Blind Mercy (12 page)

“I look forward to getting to know you, sir,” she said with as much flare as she could muster. “Meaningful conversation and a good meal is a most welcome change.”

Bastard, you mean . . .
Tyr focused on the largest fireplace across the room. He didn’t like being reminded of his mistakes with Rachelle. Overhearing every falsehood Edwin whispered set his blood on fire. What a preening rooster—fatherless weasel.

Of all nights, why did she choose this one to disobey him?

The prince’s pomposity continued. “I’ll provide an escort and give you a personal tour of the countryside.”

Over my dead body
. “The lady stays here.” Edwin’s ridiculous suggestion needed to be curtailed before it went any further.

The nobleman frowned.

“I have yet to earn my host’s complete trust,” Rachelle explained.

Edwin’s dark brows slanted. “How could that be?”

Tyr was beginning to despise the man. “She’s a quarrelsome wench.”

“What if I personally guarantee the maid’s safety?”

As persistent as any pestilence. Tyr shook his head vigorously.

“Perhaps we can discuss this another time,” the prince persevered. “There are other issues of importance we need to focus on, Jarl Sigurdsson. If you’ll reconsider supporting me, and make a public oath that you recognize me as one of my late father’s legitimate heirs, I promise to increase your holdings. As you know, my mother’s family hails from this region, less than a day’s journey northward. We are connected by more than just duty, we are brothers.”

“And
sisters
,” Rachelle added.

Tyr sucked in his laughter when he realized Edwin had missed her sardonic tone. Exchanging a quick smile with her, Tyr’s heart cheered at her audacity.

“Yes.” The prince patted her hand. “Women are welcome, too. Anyone from the Trondelag who endorses me will find favor in my eyes. My beloved father misjudged the intentions of the northern lords. These aren’t barren lands. Odin’s spirit is alive everywhere I go.”

“But you’re a Christian,” Rachelle suggested with surprise.

“I’m open-minded, dear,” Edwin boasted. “And prepared to share my lands with anyone who seeks sanctuary here. I’ll ask very little in return.”

“With the exception of our money,” Onetooth blurted.

That raised enough laughter from the lower tables to cause the prince’s face to flush. He deserved it. Tyr knew he’d never traveled farther than Oslo in his pathetic forty years of pampered life. No king allowed his bastards to be seen. “Forgive my captain, his prejudices parallel your father’s.”

“Aye.” Edwin acknowledged. “It will take time and patience to reverse the damage done by such misconceptions.”

Tyr would expose this fool’s treachery. If he guessed correctly, as soon as Edwin had received the news of his father’s demise, he’d raced to Oslo to reunite with his half-brother. Norwegian law didn’t specify standards for the maintenance of illegitimate children. Hardrada’s holdings were considered a private estate. How he divided his wealth amongst his vassals was his choice. Instead of deflating Edwin’s ambitions, Magnus must have seen a strategic use for him. Appoint him as an honorary minister and send him on his way. Out of sight, off his mind, and out of his way.

Now, the ingrate was abusing his newly forged alliance to rally support for a claim on the throne. Not a bloody chance in Hel. If Norway was divided into thirds, it would cripple the country. Hiding his true feelings, Tyr raised his goblet in salute. “To our distinguished guest . . .”

For a moment, Rachelle thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in Tyr’s voice. It seemed odd to her that he offered a toast. He obviously didn’t care for the opinions or presence of Edwin. She shifted her hips, sitting at an angle where she could give her full attention to the prince, while keeping an eye on Tyr at the same time. She began a new conversation with the prince.

“How long will you be in this part of the country?” she asked.

“I’ll stay until I prove myself to these hardened warriors.”

“It seems we are both in need of a little hope to see us through our troubles.”

Hugging her with his gaze, he asked, “How did you become a guest in this house?”

A question she wasn’t sure she should answer. Knowing the
jarl
was monitoring their conversation, she looked up. The jealousy in Tyr’s eyes made her nervous. Surely, he didn’t care if she told the truth. Her family history had been made public. Why not her misadventures with Tyr? “Jarl Sigurdsson found me on the battlefield near York.”

“Found you?” Edwin repeated. “And what was a frail creature like you doing out there? Where’s your father? Does he know you’re here?”

Tears formed in her eyes. She leaned forward, then touched Edwin’s arm. “My sire is long dead, sir.”

