The Silken Cord (31 page)

The Alriksson’s had built the long pier of
strong oak, the fortress a magnificent structure. Rather than being
constructed of wood, the stone walls surrounding the hall would not
burn and would hold better against attack.

As they walked, Kerstin stared in front of
her, ignoring him. How amusing. Would her father refuse the king’s
demand that they wed? Above all else, Jonas wanted peace. To escape
the constant bloodshed of a mercenary. He had returned home for no
other reason. But it had been a futile dream. He had arrived at
Hawkscliffe and discovered his father and people were not only
still feuding with Alrik’s people, but also embroiled in a battle
to keep the king’s throne.

Again he must fight. Not out of duty, but
out of friendship for his longtime friend, King Hakon. Having
fostered together as boys, they were still close, still loyal
companions.

Where were his men? After defeating
Kerstin’s warriors, perhaps they traveled to Moere with the king.
He could only imagine what he might find when he arrived. He prayed
Hakon had been able to speak to Kerstin’s people, to stave off more
fighting. Once he discovered what Hakon planned, Alrik would either
agree or fight his own king. Jonas reached to cup the hilt of his
sword with his hand. He must prepare for the worst.

Kerstin cast a quick glance at him. Their
gazes locked, held, and she flinched. His gaze dropped to her shirt
of chain mail and he tried to imagine her dressed in women’s
clothes.

Her gasp of outrage told him she wasn’t
pleased to have him ogling her with boldness. Her cheeks flushed
with anger. Ah, she was lovely. A maiden warrior like none he had
seen before. With witchy hair that told in truth what she was.

She swallowed and averted her gaze. His
instinct was to be gentle with her. Under the circumstances, he
doubted she would allow it. Whatever she thought of him, he had
never been a cruel man. Never could he trust this woman, never
could he let down his guard. Even in marriage, there would be no
peace.

A thud of remorse filled his heart. Would
she at least give him heirs?

He walked beside her along the narrow path,
conscious that she held her breath.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” She spoke
between clenched teeth.

Shifting his weight, he rolled his shoulder.
Her arrowhead burned like a fiery ember lodged in his flesh. What
kind of woman fought in battle like a man? No female he had ever
met. Once he wedded her, she might try to kill him as she had done
Bjorn.

The thought brought a swell of anger
crashing over him. He would not allow it. Somehow he would control
the witch and put an end to her magic spells.

She stumbled on loose gravel and cried out
when Jonas caught her securely with his free arm. He pulled her
tight against his side, enjoying the feel of her feminine curves.
Her fist barely missed his jaw before he snatched it in his hand
and held it still. “None of that. Our fight is ended.”

She snorted. “You think so? You don’t know
me very well.”

Her green eyes blazed as clear as glass, her
complexion smooth as alabaster. He’d been ordered to wed a
treacherous woman, but at least she was beautiful.

As he bent his head down to her, she tried
to bite him. She jerked against his hold but he held her fast. Her
breath quickened, her lips parted. The curve of her face showed
high, smooth cheeks. When her eyes narrowed, he wondered what it
would be like to see her smile, to hear her laughter. Was she
capable of being gentle and feminine?

She looked away and the scent of lavender
spiraled around him, soft and tempting. A womanly scent.

Her warm breath glazed his cheek, her jaw
harsh. In her eyes, he saw doubt and fear. When her gaze centered
upon his mouth, she licked her bottom lip. The urge to taste her
again gave him pause.

"Are you injured?" His voice sounded too
low.

Kerstin shook her head. It wasn’t normal to
want a woman this much. Had she bewitched him? Perhaps she had cast
some spell over him. He should release her.

His hold tightened.

"You aren’t Elezer,” she said.

The way she said Elezer’s name…so sweetly,
so lovingly…brought a thud of regret to his heart. How he wished
someone would speak his name with such longing.

Bah! It must be the magic of her spell that
made him think such foolish thoughts. He frowned at her, trying to
see the maiden beneath the chain mail.

She struggled to be free and the tranquil
moment vanished. He released her. Without his support, she almost
fell. As she regained her balance and stepped away, she glared at
him, rubbing her arms as if to erase his touch. If he moved toward
her, she might try to run. Flexing his throbbing shoulder, he
backed away. "For now, I will leave you alone."

