He threw his tankard across the room. Mead splattered the stones and floor. “Treacherous, lying old bastard.”
Hella pushed his stool away from the table and gave it a good kick. The heavy furniture collided with stone. The resounding bang failed to make him feel better. He hurled the runestone, disappointed when it didn’t break.
“Have you succumbed to a berserker rage, m’lord? If I attempt to set the table, will you overturn it and ruin your supper?”
Ealasaid Ingvar-thrall leaned her hip on the doorframe. Long strands of hair spilled over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the cooking fire.
After learning his father’s last wishes, he didn’t need a confrontation with the woman he’d never been able to have. “A thrall with a wicked tongue comes to a bad end.”
“One can hope the end comes quickly.” The teasing note in her voice hardened into iron.
“Serve me. I won’t ruin your fine soup. Yours isn’t the only hard work put into it. Far be it from me to waste the precious goods my karls provide.” He righted his stool and sat down. “Where’s the bread?”
“On its way, if you behave.” She placed the soup bowl in front of him. “Green soup, the way you like it. I hope it pleases you, m’lord.”
Such an obvious name for soup of a putrid color. He’d expelled fluids the same hue and lived to regret it. The rich warm scent of meat broth, leaks, and recently harvested greens drifted up from the bowl, and his anger abated. Hard to be furious, no matter the circumstances when Ealasaid put food on his table. “Should I worry you’ll poison me?”
“If I’d poisoned you, I wouldn’t stay around to watch you die.” She glanced toward the door, but it remained empty. “I have better uses for my time.”
“Suibhne is gone, your father dead, your sisters married to my kin or dead, your brothers dead or missing. Where would you run?” He plunged his spoon into the soup then blew the steam off the top. Remembering her misfortunes made his easier to bear.
“Far away from the village of Solstad.” Her words were soft, but her eyes blazed. “I don’t plan to remain a thrall forever.”
A little boy stumbled through the doorway. He nearly dropped the loaf of crusty brown bread in his arms.
Ealasaid’s eyes cut from Hella to the boy. “Careful, Birgir. Don’t rush. Hasty work yields poor results.”
The boy nodded and halted in front of Hella. “Jarl Hella.”
Though young, the child greatly resembled Ingvar. Hella bristled at the earnest little face peering at him. “Set it down and be on your way.”
The boy slid the bread over the table, then bowed and scuttled toward his mother. Ealasaid ruffled his hair as he slipped past her. Her tender smile made Hella’s heart lurch.
“Your son’s growing up. He’s six winters now?” The right age to be his, although if Ealasaid believed he’d sired Birgir, she’d never said.
“Yes, m’lord.” Love and pride shined through in her voice.
“Ingvar’s?”
Her mouth tightened into a straight line.
Hella gripped the spoon hard enough to make his fingers hurt. I should have killed him instead of leaving.
If Ingvar fathered her son, it made Birgir his half brother. Like as not, there were dozens of Ingvar’s brats running around Solstad.
Ealasaid hovered near the doorway. “The soup, m’lord? Does it offend?”
The spoon quivered in his hand, suspended above the bowl. “It’s hot. You may leave until I’m ready for the next course.” His stomach churned, the hunger vanquished by his father’s decree and cruelty.
“You seem troubled, Hella.” His name rolled from her lips smooth as wind through the oaks. “Shall I send for Erik or Bjorn? Company might soothe your nerves.”
Erik would have to be informed of Ingvar’s plan should Hella fail to marry, but he didn’t want to share it yet. “They’ll suggest we drink ourselves blind and let the problem wait for tomorrow. There are not enough tomorrows to prevent my trouble.”
Her lips puckered, a clear sign she wanted to ask. Even Ealasaid had limits to her curiosity.
There wasn’t any harm in telling her. Everyone would learn his plight soon enough. “It’s about my father’s last wish.”
“Ingvar speaks from beyond the death veil.” She quirked an eyebrow. “What does the old king require you to do? Will you unite Northumbria to conquer Byzantium or Spain?”
