The Heart's Warrior (11 page)

He leaned over until she stared into his angry eyes.

She resisted the urge to cower.

“There is much I have been told about you, Kerstin of Moere. Treachery, betrayal, murder. They’ve all been associated with your name.” His voice chilled her more 69

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than her illness. “Your magic spells have destroyed people I loved. Do you expect me to trust you?”

“I tried to warn you. I become dreadfully sick when I ride a ship. You shouldn’t have brought me on board.”

One of his brows quirked with amusement. “Your

illness is the least of my worries, but if I had known you suffer from seasickness, I might not have agreed to wed you.” She gave a croaking laugh. “I wish it were so simple.

There’s still time for you to change your mind. We haven’t spoken any vows and you needn’t take a woman who can’t board a ship without becoming violently ill.”

A slow grin spread its way across his face and she blinked at the predatory look in his eyes. “I don’t mind.

You’ll be suited best on dry land, within my home, flat on your back, in my bed. I don’t need to trust you to bed you.”

Her mouth dropped open and heat flooded her

cheeks. His words stole her wits and she couldn’t reply.

“Don’t be fool enough to think I won’t accept you, Kerstin. It takes little time to discover if you carry another man’s child and even less time to reveal if you are still a virgin. It doesn’t matter if I’m the first man to have you.” His voice was smooth and soft as a lion’s paw—with all the claws extended.

The sharp wind struck Kerstin’s face, billowing her hair about her. Her eyes narrowed and she struggled not to scratch his face. “Bastard!”

He gave a shout of laughter. “I assure you my

parents were legally wed, Kerstin. I am no bastard.”

“I wish you had never been born,” she whispered.

He ignored that. “Neither will our babes be born

bastards.”

“We will have no children.”

His brows lowered in a scowl. Cupping her chin with his callused palm, he raised her face until she stared into his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat and her pulse

skittered.

“You test my patience, Kerstin,” he whispered. “I have no doubt the sons you give me will be fine and strong, the daughters beautiful and wise.”

He had described the very children she hoped to

have. With Elezer.

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Jerking her head away, she had no more desire to

spar with him. Her limbs felt lifeless. Why couldn’t she lie down and die? Would he really jump in after her if she threw herself into the river? She longed for the courage to test him.

He lifted her with surprising gentleness from the hanging perch and helped her to a yellow fur of lynx that one of the men spread at Jonas’s bidding. He leaned over and offered her a shallow drink of water to cleanse her mouth. She accepted it grudgingly and he wiped a drop off her chin with the tip of his finger. She hated his tenderness. She found it easier to hate him when he was unkind.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the slap of oars as they struck the water, the grunt of men at their labors.

“Even when you’re ill, you show courage, however

foolish it might be. But it won’t help you, Kerstin. I was lenient with Elezer because he had been your betrothed, but you knew better.”

Opening her eyes, she stared at him as he wiped her heated brow with a damp cloth. His actions stunned her when he proceeded to cleanse the cuts and scratches she obtained from her journey the night before. The warmth of his hands went clear to her bones and her body throbbed with awareness of him, his scent, his strength.

Her pulse quickened of its own volition.

Turning her head to the side, she closed her eyes again. “Go away and leave me alone.”

He reached out to caress her clammy cheek, as if

feeling for a fever. Dodging his fingers, she tried to bite his hand, angry she could not deny the molten attraction she felt for this man.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Even when you’re barely finished heaving up your guts, you fight like a tigress. You have rightly earned your title of witch.”

“I told you, I’m not a witch. I don’t even know any spells, or I might be tempted to use one on you.” Her voice came out raspy.

He frowned. “If you had wed Elezer, you would have come to hate him. You would have been miserable as his wife.”

Her father had said the same thing once. He told her 71

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he believed he could find a better husband for her. She had been so heartsick over Bjorn’s death, not because she loved him, but because so many people believed she poisoned him. Elezer’s attention had been a welcome comfort.

