare wandered down his frame. He’d never witnessed such behavior from a maiden before. He nearly choked on his mead.

  Aaron was seated between Gunter and Varinn, with three older women nearby. Conversation flowed around him. Damn his misfortune. He must rely on Jarl Erik’s son to find out who that girl was. If she belonged to another man, it would put an immediate end to his longing. Or would it?

  As he turned to question Gunter, a thrall placed a large trencher filled with roasted boar and vegetables before him. His stomach grumbled. Whatever bad impression he held of Erik, he must admit, the jarl fed his guests well. While he ate, Aaron observed every move the girl made. She ate without inhibition, helping herself to three servings of meat and bread without batting an eyelash. What a rarity to find a beautiful girl with an appetite that could rival any man’s.

  Unable to resist his growing curiosity, Aaron finally turned to Gunter. “Who is the young woman at the end of the table?�
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  Gunter pointed nonchalantly with his knife. “My sister.”

  Sister? Erik hadn’t mentioned a daughter. Why would he? Pressure built in his groin. Goddamnit, now he’d never get close enough to meet her. “Where is your younger brother?”

  Gunter swallowed his food, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m the youngest.”

  Were all Dalgaards contemptible liars? Was there something special about the lad that made his family willing to risk their honor? Hadn’t he made it abundantly clear that he intended to have the boy in his regiment? He eyed Varinn, who simply shrugged.

  Diplomacy. Patience. Aaron promptly changed the subject. “Tell me who the other women are seated with your sister.”

  “Cousins and the daughters of some of the men who serve my father. Why do you ask?”

  “Tis a bad habit . . . I must know who I break bread with.”

  Gunter grunted in appreciation. “A wise practice, jarl, but I assure you there is no threat here. My father always protects his guests. We are a peaceful family.”

  Drit. The boy was addle-minded. Odin’s warriors aren’t peaceful. Nearly every man at the high table had a replica of Thor’s hammer on a chain around their necks, worn in open opposition of the cross. Erik met Aaron’s gaze as he continued to assess the men around him. Where was Kar?

  “I trust you’ve been well entertained, Jarl McNally?” Erik called out.

  “My appetite is well satisfied, although I feel a bit neglected in another way,” he replied. “Your middle son hasn’t been very entertaining.”

  The subsequent laughter made Erik’s face turn red. “Rest assured I have a surprise.” His sarcasm and confidence made Aaron wary. “If the ladies would retire, we have important affairs to discuss.”

  Aaron hated to see his beautiful distraction leave, but there were matters to settle before his departure tomorrow morning.

  Once the women were gone, Erik spoke freely. “As you know, milord, you’ve placed me in an awkward position.”

  Aaron understood his resistance, but it didn’t change anything. “If you fulfill my request, I’ll be on my way by sunrise.” His gaze didn’t leave Erik, gauging his reaction.

  “My brethren will think me a coward if I appease the king without question.”

  With less than three hundred men under his command, Erik couldn’t defend against King Olaf’s army. “Reconsider your position, milord, give fealty to Olaf.”

  “I do,” he assured dispassionately. “I’m no outlaw. Despite my faith, I recognize Olaf as the legitimate ruler. Why would I disobey my liege?”

  “For the same reasons any man does.” Aaron shrugged. “We live in perilous times and the potential for civil war grows. My purpose is to end any rebellions before they start.”

  “And Lagenheim is unfortunate enough to be your first stop.”

  “Tis the first place I’ve found men worthy of recruitment—nothing less than a compliment to your capable leadership.”

  Erik grunted. “Odin will strike me down for assisting a Christian king.”

  “And if you don’t, Olaf will, too.” He was hopelessly deadlocked with a man as stubborn as a bear. Conversation amongst the guests grew infuriatingly louder as he waited for Erik’s reply.

  Minutes later, a familiar form clad in armor entered the hall.

  “Marteinn.” Erik shifted his attention to the imposing warrior. “Demonstrate how well you’ve prepared this boy for combat.”

  Marteinn rose from his seat, then walked around the table. He unsheathed his sword and met the lad at the doorway.

  “For your pleasure, Jarl McNally,” Erik offered, leaning back in his chair.

  Aaron watched with enthusiasm as the two sparred. Their swords collided and locked at first—the demonstration appearing to be meant as a simple exercise. The youth thrust wildly, his superior retreating with a smile, a well-rehearsed dance meant to showcase the boy’s talent. When Marteinn fully challenged Kar, the boy bravely defended himself. After quite a long time, the lad was visibly tired from the exertion. The moment he dropped his guard, a devastating blow knocked him on his arse.

  The crowd applauded.

  “What do you think of my boy, now?” Erik asked.

