The Heart's Warrior (17 page)

Though the women sought sleep, Sigurd and Knut

remained in the room. They took their meals there, dozing only when Kerstin lay beside Jonas and closed her eyes to rest. Sigurd’s gray eyes followed her every move until she no longer cared what he thought or that he suspected her motives.

The hall became quiet. The warriors were anxious for news of Jonas and also to meet the Eirikssons in battle. If Jonas hadn’t collapsed, they would have already departed.

Kerstin alone held the future of peace within her hands, which added to her apprehension.

****

“Your son will live,” she told Sigurd.

The old warrior’s gaze swerved to the bed. He went to feel Jonas’s forehead and leaned close to study his son’s face. He placed his fingers in front of Jonas’s nose to feel his breath, then lifted one eyelid to see Jonas’s pupil.

Kerstin watched with amusement until he stood straight and nodded his approval.

“Thank you.”

She stared, her mouth dropping open. It must be very hard for Sigurd to speak such words. “You’re welcome.”

Kerstin moved her stiff legs and arched her aching back as she reached for more tea. Sigurd intercepted the cup. Thinking that she would have to defend her motives once again, Kerstin opened her mouth to explain.

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“I’ll tend him,” Sigurd said. “You should rest.”

She looked up at his gruff face. He smiled kindly.

Another milestone met. She had proven herself by saving his son. In that moment, Kerstin thought she had won herself a friend. She didn’t care to remind Sigurd that her arrowhead had caused Jonas’s illness in the first place.

Nodding her head, she pulled a warm fur about her to chase away the chill of the early morning air. She had changed out of her wedding clothes the day before and felt more comfortable in a simple ankle-length tunic dyed a cream color and woolen pinafore dyed a vivid gold.

Showing a wide grin, Knut stepped out to see to his own needs. With Sigurd’s back to her, Kerstin took a few minutes to comb the tangles from her hair, then braided it down her back. Stifling a yawn, she went to Sigurd’s vacated chair and curled up in it. Too tired to sleep, she watched the father tend his son. “He isn’t a beast, you know. He’s only a man.”

Sigurd glanced at her with surprise. The new

sunlight of dawn spilled through the open window and she saw the emotion on his face. His mouth worked as if he would speak and his eyes filled with outraged sorrow.

She inclined her head toward Jonas. “How was he

burned?”

“How do you know the scars were caused by a fire?”

Sigurd asked with some amazement.

She shrugged. “I’ve seen such scars before. Later today, I’ll apply aloe to his skin to see if it might help. The scars are old, so I don’t know if it’ll do any good. My eldest brother brought my mother the aloe plant when he went trading in Miklagaard years ago. I’ll use all I have and keep only enough to grow more plants.”

Nodding his head, Sigurd remained silent for some time as he fed Jonas more garlic tea.

“I don’t understand why the scars have earned Jonas the title of a beast,” Kerstin said, hoping he might tell her how it happened.

With a scoffing sound, Sigurd ran one of his hands over Jonas’s back and upper arms. Kerstin knew he could feel the ridges and valleys of the scars, for she felt them many times herself over the past few days. Now she understood why Jonas always wore a tunic with long 112

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sleeves and a high neck. He must be self-conscious of his disfigurement.

A wrenching sigh escaped Sigurd. “As a woman, you can understand the repulsion of the scars. You saw how people react when they see my son’s body. No woman wants to be tied to such an ugly man or lie with him beneath the furs on lonely winter nights. They pity him, repulsed by his ugliness. A man such as Jonas cannot accept either.”

“But he isn’t ugly. I’ve yet to see a man more

handsome—” Kerstin stuttered to a halt. She realized she confided too much and her face heated.

Sigurd laughed at her discomfiture. “Many women

disagree. They’re drawn to his handsome face, but in the sleeping furs, they’re repulsed by him. Until the king ordered that he marry you, Jonas thought to never wed.”

Kerstin filled with sympathy for Jonas, but she felt no pity. Not for him. He was a man to be admired, strong and independent. Lonely.

