Kara didn’t go to her bedchamber. Instead, she withdrew further into the shadows, listening to everything discussed below. Search parties were quickly organized and dispersed. Waiting until the great hall fell eerily silent, she crept downstairs and slipped out the back doors. Horses were waiting in front of the stable. Almost too many to count. She took cover behind a nearby storage shed and waited. Minutes later, a group of soldiers exited the stable and mounted, riding off.
At least a dozen horses were left unattended.
She weighed her options. Stay here or steal a horse and follow the search party. She didn’t care about the consequences that would follow. Defying men seemed to be something she did quite well. She dashed toward the barn, seizing the reins of the closest animal, then led him away. Behind the shed again, she opened a saddlebag and reached inside. She found a knife and a water skin. The second contained rations of food wrapped in linens, rope, and a flint stone. She secured the bags, then climbed on. An hour later, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, she found their tracks in the mud headed east.
Steadily riding for what seemed hours, she stopped when she overheard men shouting ahead. Other than the noise of her horse’s hooves pounding the earth, the world had remained silent until now. She dismounted, letting her horse stray. Then she followed the sound until she came to a stand of pine trees.
“We should turn southeast,” one of the guards suggested.
“No,” another disagreed. “We should stay on course.”
“Jarl McNally’s captain already combed the woods. Head toward the river—Erling Solheim may have a longship waiting,” the first man who spoke added.
They bickered back and forth, then called for a vote. Eventually, they rode southeast.
Their decision made it easier to choose her own riding direction. She’d continue on an easterly trek, no reason to follow them anymore. The more ground they covered, the better their chances at recovering her husband. She found her mount grazing nearby. Drinking some water from the skin tied to her saddle, she wiped her mouth dry on the back of her hand and grabbed her knife.
The dim morning light veiled the forest in gloom. Fear drove her onward, when exhaustion should have stopped her. She scrutinized every inch of the forest floor, looking for footprints or remnants of a campfire. Birds occasionally flew overhead or cried out. But there was nothing to see. A cold hand tightened around her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes more than once. And then she wished for her sword and shield, her chainmail and breeches, as if iron and steel and leather could improve her chances of locating her beloved. Or provide some comfort. She even called on her brothers and Marteinn, but no one came.
Urging her horse into a trot, she travelled another mile before she smelled smoke. She hadn’t passed a steading since she’d left Tyr’s home. In fact, this part of the Trondelag reminded her of the forest Erling Solheim occupied near Lagenheim. The thought made her stomach flip. What if . . . She slid out of the saddle, then tethered her horse to a nearby tree. What if her husband waited just ahead?
If she didn’t know better, she would have run wildly toward the smoke. But she’d been properly trained, taught how to move stealthily through the trees. And she did—successfully sneaking up on the small encampment. At first, she didn’t see anyone about. As her gaze shifted, she noticed two men. Erling Solheim stood in front of her husband, whose hands were tied to a tree branch high above his head. Although he appeared alive, Aaron seemed to be dangling instead of standing. Heart racing, she considered charging Erling.
“After I finish here,” Erling said. “I’ll fetch Lady Kara to my new camp and show her what she missed the first time we kept company.”
Aaron moaned.
“But before I kill you—I’ll send you to the grave knowing why I hate you—why I targeted you. Frieda is my half-sister, the mother of my only child . . .”
Kara took a deep breath. Aaron had told the truth. Not only was the child not his, its wretched mother had conceived in the vilest of ways. A crime punishable by death.
“When you cast her from your life and bed, she sought comfort in my arms. I make no fuss over what snatch I taste. Sister or not, she begged for it and I gave it to her. Many times.”
Aaron coughed. “There’s no forgiveness for your sins.”
“Spoken as a Christian or a devotee of Allfather?”
“Why Kara?”
Aaron sounded so hoarse and weak. Kara’s legs nearly gave out, but she clung to the trees on either side of her. She listened harder.
“Pure coincidence,” Erling stated. “But when I found out through my carefully placed spies that the two of you were involved, I credited the gods for my good fortune. Why not kill both of you?”
Aaron strained against the ropes. “Never.”
Erling spat on the ground, the rumble of his laughter enraged her. “All the gold in Norway couldn’t buy your freedom or life. You’ll pay for humiliating my sister with blood.”
Unable to wait another moment, she ran as hard and fast as she could. By the time Erling realized someone approached, she stabbed him in the side of his neck, but the blade didn’t go in deep enough to kill him.
Chapter 21
Restored
Aaron didn’t believe it—Kara—here—a hallucination brought on by thirst and sleep deprivation. But Erling’s scream jolted him out of his half-daze. The bastard teetered, then nearly fell over before he regained control of his legs. Aaron watched with panic as he lurched at his wife, the knife still lodged in his neck.
“Bitch,” Erling screamed, reaching for her. “You’ve saved me the trouble of finding you.”
Kara spun out of his grasp.