Jonas moved down the trail, conscious of her
staring after him. The cold wind whipped against them and a
spattering of thick raindrops struck their heads. The storm was
almost here, not a good premonition.

They approached the steading, perched high
on a hilltop overlooking the River Tyne. A well-worn path led to
the quay where a solid dock had been built. Several elegant ships
swayed in the choppy water, tugging at their mooring lines. Higher
up, a forest of spruce covered the mountain, winding over the hills
as far as Jonas could see.

Kerstin followed him, plodding through the
wide palisade gates of Moere. Thankfully, she didn’t try to flee.
With his shoulder burning like fire, Jonas felt in no mood to chase
her down.

Hordes of their men stood within the main
yard, clutching their weapons, glowering at each other. It appeared
to Jonas they had arrived but moments before. He expected chaos,
yet they remained silent as they watched him and Kerstin approach.
King Hakon must have spoken to Kerstin’s people. Nothing less would
keep the two clans from killing each other.

Jonas’s gaze filtered through the crowd
until he found his father standing amongst the men. Tall and proud,
a formidable warrior in his own right, Earl Sigurd of Hawkscliffe
smiled at his son. Affection filled Jonas, and also relief. Dying
in battle was always a concern, but Valhalla would not claim them
today.

The large farmstead included a manor house,
a sturdy structure dominating the grounds. Home to many of Alrik’s
people, Jonas knew they slept on the same wooden benches they used
to sit on. Just like his own home, he knew more of Alrik’s serfs
lived in small huts throughout the valley, close to their crops and
Alrik’s vast herds of sheep.

Jonas caught the tangy aroma of stewed
onions and meat simmering over the cook fire in the main hall. It
made him homesick for a hearth and family of his own. Inwardly, he
shook himself.

A few chickens scratched in the dirt. A
single goat bleated and went back to chewing on a shrub beside the
cow byre. Storage sheds, low timbered barns, a stable, and the main
hall sat safe inside the stone wall.

A vast stone bathing hut rested across the
main yard, with mighty cauldrons for heating water. Jonas made a
mental note to enjoy it later on. Perhaps a hot bath would ease his
aching shoulder and make it easier to remove the arrowhead.

He sighed, weary of bloodshed.

Men carried away the injured and Kerstin
left Jonas’s side to give instructions for their care. A thrall
woman scurried from the hall with a leather pouch and handed it to
Kerstin. “Your healing herbs and bandages are inside, my lady.”

Mumbling her thanks, Kerstin accompanied the
wounded. Jonas’s men went to one warm barn while Kerstin’s men went
to another. Relief surged through Jonas that the two clans were
separated. They needed the barest incentive to fight again.

Curious about Kerstin, Jonas followed her to
where his wounded men were housed. Standing in the shadows of the
low doorway, he fingered the hilt of his sword and watched her in
silence. She didn’t appear surprised when his men refused her
stilted offer to tend their wounds, but Jonas felt amazed she would
tend his men first.

“You are foolish to refuse me. I can help
ease you,” she said.

“You wish to ease us to our deaths. It was
your arrows that caused many of our wounds. Come no nearer, witch,”
one of Jonas’s men muttered.

Kerstin drew back, her mouth stiff, eyes
crinkled. “We were at war then. Didn’t you also try to kill me and
my men?”

“Not until you attacked us,” another warrior
exclaimed. “Leave us be.”

The man grimaced with pain, his arm nearly
severed.

“You’ll bleed to death within the hour if
you don’t receive care.”

"Better that I die from my wounds than from
a spell you might cast upon me."

Opening her mouth, she appeared ready to
plead her cause. Another healthy warrior rose to his feet and
lifted his heavy cleaver. A snarl curved his mouth. "Begone witch,
before I sever that pretty head from your evil neck."

Large, angry men surrounded her, their eyes
smoldering with hate. They would never allow her to give them aid.
Clutching her healing bag to her chest, she backed away.

As she made a hasty retreat, she collided
with Jonas at the door. He reached to settle her and she gasped,
jerking away. Hoping to hide his inner thoughts, he glowered at
her. Her eyes widened as she scurried around him and fled.