What had his life been like, traveling the world as a mercenary, selling his sword arm because he had no wife and children waiting at home for him?

After her first initial surprise when she touched her husband, she felt the finely honed muscles beneath his flesh and admired his hardened strength. He seemed a man among men and, in her mind, quite whole and

worthy of being loved—

She stiffened at her strange thoughts. She loved

Elezer. Never would she love Jonas. Not when he believed her to be a witch. “How did it happen?” she asked again.

Sigurd looked away from her, his jaw tight, his face a sudden mask of ice. “It was because of you.”

Kerstin gasped. “Me? What did I have to do with it?”

Sigurd set the tea aside and rose from the rumpled bed. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out the small window as he spoke. In a low, aching whisper, he told Kerstin of a time, years earlier, when she had run away from home.

“Your father believed I held you hostage and he and his men attacked Hawkscliffe to take you back.”

Kerstin’s mouth dropped open and her heart sank.

She remembered the time. She had been only twelve 113

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years old when her father refused to let her accompany her brothers on a trading foray. For the first time she fled to Elezer on her own. Her father had been beside himself with worry.

Sigurd’s voice trembled. “It was the eve of Jonas’s marriage to Olga of Hedeby. Your father’s men set fire to my hall, trapping her inside. Jonas ran in to save her, but Bjorn pulled him from the flames. Jonas barely survived and Bjorn stayed by his side night and day until he was certain Jonas would live.”

Little wonder Jonas loved Bjorn. They had been

brothers and cared for each other.

Kerstin’s hands shook as she listened to the tale and she clasped them together. A lump lodged in her throat as she fought back tears. Now she understood why Jonas hated her. She had indirectly cost him the life of his bride and left him scarred so no woman would have him. Her crimes against him multiplied. She didn’t fathom why Jonas hadn’t killed her when he had the chance.

“I didn’t—” Her voice cracked and she took a

steadying breath. “I didn’t know he had another wife.”

He must have loved the woman dearly. No wonder he called her a witch. Not only did he blame her for Bjorn’s death, but he also thought her responsible for killing his first wife. He had so many reasons to detest her.

A tear tumbled down her cheek and she brushed it

away. Even if she made him believe she was no witch and hadn’t murdered Bjorn, he would still blame her for Olga.

“Now I know why Jonas hates me.”

Sigurd snorted. “Your father allows you too much

freedom.”

Freedom? Kerstin’s jaw hardened. Foolish men. They appreciated her healing skills when they needed it, and they thought nothing of forcing her into marriage, but they didn’t want her to think for herself. Only when they left their women for months on end while they went trading or pillaging did they want them to be

independent, fierce, unafraid, and loyal.

Sigurd leaned against the wall and crossed his

ankles. “After the fire, Jonas turned to war to strengthen his body. Afraid he might lose the use of his arms and legs, he became consumed by working with a sword. He 114

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refused to quit even through the excruciating pain. He never liked being a mercenary soldier, but he believed it was all he could do. That was before Bjorn died. Once I’m gone, Jonas will become Earl of Hawkscliffe. He’s a natural leader of men and it’s his duty to create heirs.”

Kerstin didn’t reply. She saw Jonas in a different light. As she looked at him, lying still upon the bed, he no longer appeared to be a fire-breathing beast, or an invincible warrior. He embodied a vulnerable, yet strong, sensitive, yet determined, independent, and lonely, man.

A man of vengeance who blamed her for two deaths.

The thought made Kerstin’s heart thud. The scars

upon his flesh were the least of her concern. What about the scars upon his soul? Never could she heal those.

Leaning her head back, Kerstin closed her eyes. The door opened and closed as Sigurd left. The only sound in the room was Jonas’s gentle breathing. Finally, Sigurd trusted her enough to leave her alone with his son.

She sighed and closed her eyes again.

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Kerstin slept for hours. When she awoke, she sat up in the hard chair and gazed about her parent’s room.

Jonas still slept peacefully on the box bed, the fur covers thrown aside to expose his scarred chest and the bandage she had wrapped around his injury.

