by Sandra Lake
“I agree,” the duke said firmly. As the men began to slowly retreat, Lothair held his place, rooted next to Katia. The jarl’s men would have reinforcements to secure her final voyage home. It hit him like a brick to the head: Katia would be taken way from him in a single moment. Lothair had completed his mission to return her to safety. She would no longer be his duty to protect.
He was free of her.
He had lost her.
The white-haired giant cleared his throat from the doorway. His eyes fixed on Lothair. “Do you share a chamber with my lady?” Rikard asked with a snarl that would frighten the skin off any man.
“Of course he does not, Rikard,” Katia said lightly as she stepped closer to the doorway. “His chamber is across the corridor.”
“Why are his boots under your bed, Katia?” Rikard’s snarl turned into a growl.
“He was guarding me.” She pressed her lips tightly together.
“This land is secure. Why does he need to guard you? You can protect yourself.” He pointed to her sword, resting against the far wall.
“I injured my good arm a few weeks past. My strength is not yet fully restored. Lothair has been protecting me for months, Rikard. He has saved me countless times. Now, do excuse me. I will dress and rejoin the others below stairs,” she said confidently.
Lothair didn’t know what to expect next. Would Rikard believe her claim of innocence, or rightfully dispose of him for compromising the reputation of the daughter of a jarl of Tronscar?
“He guards you with no boots.” Rikard challenged, with broadsword in hand, clearly itching to swing.
“For heaven’s sake, Rikard. Go below. I will be with you all in a moment.” She actually shoved the warrior toward the doorway, and to Lothair’s astonishment, Rikard let her. With the beast hovering outside in the corridor, Katia turned to face him.
“What will happen to us, Lothair?” she whispered and took a slow step toward him, genuine fear in her tone and expression.
“Nothing. You are safe. That’s all that matters.”
“I mean . . . never mind.” She lowered her head and reached for her traveling gown, which was draped across a chair. He shoved his feet into his boots, reclaimed his weapons, and crossed the chamber once more to the door, where he hesitated. Once he stepped foot outside this chamber, he would never again have the right to enter. She had sufficient guards now, loyal, proven men that would die for her as . . . as he would.
“Lothair.” She breathed his name from behind him. He turned to see her clutching her gown to her chest. She appeared close to tears. “My eternal gratitude,” she said, her voice quivering. “I will never be able to thank you enough for all you have done for me.”
Only he could do was stare at her. She looked frail and scared—this was a version of her that he hated. “Your servant, Lady Katia.” He bowed his head.
She nodded at the floor. Her shoulders were shaking up and down as she wept silently into her gown.
Rikard cleared his throat from the doorway and Lothair backed out of the chamber.
***
Lothair entered the inn’s small dining room, interrupting a seething argument between his father and Count Charles. Lars sat next to Tosha by the fire, concerned looks on both of their faces.
“I think we have replaced one war with another,” Lars was saying. Neither his father nor the count acknowledged Lothair’s presence.
“What have I missed?” he asked his friend.
“Nothing more than the terms of your beheading. Count Charles insists that the Jarl of Tronscar be granted the right and the duke is trying to claim it for himself,” Lars drawled.
A stifled sob escaped Tosha.
“My love, do not tremble. All will be well.” Lars kissed his wife’s temple and tucked her in close to his side. “Would you be so good as to go above stairs and perhaps assist your friend? The sooner she rejoins us, the better, I think.” Tosha nodded obediently and stood. Lars patted his wife’s back as prepared to take her leave, his hand straying a hair too low on her backside to be polite.
As suddenly as a blinding crack of thunder, Rikard’s blow came down from above, leaving Lars out cold on the stone floor.
Lothair sprang to his feet, stepping in between Lars and Rikard, who looked primed to take another swing at his unconscious friend.
“You will keep your hands to yourself, you German scum, or I will take your hands as souvenirs.” Rikard’s nostrils flared.
“Rikard! What have you done?” Tosha fell to the floor next to her husband, collecting his head into her lap and stroking his hair.
Apparently Katia had been spying on them, because she appeared in the doorway to the dining room and stomped angrily toward the Norrland guards. “Lars needed to keep his hands off his lawful wife, Rikard? A Polish priest blessed their union over a month ago.” Katia stood with both hands on her hips, in her own version of a battle stance.
“Tosha is wed?” Rikard bellowed. “My sweet Tosha?” His thick white brows rose nearly into his hairline.
“Aye, you jug-headed fool!” Tosha scowled at every man in the room and then dropped her head down to kiss Lars’s forehead. “You touch my husband again, Rikard, and I will tell my mother just how to handle this.”
“He wed a serving girl from Tronscar?” The duke stepped forward.
“Aye, sir.” Lars had come to and pushed up, blinking and rubbing the back of his head. “She was good enough to have me.”
The room went silent for a moment. Curious glances were exchanged, everyone trying to make sense of the situation.
“While young Lars might have the blessing of the church to lay his hands on Tosha,” Count Charles said calmly, “this does not remove the issue of the baron’s return to Tronscar. Jarl Magnus still has the right for recompense.”