The prince snatched her hand, then squeezed it. “Who takes care of you?”

His touch didn’t bother her. Those dark consoling eyes had a peculiar effect. It must be more than the mere fact they both lost their sires. Perhaps this man had the same gentle spirit as Onetooth. Naturally, she’d be drawn to that type of character.

Rachelle could feel the unease rising around her. Although she spoke softly, she knew Tyr overheard everything. The more information she volunteered, the more flustered he became. She didn’t care. Tyr had assumed responsibility for her without seeking her approval.

Eyes narrowing, she wondered if his duties included telling her whom she could form friendships with.
So this is how a man reacts when he feels threatened by another.
Sexual attraction existed between them. That teasing rogue made sure she didn’t forget it. Surely, he didn’t consider Prince Edwin a rival. These two men differed in every possible way. The
jarl
expressed himself through brutality. Edwin communicated on such a higher level, relying on intelligence and grace.

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that question directly,” she said solemnly. “After my parents died, my uncle assumed responsibility for me. I haven’t seen or heard from him since the war ended. I fear the worst.”

The prince seemed genuinely concerned. He released her hand, then leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure Jarl Sigurdsson felt mightily compelled to provide protection for you once he learned of your unfortunate circumstances.” Turning to Tyr, he continued, “I now have a deeper understanding and respect for you. I didn’t realize how gallant you truly are.”

The compliment was met with a moment of total silence as Tyr leveled his stare at the prince. “Save your praise for someone more gullible,” he snarled.

Rachelle gasped. Why in God’s name would he show contempt for a nobleman? Such mood swings. Tyr drained his cup, then poured another serving of wine.

“I apologize for any misunderstanding,” Edwin said.

Tyr waved him off.

“Shall we concentrate on the purpose of my visit?” the prince asked. “Although Rachelle is a pleasant diversion, there is the matter of recording your account of what happened—”

“If Magnus requires a full report, I’ll pen it myself and have one of my captains deliver it posthaste.”

“Jarl Sigurdsson,” Edwin addressed him sincerely. “I understand the delicate nature of all this. Believe me. My father is dead. My brother intends to find out what went wrong. His order supersedes all else. Perhaps if I spent the night, we could revisit the subject in the morning.”

Tyr bellowed with laughter. “That’s not going to happen.”

Chapter 9

Denied

At times, Tyr found it difficult to control his aggression. Tonight, his hospitality ended at the feast table. Honorary guest—a damn shame to waste those words on a man as slippery as a snake. Prince Edwin masked his true intentions for spending the night. The knave wanted to stay close to Rachelle, nothing more.

“Have I done something to offend you, Jarl Sigurdsson?” Edwin asked pointedly.

On too many levels to count.
He probed the man’s features. “That depends on your perspective,” Tyr answered. He was under no obligation to treat this man any differently than one of his own tenants. He’d remain civil for now. “I’m overly tired. Return tomorrow night, we’ll deliberate further.”

That seemed to satisfy Edwin. He wiped his face with a napkin, then dropped it on the table. Turning to Rachelle, he said, “The privilege has been mine.” Standing, he claimed her hand and pressed a lingering kiss on her palm.

Tyr smirked. If he had a say in it, that half-blood would be the last man allowed to touch his woman.
If she were mine
. After watching them say goodbye, it made him desperate to get Rachelle alone. She’d flatly rejected him before. Would it be the same again? He couldn’t read her—not like other women. Still, he had a sick feeling in his gut. The prince had made a lasting impression. And why not? Tyr had isolated her after their fight. Latching on to the elegant bastard seemed quite natural for a woman who felt slighted.

Tossing back another serving of wine, he grinned as Edwin and his entourage exited the hall. Finally, he’d get that clever slip of a girl alone. Raw desire wreaked havoc inside him. Only somewhere private would serve his need.

“Will you walk with me?” he asked.

Rachelle cast a sideways glance at him. She need not doubt his goal. Spending more time together in bed, on the floor, or in the bathhouse—whatever she desired.

“I didn’t realize how badly you wished to leave until I spotted you on the stairs,” he said.

“You saw me?” she asked airily. “I wasn’t trying to escape, Jarl Sigurdsson. I wished to explore the grounds. Nothing more.”

