The Silken Cord (33 page)

Losing her balance, Letta bumped into the
tall loom against the wall. As if the thump knocked her senses back
into her brain, Letta burst into tears and covered her face with
her hands.

"Oh, what am I to do?" she cried. "We will
all be killed. My poor dead babes."

Kerstin’s throat constricted. Little Elyn
and Ari. She remembered their soft hands and gurgling laughs as
they pulled her hair or tried to steal sweet meats from the cooking
pot. How could she fault the desperation of a grieving mother?

"Shh," she said, hugging Letta close against
her breast as she smoothed her pale hair. "I know your misery,
Letta. Come with me, and I’ll give you a soothing tisane to help
you sleep.”

As she led Letta away, Kerstin wondered
about tomorrow. Swallowing her own tears, she tried to be brave.
Alrik would make the right decision, wouldn’t he? She must trust
him.

“You know,” Letta whispered as they walked
to the back rooms, “I could kill Jonas Sigurdsson, and he would
die, like his brother did.” She laughed in harsh gasps, the sound
shrill.

Kerstin froze as Letta dropped onto her
sleeping furs. What had Letta said? She must have heard wrong. A
horrible lump settled in Kerstin’s stomach. Could Letta have killed
Bjorn? Did she know enough about potions to have mixed the poison
that took his life?

Letta drew herself into a tight ball beneath
the warm furs on her sleeping couch. Keening a quiet lullaby in a
singsong voice, she rocked back and forth. Pity blanketed Kerstin’s
heart as she pushed the unholy thoughts aside. "Don’t be afraid,
Letta. I will protect you."

"But who will protect you?" Letta’s voice
came as a whisper, trembling over Kerstin with such intensity that
she flinched.

It took a moment to recover. “Rest now,
Letta.”

* * *

Kerstin hurried back to the main hall. When
she spotted Minin, she pulled her aside. “Letta is still upset.
Watch her carefully while I’m gone.”

With a croon of sympathy, Minin nodded.

Kerstin took up a linen towel and
lavender-scented soap and stepped outside the hall. To her
surprise, the men were gone, probably adjourned to the counseling
hall farther up the mountain. She could only guess at their mood.
Jonas Sigurdsson must have accompanied them.

Water dripped off the eaves of the longhouse
and the air smelled of rain. Black clouds filled the sky, not at
all finished with their fury. Stepping over puddles, she scurried
across the yard to the bathing hut.

A large stone and wood building, the hut
contained an outer chamber lined with wooden benches. The inner
room had more benches and a fire pit, the hearth cold now, and
dark. Great shadows played across the walls as Kerstin hurried
about her task.

She jerked her filthy garments from her body
and sighed with relish now that she could finally lather her arms
with the fragrant soap. She moved her hands over her abdomen in
small, circular motions. She poured tepid water over herself, then
ran her hands over her legs. Sudsy bubbles dripped down her thighs
and calves. Lifting each leg in turn, she rested a foot upon a
bench as she rinsed.

It felt good to cleanse away the blood and
sweat of battle from her body. A throaty moan escaped her as she
flexed her stiff shoulders. How she wished she could wash the
events of the day away. She didn’t hurry, wanting to enjoy this
time alone before she had to witness Jonas’s wrath when her father
told him there would be no marriage.

After she scrubbed her face, Kerstin
lathered and rinsed her hair, then toweled herself dry. She dressed
in a long-sleeved, ankle-length tunic of fine pleated linen. She
had dyed the soft fabric a deep golden color from the leaves and
stems of agrimony. Over this, she wore a calf-length woolen
pinafore dyed a vivid yellow from the flowers of chamomile. At each
shoulder, she fastened a gilded brooch, decorated with intricate
animal patterns, a gift from her father when he took her trading in
York last summer. Then, she combed out her hair until it crackled
with life.

Letting her head fall back, she closed her
eyes as relief washed over her. How good it felt to be attired like
a woman again. She dreaded returning to the hall and wished she
could remain here, alone. No doubt Minin would have her hands full
if Letta awoke and decided to cause more mischief.

Kerstin sighed, feeling the weight of her
responsibilities.

