What about Frieda? Just because Aaron went away didn’t mean his problem with his former lover would. “And the child?”
“It’s obvious he’s not your son.” Tyr grimaced. “Frieda cannot leave my household soon enough. I’ll handle everything. Since she accused you under my roof, I am obligated to make inquiries. I’ll interrogate her and search for her kinsmen. We’ll find the father.”
“I cannot thank you enough.”
“Now, I’m tired, let’s go to bed.” Tyr stood. “Do you need help upstairs?”
Aaron smiled. “I think I can find my way.”
“There’s something else . . .” Tyr grasped his arm. “Of all the daughters in Norway, you chose well. Erik the Bald will make an excellent ally. If you wish me to intercede on your behalf—to negotiate a marriage contract—I will.”
Aaron appreciated the significance of his cousin’s gesture. “If he finds out I’ve bedded his daughter, while he entrusted me with her life, he’ll have cause to kill me.”
Tyr leaned forward. “Convince him otherwise.”
Just to prove her point of indifference toward Jarl McNally, Kara dressed early, then made her way to the great hall hoping to see him. Much to her surprise, he wasn’t there. Not at the high table or near the kitchen.
“Looking for someone?” Tyr asked as he came up beside her.
“Milord.” She shrunk back.
“Aaron isn’t here,” Tyr whispered. “He’s gone home.”
“Home?” she repeated, startled. To her knowledge, Aaron didn’t have a home. He lived in King Olaf’s palace or slept in a tent. “Scotland?” Her heart sank.
“No,” Tyr patted her arm. “He owns lands a few miles north of here. The poor man rarely gets an opportunity to visit his tenants. Considering the circumstances . . .” He stared at her. “. . . I think it a wise choice.”
Emotions gushed inside her. Odin, this isn’t what I planned. She’d intended to make Jarl McNally squirm a little. To earn her trust and affection back. After a sleepless night considering everything that happened at the feast, she’d finally realized how wrong she’d been to rush to judgment. Blame it on jealousy. Disappointment. And any other negative feelings. Knowing his past was one thing, seeing it in the form of a beautiful woman claiming they shared a child together, was another.
“Regrets?” Tyr interrupted her thought.
“Maybe,” she said half-hearted. “If you’re generous enough to forgive Aaron, then perhaps I should do the same.”
“He told you?”
“Briefly. I know he kidnapped your wife. I also know Frieda had a part in it.”
“Aye.” Tyr rubbed the back of his neck. “My kinsman has paid a heavy price for his transgressions.”
“And my father knows everything.”
“Did Aaron reveal that, too?”
“No. I pieced it together after our discussion last night. I often wondered why my sire disliked him so much. Opposing faiths isn’t reason enough to make a fool out of the king’s representative.”
“Clever girl.”
“I only wish . . .”
“What?” Tyr probed.
“Nothing.” She didn’t want to share any more than she already had. “May I borrow a horse after we break our fast, milord?”
“Do you have a specific destination in mind?”
“No,” she lied. “A bit of fresh air will help clear my head.” She looked away.
“Take one of my thralls with you,” Tyr directed. “And if you find yourself riding northward, stay on the main road. Aaron’s steading is visible from the path.”
She didn’t know whether to be grateful or offended. Cheeks burning, she retreated to the kitchen to ask for some bread to take with her.
Rachelle’s husband finally joined her at the high table. She had observed the conversation between him and Kara, watched the girl’s face grow redder by the moment. She’d also watched the girl flee the hall. What had Tyr said to her?
He leaned in and kissed her cheek affectionately. “Good morning, my love. It seems our guest cannot stay mad at Aaron for more than a day.” Tyr reached for a trencher of pork.
“I find it hard to believe she’s willing to admit it.”
“Aye,” Tyr said. “I’m sure it was unintentional, but her demeanor changed after I told her Aaron no longer resided here.”
