by Sandra Lake
The thought of her death turned his stomach, and he shook his head to rid it of such thoughts. With his head pounding, he wandered over to the tent that he was sharing with her. Katia had arranged her own bed, but it was closer to his than it had been before. His tunic and cloak were laid out to dry on top of his saddle. She had washed the blood out of both.
She lay on her side, pretending to be asleep.
“Does your shoulder need stitching?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Tosha saw to it.”
“Is it deep?”
“No.” She opened her eyes. “Would you like me to take first watch?”
“No. How many stitches?”
“A few.”
He reached over and pulled her blanket down. She wore only her white shift and took in a sharp breath as he tugged the fabric down to see her wound. Lothair did not ask before he unwrapped the bandage and examined the large laceration. He counted seven ragged stitches, the skin puckered and swollen. He tore strips of bandages from his spare linen tunic and rewrapped the wound.
“Keep it dry. When you need more clean cloth, take what you need from the supplies. Do not think to save it for another purpose,” he instructed.
She blinked rapidly, her features guarded. He wanted to ask what she was thinking. He hadn’t even heard her cry out when her flesh was being stitched.
She was a daughter of Norrland, who had her own rules and wanted to ruin her life her own way. So why should he treat her differently than any other man would? His father, his father’s friends, his friends even, would have taken whatever they could get from this beautiful creature and then turned a cold shoulder when needed.
Lothair drew Katia’s blanket back up and knelt before her. She smiled at him, a worried, nervous smile, and moved to the side of her small mat, leaving a space beside her.
“It is cold tonight and my nightgown is still damp,” she whispered, never looking away from his eyes, making her offer clear.
He took off his boots and lay down beside her, under the blanket. He slid his arm under her head. She placed her hand over his heart, as she had the night before, and shivered, letting out a long breath before nuzzling into his chest a little more.
He was powerless against the combination of having Katia warm and safe in his arms and the sound of the trickling brook outside, and fell asleep in seconds.
***
The next morning, they broke camp and set out on a long day of travel, headed for Prague. As they approached the city, the red clay roof of St. George’s Basilica appeared on the horizon. Prague. Lothair’s shoulders relaxed. They had made it. The road quickly turned into a congested street and they were welcomed by the scent of smoke and civilization. They would have a good meal, a hot bath, and a warm, dry bed tonight. There was no need to share his warmth with Katia anymore, Lothair thought. No reason he should be sharing the same lodgings at all. The safe thing to do would be to find himself an inn separate from his temptation. Lars could watch over the women’s safety.
In fact, now that they were all in a more secure situation, there was no reason for Lothair ever to be alone with Katia again.
Chapter 12
For Katia, the first day in Prague passed by in a blur. They had been traveling for over a month and a half, and now that they had arrived, everything felt surreal. Their standard of living improved tenfold. The men selected the most lavish accommodations that they could find. Being escorted by a baron and a viscount had its privileges in this corner of the world.
At dinner, Tosha had her first argument with Lars over the ridiculous price they would be paying for lodging. He told her to get used to it and she slapped him. Lothair and Katia could not help but smirk and politely make themselves scarce as the lovebirds had it out.
“You’re sure you will be all right?” Lothair asked as he escorted her to her private chamber. Katia felt at home in the grand guest suite that she was assigned, although it only intensified her longing for Tronscar.
“Of course, I will be fine,” Katia lied. She felt like vomiting and sleeping for a month but he did not need to know that. He needed to find Valen and Fist and get them all back on the road to Lubeck. “’Tis just a headache. I will be ready to depart just as soon as you find your friends.” She smiled and he glared back at her, disbelieving.
“What’s wrong?” He pushed his way into her room. She pushed back against him and staggered slightly.
“Nothing. Now, if you do not mind, I would like to get some rest.”
“I’ll go once I’ve seen your shoulder.”
That was what Katia got for sharing a tent and a warm blanket with someone for a few nights. He started to think he owned her.
“No thank you, Lothair. I will see you tomorrow.”
“If it is healing well and nothing is wrong, then why not let me see it?” he challenged.
“We are back in civilization. Most people would think it bold of a man to ask a maiden to pull down her sleeve.” She sent him a steely look.
“If you still look like this tomorrow”—he gestured rudely up and down her body—“then I am taking a look. With or without your permission.”
“Whatever you say, commander. Sleep well.” She shoved him toward the door with her good arm.
As the door closed, the room started to spin. Her vision had been blurry for a day and seemed to be getting worse. She tugged out the pins that secured her formal attire, peeled off her newly purchased blue velvet gown, and stumbled to the nightstand, where she washed her face. The cool water felt so good she washed it again.
She drew down the sleeve of her under-tunic to inspect her throbbing arm. Hell’s bells. It was as bad as she thought. Yellow pus oozed from the red, swollen wound. Her eyes watered as she tried to force the liquid out from the edges of the scab. She hated feeling sick. It made her feel weak and vulnerable.
Winter was going to set in soon and she had no time to be sick, or weak, or worse, die from a scratch.
She needed to get home to Tronscar. Her brothers needed her. Her father needed to know that Prince Andrei was on his way to Tronscar, her ring in hand.
