by Sandra Lake
Katia couldn’t help but look back and forth between the traveling companions, watching their shock and surprise at this abrupt change in plan.
“This is not what we agreed.” Rikard maneuvered his warhorse closer to Katia’s side. “We shall spend the night aboard the jarl’s ship and sail at first light. Conditions at sea worsen with each passing day.”
“The women have been journeying for months, my good man.” Lothair voice held firm. “My wife suffered injury on the road to Prague, and she nearly succumbed to a fever. She needs a few days’ rest before the Baltic crossing.”
“Lothair,” Katia said in a deceivingly pliable tone, “I am fully restored—”
“Katia,” he snapped, “I will be the judge if you are capable or not.”
“That is the most pig—” she began to counter.
“Kat,” Tosha said, “I see you favor your left side and you’re still weak. A rest to restore your strength before a grueling sea voyage is sensible.” Tosha spoke with genuine concern.
“Hmph,” Rikard grumbled. He had been scrutinizing Katia’s appearance all day and forced her to eat two servings of soup at midday. Apparently he didn’t need much convincing that her health could be better. “I will return to collect you in two days, Katia.” Rikard pointed at Lothair. “Have her ready.”
“Another five miles down this road leads you directly to my gates.” Lothair returned Rikard’s hostile glare. “Come, wife, Hanseatz Castle awaits.”
“Come on, Kat,” Tosha said, smiling annoyingly at her. Clearly she was in on the conspiracy to separate Katia from her father’s men. “Lars tells me the castle is very pleasing, and only slightly smaller than his,” she teased.
They set off for the castle, continuing through the dense evergreen forest that they had been traveling through for the past several hours. The tall trees robbed the lower branches of light, stripping them of greenery and leaving them to appear as starved sticks. There was no ground foliage to speak off, just the soft brown decay of sticks and pine needles. The road was straight and seemed to swallow up Lars and Lothair as they moved ahead quickly. The looming height of the trees made Katia feel tiny and restless.
Lothair was definitely up to something.
The gray clouds finally opened as they rounded a bend, releasing the downpour that had been hanging over their heads all day. Not quite snow and not quite rain, it fell upon her in full force, running down her face and into the collar of her cloak. It held the immediate expectation of snow to come, heralding the coming winter.
Katia kept her head down, trying to avoid getting totally soaked. Abruptly, she found herself in the center of a church courtyard. Lothair had already dismounted and he helped her off her horse, depositing her into ankle-deep mud.
“Where are we?” she asked. Lothair ignored her question and grabbed her upper arm, pulling her toward the side entry of a light gray stone church. Rain spat in her eyes and puddle after puddle soaked more mud into her boots. She noted the bright red clay roof tiles, half-moon arches, and lovely stained glass windows. She couldn’t help but think of her father and how much he would have enjoyed inspecting the artfully designed chapel.
Lothair was dragging her along quickly, so she didn’t have an opportunity to truly examine much more of the exterior structure. A moment later, they entered a dark hall. Katia didn’t have time to catch her breath or shake off the rain before Lothair stomped ahead, tugging her along. She twisted to look behind her and found Lars and Tosha had disappeared. Lothair burst into a chamber without knocking, which Katia thought to be yet another sign of his rude temper. A sandy-haired man at the far end of the hall lifted his head and smiled. She recognized it easily—it was Lothair’s smile, perhaps ten or fifteen years from now.
“My son.” The priest was perhaps in his mid-thirties; he rushed toward them from an altar, where he had been lighting candles. “God is good. I prayed for your safe return daily.” The priest embraced Lothair.
“Father Phillip, I present Katia Magnusdotter of Tronscar. Katia, this is my mother’s brother, Father Phillip.”
“Honored to make your acquaintance, Father.” Katia bowed her head and curtsied.
“The honor is mine, daughter. Please come, let us go into the study and sit by the hearth. You both appear soaked to the skin.”