“No, it’s much more difficult.” He tore off the end of the bread and ripped it into little bits. “I must take a wife or lose Solstad.”
Ealasaid stared, then burst into laughter.
“I’m pleased my troubles amuse you.” He smashed his hand on top of the crumbs. “Explain how my misfortune is a cause for laughter.”
She wiped tears from her eyes. “You’ve fought battles others would run from. You grew up in the Bloody Raven’s shadow. You take what you want and leave nothing behind. I find it difficult to see how marriage is a horror you cannot face.”
“Indeed, my sorrows are reason for mirth.” He shoveled scalding soup into his mouth and swallowed. She wouldn’t have dared talk to his father this way, but Ealasaid never held her tongue around him. “Be gone. Instruct another thrall to bring the rest of my courses.”
“You must have dozens of conquests. Surely one would make a suitable wife for the new king of Solstad.” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Inga the butcher’s daughter? She’s fair of face and quick to laugh. Or Giera. The daughter of some jarl or the other north of here.”
“You’re not helping. Go on, leave.”
“As you wish, m’lord.” She curtsied then turned for the door. “May the gods resolve your inheritance issues and favor you with a mighty queen and a hundred strong vikingr babies born with clubs in their hands.”
“I could order your tongue cut out.” He jabbed the bottom of the bowl with the spoon. The threat held no weight, and she knew it judging by her smirk.
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “You enjoyed my tongue long ago, m’lord.”
He ached to kiss the mocking grin off her full mouth. From the moment she’d lost her boyish figure and filled out, he’d craved a taste of her. Though she possessed a sharp tongue, he couldn’t deny Ealasaid had grown into a handsome woman, one with enough meat on her bones to keep a man warm at night. She’d served his father’s hall since her capture and had become a capable servant.
Why not a capable wife? Many people of the Anglo and Norse lands intertwined their blood. With his father gone, who would stop Hella from taking any wife he pleased? Wouldn’t it be the best revenge to marry the thrall his father hated? To claim in marriage the woman he’d once tried to buy?
“What would you do if you were on the verge of losing your kingdom to your brother?”
Ealasaid hesitated. “I would fight for it. The way I know you will. Erik would be a fine leader, but this is your birthright. Erik is your brother by decree of the old king, not through direct blood. Even Ingvar should not have the power to change it. Marry and marry well. Be happy in spite of his demands.”
“I have no wish to take just any bride.”
“Understandable. How long do you have to choose?”
“Until the next full moon.” It might as well be a day. He’d been consumed in adventure and farming. In all his travels, there were no women he’d considered sharing his life with.
Firelight played on Ealasaid’s features, casting shadows as it flickered. A woman with a backbone as strong as hers would make a fierce queen were she not a thrall. Once the idea latched on, it wouldn’t let go.
She shifted her weight. “I’m sorry for your troubles. I’ll retire now. Birgir is waiting for his supper. I’ll send Ulrika with the rest of your meal.”
“What of you?” He played with the spoon handle, pushing it over the rough table surface.
Another faint smile graced her mouth. “Thank you for the concern, m’lord, but I’ve eaten already.”
“I suppose I’ll mix some herbs. Unless you require something else?”
“A wife.” He bit off the word the way he would a succulent piece of apple. “You are a thrall. I don’t see you have any better prospects than marriage to a Norse king.”
Ealasaid’s mouth gaped, and her eyes widened. “Me?”
“There’s no one here but us.” He tapped his foot beneath the table. “I’m extending an offer. We can join in marriage, which will secure the future for us both. And for your son. I would bestow an earldom on him.”
Much as he disliked looking at the boy, he knew Ealasaid would die before she abandoned her offspring. She’d never accept his offer if he didn’t include Birgir.
Her surprise faded. She sneered. “It will be a long and bloody day in your hall before another Norseman takes me to his bed, your grace.”