***
Katia heard the knock on the door but didn’t have the strength to push off the mountain of blankets to answer it.
“Thank you for coming.” She heard Tosha’s voice through the humid fog that surrounded her.
“How bad is it?” asked Lothair.
“I did my best, Lothair.” Why did Tosha sound like she was apologizing? “I swear I thought it was good and neat.”
“I am not blaming you,” Lothair snapped. “I just need to know she will be all right.” A loud bang broke through Katia’s dense fog, as if someone had just kicked a table over. “I knew I should not have left her last night.”
“I’m fine,” Katia said, yet her lips felt numb and did not move correctly. “I need you all to leave me alone. I need some sleep and I will be fine.” It took all her effort to get the words out. Yet her friends ignored her—or did they not hear her? She needed to speak up. For some unexplained reason her eyelids were ridiculously heavy.
“It’s best to remove the arm,” a strange male voice said. “While she still has the strength to recover from the fever.”
“She needs her arm,” Lothair said. “You will save the arm.” He commanded with all authority.
“I will try,” the stranger said.
“Do it quickly,” Tosha said, and then all Katia felt was fire. She was no longer breathing, as her body was locked in a scorching pain. The stench of roasting flesh and burnt hair leaked into her lungs. Why were her friends burning her alive? She blinked several times to see if what was happening was real.
Lothair moved in closer. He lay down beside her, pinning her legs under his, wrapping her up in his arms, and pressing a heavy, callused hand across her forehead, stroking her temple with his thumb.
“Be still. Shh, Kat. Shh, I swear it will be over soon. Breathe for me, Kat.”
She tried to call out and tell them to stop, leave her alone, but the pain choked out her words and she screamed, the torture becoming unbearable. A strange man was mangling her arm and Lothair was letting him.
Lothair pressed his lips hard on her temple and she closed her eyes.
***
Katia’s throat was parched—not simply dry but filled with sand. Why had someone fed her sand? “May I have some water?” she attempted to say. She couldn’t tell if any sound came out.
“Katia?” Lothair whispered into her ear. She liked it when he whispered in her ear. This was a lovely dream.
“My throat,” she managed. A cup pressed to her lips. “Thank you,” she said, no longer able to fight against the weight of black velvet that swallowed her whole.
***
Katia couldn’t see him, but his scent was all around her. “Lothair,” she whispered into the black, “I’m cold.” The soft sounds of his breathing were close to her.
“Drink this first,” he said, and a cup was pressed to her lips. She drank it all.
“Would you like more?” he whispered, stroking her hair with his long fingers.
“No, thank you.” Her teeth chattered.
The bed sank to the side. Her blankets were lifted and he wrapped her in his arms, pressing her head to his chest.
“Where is your shirt?” she mumbled.
“You will warm faster this way,” he said into the top of her head.
Such a shame she couldn’t keep her eyes open and take advantage of this rare opportunity to see his body up close. Her cheek was pressed against the furnace that was his bare chest. Its warmth soothed her, blanketing her in wholehearted security, removing all doubt that she would be fine. She would always be safe and well with Lothair near.
Katia smiled. She preferred him without a tunic on. It was always the best part of the day when he bathed in a stream or changed his clothing. Over the weeks of travel, she had stolen frequent glances—so many, in fact, that she had memorized every taut, rippling muscle, every smooth plane of bronze skin. Tragically, her eyelids were still much too heavy to lift. But she was satisfied with the spicy scent and the softness below her cheek.
“Lothair?” she whispered.
“Sleep, Kat,” he whispered.
“Was that my hair ribbon I found in the pocket of your cloak?”
“Sleep.”
“It looked like the one I gave you years ago,” she said. He did not answer her but tenderly kept stroking her hair, rubbing the skin at the back of her ear. She knew it. It had been her old pink ribbon. If he had kept it all these years then he must care for her more than just a friend. What a comforting thought that was, Lothair cared for her. What a disappointment to die now, when she was so happy.
“If I die, will you take the map and my arm band to my father? You must tell him that I did my best, that I wanted to make a difference. Please say you will.”
“You’re not dying, Katia. I won’t let you.”
“But winter is coming and you must keep traveling north.” She was exhausted, and had to fight against being pulled under the black curtain again. “My brothers are too young to fight in a war, and Urho needs me.”
“A lot of people need you, you little chit,” he said fondly. “Now sleep, get well, and you can save the world tomorrow.” He kissed her head.
“I wanted to make a difference—like you did when I first met you. What happened to that boy?” She whispered the last words before surrendering to the velvet blackness.
***
“He grew up.” Lothair whispered in her ear. Katia was thankfully asleep.
As the dark charcoal of night gave way to light gray, her fever broke and Lothair reluctantly removed himself from her bed. He pulled a chair closer to her bed and allowed himself to sleep for the first time in days. She would live. She would carry a large scar on her once flawless flesh, but she would live. He hated her insistence on treating her body with such little care. She always put everyone and everything ahead of her own safety and well-being. He didn’t know her father or mother well, but he suspected they were not entirely to blame for this major character flaw.