Bending, she picked up her dirty clothes. A
movement caught her eye and she paused, peering into the deep
shadows across the room. She made out the figure of a large man
reclining upon one of the benches. The figure shifted and she
gasped.

Jonas!

He sat silent. Kerstin sucked in a sharp
breath, clutching her soiled clothes to her breast. How long had he
been watching her?

His bright eyes gleamed in the shadows.
Beside him on the floor lay his sword. She wasn’t surprised. Even
when he took his leisure, he kept his weapon close at hand.

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks with heat
and hot prickles tingled down her spine. He had watched her bathe.
“Why are you here?"

Reclining on one elbow, he lifted a foot to
rest upon the bench. His free arm relaxed across his raised knee.
Cast in shadow, his expression looked fierce, his blue eyes
sparkling.

"I came here for the same purpose as you. To
wash away the stench of battle and to be alone for a time." His
voice sounded low and husky.

"You should have made yourself known to me.
Only a lecher would sit here in silence and watch a woman
bathe."

"If I were a lecher, you’d already be flat
on your back,” he told her without humor.

His long body unfolded as he stood up.
Kerstin’s eyes widened. The movement must have jarred his injured
shoulder and he flinched as if it pained him.

He wore a soft, long-sleeved shirt, which
molded his torso like a second skin and defined the muscles of his
arms and chest. He tied a bathing cloth about his lean waist to
hide his heavy loins and Kerstin's mouth rounded as she took a step
backward.

She glanced at the doorway on the other side
of the room, realizing she would have to pass by him to reach it.
Trapped, like a caged animal. Her gaze drifted back to him.

His eyes never wavered from hers and he
appeared to be more pleased than vexed. "I didn’t mean to spy on
you, little Kerstin. You were so intent upon your chore, I thought
to let you finish bathing in peace. But I won’t speak a lie and say
I didn’t enjoy the sight. I am a man, after all."

Kerstin's mouth dropped open. His confession
filled her with confusion, something she hadn’t expected. He was
toying with her. "Do you think to flatter me with compliments?"

"I merely speak what is on my mind. A man
doesn’t want an old crone when he takes a wife."

She grit her teeth. "You know nothing about
me."

Jonas shrugged lazily, then paled and
grimaced, as if the movement pained him. "I know most accused you
of murdering my brother. Only a fool would trust you. And I am no
fool."

“And I will never trust you.”

“It’s just as well, Witch.” He spoke in a
placid tone.

His accusations cut her deep. She longed for
people to see her for the healer she was, not a witch.

A volcano of anger and frustration resided
inside her, building up until she shook with it, ready to explode.
“You are nothing more than a mercenary. Who are you to speak to me
of honor?”

Kerstin edged toward the door. If he
attacked, she had no weapon. Why had she left her dagger inside the
hall? Even if she screamed, her father’s men wouldn’t hear her.

He took a step closer.

"Stay back." She held out a hand to ward him
off.

Jonas stood in the shadows, his gaze fixed
upon her face. Kerstin longed to kick him, but didn’t dare get that
close. She remembered how he had caught her in the forest, quick
and light on his feet.

She took another step toward the door. He
also took a step and her heart sank. "My father will kill you if
you touch me."

He shook his head and his rich laughter
filled the room. "I don’t think so."

"I will die before submitting to you, or I
will kill you first."

His white teeth flashed with a chilling
smile. "I accept your challenge, Kerstin. It’ll be entertaining to
see if I can prevent both tragedies from occurring while I bring
you pleasure."

Another step toward the doorway. "I will
find no pleasure in you."

"Ah," he breathed as he also moved closer.
"Perhaps Elezer hasn’t been a generous lover. What has he taught
you, Kerstin? Are you still chaste?"

Her eyes narrowed with fury. How dare he ask
her such intimate questions? "Like me, Elezer is a Christian and
cares for my feelings. You are a vile heathen who believes in
nothing but pagan gods."

He came closer and Kerstin eyed him. She
must move fast or be ensnared.

"I assure you, Kerstin, I can be most
gentle. And when I’m finished, you’ll have no doubt that I am a man
and you are my woman."