Rachelle gaped at her husband. Sometimes his tactics were so underhanded. “Are you playing matchmaker again?” A hopeless romantic, her spouse had been the catalyst for eight marriages over the last three years. “You must let nature take its course.”
He chuckled. “If I had waited for you,” he teased, “I’d be cold in the ground.”
She cuffed his arm. “You’re shameless, Jarl Sigurdsson.”
“She asked for a horse.”
“And you agreed?”
Tyr took her wrist and pulled her toward him. “She thinks she’s free.” He brushed soft kisses across her mouth. “Two of my guards will follow her at a distance.” He handed her a cup of milk. “I want to know where she’s going.”
“Why?” Rachelle asked. “She’s never been to this part of the country before.”
“I gave her directions to Aaron’s steading.”
She fingered a strand of his blond hair. “I’m very fond of you, husband.”
“All of me?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Some parts more than others,” she goaded. “But today, your heart.”
“The girl needs to accept her future. She knows she acted foolish last night, rushed to judgment. My cousin deserves to be happy. I’m convinced Kara is the only woman for him.”
Rachelle leaned back in her chair. Yes, Aaron appeared to be a changed man. But with Frieda lurking about the Trondelag, would Jarl McNally be tempted to revert to his old ways to get rid of her? “As adverse as I am to interfering, perhaps it’s time to invite her father here. Let’s help our kinsman achieve peace before rumors about Frieda’s son reach the south.”
Tyr gave her a half smile. “It seems my beloved wife grows more and more like me every day. I will consider your proposal.”
Chapter 16
Words
Aaron inspected the north wall of his longhouse. The outside walls were solid and the curved shape of the timbers and internal tie beams that spanned the great hall provided adequate support for the structure. However, the thatched roof was in need of repairs.
“I’ve decided to replace the thatched roof with tiles.”
“Shingles, milord?” Amund sounded suspicious.
The soldier not only served as captain of Aaron’s small guard at his steading, but also managed his modest household. “Aye, wood shingles are superior to thatched roofs. They last longer and keep the rain and cold out better.”
“Several of these walls are in need of repairs, too.” Overall, the house, barn, and sheds were in good shape. But Aaron envisioned something different. Paddocks with fences, larger gardens, a new smokehouse, and larger storage sheds for grain. “At first light, we’ll ride east and inspect the timber. I’d rather sacrifice trees inland, instead of cutting down the ancient ones that protect the riverfront.”
“Aye, milord,” the captain said, following Aaron.
They walked toward the main entrance.
“Are you expecting company?” Amund pointed.
Aaron noticed two horses in the distance, almost hidden amongst the thick pines. One of the riders was draped in dark green wool. A woman. He squinted. Blond hair—riding astride—hiding in the shadows. Of course. Somehow, Kara had found her way home. His home, for now. He smiled, liking the idea she was watching him.
“No,” he said, grinning at his captain. “But the lady is welcome here anytime. Only, I ask you don’t acknowle
dge her presence until she comes to my door.”
“Milord?”
Nearly strangers, Aaron couldn’t blame his servant for doubting his leadership. Scotsmen in Norway were rare enough, but a Scottish jarl presented another set of issues altogether. “Trust in me,” he said. “The lass is familiar—the woman I intend to make mistress of this house.”
At those words, Amund relaxed. “You’ve had a disagreement?”
Aaron had spent half the night awake, admittedly in a drunken stupor, yet alert enough to think about nothing but Kara. The lass had somehow invaded his dreams, too. Night and day she occupied his thoughts. Another reason not to waste any time presenting himself to Erik the Bald as a formal suitor for his daughter’s hand in marriage. In Scotland, handfasting offered a young couple an opportunity to contemplate their future together. But in this foreign land, where he’d found a new life—redemption—he felt obligated to honor tradition.
“I’d call it more than a disagreement,” he sighed. “For now, I’m resolved to let the lady come to me.”
Both men glanced in her general direction before disappearing inside the house.