It was not at all proper to regard a man of the cloth as handsome, yet how could she not? He was the spitting image of a slightly aged Lothair, the main difference being the calm openness in the priest’s eyes. He led them to another side door and another after that. The small church was a labyrinth of torch-lit corridors and chambers.
Finally, they came to a bright room with a large hearth. Dry warmth enveloped Katia’s frosty cheeks. The furnishings were sparse, with no frills or ornamentations of any find. Several serviceable tables lined the walls, displaying scrolls and open texts, and quills and parchment littered every surface. Positioned at either side of the hearth was a pair of uncomfortable-looking, high-backed chairs. Father Phillip gestured for them to sit.
“Your mother must be overjoyed by your return,” Father Phillip said while pouring malt wine into three wooden chalices.
“We have come here first.” Lothair accepted the wine with a smile. “How is she?” he asked more quietly, looking into his cup.
“She has aged greatly this past year, I am afraid, though your sisters bring her much comfort. Anne wed last summer and is living in Lubeck. Her husband is the duke’s steward. Alas, Margery is heavy with child and cannot travel to Hanseatz often. You understand.”
“Aye.” Guilt washed over Lothair’s face. “How is Margery?”
“The definition of bliss and health.” Father Phillip pulled up a stool to the hearth.
“You said she is with child? She was near her confinement when I departed over a year ago. Am already an uncle then?”
“Yes, the child is a year old. They named him the most daunting of names.” The priest waited for Lothair to look him in the eyes before he would continue. “Heaven help us with two Lothairs in one family.”
“Is . . . does Mother still receive the duke?” he all but whispered.
The priest shook his head. “But you are here now. You will raise her spirits.” Father Phillip looked back and forth between Katia and Lothair. “Will you be staying long?”
“Not overly long . . . I have some urgent business that I arrive here seeking your assistance with,” Lothair said, darting his eyes to Katia. Her nervousness was rising. What was going on? Why had Lars and Tosha not come inside with them?
“I need you to write out a marriage contract, and then I ask you sanctify the union with the sacrament and blessing. Tonight,” Lothair said.
Katia was stunned into silence.
“Felicitations, my son,” Father Phillip said. “But what about the maiden’s family, her father, her kin?”
“Norrlanders.” Lothair shook his head slightly. “A strange situation—she is given the right to sign her own contract.”
“Unheard of,” the priest commented. “Highly unusual, Lothair. Perhaps we should consult with the duke. A noble witness or two will—”
“No. It must be tonight. Lars and yourself are all the witnesses that are required under church law. We sail for Norrland at the first break in the weather, and if the girl returns to her father unwed, I fear the consequences for all may be very steep.”
“Lothair!” Katia regained her voice at last and gasped at the implication. “Father Phillip, I assure you, this arrangement is not necessary. Your nephew is only—”
“Hold your tongue, Kat.” Lothair glared at her. “Do you wish so greatly for my head to be separated from my shoulders by a Tronscar blade? I was under the impression you thought yourself indebted to me.”
“Lothair, you exaggerate. My far will be understanding, you will see.” Katia smiled and fluttered her eyelashes but t
hat did not seem to have any effect at all.
“Aye. I will see how he accepts this union with the security of having the title of your husband. Perhaps when I tell him you carry my child in your womb, he will hold off my beheading for at least a few months.”
“Lothair! That is the most ridiculous thing you have ever said to me and you have said a lot of foolish things!” She turned to the priest for assistance. “Father, he exaggerates. I naught but kissed him. I have no babe in my belly, I assure you. He only speaks these words to force the marriage. Help me reason with him. My far is certain to reward your brave, thick-skulled nephew. Lothair, you see, has come to my aid on more than one occasion. Tronscar will name ships after him, swords will be etched with his name for the honor of securing my safe return.”
“My child,” the priest said, “be assured, I will not bless your union nor write a contract against your will. Matrimony is sacred, requiring the free will of both parties that enter into it.”