“Kara,” Aaron yelled. “Run.” His jaw clenched—goddamnit. She didn’t hear him. He fisted his hands and threw his head back. Erling would never touch her again. Never. His whole body convulsed. Then, with one last desperate attempt, after hours of working the bindings, his hands ripped free. He instantly dropped to his knees, then scraped a hand over his face to wipe away the sweat and tears. Cursing his own weakness, Aaron rocked back on his heels. Find the strength to get up. He gazed ahead. Erling’s fevered stare sent waves of fear through him.
Although Kara tried to maneuver around him, Erling barreled toward her, uttering threats of violence. “I’ll kill you.”
Then she tripped. Erling laughed savagely, bent down, gripped her by the throat, and dragged her to her feet.
Aaron’s desire for vengeance carried him like wings. He reached Erling in three strides, grabbed a fistful of his hair from behind, forcing his head back. “Let go of my wife, now.” He wouldn’t say it again. Erling sputtered and let her go.
She scrambled away.
Then Aaron released a primal scream, the world around him melting away. He slammed Erling to the ground, straddling his chest. Erling sucked in air, clawing at Aaron’s face. His mouth twisted as he ripped the knife from Erling’s flesh. Aaron shoved the bloodstained blade under Erling’s nose. “Lick bladet rent.”
Erling’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. But he opened his mouth and licked his own blood off the steel. He gagged as he swallowed. Aaron grinned and threw the dagger aside. “You enjoy the taste of your own flesh and blood.”
Erling’s torso bucked underneath him and Aaron responded by pressing his elbow into his throat. He applied just enough pressure to deprive the bastard of half the air he needed to take a full breath. Erling stared up at him in surprise, his eyes bulging and red. “I don’t want you to stare at me, close your eyes.”
Erling did as he was told.
Spurred by the hatred swelling inside, Aaron shifted, pressing his thumbs into Erling’s eye sockets until he heard two, simultaneous pops. Erling writhed and kicked and screamed. Blood poured from the corners of his eyes. Final judgment—guilty of kidnapping, tort
ure, cruelty, murder, and incest. Sentence—death by the hands of a husband who loves his wife more than anything above or below the heavens.
“Put me out of my misery,” Erling begged, flopping around like a fish out of water.
Aaron rose, glaring down at him. “Kara.” He turned, eyeing his silent bride standing a few feet away.
She approached slowly, her gaze never leaving Erling’s form.
“I leave final judgment to you. This man pleads for mercy.”
Her gaze swept the ground. When she spotted what she was looking for, she walked over to the knife and scooped it up. She returned to Aaron’s side, offering him the weapon. “Silence him forever.”
Aaron took the blade and drove it through Erling’s black heart.
Shivering with fear over her husband’s poor condition, Kara reached for his hand. When he turned, the look on his face told her what she needed to know. His arms, chest, and neck were covered with bruises and scratches. And the blood? She wanted him to remove his tunic so she could examine his body. But not here. Where were Erling’s guards?
“Aaron,” she said. “We need to leave this place.”
“We’re safe,” he assured her. “Two of his men are sleeping off hangovers. The others are on patrol west of here, likely searching for you.” He hugged her to his chest, his heart thundering against her cheek. “Why vakker kriger, why did you risk everything to find me?” He tilted her chin upward and ran his thumb along her jawline. “I begged you stay, you promised me.” His knees buckled.
“Aaron?” She propped him up as best she could. Didn’t he know how much she loved him? That she’d give her life for him?
“Thirsty and hungry,” he explained. “My weapon belt is hanging in the trees over there.” He pointed.
“I’ll fetch it,” she said, loosening her grip. “Stay here.”
“No,” he said sharply. “Together.” He wrapped his arm about her waist and they walked toward the trees.
When they reached the branch, a noise from inside one of the tents startled them. Aaron pulled his sword, then whirled around, pushing Kara behind him. A man emerged from the middle shelter, his expression a mix of surprise and fear. As soon as he recognized Aaron, he raised his hands over his head in surrender.
“Erling Solheim is dead,” Aaron said. “Do you wish to follow in his footsteps?”
“No, milord,” he croaked.
“Then get back inside your tent and don’t come out until the sun sets.”
The man nodded and disappeared.
Aaron stared overhead, dark clouds were gathering. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “The gods send a storm to wash all this filth away.”
She wanted to take him in her arms and kiss him. But she knew he was barely hanging on and needed sustenance and rest. What injuries were hidden by his clothes? She stumbled to his horse a few yards away and retrieved his water skin. She gave it a firm shake—nearly full. Rushing back to him, she pressed it into his hand with urgency. “Drink.”
He opened it, then drank insatiably. He reached over and grasped her shoulder. “Thank you.”
She eyed his graceful form. As shaky and bloody as he appeared, she knew what gathered below the surface. The glint in his eyes reflected well the fierce beast inside him. She’d witnessed firsthand what destructive forces drove him. “Tis I, who owe you a world of gratitude and favor.”
He dropped the water skin on the ground and latched onto her arms. “Do you know what slow death you saved me from?”
Horrified by the thought, she preferred not to know. “Home,” she whispered. The effort of talking made her feel sick to her stomach now. All this violence. All this death. She wanted none of it. Her husband needed food and rest. And after he recovered, love.
