A Heart of Fire (11 page)

Of
a sudden, her blood throbbed in her veins so hard she could hear the pulses in
her ears. Delicious, exciting, but treacherous surges coursed through her. She
reached down to push his hand from her, with little effect, for his arm was so
heavy. She panicked when he slipped his fingers deeper between her thighs. He
stroked a very sensitive spot, only once, causing her to involuntarily arch
into him. Wildly, she jabbed her elbow into his gut, causing him to jump in
alarm.

"You
lay on my hair, Viking," she accused hotly, blushing at the truth. As she
looked into his sleep-filled expression, she could not discern if he knew what
he had been doing to her or not.

He
grunted and lay back down, but Finna watched him a moment. Her chest rose and
fell rapidly, her body still quivering from his touch. Several long moments
passed her before she could bring herself to rest back, too. Just not so
closely.

How
was she ever to get away from this man?

As
the waters of the fjord slapped against the narrow shoreline cut between
cliffs, she knew if she were to have any chance of escape, it would have to be
before they made the crossing. Soon, the waters would freeze. Once the winter
came, she would be trapped with this Viking and the people he claimed were her
family.

Thinking
back on the evening before, Finna wondered if her father would come for her.

Surely, he
would,
she thought, closing her eyes and praying for rest.

Chapter Nine

The
following morning, bright sun filtered through trees as they crested a hill. A
stark path wound through the wood to a clearing ahead and opened up to a serene
visage below.

"Do
you recognize this place?" Valdrik asked.

"Nay,"
Finna said sluggishly. "Should I?" She scanned the area ahead,
feigning no interest.

"'Tis
the place of your birth. Have you not raided here, too?"

She
shook her head. "Nay, I've never stepped foot onto Hadarr's lands. You
wrested me of that chance days ago."

He
snorted, and they continued up the path to the edge of the wood where he pulled
in the reins. "Then I should say welcome home."

Finna
stared in silence for a moment at the village before her, rising up against a
backdrop of dramatically craggy mountains with a thick forest at the base.
Smoke rose like a whisper, floating lazily from the tall longhouse in the
center of the village and from smaller dwellings scattered out from there. A
strong wooden wall, though not overly tall—as her men had described to
her—surrounded the village. This place was like nothing she had ever seen,
albeit, she had hardly left Aldar's lands before the last year.

"Why
is the longhouse so tall?" she asked.

"Your
father has fashioned his home like those on distant isles with two levels. Your
grandfather wished to construct this, but passed on to be with the gods before
he could complete his task. Your father picked up his work after becoming Jarl.
Though Aldar destroyed most of the original upper level in his first raid when
he took you, the place has been rebuilt since."

Finna
frowned, looking at the building strangely.

"Here,"
Valdrik said, startling her.

Finna
looked over her shoulder as he pulled a dagger from his belt. "‘Twould not
do to present you to your father in such a way." He paused, looking at her
over her shoulder before he cut the bindings on her wrists. "I trust you
shall make no trouble for me," he said, then urged his mount onward.

Finna
looked down at her freed wrists and began to rub them, but paused. She gasped.
"That is my dagger."

"It
was
." Valdrik turned the blade
over in his hand, openly admiring the jeweled side before moving to replace it
in his belt. Finna turned to watch him. He eyed her keenly. "Mayhap you
shall get your dagger back one day."

Her
belly gave a lurch, and Finna gaped at the horse's legs as they started down
the incline. The jolt forced her to reach out for Valdrik or face falling off
the animal's back. Valdrik caught her around the middle and righted her in the
saddle. As soon as she could grip the pommel on her own, Finna instantly pulled
away. She'd had enough of his closeness ever since the night before.

Still,
thoughts of where he had touched her danced through her mind and heated her
cheeks. Did he know what he had done?

Finna
surveyed the village ahead as they came nearer and nearer, until she could make
out the people working in the fields around the place. They also toiled in pens
made of woven vines and branches where animals were being kept. The village
flurried with activity and seemed a brighter and happier place than her home
where sodden, muddy paths never seemed to dry. The sun did not filter through
the forest there as it openly shown on the valley here.

 
She wasn’t sure why she should be nervous. It
was not as though any of this held any meaning, but her stomach flipped with
anxiety. Soon, she would find out the truth of why this man had taken her from
her home. She rubbed at her tender wrists, fighting to dislodge any ideas of
her mother possibly being alive, living here all this time.

Could
her mother have been taken captive? Finna considered that a moment. Nay. Her
father would have taken her back had he known. She could have left them by
choice, and perhaps her father did not wish to tell her the truth of her
mother's betrayal for fear that would hurt her all the more.

But
then, Aldar had never given much care for hers or any woman's tender feelings.

Finna
frowned at the possibilities before her.

They
rode through the open gate, and many people came to look, staring, whispering.
Some waved and cried what seemed to be tears of joy. How very strange, Finna
thought as she met their stares with cold skepticism. Valdrik stopped before
the longhouse and dismounted. He reached up to help her down, and as he did so,
the man Finna recognized as Stieg—from the day before—came forward, slapping
Valdrik on the shoulder before he took up the reins and led the destrier away.

Valdrik
pressed a hand to her back. "Come." He began to usher her toward the
large doors.

Finna
looked upon them with awe. They had nothing like this in her village. The
woodwork on the oaken doors surpassed anything in Aldar's hall. Finna took
hesitant steps, pausing as Valdrik pushed open the doors with dragons carved
into their faces.