“I find myself more miserable in
your
presence,” she said. “You refuse to see that Elezer makes me happy and that I will never care for you.”

The scar across Jonas’s cheek whitened and his

mouth pressed into a thin, straight line. She had angered him again. Good! He deserved it.

“One day, you will come to me willingly. You will hunger for me, just as I hunger for you.”

Kerstin didn’t understand what he meant by that

kind of hunger. “Don’t you fear I might poison you?”

He stared hard at her. Sea birds squawked as they soared and circled overhead. Oh, how Kerstin envied them their freedom.

“In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve learned you are no coward.” With those parting words, he moved away, once again taking his position at the stern.

Halfdan, his second-in-command, moved back and let Jonas take the tiller. Halfdan’s disapproving gaze followed Kerstin as she lay on her side. She ignored the man, disliking him as much as he appeared to dislike her.

She stared at Jonas. He rubbed his injured shoulder, impaled by her arrowhead. Good! She hoped it throbbed, a thorned reminder that she didn’t want him here.

Willing her rumbling stomach to be silent, she closed her eyes and breathed deep of the pungent sea air. A breeze stirred across the deck, refreshing her, and she sighed with gratitude. She was too sick to worry about the confrontation she must have when they reached Moere.

Even her father and the king could not deny her a Christian wedding.

Anything to buy her more time.

****

Glittering moonlight reflected off the waters of the river, like sparkling gems of ebony. Shadows gathered about the isolated ridges of windswept heather

surrounding the steading of Moere. Kerstin lay still, certain if she moved again she might upset the tenuous 72

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control she had over her queasy stomach. Curled beneath warm furs, she sat in a far corner of the ship, shielded from the wind.

She watched as the men scurried to draw in the sails.

The dragonship bumped gently against the pier and the men stowed their oars. The water slapped at the ship, seeming to beg it to come out and play again. Kerstin moaned, grateful to be home on dry land once more.

Now, she must face the king’s wrath. What

arguments might she use? Surely they would honor her plea for a monk to perform the marriage. If not, she knew of an herb she could take that would make her break out in a horrible rash. If they thought she had a malady, perhaps they would forget this horrible plan.

Some moments later Jonas appeared before her. He

placed his hands on his hips and his brows drew together with worry. His pretended concern did not fool her.

“I’d like to believe your illness is real and not contrived to win mercy from me,” he murmured.

Enough! How dare he accuse her of pretending

sickness to gain pity? She lifted her foot and brought the heel of her shoe down hard on his instep.

He barked with pain and moved back a space.

“You can keep your mercy,” she hissed. “I told you I won’t wed you without benefit of a Christian monk.”

He indicated the hall. “One already awaits us.”

She snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

Bending, he picked her up and cradled her against his chest like a little child. Weak from her illness, she chose not to fight him. She caught his scent of cloves and mint and inhaled.Jonas stepped over the prow of the ship and carried her across the pier. “Even if you have to lie abed while the ceremony is performed, we will wait no longer.”

The dull thud of his heels striking the wooden planks filled her ears. She looped her arms about his thick neck for support and could feel the solid muscle of his shoulder beneath her fingertips. His flesh was warm and soft, like steel wrapped with silk. Her fingers brushed the edge of his chain mail where it circled his throat, reminding her he was a warrior and her enemy. If they didn’t have hatred between them, if there were no Elezer and no 73

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imminent war, she would find Jonas completely desirable, completely male.

Cognizant of his arm braced behind her back, she

squirmed when his other hand supported her buttocks.

“You make free with your hands.”

“Cease wiggling, or I’ll drop you,” he growled low.

“I’m weary and would have done with this evening and seek a good night’s rest.”

Something about his voice made her stare into his eyes. His flesh burned, his eyes glazed with fever. A small pebble rolled beneath his foot and he staggered before he regained his balance.