“Recompense for what exactly?” Katia had the look of an unkempt hellcat, her long, unbound hair rumpled and clothes askew.
“For compromising your honor, Katia,” Count Charles answered plainly. “Surely you cannot think that your father, nor his men, could ever allow such a disrespect to go unanswered.”
Katia reached out and placed her small hand into Lothair’s arm. Was she trying to get him slaughtered?
“My father will be grateful and I expect very generous with my husband, as I would expect the rest of his men and my kinsmen to be as well.”
“Husband!” Rikard and the count exclaimed in unison.
“Aye, husband. As you all know, my father years ago granted me the power to write my own marriage contract if I chose to wed. There is no more for any of you to discuss. We have far more important matters to deal with in preparing for the Rus invasion. Uncle, I conclude from your rapid arrival that you received my letter?”
“Katia, I would read this marriage contract first. Where and when did these supposed nuptials take place? You made no mention in your letter,” Count Charles challenged.
“After traveling two weeks alone through the remote mountains, we thought to wed once we arrived in Boshrain,” she said. “My dowry is substantial and I thought it the least I could do by way of compensating Lothair for saving me from a most disagreeable end.”
Katia knew she was walking on dangerous ground, both with her father’s men and with her friends, but something had to be done to halt the useless banter over her reputation, and regardless, her father would surely understand and help smooth out any slight inconvenience to Lothair. She decided to change the subject to distract the men from her lack of a contract.
“What news of Korski, Uncle?” Katia leaned into Lothair’s side, ignoring the piercing glares of Rikard and her unconvinced uncle.
“The contract, Katia.” Her uncle firmly set his chin high. “I will read it directly.”
“I do not see why that is necessary. My far gave me leave years ago to write my own contract. You
are well aware that this is true.” She pressed into Lothair’s side farther and he responded by putting his arm around her back and tucking his hand tight around her waist, locking her to his hip. She liked the feeling of being held at his side in front of everyone. “I am so concerned, Uncle. Pray, what news from the north?”
Rikard crossed his arms disapprovingly, her uncle sighed in frustration, and the duke just stood there with his mouth partially hanging open.
Tosha broke the standoff by helping Lars to the table, saying he needed to drink a strong dark brew to clear his fogged head. Soon after, servants began to filter in with platters of warm bread and soft cheese from the kitchens.
See, Katia thought. All is well again in the world.
Lothair escorted Katia to a bench across from her uncle. She clutched possessively to his arm. This posture felt right, as if she always had been at his side, attached to his hip as she was at this moment. He touched her with familiarity, even though he had never touched her so openly before. They sat as one, as a pair, as a team, and Katia knew she played the part of his wife convincingly.
The news from her uncle was not good. Prince Andrei had indeed pushed with ease into the north of Finland. The few spies that returned from Korski reported that it was near empty, with only a few old fishermen living roughly in the forest. Her half brother Urho and his family have not been heard from and were assumed either in hiding, taken captive, or dead. Katia buried her face into Lothair’s chest and grasped the front of his tunic. He kissed her head tenderly and rubbed her back, offering comfort as a newlywed husband would. Posing as a doting husband apparently came naturally to him.
After a few moments, Katia was able to collect herself. A hushed conversation had begun between the duke, the count, the dazed Viscount of Northum, and Katia’s pretend husband. They agreed that they would head for the North Sea, spend the night aboard the jarl’s ship, and sail for Tronscar first thing in the morning. If they rode hard, they would arrive before nightfall.
Katia and her companions prepared to return above stairs to collect their belongings, but Rikard stood and blocked her path.
“Why are his chambers across the hall from yours if you are lawfully wed?” he asked, glaring.
“You know me, Rikard.” She attempted to coax a smile from him with one of her own. “My temper gets the better of me on occasion. I needed to toss him out to prove my point. He apologized, as he always does, a short time later, and that is when you happened upon us. Thank you so much, my dear friend, for coming to my aid. I have missed you terribly.” She embraced him again.
“Katia, your far has his entire fleet searching every port in the known world for word of you. Tronscar is on the verge of declaring war on every known enemy. I’m sending a messenger north this hour.”
“Seems unnecessary, Rikard. I don’t intend to dally. I shall be returning to Tronscar directly.”
“I will send word in advance, as are my instructions. But before I write my report, I will examine this marital contract. Now.” He turned his attention to Lothair. “I’ll accompany you to your chamber, baron.”
“You dare question my wife?” Lothair stepped forward, coming chest to chest with Rikard. The men were of nearly equally height, although Rikard’s thick beard and build made him appear slightly larger overall. “You dare accuse her of a falsehood designed to deceive her own kinsmen, for whom she risked her life, though in a misguided manner?”
“Misguided?” Katia elbowed him in the ribs, but then she realized he was probably trying to distract Rikard with a marital spat.
“Aye, wife,” he answered dismissively. “We have been over this many times.”
“I told you I had everything under control until you happened upon me.” She stomped up the stairs ahead of the men. Refusing to allow Rikard to see the nonexistent contract would only heighten his suspicion and heighten the chance of weapons being drawn.
