by Leigh Bale
Mumbling her thanks, Kerstin accompanied the wounded. Jonas’s men went to one warm barn while Kerstin’s men went to another. Relief surged through Jonas that the two clans were separated. They needed the barest incentive to fight again.
Curious about Kerstin, Jonas followed her to where his wounded men were housed. Standing in the shadows of the low doorway, he fingered the hilt of his sword and watched her in silence. She didn’t appear surprised when his men refused her stilted offer to tend their wounds, but Jonas felt amazed she would tend his men first.
“You are foolish to refuse me. I can help ease you,” she said.
“You wish to ease us to our deaths. It was your arrows that caused many of our wounds. Come no nearer, witch,” one of Jonas’s men muttered.
Kerstin drew back, her mouth stiff, eyes crinkled. “We were at war then. Didn’t you also try to kill me and my men?”
“Not until you attacked us,” another warrior exclaimed. “Leave us be.”
The man grimaced with pain, his arm nearly severed.
“You’ll bleed to death within the hour if you don’t receive care.”
"Better that I die from my wounds than from a spell you might cast upon me."
Opening her mouth, she appeared ready to plead her cause. Another healthy warrior rose to his feet and lifted his heavy cleaver. A snarl curved his mouth. "Begone witch, before I sever that pretty head from your evil neck."
Large, angry men surrounded her, their eyes smoldering with hate. They would never allow her to give them aid. Clutching her healing bag to her chest, she backed away.
As she made a hasty retreat, she collided with Jonas at the door. He reached to settle her and she gasped, jerking away. Hoping to hide his inner thoughts, he glowered at her. Her eyes widened as she scurried around him and fled.
He let her pass, watching as she disappeared into the darkness where they’d taken her own wounded men. Jonas frowned. She had come to tend his warriors first and appeared concerned. It must be an act. A witch would not care who lived or died.
Jonas stayed close by, watching her, listening. He wanted to learn more about this woman he was to wed. What did her own men think of her?
“Ah, here she is,” one exclaimed when she entered the dim light of the shelter.
Shafts of fading sunlight filtered through cracks in the walls. The air smelled of straw and animals. The injured men rested upon fresh hay spread on the ground for their comfort. The hay soon soaked up their blood.
As she inspected the worst of the wounds, they sighed with relief, seeming confident in her abilities. Jonas snorted. He expected nothing less from a witch who practiced the black arts.
“I’ll need fresh water and more bandages,” she spoke to no one in particular.
An old man gave her a wan smile and gestured to several buckets of fresh water and piles of clean woolen strips. “I knew what you would need and have it waiting for you, my lady.”
Nodding, she set to work, giving instructions as to cleansing, sewing up wounds with an antler needle, wrapping gashes, applying poultices to swollen bumps and bruises.
A fire blazed with a cauldron hanging over it and the barn soon smelled of pungent herbs. Jonas watched to see what magical enchantments she performed, but he saw nothing that didn’t seem logical.
She stayed with her own men a short time. Jonas became aware they were more versed in dealing with injuries than his warriors. She instructed them how to wrap mild wounds and tend each other. Too bad Jonas had no healer like her back at Hawkscliffe. His people would benefit from someone with her skills, yet they could never trust her not to cast an evil spell on them.
She left her men and headed for the hall. Outside in the yard, she looked up and saw the old warrior who had tried to protect her during the battle. He wore a bloodied bandage around his head, to cover the wound Jonas delivered before he had chased Kerstin through the forest. Seeing him hale and alive, she gave a joyous laugh and hugged him tight.
Jonas saw his father standing beside the king. Hakon wore the royal crest upon his shield. When Kerstin glared hotly at the man, Jonas hid an amused smile. She believed the king to be an Eiriksson and therefore a traitor. Jonas would not be the one to tell her the truth. The Eiriksson’s were King Hakon’s brothers and sought to take his title. They were all royals, using the same crest. If Kerstin knew her mistake, she would doubtless bow down upon the ground and beg forgiveness for attacking her own king.
"I’ll see if my father can attend visitors,” she said.