“He looked this way, didn’t he?” Kara wheeled her mare around so she could face the thrall Tyr had assigned as her riding companion. “Even at this distance, I can see quite clearly.”
Wolinda shrugged. “My aged eyes aren’t as sharp as yours.”
“Nevertheless,” she retorted, having expected the elder to agree for diplomacy’s sake. “You are well-acquainted with Jarl McNally. Are you not?”
“I’ve known him since his childhood.”
“Are all the stories I’ve heard about him true?”
“Depends on who’s telling them.”
Wordlessly, Kara turned away. Tyr had purposely paired them. “Is he the cruel beast I’ve heard about—a whoremonger—thief—betrayer?” Her heart raced with apprehension. “I must know.”
She heard the slave shift in her saddle. “Perhaps Jarl McNally is better suited to answer your questions.”
“No,” Kara said, eyeing her again. “You tell me.”
The old woman heaved a sigh. “Never believe everything you hear, milady. Frieda is a crafty bitch. Hot in any man’s bed and cold as a fish the morning after. Her actions earned her the same punishment as Jarl McNally four years ago. Banishment.”
“Tell me how you feel about Aaron.”
“I’m a slave. I’m not allowed to voice my opinion.”
Kara rolled her eyes. Judging by the woman’s harsh words about Frieda, she believed Wolinda possessed ten years’ worth of impressions. “Whatever we discuss will never be repeated. I swear it.”
“By Allfather?”
“By Allfather, Thor, and Frigg.”
Wolinda cleared her throat. “Jarl Sigurdsson always favored Aaron—sometimes it seemed he loved him more than his deceased twin brother. Of course, once the jarl inherited his lands, he didn’t hesitate to invite his cousin to live in the Trondelag. At first, everything was peaceful. Tyr invested his wealth on improvements and strengthening relationships with the nobles in the north. We prospered. The north thrived. For some unknown reason . . .” Her face grew dark. “Aaron retaliated. Challenged my master at every turn. After the war—”
Kara held up her hand. “I’m familiar with what follows.” She didn’t care to hear it again. Aaron’s version still haunted her. “Do you believe men can truly change?”
“I believe men are easily tempted.”
That was true enough. But in Jarl McNally’s case, tempted by what?
“I know what’s troubling you, milady.” Wolinda gave her a sad smile. “You’re plagued by guilt for loving a man with a questionable history.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
The maid nodded. “My husband was executed for stealing horses. For years after, I wondered why I chose such a man for a husband. The answer came to me one night after I’d prayed for hours. Hardship had changed him.”
Kara mentally deliberated. She respected the woman’s sentiments. Perhaps Aaron had experienced his own set of misfortunes. Although poverty wasn’t one of them. “What about Aaron’s family?”
“His poor father died before Aaron had a chance to make peace with him.”
“And now?”
“I cannot speak for the jarl, milady. I’m no spaewife or reader of runes. But I’m a good judge of character after spending half a lifetime in service to the Sigurdssons. A man’s wyrd is determined by the gods. I believe misfortune followed Aaron. But now . . .”
“Now?” The woman hesitated to finish her thought. Why?
“Does the prospect of marriage to Jarl McNally frighten you?”
“I never said anything about marriage.”
Wolinda chuckled. “I may be blind, but not stupid.”
This thrall had taken great liberties in the span of a few moments. From having no opinion, to sounding as irritatingly forthright as Amelia. “Perhaps we’d better return to Steingard.”
The slave sniffed. “I am yours to command, milady.”
What Kara truly desired, if she could muster the courage, was to ride directly to Aaron’s home. Not yet. Give him more time to think about his misconduct. Whether or not he fathered the child hadn’t been the problem, she knew that more than ever now. His complete disregard for the boy’s feelings remained the obstacle. She’d never spend her life with a churl.