“You stupid chit! Now you’ve done it.” Lothair grabbed up her hand, jerking her out of her chair and starting back toward the door. “When will you learn to keep your mouth shut?” He pulled her across the chamber without offering another word of explanation to the kind priest.
“We will have to ride another hour in the rain to find Lars’s priest,” he continued. “Your nose will freeze and fall off before we arrive and you will no doubt catch your death long before we reach your cursed Tronscar.”
“Lothair.” She yanked her arm free. “This is insanity. You cannot wed me. I have already told you, you needn’t worry. I would never allow Rikard, my father, or any of his men to harm you or accuse you of any dishonorable conduct. I will take all the blame. My family will have no trouble believing in my ability to make a mess of things.”
“What nobleman allows a maid to take his rightful punishment?” he retorted. “You are going to wed me tonight, Katia, so you might as well get used to it.”
He spun around and stepped toward her, backing her into a wall, caging her with his arms. “You are not leaving my land until you are my wife. Have you taken a single moment to think about what will happen in Tronscar after you declare with naught but a flick of the wrist that we are not truly wed? If somehow I were to leave Norrland with all my limbs still attached, I would lose them quickly enough upon returning to Lubeck. My father would banish me and strip me of my title and land for insulting his allies and lying to his face. Where would my mother be then? Have you stopped to think of anyone besides yourself, Katia? You will be the Baroness of Hanseatz from this day forward. You best get that through your thick head of yours—” He glared down at her, looking like he could go on yelling all night.
“Fine!” she snapped her reply. She was humbled and confused. Why his temper set her heart to flutter, she couldn’t say. She should seek the counsel of a healer. “I will wed you, but I will still speak to the jarl about this mess and find a way out of it for you after. I will not have your kind service to me be an eternal punishment.”
The anger seemed to drain from his eyes.
“I’m sorry that . . . I’m sorry for a lot of things,” she said.
“Can you hold your tongue for an hour, iron princess? That will be the start of your recompense. Go sit down by the fire and dry your hair before you catch your death. I need to speak with my uncle and fix the latest mess you have made for us.”
Katia dragged her feet over to a chair and sat down as she was ordered. Poor Lothair. How was she ever going to make this up to him?
Chapter 18
Lothair held the freshly written contract up to the black, soggy sky. The slushy rain left long streaking smears of ink across the date and location, exactly as he’d planned. Their marriage was official—when and where it took place would be irrelevant a few months from now. Katia Magnusdotter of Tronscar was lawfully, before the eyes of God, his wife.
Lars and Tosha said their farewells outside the church, politely turning down the offer to spend the night at Lothair’s home. Lothair did not blame Lars for being anxious to get his young wife home and into his own warm, dry bed, which was less than a half-hour ride away.
The friends made arrangements to reunite at the Lars’s residence the following day for a wedding feast that would masquerade as a homecoming.
Katia was staring blankly down the empty lane that connected his modest castle with the church grounds. His home was only a fraction of the size of the fortress in Tronscar—she would no doubt be underwhelmed by the comparison.
He rode ahead, leading her up the gently sloped cobblestones to the principal entry of the castle grounds. From there, they made their way through a series of narrowing pathways, ascending over a ramp to come into the secondary courtyard, and then through another winding, narrow ally. There was no direct path to the doors of the principal keep—his father had designed the maze pattern for added security. No invading intruder would have a quick or easy path to his door.
During the countless hours spent in the saddle over the last two months, he had dreamed of the moment he could once again set foot on his own secure land. So many times he had come close to losing her. He’d slept with one eye open, sword in hand for more nights than he could count, and now here she was, safe behind thick walls and well-guarded gates, with his trusted men at the ready. Lothair never thought he could ever feel so relieved or contented to be home.
Katia had not smiled all day. Her hair was wet and flat to her head, her skin pale from the damp cold that had no doubt sunk deep into her core. She looked pitiful and beyond exhausted.