Turning to go inside, she stopped abruptly, her mouth dropping open, her eyes wide. Alrik, Earl of Moere, stood before the door of the hall. Even with his pale skin, he appeared savage, a fierce opponent in his own right.
If Alrik refused the king’s demands, there would be more bloodshed. Jonas couldn’t stop it. His warriors were too angry with Alrik’s men.
Holding a sword in his fist, Alrik glared at them all, his eyes narrow and shrewd. His sparse, still-blond hair stood on end. Wearing only his trousers and overshirt, the wind slapped at his loose shirt. Jonas caught a glimpse of a bandage wrapped about his injured side. It bore a dark stain and Jonas realized the man had opened his wound and caused it to bleed. He appeared to have been roused from bed. He must be chilled, yet his eyes were glazed with fever. Jonas could see moisture on Alrik’s brow and anger in his steely eyes.
"I am here, daughter.” Alrik spoke with strength but Jonas wondered how he remained on his feet.
"Father!"
She tried to rush to his side but he held out a hand to stop her. "Go inside and make haste with a meal, Kerstin. We will greet our king with the comforts he finds in his own home."
Kerstin’s mouth dropped open, her gaze flashing toward the royal. Though she didn’t speak, the truth was there on her face. She hadn’t known she had attacked the king’s party.
“Oh!” A flush of heat stained Kerstin’s cheeks.
She glared at Jonas, her eyes filled with accusation. He kept his face void of expression.
As she looked at her father, her face softened with concern and she took a step toward the ailing man. Her actions confused Jonas. A witch wouldn’t feel anything but disdain, even for her father. Yet, this woman seemed so vulnerable. It must be a deception to take them off guard.
A clenching wind stirred through the farmstead. Shifting his feet, hand on his sword, Jonas waited to see what would happen. The next moments would set them on a course of death or of healing. God grant that it be the latter.
"So, Sigurd, you have come with King Hakon." Alrik snarled and rubbed a gnarled hand against his coarse beard. "What devious plans do you hatch now?"
A snide smile curled Sigurd’s lips. "It’s not what I plan, but what the king orders, Alrik, Lord of Swine. Your foolish daughter had your men attack the king when we brought him here to speak with you in peace."
Kerstin gasped at the insults. Her men tensed and glared at Sigurd’s warriors. Hatred pulsed in the air. Tension rushed all around.
Alrik's bushy brows rose and he turned his craggy head. For a brief moment, his disapproving gaze rested on Kerstin. “King Hakon, my daughter didn’t know you were amongst the Sigurdsson’s, or she would never have attacked. Our lookouts reported that you were Eiriksson’s, sneaking into the hills above us to come down and destroy Moere. You can’t blame my daughter for following my orders and trying to protect our home.”
“Eiriksson’s,” Sigurd growled. “Are you all blind as well as dimwitted? Couldn’t you see who we were?”
Hardening his jaw, Alrik lifted his sword as he took a step. “It was because we saw who you were that we attacked. Didn’t you come here recently to fight us?” He gestured toward the injury in his side. “Wasn’t that how I got this fine wound? You must bear part of the blame for today’s attack. You could have sent us word that you were bringing the king here. Instead, you snuck in like you always do when you try to steal my land and flocks and kill my people. You’re no better than the thievi
ng Eiriksson’s.”
Sigurd’s face mottled red with fury. “Who are you to accuse us when you…?”
"Enough," King Hakon barked and the two men stilled. "I’ve lost many valuable warriors today and I don’t wish to lose any more. I’ve come to ask for your aid, Lord Alrik, just as you gave aid to my father in his many battles. You’ve always been loyal and I ask that you not fail me now. I demand peace."
Alrik’s gray eyes narrowed on his king. "You wish me to fight with you against your brothers, the Eiriksson’s?"
Hakon nodded. "I know you have no love for the Eiriksson’s ever since they murdered your wife. Let us speak together of war against them, our common enemy. Let us speak of peace between you and Sigurd."