Rachelle and her husband received one of the guards that trailed Kara upstairs. Judging by the look on his face, Rachelle knew where the girl had gone. Even anger and resentment couldn’t keep the girl from her fate. Actions spoke louder than words. If she rode to Aaron’s steading, it should convince Tyr to summon Erik the Bald to the Trondelag.
“Tell me where the girl went,” Tyr said.
“As you predicted, milord, she rushed to Jarl McNally’s home.”
Tyr gazed at his wife, smiled, then regarded his warrior again. “Did you overhear anything?”
“A few words she exchanged with Wolinda.”
“Tell us.” Rachelle found herself intrigued by Kara’s stubborn refusal to forgive Aaron. Kara Dalgaard reminded her of herself and the impossible challenges she’d faced when she first landed in Norway.
“Mostly questions about your cousin’s past.”
“And what did my faithful thrall tell her?” Rachelle queried.
“She advised her, milady—nearly forced her to admit she loved the jarl.”
“Nothing more?” Tyr asked.
The guard grinned. “Your probing maid hardly gave the girl time to think.”
“We should consider making Wolinda a freewoman,” Rachelle suggested. “She’s always been a useful servant to me.”
“Aye,” Tyr agreed. “You may go.” Tyr gestured for his warrior to leave.
“Are you convinced now?” Rachelle asked.
“Of what?”
“To invite Erik the Bald to our home?”
Tyr nodded. “Since the day Kara Dalgaard arrived here with my cousin on her heels, I’ve been convinced the gods intended for them to be together. What better match for my kinsman could I suggest? If the Sigurdssons and Dalgaards are united by blood, the chance to expand our trading rights in the south will improve. Until now, I’ve struggled to negotiate successfully with King Olaf.”
“And the McNallys?”
“They, too, will benefit greatly. Scottish wool is still the best in Europe.”
“And we can always use more silk,” Rachelle reminded him.
“Yes,” Tyr chuckled. “McNally ships have helped protect the shipping routes from Miklagard. More silk means more gowns for my beautiful wife.” He caressed her cheek. “When Wolinda returns, summon her to our bedchamber, I’d speak with her privately.” He stood. �
�Allfather is with us.”
Odin’s supporters were far superior in the north, but after King Magnus died, pagans in the south had suffered. Unsanctioned attacks, murders, kidnappings, and economic sanctions had weakened their defenses. Although she usually kept her political opinions to herself because she was a Christian, Rachelle usually agreed with her husband’s ideas. Peace must be achieved. All craftsmen, regardless of their faiths, should be allowed to trade and sell freely.
“Shall I write the letter?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I prefer to address my old friend. There will be no surprises—Jarl Erik is a volatile man. It will take every ounce of diplomacy I have left in my body to convince him to give his daughter to Aaron.”
“But Aaron is wealthy—a jarl in his own right.”
“And a pagan. But my cousin hasn’t revealed his true faith to anyone, but us.”
That confused Rachelle more than anything. “Why?”
“He’s not shared the purpose in his masquerading as a Christian still. Although I suspect it has something to do with our young king.”
“I pray Erik the Bald opens his heart. His daughter deserves to be happy.”
Two days later, after the morning meal, Kara headed for the stables. Determined to speak with Aaron alone, she decided not to make the same mistake as she had the other day. Confiding in a servant, who obviously had strong feelings for Jarl McNally, hadn’t helped. She’d experienced this kind of blind allegiance before. With maids in her father’s household who fostered her brothers after their mother died. Those women protected her brothers day and night, refusing to properly discipline them, even after they’d disobeyed their father. The only person capable of giving her advice was in the king’s camp—why hadn’t she brought Amelia along?
Kara waited patiently, while a stable boy saddled her mare. She gazed toward the main house. Thankfully, Wolinda worked in the kitchen and would stay busy until afternoon. And Kara saw no reason to disturb Tyr and Rachelle. She’d been given permission to ride anytime. Why not alone? She’d reach Aaron’s steading in no time.
Blind Redemption (Viking Romance) (Blind Series) Page 15