He let her pass, watching as she disappeared
into the darkness where they’d taken her own wounded men. Jonas
frowned. She had come to tend his warriors first and appeared
concerned. It must be an act. A witch would not care who lived or
died.

Jonas stayed close by, watching her,
listening. He wanted to learn more about this woman he was to wed.
What did her own men think of her?

“Ah, here she is,” one exclaimed when she
entered the dim light of the shelter.

Shafts of fading sunlight filtered through
cracks in the walls. The air smelled of straw and animals. The
injured men rested upon fresh hay spread on the ground for their
comfort. The hay soon soaked up their blood.

As she inspected the worst of the wounds,
they sighed with relief, seeming confident in her abilities. Jonas
snorted. He expected nothing less from a witch who practiced the
black arts.

“I’ll need fresh water and more bandages,”
she spoke to no one in particular.

An old man gave her a wan smile and gestured
to several buckets of fresh water and piles of clean woolen strips.
“I knew what you would need and have it waiting for you, my
lady.”

Nodding, she set to work, giving
instructions as to cleansing, sewing up wounds with an antler
needle, wrapping gashes, applying poultices to swollen bumps and
bruises.

A fire blazed with a cauldron hanging over
it and the barn soon smelled of pungent herbs. Jonas watched to see
what magical enchantments she performed, but he saw nothing that
didn’t seem logical.

She stayed with her own men a short time.
Jonas became aware they were more versed in dealing with injuries
than his warriors. She instructed them how to wrap mild wounds and
tend each other. Too bad Jonas had no healer like her back at
Hawkscliffe. His people would benefit from someone with her skills,
yet they could never trust her not to cast an evil spell on
them.

She left her men and headed for the hall.
Outside in the yard, she looked up and saw the old warrior who had
tried to protect her during the battle. He wore a bloodied bandage
around his head, to cover the wound Jonas delivered before he had
chased Kerstin through the forest. Seeing him hale and alive, she
gave a joyous laugh and hugged him tight.

Jonas saw his father standing beside the
king. Hakon wore the royal crest upon his shield. When Kerstin
glared hotly at the man, Jonas hid an amused smile. She believed
the king to be an Eiriksson and therefore a traitor. Jonas would
not be the one to tell her the truth. The Eiriksson’s were King
Hakon’s brothers and sought to take his title. They were all
royals, using the same crest. If Kerstin knew her mistake, she
would doubtless bow down upon the ground and beg forgiveness for
attacking her own king.

"I’ll see if my father can attend visitors,”
she said.

Turning to go inside, she stopped abruptly,
her mouth dropping open, her eyes wide. Alrik, Earl of Moere, stood
before the door of the hall. Even with his pale skin, he appeared
savage, a fierce opponent in his own right.

If Alrik refused the king’s demands, there
would be more bloodshed. Jonas couldn’t stop it. His warriors were
too angry with Alrik’s men.

Holding a sword in his fist, Alrik glared at
them all, his eyes narrow and shrewd. His sparse, still-blond hair
stood on end. Wearing only his trousers and overshirt, the wind
slapped at his loose shirt. Jonas caught a glimpse of a bandage
wrapped about his injured side. It bore a dark stain and Jonas
realized the man had opened his wound and caused it to bleed. He
appeared to have been roused from bed. He must be chilled, yet his
eyes were glazed with fever. Jonas could see moisture on Alrik’s
brow and anger in his steely eyes.

"I am here, daughter.” Alrik spoke with
strength but Jonas wondered how he remained on his feet.

"Father!"

She tried to rush to his side but he held
out a hand to stop her. "Go inside and make haste with a meal,
Kerstin. We will greet our king with the comforts he finds in his
own home."

Kerstin’s mouth dropped open, her gaze
flashing toward the royal. Though she didn’t speak, the truth was
there on her face. She hadn’t known she had attacked the king’s
party.

“Oh!” A flush of heat stained Kerstin’s
cheeks.

She glared at Jonas, her eyes filled with
accusation. He kept his face void of expression.

As she looked at her father, her face
softened with concern and she took a step toward the ailing man.
Her actions confused Jonas. A witch wouldn’t feel anything but
disdain, even for her father. Yet, this woman seemed so vulnerable.
It must be a deception to take them off guard.