The fire in the brazier had burned itself out. She slid from the chair and built up the fire so Jonas wouldn’t become chilled.

Out in the hall, she heard dogs barking and children laughing. Her father must have thought it safe enough to allow the women and children to return from their hiding place high up the mountain. Many of the warriors had already left to meet the Eirikssons in war. Kerstin’s father would soon join them, once certain she was safe from Sigurd’s wrath.

She paused and stared at the bed. Jonas lay still, yet he had moved his head to the other side and his right hand rested by his face instead of down by his thigh. His mouth softened, his lean cheeks not as harsh. He slept more peacefully.

Bending at the waist, Kerstin felt his brow, finding it cool to the touch. The stench of garlic hung heavy in the air. It would take several days for him to sweat it out of his body.

With quick efficiency, Kerstin removed the soiled bandage and swabbed the wound with more garlic juice.

The pungent fumes were quite strong and she tried to hold her breath until she finished the chore.

When done, she picked up a coarse bar of soap she made last summer. Bringing it to her nose, she sniffed its sweet lavender perfume. She picked up a soft woolen cloth, dipped it in the basin of warm water and squeezed it out, intending to wash herself. From behind, she heard the door open. Turning, she expected to greet Minin or Ota.

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“Elezer!” She gasped.

Without a word, he closed the door and came to pull her into his arms as she dropped the bar of soap. He held her close to his chest and Kerstin felt the rumble of his happy laughter.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he told her.

Kerstin pulled away and smiled, glancing at the bed, fearing the repercussions if they were found together.

“I’ve—I’ve missed you, too.”

But she didn’t feel the same toward him. She tried to tell herself it was because she was now a married woman, yet she knew it for something more. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Elezer had dressed in a soft, woolen shirt and

trousers, his only weapon a long dagger sheathed at his side. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

She laughed and stepped over to the wash basin. “Of course I’m happy to see you.”

He stood at her back, turned her into his arms and pressed her face against the warmth of his throat. She drew her head away, finding his scent of sweat and wood smoke distasteful. Why couldn’t he smell clean like Jonas? She even preferred the scent of garlic to Elezer’s odor. “You shouldn’t have come here. I’m married to Jonas now.”

He grinned. “I wouldn’t have come if Minin hadn’t assured me Jonas was still unconscious. I believe we’re safe for now.”

Casting back her head, she looked up at the man she had loved and tried to smile. “I’m glad to see you.”

Elezer’s gaze caressed her face and Kerstin adored the way his azure eyes sparkled down at her. Reaching up, she fingered his still-damp hair. He must have just bathed, yet he still smelled. Even so, it felt good to touch him. To be held by someone who loved her. Comfortable and safe.

“Your army is here with you?” she asked.

“Aye.” He nodded, finally released her and stepped back. “We leave with your father and Sigurd in the morning. A runner brought word the Eirikssons are approaching York.”

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Kerstin tensed. Her father could be killed. Many men would die. “They wouldn’t dare attack the king’s

stronghold.”

A wry grin spread its way across Elezer’s handsome face. “Their army is as large as ours, my love. They dare anything if it means control of York. While you have tended the Beast, the king has left to gather his men at Hawkscliffe. We’ll meet them there tomorrow and go on to engage the Eirikssons.”

Kerstin didn’t like that he called Jonas a beast. “How many ships does our fleet have?”

“At least a hundred. And King Hakon has made a

pact with King Athelstan of Wessex to provide fifty more war ships filled with Saxons. But there’s rumor that the Eirikssons have gained support from King Harald of Denmark. It’ll be a great battle.”

He seemed much too happy about this war,

unworried about the outcome.

Kerstin turned away. She imagined the blood and

gore. She wouldn’t be there to tend the wounded and many might die.

Reaching out his hand, Elezer cupped her cheek and lifted her face to him. He smiled with a tenderness she couldn’t deny. “Don’t worry. Your father is healed from his wound and I’ll watch his back.”