Blasted formalities. Women often masked their true feelings with politeness. “If that’s all you intended, milady,” he said, “why not ask for an escort?”

“Would you have allowed me to go walking tonight?”

“There’s nothing remarkable about this particular night, is there?”

Her thin brows arched. “I believe we broke bread with a prince.”

Her casual manner made him smirk. “If he’s a true prince, I’m Odin’s son.” Obvious bitterness laced his voice. “That bastard is trying to make a name before the division of the country is finalized. I loathe men who prey on the vulnerabilities of a tragedy.”

“I know nothing of your affairs of state. It would be unfair of me to judge him. He seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare.”

The people in his household would whisper about the curious girl Prince Edwin befriended for many days.
And all the attention she attracted from the men sitting in the room . . .
Tyr bit his tongue. Her mere presence crippled his mind and body. Jealousy raged. Tyr wanted to ring Edwin’s neck like he would a fat goose’s. Even the women would do her bidding if she flashed one of her intoxicating smiles.

“Come with me.” He twined his fingers through hers.

Outside, they both halted. The night air was crisp, the sky as clear as spring water.

“Do you feel the change in season, smell the snow coming?” he asked.

She raised her chin and took a deliberately deep breath as if testing the air. “It’s invigorating.”

“There’s something better.” He pointed toward the bathhouse.

Nodding enthusiastically, she reached the building ahead of him and opened the door. Tyr followed her inside and slammed the door shut. Getting her alone had been easier than he’d imagined. Maybe the strong wine had relaxed her. With renewed hope, he knew the girl must feel the depth of his desire tonight. No more delays or more private conversations with Edwin.

“Mmmm . . .” she purred. The warmth pleased her.

Tyr couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She unfastened the silver brooch securing her cloak at the shoulder. Falling open, the silhouette of her generous breasts through the filmy material that swathed her body made him salivate. That tender flesh spoke to him. It deserved to be caressed, cradled, and admired by the right man. Kissed and licked and praised endlessly.

Only by him
.

After the embarrassment of Rachelle’s stinging reproach the other day, he had sought refuge in the arms of his mistress, Frida. While she writhed and moaned beneath him, his blasted mind kept wandering back to Rachelle. Her delicate scent taunted him. Furious he couldn’t banish the girl from his mind, he’d cursed his uncooperative cock. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t perform sexually. The girl had her chance and she’d denied him. It made no difference. He could no longer sustain any level of desire for Frida.

His bedchamber and Rachelle’s room were only separated by flooring. What if she heard his bedframe groan whilst he hammered his mistress into oblivion? Frustrated and unwilling to risk his future with Rachelle, he’d asked Frida to leave.

Pulling himself back to the present, he must take another chance with Rachelle now. His fingers brushed lightly against her arm. A bolt of lightning shot through his body. Something needed to change. A delicate balance must be kept while satisfying his needs and desires, too. Both could be satisfied.
Claim her, or free yourself of her spell.

“I’m sorry the prince questioned you about your past. I know how much it pained you to speak about your parents.”

She nodded, then gazed despondently across the room. “They met a violent end days after my thirteenth birthday. Outlaws murdered them on the road. It’s a memory I’ve struggled to forget every day of my life.” Her breath quickened. “That is why I beg for you to reunite me with my uncle. There is no one else in the world I love as dearly. He’s aging and needs me to take care of him. I owe him my life. Please forgive the wicked things I said to you. Show mercy, Jarl Sigurdsson. Admit I don’t belong here.”

Tension tightened his neck and shoulders. She needn’t beg. If only she’d accept him as her protector and lover. He wanted to see a smile grace her face every day. What he needed to do was tell her the truth about
why
he brought her here. Tyr rubbed his chin. Would the truth guarantee his success or cause more damage?

“My kinsman hasn’t responded to your letters yet.” She faced him.

Everyday Onetooth updated him about the conversations he had with Rachelle. Tyr instructed him not to withhold any information from her. Through these talks, Tyr hoped to learn the true nature of her character. His captain praised her insightfulness, wit, and fierce loyalty for her loved ones. Admirably, the girl valued her freedom. She often begged to go outside during the day. A request he regularly denied for her safety. Only a handful of servants remembered her arrival. Now it didn’t matter. Hatred for the English had increased a hundredfold since the war. By revealing herself tonight, she’d put her own life in jeopardy. “These things take time.”