“Happened upon you?” Lothair said snidely as he and Rikard followed her up the stairs. “I snatched you out of a mob hell-bent on raping you before they slit your pretty throat! Twice, to be accurate.”
“I had it under control, Lothair, as you well know!” She turned to face him in the corridor outside her chamber.
“What I know is you have the good sense of a lamb being led to the slaughter.” He gestured grandly, exaggerating his temper for the benefit of their audience.
“And you have the sense of a blockheaded mule! You panic every time I wield a sword. I will remind you once more, I have been trained extensively. Rikard, I pray you enlighten my idiot husband.”
“Skill! If drawing every villain in the land to your door is a skill, then aye, you are skilled indeed.” Lothair glared down his nose at her. It seemed a touch excessive to her for him to go so far in their charade.
“You have a lot of nerve, Lothair. You have no right to counsel me on villains when you willingly choose to mix company with them. Might I remind you of the troop of gluttonous, honorless men I found you socializing with in Bogolyubovo?”
“What right do I have? That would be my right as your husband! You will do well to heed my words the first time, wife. The next time you go waving around a sword, I will take you over my knee by way of husbandly counsel.” He snapped out the words. “I dare any man to tell me that is not my right to do so.” Lothair glared up at Rikard.
Rikard hovered over Lothair’s shoulder. She’d best not deprive him of his spectacle.
“Well . . . well I never—” Katia turned on her heels, whipping her hair and skirt after her, stomped into her chamber, and slammed the door on the pair of men.
***
Rikard studied his boots. “I expect it will take her some time to simmer down. A long ride often works. I’ll inspect the contract when we reach Lubeck. I . . .” He looked guilty. “I warned her father that training a rambunctious little thing like her was a mistake, but she got her way in the end, and this is the result.”
“I will add that to the list of complaints to take up with the jarl,” Lothair said.
“I expect you will have a few more to add to the list before we reach Tronscar. You haven’t seen her sail yet, have you?” Rikard cringed.
“What’s wrong with the way she sails?”
“Better you see for yourself. Our ships moor off Lubeck.” Rikard retreated back down the hall. Apparently, nothing proved the legitimacy of wedded bliss more than a display of marital discord.
Lothair shook his head and opened the door to Katia’s chamber.
“Lothair.” Katia rushed into his arms. “That was brilliant! Your silly argument worked perfectly to distract him.” Silly argument? Distract him? What the devil was she on about now?
She clutched in tighter and spoke into the hollow of his neck. Her hair smelled clean, of the crisp apple soap she had purchased in the last village. He pulled her full length up against him and he grew painfully uncomfortable in an instant. Her small body was warm and soft and reassuring.
“I am sorry for calling you my husband.” She mumbled, her lips pressing against his skin. “I was so concerned that Rikard and his men would fight you and someone would get hurt. Once we reach Tronscar, I will simply explain everything to my father and sort this entire mess out.” He pressed his cheek against her temple. Having her in his arms, at his side, felt right. It was as if she had always been there. Truthfully, a part of her had been at his side since the day they met four years ago.
Lothair rubbed her back. “Kat, there is nothing to explain to your father. We must wed, and soon,” he said softly into her ear. Her head snapped up, her eyes big and round.
“Wed you? But you do not want to wed, you said. You said that you don’t believe in love or . . . and . . .” Her voice was nervous as she continued to ramble. “I can fix this little problem with Rikard, Lothair. I swear to you that I can straighten this entire thing out in a few days once we reach T
ronscar. We need only fake being husband and wife for another day or so.” She began to pull away, but he refused to release his hold.
“You really have learned nothing, have you?” He closed his eyes, annoyed at the prospect of having yet another argument with her. He let her go and took a step back. “You announced to a room of politicians that we are lawfully wed—they will not accept a simple explanation that you lied to save me from well-deserved retribution. They saw me in this chamber, alone with you, not dressed. My damn boots were under your bed.” He voice was harsher than he’d intended.
“I didn’t say that it would be without some measure of embarrassment, Lothair. But I will not force you to wed me. I will fix this. In time it will be all forgotten.” She stepped closer and placed her small hand on his chest, over his heart.
“You will wed me before this day is through, Katia, and that is the end of it!” He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Some words cannot be unsaid. You will need to face the consequences of your actions.”
“Why, you self-serving lout! I would not wed you for all the gold in Jerusalem. I would not touch you with a ten-foot pole, you, you, hairy-backed arse!”
Katia snatched up her cloak and sword and stomped out the door. He signed, yielding to the idea that he better get used to the sound of slamming doors and stomping feet. He was about to become a husband.
Chapter 17
Throughout the day, menacing black clouds loomed just above the treetops, threatening to spill open at any moment. For the sake of appearances alone, Katia rode close to Lothair, playing the part of adoring wife.
Lothair reined in Homer, whom Katia had developed a strong fondness for. Lothair came to an abrupt halt at a fork in the road.
“We will rejoin you tomorrow in Lubeck, Count, Duke, Rikard.” Lothair nodded to each one. “Katia is most anxious to survey her new home.”