Without saying a word, he reached up and swept her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. He found her silence unsettling. She slumped into his arms, turning her face into his neck and shoulder. A strong surge of possessiveness took over. She truly belonged to him now. It was no longer an unwritten obligation to protect her, but his duty.
Forcing her to accept him out of a sense of obligation for his own safety was a step firmly toward the dishonorable side of his moral fence. He’d bullied her to get what he wanted, but at the moment, feeling her breath on his neck, he didn’t care about honor. The ends justified the means.
He strode across the polished, white stone floor of the entry hall. At a quick glance he could see his mother’s strict standard of cleanliness hadn’t lessened in his absence. He may have been the baron of this castle, but all that served here knew who the true authority was. He’d never cared really how this place was run . . . not until this very moment.
A sense of peace began to fill him.
In many ways, Lothair felt reborn. He was able to finally feel acceptance for his father’s hasty remarriage, let go of old insults, and open his heart to the dream of something new: a family of his own making.
Upon entering the hall, Katia hadn’t even bothered to raise her head.
“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly, not wanting to wake her if she’d fallen asleep.
She shook her head but still did not raise her gaze to meet his.
“Are you cold?”
She nodded.
Loud gasps came from the top of the staircase, followed by a rush of skirts around him as servants descended upon them from all directions. Torches and candles were held up to examine the soaked young woman in his arms, and an excited flood of questions soon followed the hum of greetings.
“Master Lothair, we feared you would never return to us!” Isa, his mother’s close friend and principal housekeeper, was wiping away a steady stream of tears. Shaped much like a stuffed hen, she was frequently tearful and out of breath for no apparent reason.
“Isa, I’m happy to find you in good health. Where is my mother?” he asked, still holding Katia in his arms.
“At your sister’s keep; her time draws near. Master, may I be of assistance?” Isa was eyeing his wife with concern.
“My wife is exhausted from our journey, Isa,
and soaked through. Would you be so kind as to have a bath and perhaps some soup sent to our chamber? And if possible a few gowns—her satchel will most likely be wet as well.”
Lothair climbed the stairs two by two. Silent, somber blackness greeted him as he entered the master’s chamber, reminding him of why he had never liked this room. He placed Katia in a padded chair next the cold hearth. Servants bustled in, carrying armloads of wood and lit candles, curious expressions on their faces as they inspected their new mistress. Tomorrow Lothair would have a lot of introductions to make, but not tonight. Tonight the only person he cared to focus his attention on was his shivering bride.
***
The pleasant part of being so very cold and exhausted was that it left a person numb, both in body and spirit. Sitting in front of a blazing fire, Katia did not even have the agility to unfasten her cloak pin, her stiff fingers not aided by her trembling arms. She gave up for a moment to warm her hands by the fire, and turned her head to take in her surroundings.
It wasn’t a large room in scale, but practical—it seemed to warm in minutes with just a modest fire. They must be in the highest level in the castle, because the ceiling beams were exposed, arched and curved overhead, offering a decorative maze of carved patterns in the timber. She imagined a person could stare at it for hours and never be bored. A large window with green-colored glass twinkled, reflecting back the candlelight. Deep red velvet cushions sat upon a window seat, and she couldn’t help wonder which of Lothair’s paramours had picked them out for him. He did say he had been with several women. Men never sat idly by windows, staring out into the distance.
Katia cursed herself under her breath. She’d done it again—burdened him, unfairly inserted herself in his life. She had forced him into a role he’d never wanted: husband.
As Lothair moved about his chamber, peeling off layers of weapons, armor, and leather, he spoke in soft, even tones to the servants. He exchanged greetings and pleasantries, making several polite requests. During their journey he had been hard, borderline brutish, making demands of her and others in their party, but here, in the comfort of his home, his demands dissolved to mannerly petitions.