Jonas saw Alrik's mouth compress with anger and the old earl cast his gaze about the yard, taking in his men, the blood smeared across their swords, the look of hostility in each of their eyes. Alrik could easily grasp the situation for what it was. Though he stood straight and proud, Alrik’s pale flesh made him seem weary unto death. He must be in a great deal of pain.
Kerstin faced the king. "Right now, my father must rest. You can plan your war tomorrow."
"Kerstin, go inside," Alrik ordered quietly.
"But, Father, you’re not well."
"Kerstin!"
She flinched. Though spoken in a low voice, his sharp command silenced her. She cast a quick glance at Jonas. He refused to meet her gaze, unwilling to let her see the sympathy that stirred deep within him. Against his better judgment, he was impressed by Kerstin’s courage and discipline. And dare he admit he admired her compassion in caring for the wounded? But he must never forget what she was capable of, or that she had killed Bjorn.
With a sigh, Kerstin obeyed her father's word. She disappeared inside the great hall, leaving Jonas feeling suddenly alone and empty.
* * *
Inside the manor house, Kerstin set about ordering the few remaining thrall women to place a meal on the long tables. Whether she liked it or not, their enemy was here to stay.
She had attacked King Hakon. How could she have made such a foolish mistake? Tears burned her eyes when she thought of the men who died today, many of them her friends. More would succumb to the wounds they had received.
Anguish tore at her heart. Guilt rested on her like a load of rocks on a funeral pyre. It didn’t matter that she had done what her father asked, or that the Sigurdsson’s were partly responsible.
She dashed the tears away with her hands, trying to ignore her misery as she removed her chain mail. It did no good. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, forcing her to stop and blow her nose on a cloth she kept tucked inside her pocket. Enough! She must set a good example for her people. Resolved to being strong, she went about her work.
It wasn’t a difficult chore to lay out a meal. Great haunches of meat already hung over the open fire pit in the center of the room. Dripping with sizzling juices, the meat awaited ravenous appetites of men returned from battle. They’d also prepared flatbread, golden cheese, broiled fish, baked apples, and vegetables.
The day before, they scattered fresh rushes across the clay floor. The air smelled of sweet spices and cooking meat.
Letta, the wife of Kerstin’s eldest brother, ran over to her as Kerstin set a pitcher of honey mead at the head of the table. "Do you know why the king is here? Will he lend Sigurd aid to kill us?"
"Nay, King Hakon has always respected my father," Kerstin reassured her. "Since he needs Alrik's help, he would never jeopardize that by allowing Sigurd to cause mayhem."
Jonas Sigurdsson entered the hall, interrupting them. He stood before the door, still dressed in battle gear, still tall and somber. His sword and war ax clanked as he looked about. Damp tendrils of wheat-colored hair curled on his high forehead. His sharp gaze took in every detail of the room, then rested heavily upon Kerstin. She swallowed twice.
"Your father has asked for shoes and warm clothing." His voice filled the hall like a blast of wintry wind.
At first, Kerstin didn’t move. She stood paralyzed as his gaze stroked down her body, then lifted again to her face.
If King Hakon had his way, Jonas Sigurdsson would be her husband. How could she stand to wed such a cruel wretch? She could never give up Elezer, whom she loved.
Jonas cleared his throat, and Kerstin hurried into the backroom. She returned with the requested items and walked to him. As she held out the clothing, her gaze lifted to his face. Flickering shadows twined along the walls as flames danced in the fire pit. In the dim light, it surprised her to see his worried expression as his brows lowered in a frown.
When he took the clothes, his fingers brushed against hers. Drawing away, she clasped her hands in front of her. The heat of an angry blush suffused her cheeks but she didn’t look away. She must not back down to this man, nor show him fear. Why did his presence affect her so much?
He spoke for her ears alone. "You’ve made it clear you don’t want to marry me, but if your father orders it, will you agree?"
Of course not! Was he an imbecile? "Father won’t agree. I am betrothed to Elezer."
Jonas offered no denial. "I’m sorry for your love of Elezer, but many lives depend upon our union. We must wed, Kerstin. There’s no other way."
It was the first time he had spoken her name and she shivered at the sound rolling off his tongue, smooth as honeyed butter.