***
Muffled sounds of two giggling females filtered into his brain. Lothair opened his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. She had returned to him. He stretched. His back and neck were twisted in knots from sleeping upright.
“Tosh, stop it. It is neither funny nor true,” Katia said with a muted laugh.
“Yes it is.” Tosha giggled her reply. “I warned you years ago that you talk in your sleep.” Tosha sat on Katia’s bed, holding her friend’s hands.
“By my word, my life is a series of embarrassing moments, one after another.” The sound of Katia’s lighthearted banter loosened the noose around his heart.
“Sorry we woke you.” Katia beamed up at him. She took his breath away. She was pale and her hair was matted down with dried sweat, and yet still she shone as the summer sun.
“Did you eat something?” he asked with a yawn.
“Tosh brought me my breakfast. Would you like some?” she asked. “She is trying to fatten me up with all this meat, I think.” Before he could answer, servants entered through the open door, carrying in a cedar bathtub that they quickly began filling with steaming water. He approved. A hot bath would soothe her fever-weary muscles. No matter how much he preferred to stay, he decided he should probably take his leave.
“Eat your breakfast, Kat.” He pointed toward her food tray. “All of it. And listen to Tosha.” He quit the chamber with a lightened step.
Downstairs in the main dining hall, forks scraped against plates, mugs clanged down hard on the table, and a group of frustrated men tore into crusts of bread. Lars, Fist, and Valen ate sullenly, without speaking.
“How is she?” Lars snapped his head up as Lothair approached the table.
“Better. The fever appears to have broken.” He nodded his greeting to his friends and took up a plate.
“Have you slept at all?” Valen asked. “You look like you have been run through.”
Fist grinned. “No. That is his hungover face, Valen. His run-through face is much different, more haggard.” His friends started to laugh at his expense. He speared a sausage and ate, ignoring his friends. He was too tired, and too relieved, to muster a barbed reply.
“We sold two more horses and arranged for a few new recruits who are eager to accept new postings in Lubeck and serve under Duke Henry’s banner,” Lars said. “We will be able to send riders ahead a few miles and have a few trail behind, protecting our rear so we can move swiftly. Not looking over our shoulders at every moment will be novel. When do you think Katia will be recovered enough to depart?”
Lothair slammed his tankard of ale down on the table. “She nearly died! She’s not going anywhere. She’s weaker than a lamb. I won’t risk her health on a winter road.”
“Do you think she will be well enough in a month?” Valen said. “We need to reach Lubeck before the northern coast is closed off for the winter. This will have all been for nothing if we do not warn the Swedes.”
Lothair forked more meat onto his plate. “The Swedes aren’t bootless codpieces. Don’t underestimate them as Katia has. If her friend—the Finnish spy, Otso, who is friends with her parents—if he has heard of Andrei’s plot, be assured Magnus Knutson is informed. Do you suppose him blind and deaf? Do you not remember meeting the man in Tronscar?”
Fist leaned forward, peering down the table at him. “Still, we cannot be certain they know until we return to Lubeck.”
Lothair sighed. “The Jarl of Tronscar does not send little girls to fight his battles. You better believe Magnus Knutson will be well prepared.”
“Be that as it may, Lothair,” Valen said, “Katia
still has vital information that could offer a strategic advantage. Besides, the jarl must surely be searching for Katia by now. We would be wise to send word.”
“I remember Knutson,” Lars said. “And I remember his men. He will prevail, yet Valen is right. Tosha’s uncle and cousins, they will win over the Rus invaders, I have no doubt of that, but at what cost? How many lives will be lost?”
“What are you suggesting?” Lothair scanned the faces of his friends. “You would have her ripped from her sickbed to risk her life on the road again? You think that is what Magnus Knutson and his warriors want?”
Valen shook his head. “You need some sleep, brother. What we’re saying is that someone—a few of us—should continue on. We are no longer in enemy territory. We have extra guards, so splitting up is not an issue of safety. If I ride hard and change horses often, I could reach Lubeck in a week, relay our information, and the proper men may be sent into action.”
Fist was nodding in agreement. “At the very least we will know we did everything we could, regardless of if the information is helpful or not.”
Lothair cursed silently to himself. His friends were right. He did need to sleep. His head couldn’t be trusted right now—he couldn’t see past Katia to what needed to be done.
Later that afternoon, Lothair found himself leaning against the far wall in Katia’s chamber. She was propped up with a dozen feather pillows arranged her in the middle of her bed, holding court like an ethereal goddess. Her long golden hair cascaded down around her shoulders to her waist.
The last few rays of sunlight of the day filtered through an open window, and a refreshing breeze with the scent of dry autumn leaves swept into the large chamber. Katia wore the silk-lined wool dressing robe he had left in the chamber the night before and a black bear fur covered her legs—he felt satisfied that she would not become chilled.
All the same, Lothair was a breath away from clearing the room. She was overly stimulated and bound to wear herself out. Fist, Lars and Valen were listening closely as Katia recounted every small detail from Prince Andrei’s private chambers. She relayed scheduled troop movements, numbers, and the supply routes that were being used. She had read dispatches of requests for more men, weapons, and horses and could remember the names of several Slav ships that falsely sailed under merchants’ flags.