The arrowhead. If not removed soon, it would poison his body. A nibble of guilt tugged at her mind. Though she didn’t want to wed him, she no longer wanted his death.

“I can walk on my own.”

“You’ve been ill.”

His feet crunched on the gravel littering the path and he climbed steadily, no longer showing any weakness.

“Were you able to get the arrowhead out?” she asked, knowing he hadn’t.

He glanced at her, but didn’t respond.

How did he remain on his feet? A normal man would have collapsed by now, but Jonas seemed impervious to pain. A bronzed god, virile and lethal. It was just a matter of time before he sickened. What then? If he died, the king had promised to put her to death before he destroyed Moere.

“You shouldn’t wait any longer. I can remove it for you,” she offered in a stilted voice.

He blew out a harsh laugh. “And have you poison me as you did Bjorn? I’d rather have my men try to dig it out again.”

She frowned. “Those bumbling oafs will tear the

muscle and make the wound worse. At the very least, they’ll maim you. It’d be better to let me tend it for you.”

He halted, standing on the thin path edging the

palisade above the river. Darkness gathered around them but Kerstin still made out the great boulders lying along the quay below them. Water ebbed and flowed amongst the rocks, spraying up in violent geysers. The rushing roar of the river became deafening and her pulse

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quickened.

Oh, she loathed water. Ever since she was four-years-old and had stolen a small fishing boat, intending to follow her father and brothers on a voyage down river.

She hated being left behind and, when she had come upon the white rapids, she lost control of the boat. It flipped over and she would have drowned had her father not seen her in time and jumped in to save her.

As she stared at the choppy river, her hold tightened on Jonas’s neck.

“Why do you care if I’m maimed?” he asked.

Shrugging, she refused to look at him, conscious of his eyes boring into her. “I don’t care, but it seems I’m the only one who knows how to remove an arrowhead.”

She glanced at him from beneath lowered eyelashes.

In his eyes, she saw doubt and a bit of hurt. This man did have his vulnerabilities after all. He disliked her callous words as much as she disliked his. A pang of regret struck her that they could never be friends.

Certainly never lovers.

He snorted as he continued on his way. “You seem to be the only one of your father’s people who practices witchcraft.”

Kerstin stiffened. “I don’t practice witchcraft. I practice healing.”

He grunted an insulting sound and she knew he

didn’t believe her.

Along the way, they passed some of Jonas’s men

carrying weapons and cargo up from the ship. They waved at Jonas but had only sullen glares to offer her.

“Let me walk on my own,” she said.

He gave a hollow laugh. “And have you run away

again? I don’t think so.”

“I resent your accusations.”

“You can explain that to the king, little witch.”

Making a fist, she shook it beneath his nose. “So help me, Jonas Sigurdsson, I swear I’ll lay you low if you call me that again.”

He chuckled and bounced her in his arms, forcing her to cling to his neck so she wouldn’t fall. “I wouldn’t make idle threats if I were you, little Kerstin. The king might not take them kindly.”

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Kerstin shivered and Jonas held her tighter as the wind lashed against them. ****

Jonas tucked his chin against her forehead in a

protective gesture. Her warm scent intoxicated him, sweet with a hint of female that tantalized his senses and sent hot prickles of desire through his blood.

Lust! Certainly not love. An animal heat, not human, not caring—nothing he couldn’t control.

He tried to be gentle with her, which he thought

quite kind, considering she had tried to kill him with an arrow and then betrayed him with Elezer.

Elezer! Thinking of the man caused his blood to boil.

When Jonas found Kerstin kissing the man, it had been all he could do not to disembowel Elezer before

decapitating him and sticking his head on a pike. The thought that Kerstin might have given herself to Elezer filled Jonas with rage.

Yet, she showed moments of sweetness, like when

she had cared for the wounded men. Ah, she confused him. His lust for her would not bring him happiness. It would not heal his broken soul and it would not bring Bjorn and Olga back.