A few minutes later, both mounted, Kara and Aaron headed westward, back to Jarl Sigurdsson’s steading.
Chapter 22
Kinsmen
Gratefully, three days of bed rest restored Aaron’s health. Of course, it helped that he was under the watchful eyes of Rachelle and the spaewife while Kara, too, rested. He never had a chance of climbing out of bed. But today proved entirely different. Jarl Erik the Bald had arrived late the previous night. A meeting and feast were being prepared. Although Kara ached to see her father, she agreed to adhere to Tyr’s carefully thought out plan.
The jarl believed seeing her first would only increase her father’s anger.
So now, dressed in a black tunic and braies, his weapons polished, boots cleaned, beard trimmed, and hair braided in Norse fashion, Kara’s Scottish husband left their bedchamber and made his way to the great hall. If a man could shed his birthright like skin and be reborn a Viking, Jarl McNally would be a perfect candidate for such an honor. She feared her father would reject his conversion and focus on his inferior heritage. Norse women only married Norsemen. Something he’d repeated over the years.
She opened the bedchamber door, then silently settled on a stair where she could see and hear everything going on below without being discovered. Her father had been given a seat of honor at the high table, next to Tyr. Rachelle sat to her husband’s left. Kara nearly choked when she sighted Marteinn next to her father. The man he wanted her to marry.
Aaron stood at the center of the hall, feet away from the dais where the high table was situated.
“What have you done with my only daughter?” Erik asked.
Kara’s hands fisted so tight her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.
“I fell in love and married her, milord.”
The jarl drained his cup, then slammed it down. “So the rumors are true?” He shook his head. “You kidnapped her, travelled unchaperoned across the north country, begged your kinsman for sanctuary, and only after one of your many women returns with a suckling bastard at her breast you allegedly sired, then you decide to marry her.” Erik never misconstrued his words. He leaned back in his chair, perfectly comfortable and in control.
Aaron stared up at the ceiling, then back at Erik. “You’re twisting things around, milord. And although I forgive your lack of manners, considering how you learned about our nuptials, I’d ask only one thing. Never defile the sacred oaths we exchanged on our wedding day. There’s nothing more pure than the love I have for your daughter.”
Her father laughed so violently his whole body shook. “What’s this talk of purity? Were you a bloody virgin on your wedding night?”
Laughter sounded.
Kara bit her lower lip to keep herself silent. Don’t interfere. You promised.
“From what I hear,” Marteinn interjected, shooting up from his seat. “Kara wasn’t a goddamned maiden, either.”
If he could, Kara was sure he’d froth at the mouth. He’d never spoken against her. Her heart plummeted, as she leaned weakly against the wall behind her.
“Say it again, within reach,” Aaron challenged, strutting closer. “Your intent matched my own. Only, the best man claimed her.”
Marteinn’s hands clenched as he looked Aaron over disapprovingly. “Widows are made every day—and remarried within a fortnight. Say the word, I’ll help you reach Valhalla, if outlanders are permitted.”
Aaron’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword.
“Enough!” Tyr stood. “What’s done is done. And you,” he faced Marteinn, “have no more claim to Valhalla than my cousin.”
“But I do.” Erik said. “Lines were crossed, sacred trust violated. The day a father is denied control over his own children’s destinies is the day Ragnarok descends.”
Jarl Sigurdsson rubbed the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “No one denies your right to be angry, Jarl Erik. But I won’t tolerate insults from a man who has no claim on my kinsman’s wife.”
“A matter for the Thing to decide, I think,” Erik retorted.
&
nbsp; “You question the validity of the marriage I presided over?” Tyr shot back.
“I question the motivation. I intended her for someone else.”
“You never formalized the betrothal,” Aaron argued, climbing the first step of the dais. “Never made a public announcement—never advised your daughter to save herself for her intended.”
“How do you know what I did or didn’t do?” Erik jumped up.
Kara felt light headed. She groaned, holding her head between her hands. All this discussion about who and what—but no consideration for her feelings.
“And does my daughter know the true nature of the devil bedding her? What unholy creature might be forming in her womb right now?”
Somehow, Aaron ended up kneeling on the table with his short sword imbedded in the wood between him and Erik. “Say it again and I’ll crush your fucking head.”
“Wait.” Kara ran down the stairs. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let her husband and father destroy each other.
Both men halted, shocked to see her.
“Father,” she bowed, huffed out a breath, then quickly corrected herself and curtsied. “This is the man I love—the man I chose.”
“What do you know of love?” Marteinn asked. “This man seduced you, took advantage of your innocence.”
Tyr slid sideways, grabbing a fistful of Marteinn’s tunic. “Silence.”
Erik’s face softened for a fleeting moment when he saw her. “He’s a Christian—paid to train an army that one day will destroy everything consecrated to Odin. Right now, his men are hunting pagans accused of desecrating holy ground in Nidaros. He cannot be trusted. And I’ll be damned if my only daughter and grandchildren will be raised to tremble before the cross.”
Blind Redemption (Viking Romance) (Blind Series) Page 19