Fear made her words loud. On the night long ago when he’d grabbed her hair and she displayed her bravery, she’d been fearful too. She hid it well, but she wasn’t capable of banishing it completely.
“I will not force you, Ealasaid. The choice is yours and I will allow you to think on it. The great warriors of Suibhne fought valiantly. Their deaths were honorable. You are of noble blood. It’s best if you pass your duties on to someone else this night. Take some time to consider the future.” He pushed away from the table. “My appetite has failed. I must seek Odin’s council on some matters.”
Ealasaid’s lower lip trembled. “I think grief for your father has clouded your judgment. A talk with Odin could clarify your mind. Please excuse me.” She left, her skirt swishing around her ankles, the thin leather of her shoes slapping the stone floor.
Perhaps it would have been more of a mercy to kill her at Suibhne than force her to become his father’s whore and break her back with slavery. If she’d refused another man this way, she would likely be dead for her insults. Luckily, he admired her fiery spirit. The proposal came as a shock to her. She might pretend to dismiss it, but Ealasaid would give it real consideration. She understood the benefits marrying him would bring.
* * * *
Ealasaid hugged Birgir to her chest. He let out a sleepy protest but didn’t wake. His heart thumped beneath her palm, strong and steady. She loved him like she’d never loved anything before. She’d wanted to give him a brave Saxon name, her father’s, or one of her brother’s, but in the end, she’d bent and called him after his Norwegian ancestors. Despite her history, she’d come to love their culture. The Norsemen were versatile people, adapting quickly to the places they conquered. She couldn’t hate their way of life, but she’d never find a place in her heart for their dead king.
Her heart beat a faster pace than her son’s. Hella’s offer weighed on her shoulders. Marriage. A heady rise above her social class. Thralls didn’t marry vikingr kings. At best, they warmed beds, bore illegitimate children, and died young from overwork or at a cruel master’s hand.
He’d included Birgir in the bargain. Marry Hella, save his legacy, and what? The midwife who delivered her son claimed she wasn’t likely to bear more children. Hella could take Birgir as his heir if he desired. It was up to him who inherited his reign. If she married him, it meant Birgir gained the opportunity for a better life than hers.
Gods, what do I do?
His father abused her with his fists and his words for his pleasure. His lecherous gaze had followed her around the settlement from the time she’d started filling out. She’d dreaded the day he wanted her in his bed. Every moment with him made her hate Ingvar more.
The decision—no matter how poor—to make love with Hella shaped her future. The memory of him remained with her and still made her shiver when she thought of his lips on her. I want him. She’d never stopped. Over the years on his visits home, they’d avoided one another, refused to reconnect. If she hadn’t volunteered to serve his supper tonight, they might have continued to ignore the powerful connection.
Handsome in a rugged way, Hella’s sharp features were accented by his neatly trimmed beard and waves of long dark hair. He possessed tremendous strength from sword practice and years on the battlefields. Hella bore scars—from her too, one below his thumb and one on his bicep from the knife wound—marks of a brave man. None of them were hideous, at least not now. After he and the others returned from raids, they’d come to the hall with injuries she thought might deliver them straight to Hel, the vikingr afterlife. He’d surprised her many times by surviving near fatal wounds. Raiding made life dangerous, ruling as king would be no less so.
To hear him, he would lose all of Solstad unless he found a bride. Of course he would propose to the first woman he laid eyes on. She’d been standing in the right place when marriage crossed his mind.
I won’t do it. I’ll tell him in the morning.
Birgir grunted in his sleep then turned away from her. He seemed restless, troubled by little boy dreams rather than the disturbing issues she faced.
Hella didn’t like her son, might even rather the boy die than remain attached to her skirts, but he’d made the allowance to include Birgir. She brushed her hand over Birgir’s hair. She couldn’t live without her son. If Hella tried to take Birgir, she’d kill him, king or not. He’d given no indication that Birgir might be in danger. There wasn’t any use dwelling on such things.
Could she learn to live with Hella as her husband?