Kerstin felt her cheeks flush crimson. In
sudden panic, she tried to dart past him. He simply stepped to the
side and she ran straight into his solid chest, jarring his injured
shoulder. A low groan came from his throat. Now he must let her
go.

Jonas enfolded her quaking body in his
iron-thewed arms.

"Let me go.” She struggled to free herself
and felt his chest quake with laughter.

In the forest, she had wondered if his eyes
would crinkle and sparkle when he smiled. Aye, they did indeed, but
his amusement infuriated her. She managed to pull one of her arms
loose and drew back her fist, striking his injured shoulder. He
grunted, showing a pained frown.

Picking her up, he squeezed her against his
hard body. Kerstin found her mouth seized by his in a searing kiss
that curled her toes. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her
closer. She couldn’t breathe. The sweet warm taste of him told her
he had enjoyed some rich wine before his bath. She gasped for air
as his kiss went on and on. A strange warmth spiraled through her,
stealing her senses.

Before she realized what she was doing, she
returned his kiss. The way her body betrayed her was more than she
could comprehend.

Wedging her hands between their chests, she
pushed away, succeeding only because he allowed it. Their gazes
caught, held. His intense look no longer showed amusement, but
sultry desire. "Your passion betrays you, Kerstin."

Humiliated, she stared at the wall, stained
by years of weekly steam baths. How could she be so disloyal to
Elezer? "I belong to another man.”

His jaw hardened. "Your passion belongs to
me."

“I want no part of you.”

His eyes darkened. "You shall have all of
me, Kerstin. It is only a matter of time."

Jonas placed her on her feet. Relief flooded
her when he set her free. She whirled about and fled, the sound of
his deep laughter rumbling behind her.

###

They didn’t know she was watching. Lyndsy
Warner crouched low behind an outcropping of rock. Prickles of
excitement dotted her arms. She held her breath, hoping the wild
horses wouldn’t catch her scent and bolt. At least not yet.

Overhead, a hawk spiraled through the azure
sky. The late April weather had been unseasonably warm. Tufts of
green grass and red paintbrush trembled as the breeze whispered
past, carrying the earthy smell of dust and sage.

Letting her camera hang limp from the strap
around her neck, Lyn reached up to remove the bronze shield pinned
above the right front pocket of her forest ranger’s shirt. A glint
from the afternoon sun might give her presence away to the mustangs
in the valley below.

After tucking the badge into her pants
pocket, Lyn reached for the camera again. Holding it up to her
eyes, she adjusted the focus and studied the herd through the lens.
Five mustangs, led by a handsome buckskin stallion. The stud’s
black mane and tail stood out against his golden coat. The band
included three mares and a black foal with a white tail and mane.
Not really black, but almost. With just a bit of white on her hind
left foot and on her right under flank and in her mane and tail.
Not a true pinto, either. Very unique coloring and absolutely
stunning. The filly’s spindly legs looked long and strong, a
foreshadowing of the beautiful mare she’d become. Wild and
free.

Lyn snapped a quick series of pictures,
wishing she could share this moment with Kristen, her ten year-old
daughter. Like most girls, Kristen loved horses. But these mustangs
carried a deeper meaning for Lyn. A reminder of the night her
husband died.

The bony ribcages of the horses seemed too
lean, an indicator of sparse forage on the range. As the herds
increased, there just wasn’t enough for them to eat, not to mention
the other wildlife roaming this area, or the beef cattle the
ranchers paid the government to graze.

Lyn zoned in on the stallion she’d named
Buck. This wasn’t the only herd foraging in Secret Valley. Lyn had
named all the stallions roaming the mountains of McClellan National
Forest, but not their mares and foals. She didn’t want to become
more attached to them than she already was. Especially if she was
forced to round up some of them for removal.

A low nicker drew Lyn’s attention to the
plateau overhead. A smaller dun stallion stood gazing down upon the
tranquil family of mustangs, his cream coloring similar to Buck’s
except that tiger stripes circled his front legs. A throwback from
prehistoric horses. Probably a bachelor stallion, with no mares of
his own. His ears pricked forward with rapt attention and Lyn knew
he wanted Buck’s mares. Or at least one of them.