She
blinked, fearful to look within. Somehow, she felt herself tottering into
something she was not quite sure how to handle.

"Valdrik,"
a loud voice called from the inner recesses, and everything went quiet as they
stepped inside.

Finna
paused, alarmed. She stopped behind Valdrik, her head down—and for a strange
moment—she felt like a little girl again, hiding. For a moment, the man she
despised for taking her from her home became her protector from the unknown.

"Jarl,"
Valdrik said, bowing his head.

Hadarr Leiknir,
the Jarl, my supposed father—and the man I have despised my entire life.

Finna
couldn't resist. She peeked around Valdrik's broad shoulder at the mention of the
man. Jarl Hadarr was not what she had imagined him to be.

Her
eyes flared at the memory of the old man she had put to the ground in battle,
staring up at her wide-eyed. She had taken his shock at seeing her as an insult
to her gender, when all along he had mistaken her for his daughter.

Valdrik's
strong attack made sense now. He had been protecting his Jarl.

The
man came from the dais then, eagerly searching her out behind Valdrik, but
Finna only cringed backward, unwilling to step forward until Valdrik reached
behind, plucked her up, and set her before him. Finna shrank into Valdrik,
perhaps feeling timid for the first time since she was a child. She regarded
the man coming at her with trepidation.

Hadarr
had recognized her and
thought
she
was his daughter, and so he had stopped fighting, willing to forfeit his life.

Something
softened in her at that thought.

But
he
was
mistaken, she reminded
herself.

She
was not his daughter.

She
was his niece, and he had killed her mother.

Finna
steadied her resolve on the truth.

"Finna,"
Hadarr breathed as he looked upon her. His eyes filled with a tenderness Aldar
had certainly never looked upon her with. He reached out to touch her face, but
Finna flattened the back of her head against Valdrik's chest and the man dropped
his hand.

She
relaxed then, only to realize Valdrik's hands were vise-like around her arms,
rooting her to that spot, as otherwise she might have bolted away. Though he
could not know it, were she to try to move, she had doubts her legs would
cooperate. She was in the hands of her enemy, and perhaps they only wished to
play some twisted cruel trick on her before they killed her.

She
noticed the woman behind the man then, whose hands covered her mouth, tears
leaking from her eyes. The woman's looks struck her.

"Finna,"
Valdrik said lightly, gaining her attention.

She
jumped in her skin at the sound of her own name and craned her neck back to
look at him.

"This
is your father, Jarl Hadarr Leiknir." He gestured toward the man and then
to the woman. "And your mother, Surguilde."

"Nay!"
Finna shouted then, shaking her head and looking at the pair. The Jarl
resembled her father, aye, but their claim was not true. This man was her
uncle. Had she a sword she would run him through for his crimes!

Valdrik
grabbed her shoulders and gave her a firm shake. "You fool headed
woman," he said sharply. "
He
is your father, not the man who raised you!" He pointed at Hadarr as he
shouted at her. "The man who raised you stole you from here. Cannot you
see the resemblance you bear this man? What of your mother?" He pulled
Finna around to view the woman.

Finna
trembled against Valdrik as she backed into his chest again, and her breath
came in shallow pants. She felt as though the world were crumbling upon her.
The woman bore a striking resemblance to herself. Too striking.

This
was too much.

"‘Tis
not true. It cannot be," she said.

"Come,"
Jarl Hadarr said, an anxious worry knitting his brow. He glanced between her
and Valdrik and reached for her again. "Please take a seat by the fire and
warm yourselves." He waved a serving girl forward and started for the fire
himself, a painful limp evident in his every step.

Valdrik
gave her an insistent push, and Finna turned to glare at him with all the fury
she possessed. He met her resistance with determination and gave her a more
forceful shove.

Finna
glowered and stalked toward the raised pit in the center of the large room,
following Hadarr, and then dropped into the seat he gestured toward. A thrall
came forward and offered her ale, which Finna gladly accepted. Thirsty and
starved, she drank until the horn was empty. As she lowered it, she looked
around for anyone with food. The meager sustenance Valdrik had cooked over
their campfire had not satisfied her, nor would that nourishment hold her until
the next meal.

Jarl
Hadarr hobbled around her side and eased into a large chair covered in soft
hide. He rubbed his hands as he looked at her.

He
had scarce turned his stare elsewhere since she entered the room.

While
he looked a great deal like her father, she could not see much resemblance to
herself in this man. The woman, though—Finna tried not to look at Surguilde for
she looked all too much like herself—
and
she bore the same name Aldar had always told her belonged to her mother.

Finna's
stomach flipped.

She
feared she might begin to believe the tale they spun if she looked upon the
woman overlong. If she thought too much about the similarities, the
possibilities … the answers to her newfound questions were perfectly visible
from the tip of Surguilde's head to her feet.

If
she were to believe this woman was truly her mother, then she had not only
inherited her height from her father, and somehow that knowledge made her feel
less ungainly in her tallness.

Could
it truly be that the mother she had so longed for had been here, not far, all
along?

Her
heart began to beg her mind to believe them.

"Has
Valdrik told you why he has brought you to us?" Jarl Hadarr asked.

Finna
nodded and looked up to the man. He appeared weak and his skin grayish. She remembered
the wounds she had inflicted upon him then. Finna blanched at the thought.

Could
Aldar have used her in his revenge?

The
very idea struck her gut like a battering ram.

"I
do not know what the truth is anymore," she murmured aloud. She caught herself
and glanced to the others. She tried to make sense of any of this, but there
were so many questions.