His mouth softened, his eyes no longer angry, but such an intense blue they reminded Kerstin of rare gemstones she had once seen at a bazaar in York. She must stop looking at him as if he were a man instead of her enemy. If he tried to take her from Elezer, she would fight him----as long as she had breath in her body. "Surely you don’t want to be saddled with a woman who loves another man.”
He frowned, his jaw tense. "The king has ordered it. I will do my duty, even if I must marry a witch.”
She snorted. "I am no witch. You only want me so you can hurt me."
He didn’t respond and she became aware of the nervous chatter of the other women as they scurried to the back of the hall. They clutched heavy brooms and meat cleavers, peering at him warily.
"Hurting you has no purpose,” he said. “I need nothing more than heirs from you. Your love for Elezer is a thing of the past. Put it aside.”
Put it aside? To do so would bludgeon her heart.
“You treat me as if my only purpose is for breeding.”
“You will do your duty.”
The insufferable brute. "I will not have your children."
He flattened her father's clothes with his hands. "Don’t fight me, Kerstin. I’m a man who never accepts defeat. Unlike my brother, I will never let down my guard with you, so be warned."
Her eyes narrowed and she prayed silently. Please, God, help my father understand. “And I am a woman who won’t be forced to marry a man I hate, so be warned.”
Brief pain flickered in his eyes and was gone. Surely she imagined it. This man detested her. Her hatred for him wouldn’t cause him any dismay.
“You will do as you are told,” he said.
She tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. Her pulse vibrated with fury.
He turned around and strode out of the room without even a backward glance. Kerstin stood like a statue where he had left her, stunned and hollow inside.
Her mind whirled. Her father loved her and wouldn’t give her to Jonas.
Or would he?
Looking at the women where they hid behind tall looms and chests, she sought to reassure them. "He’s gone now. You can come out."
Letta wrung her hands and whined in a pitiful voice. "I’m so afraid. My dead babes aren’t cold in the grave before their murderers come into my home. Your own brother’s death must be avenged."
Kerstin flinched at the reminder. "You’re right, Letta, but Tostig died in battle against the Sigurdsson’s and the Eiriksson’s murdered your children."
She tried to place a comforting hand on the woman's arm but Letta jerked away. "I’
ll grow old and childless because of the Sigurdsson’s. I watched my own children trampled to death."
"I’m so sorry for your loss, Letta. But it wasn’t the Sigurdsson’s that caused the death of your babes.” Kerstin’s voice trembled with the memory of Letta’s face and her heart-wrenching screams when the men carried her children’s bodies back to her that fateful day last autumn. Letta had not seemed level in the head since.
"Once Thorir returns from trading, you will have more children,” Kerstin said.
As if that could ever take the place of the two precious souls Letta had lost. Oh, how Kerstin wished her big brother would come home right away. Thorir could calm his wife. Letta always listened to him, and maybe he could also reason with Father.
Thorir would surely take Kerstin’s side. He and her other brothers had always doted on her, protecting her. Though her elder brothers had a different mother than herself, Kerstin loved them all; but they weren’t here and she must be strong.
“Sigurdsson’s, Eiriksson’s," Letta spat with distaste. "One is just as bad as the other. They both bring death to us."
Kerstin agreed as she turned her head in the direction of the door. Resisting the urge to go outside and eavesdrop on the men proved difficult. They made plans that would affect the rest of her life. What would King Hakon do when Alrik refused the wedding match?
The women returned to their chores but they paused often, their eyes wide as they listened to the angry voices coming from outside the house.
Minin, who was Knut’s wife, ceased stirring a fragrant stew as a low boom of thunder reached their ears. It joined the dull thrum of angry men. Alrik’s voice roared in fury above the rest.
Kerstin's breath caught in her throat. Would the battle begin anew? Father was in no condition to fight. He could be easily killed.
"Surely Alrik won’t give you to Jonas Sigurdsson.” Letta sidled up to Kerstin as she set her father’s drinking horn on the table.
It sounded like a sacrificial offer. Indeed, Kerstin felt that was just what she would be if they forced her to marry Jonas the Strong Arm.