For the sake of her son...Yes.
She’d spent most of her life as a captive, but if Hella would bring Birgir up as a jarl, he would have freedom. No sense in delaying her decision. Sleep wouldn’t come until she’d spoken with him again. She pressed a kiss to Birgir’s dark hair and slipped from their pile of furs.
The glow of the moon saturated Hella’s figure, painting him ghostly pale against the longhouse wall. Except for the midnight blackness of his hair. He might have been the spirit of a long-dead vikingr king instead of one about to be crowned.
Ealasaid wrapped her arms around herself as she crossed the courtyard to his side. “Did speaking with Odin clear your mind as you hoped?”
His face remained stony and gave away none of his thoughts. “His guidance seems clearer since you’ve come to find me.”
“The answer is yes, m’lord. On the condition you bring up my son in your ways.” She lowered her gaze. “I have nothing to offer but a fine boy who needs a strong man to teach him. Although, you should know there may never be sons from your line.”
“Because of Birgir’s birth?” His eyes were shadowed beneath the moonlight.
If only that. “His birth wasn’t the trouble. Your father made certain I wouldn’t bear any more children.” Hatred flared inside her. She wouldn’t waste any tears over the old king.
He shrugged one big shoulder. “I didn’t ask you because I require an army of sons. Merely a wife for now.”
A concubine could provide him with all the children he needed. “Birgir could—”
“I am thinking of naming Erik as my heir. Much as sons would please me, my adopted brother is a good man and will make a wise leader someday.” Hella rubbed his fingers over his beard. “A wife is all I need.”
“Then I shall do my best to see to your needs.” She squared her shoulders and tucked her emotions away. Her father’s favorite words were duty above all.
Hella stepped closer. “What of your needs?”
“I have none, m’lord. None but a little food and a sip of wine, something to clothe my back during summer’s heat and winter’s wind. I am easy to please, you see.”
“You speak with certainty, yet I doubt you. What do you truly desire, Ealasaid?” He cupped her cheek with the same hand she’d bitten on their first meeting. “There must be something I can do for you.”
Sweat beaded on her forehead, cool against her flushed skin. “Nothing, I swear.”
“We’ll see.” He remo
ved his hand. “In the morn, I will tell the village of our plans. Because your family is gone, we will proceed quickly. From this moment forward, you are Hella Ingvasson’s betrothed. I revoke the caste of thrall and return your father’s name to you. Ealasaid Kentigerndottir.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she blinked away tears. She hadn’t been acknowledged as a chieftain’s daughter since her last day at Suibhne. “Very well, m’lord.”
He chuckled. “I am surprised you gave in without a fight. Would you not prefer to add a title such as the Gutless Norseman's Queen?”
“No, m’lord. Any title you choose for me is welcome.” She bit her tongue, subduing the urge to make a scathing remark.
“Where has Ealasaid Blade Tongue gone?” He touched her hair. “There’s no need to hide when I already know what lurks beneath your cool expression, little savage.”
His needling irked her. By curling her hands into her skirt, she suppressed the urge to throttle him. “Does not a good wife stand beside her husband?”
“Indeed. I hadn’t guessed it would take so little to tame you.” He tugged her hair gently.
“I fear my meekness may not last, m—”
“Hella. I want to hear it.” His breath warmed her cheek. “You’ve used it as a curse, now say it as a loving wife.” His fingers skimmed down her neck.
Ealasaid shivered. “Hella.”
“Again, with the passion I know you possess.”
“Hella.”
His lips hovered inches from hers. She lifted a trembling hand and brushed it through his locks. She hadn’t touched a man tenderly in years. Continuing this way would give him the idea she wanted to join him as a mate. She shivered again.
“We’ll arrange the ceremony quickly. There’s no reason for delay. The sooner my part of the bargain is complete, the sooner we live in comfort together.” Hella’s shoulders relaxed. “You should return to bed and your son.”
Her Heart's Surrender Page 3