  “My opinion has not changed.” Why would it? Seeing the boy spar again only deepened Aaron’s confidence in him. “I’ll turn him into a man.”

  “Can you heal the sick?” Erik asked.

  Asking him if he could perform miracles like the White Christ was a blatant insult. He wouldn’t respond.

  “Kara, take off your helmet,” the jarl commanded.

  For the love of Christ. It wasn’t a lie. Aaron gaped at the golden-mane and bright sapphire stare cutting into his chest. Kara was Erik’s bloody daughter! The same seductress who sat at the table flirting shamelessly with him. Aaron’s blood boiled. Humiliation burned his cheeks. And the crowd didn’t hide its approval.

  Aaron snatched a cup of mead off the table and drank it down. Today hadn’t gone well; his instincts had failed miserably. How could he have mistaken a careless girl for a male? He’d made a fool of himself without any help from the jarl and his children.

  “Will you still draft my youngest?” The jarl’s body convulsed with laughter. “How did you put it? You have an eye for talent?”

  Bastard. Aaron stood. He had no intention of staying here. He cast long, summoning stares at Varinn and Agni. They too looked ashamed and followed Aaron outside. He’d deal with Erik later. What Aaron desired more than anything right now, was time to cool off before he did something he’d soon regret.

  Chapter 4

  Sufferance

  Kara regarded the crowd in astonishment, shocked to see her father reveling in Aaron’s humiliation. Until the moment she beheld Aaron’ shock and despair, she had enjoyed participating in the masquerade. But not for the same reasons her father did. After Geilir told her Aaron intended to recruit her, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to demonstrate her swordsmanship. She’d worked too hard at it. What higher compliment could be given to a woman? Her skills had fooled an experienced warrior.

  With Aaron gone—guests resumed drinking and eating as if nothing had happened.

  “Daughter.” Erik signaled for Kara to approach the high table. “Sit with me. You’ve earned an extra cup of wine.”

  She chose to stand instead. Geilir patted her shoulder reassuringly.

  “Perhaps the fool won’t return,” Gunter observed.

  “Don’t underestimate Jarl McNally,” Erik assured them. “If he leaves here without filling his quota, it will only increase his disgrace.” The jarl regarded his youngest son. “I’m afraid you must go.”

  Kara shook her head in disbelief. Although Gunter had broad shoulders and was stronger than a bull, little substance existed between his ears. At times, he acted intelligent, but everyone in Lagenheim knew the truth. Without her father or brother at his side, he’d get hurt or killed. Better to exclude him completely and send someone else. But with Geilir seriously injured, who could take his place?

  Kara leaned closer to her father. “Gunter isn’t the right man for this assignment.”

  Erik kissed her cheek affectionately. “I know.”

  “Who will you substitute?”

  “Jarl McNally’s actions will help determine that. His holy book states pride proceeds a man’s fall. If he is modest, I’ll pledge Marteinn. If not . . .”

  Her heart flipped. The gods were most generous tonight. What better way to rid herself of the man who couldn’t keep his feelings for her secret? “And if Jarl McNally fails to humble himself?”

  “Gunter.”

  “Or,” she started. “You could send me.”

  Her father’s smile disappeared. “Elskede datter, vet riktig sted.”

>   She knew her place, stuck inside the keep while the men enjoyed all the freedom and adventure they craved. The harsh comment he’d made earlier about raising three sons would stay with her forever. He’d never criticized her before. As his only daughter, she’d be expected to provide an advantageous alliance through marriage. From an early age, Kara assumed she’d remain with her family since her mother had died. The discontentment in her father’s eyes suggested otherwise.

  “Wish your brothers and our guests good night,” he said.

  Aaron scooped up a handful of gravel and rocks, then threw it at the stone wall. Arrogant piece of shite. If he allowed his rage to consume his mind and heart, he’d march inside and kill the old bastard. Sometimes honor took precedence over everything. This premeditated charade hit him hard, slashed his pride. And knowing that lovely wench had a part in it made him angrier. He paced, cursing in Gaelic.

  “The king wouldn’t fault you for dealing harshly with the man,” Varinn offered.

  Agni agreed. “Draft both bloody sons.”

  “And make the jarl a full adversary? As soon as we leave his lands, I’ll have a bounty on my head.”

  Agni huffed. “Perhaps you should take your frustrations out on his daughter—explore her skills further.”

  Aaron glared at him. “Silence.” The thought had crossed his mind already, but he’d never admit it. “There’s only one way to proceed, we go back inside and act as if nothing happened.”

  Varinn turned stiffly, staring at the building. “You expect me to overlook this humiliation?”

  “Aye.” Norsemen abhorred disgrace. Aaron’s expectations countered everything these men believed in. “Take what time you need to collect yourselves, then join me in the hall.”