The Warlord's Wife (19 page)

Her poor husband appeared drained as he dragged his feet out of her chamber. A hint of worry crept into her heart.

Why had Klara tried so hard to have Lida removed from the jarl’s favor? What was her motivation, her long-term intent? Jealousy, or simply cruel hatred? Or was it something more, something larger, something deeply rooted?

The questions shadowed her sleep. She struggled to find a comfortable position with the whirlwind of movement stirring against her bladder.

Hakon waited for Klara in the darkest corner of the tavern. Neither of them had much else to do these days but drink and plan. He stood and pulled out a chair for her.

“You smell like you’ve been bathing with the sheep,” Klara said. She ignored the chair he’d offered and sat in his chair, which was warmer and had a better sight line of the door.

“Don’t aim your temper at me, Klara. I never imagined all of our hard labor collapsing in a day,” Hakon grunted.

“
Our
hard labor?”

“’Tis not what I—”

“The goat-headed mules applauded the jarl’s decision. My only mistake was underestimating the bloated sow.” Who slept in Janetta’s rightful place.

Hakon toyed with his blade, scratching lines into the table. “When I saw the return of the half-breed, I knew there would be trouble.”

“Ale, Klara?” the serving wench asked.

“Not the brightest candle in the room, are we, sapling?” Klara yanked the girl’s braid, hard. “Mistress Hirsi to you.”

“Mistress Hirsi.” Mak shuffled over to her table. “This one is new. She needs—”

“She is fat and slow. What have you been feeding them?”

“I swear—nothing more than gruel.” The greasy whelp put his hands up. “The men like to take a meal with the girls. I never fail to charge them for the whore’s time and food.”

Klara snorted.

Stupid cows.

Coiling the girl’s braid into her fist, Klara pulled her in. “Here’s your lesson of the day: never believe you are important to them. They see you as a hole to wet their prick. Nothing more.” She shoved the girl away and turned to her sour-breathed, useless partners.

She crossed her arms, pushing her breasts up, regaining the men’s attention. “We need to come up with a new plan. These bastards think they can push me out, pay me off with one lousy purse, like some goat herder. I will not molder in some worthless shack for the rest of my life.”

“Mistress, you’re the wealthiest woman in Tronscar,” Mak stammered. “The house the jarl is buildin’ for you will be second to none.”

“You are a fool, Mak. My house will always be second to Lida’s. I refuse to live there—instead I shall move to Bolinas. They’ll think I’m doing it to be closer to my grandchildren, and suspicion will abate.” Klara could not stomach a moment longer with these simpleminded, powerless boys. She rose up from the table. “You will question every trader, every merchant. Coin, cunt, weapons, whatever the price—someone knows something.” She turned her attention to Hakon. “What did we learn about her bastard’s father?”

“The fisherman Otso didn’t speak. Before the other one died, though, he said he heard Otso had been friends with the friherrinna’s first husband. He remembered him saying he had once had a top position to a chieftain’s son in Österland,” Hakon said.

“Bring this Otso here. Have your best grain wine and wench ready for him. If he still will not talk, send for Dag. At least one of my useless sons has the mettle to do what needs to be done. Find out which chief, which village, and do it now!” Klara flicked her foxtail cloak over her shoulder, smacking the useless sod Mak in the face.

She stepped outdoors into the damp air and took a deep breath. She could smell spring nearing. She had much work to do—especially finalizing Janetta’s travel arrangements and strategizing placements for spies in the jarl’s household.

No one insulted her family and got away with it. Demoting her left her only one clear path.

Klara wanted Tronscar. She had helped build it, so she had every right to rule it.

If that could not be accomplished, she wanted it torn apart, decimated beyond repair.

Have them try and erase her name after she brought down the greatest fortress in the north. The jarl would learn the consequences of ejecting her from her rightful place.

***

Katia and Lika ran down the corridor, chasing each other, while Magnus paced outside his wife’s chamber. Her continued residence across the corridor from him was his penance for failing her. He had not asked for her forgiveness because he deserved none.

There was a loud shriek and the girl tumbled to the floor, squealing as the dog pinned her down, licking her face.

“Off, Lika!”

“All is well, Jarl Magnus. She won fair and square. This is her reward.” The girl giggled louder, rolling on the floor with her pet.

Magnus rubbed the back of his neck, tension rising high around his ears. At least the girl was returning to her true nature, which calmed him slightly.

The door opened and two old women smelling of herbs and sheep-fat ointment shuffled past without looking up at him. That was not a good sign.

His wife sat propped up in her bed, a mountain of pillows crushing in around her. Her hair was down, cascading to the sheets in long, gold waves.

“Neither one,” Lida said sharply. “I do not see why this is so difficult for you to understand, Tero.”

“When the longships sail, I will have more success in the southern territories,” Tero explained.

“There is no more time. These babes will come in days, perhaps.” His wife looked to the doorway and her eyes locked on Magnus’s. She forced a false smile and he instantly knew she was hiding something from him.

“What was wrong with the last selection?” he asked her. She looked out the window.

“Your wife has specific instructions for the women, and they either do not agree with her or have no knowledge of how to perform what she asks.” Tero set his jaw in a grim line.

“Explain,” Magnus demanded.

His wife let out a loud sigh of annoyance, and then tears began to form. As of late, she seemed to have every known emotion all at the same time.

“Tero, I need to speak to my husband alone,” she said.

His steward nodded and left.

“They were the best midwives from Bolina. Is it that you want your mother?” Magnus asked.

“Nay . . . Well, aye, I want my mother, but that is not why. Only one has delivered two babes for the same birth, and neither has ever saved a babe from a dying mother. They say if the mother dies then ’tis God’s will the babe die too. The priest says the same.” She tossed her hands up in the air.

“What!”

“If I am not able to push them both into this world . . . if they became lodged . . . I need a woman with the skill to cut the babe free. I have seen it done. When the mother cannot be saved, the child may still live. Those women have no experience with a blade nor the interest to learn. There must be someone here who is capable.” She shifted and continued to rub her taut, mountainous stomach.

“There will be no cutting into you, wife! I would strike down anyone, male or female, that puts a blade to your flesh. You are not leaving me.” He forbade her to die.

“Magnus, do not come in here and growl at me,” Lida said. “You are not the one with two precious lives inside you. Two lives for the price of one is my choice, not yours, so you can take that grouchy bear growl of yours and be gone with you. Now, help me up, I need to use the chamber pot.” She raised her arms and he did as instructed. She scrunched up her face as she tried to move. Her hips and back were bothering her.

“I will carry you.” He bent down.

“Do not dare touch me or I will leak on the floor. Stop being so maddening and merely help me with what I ask.” His wife spoke in a soft tone that did not match her words, confusing him ever more.

She shooed him away, demanding privacy behind the screen. “Can you ask Ragna for more of that powder she sent me? And I would love a bath this afternoon. Perhaps I could take my meal in the hall tonight. I long to be out of this chamber,” she said over the screen.

“Permission granted, on the condition you let the me carry you—”

“Put it out of your mind. I will not be made a spectacle. I am not an invalid,” she said, hobbling back to bed. She clutched her stomach, groaning loudly. “They are so strong, I swear they are going to tear out the middle themselves.”

“Should I get the women?”

“Do not look so scared, Magnus. I promise I will tell you when it is time to panic, but until then, we still have much to do. Did Rakel and Brita see to all the provisions on my list?” He nodded. Perhaps it was wise to say as little as possible. Everything out of his mouth seemed to anger her. Although he was coming to enjoy her temper. It was quite entertaining sometimes.

“I would like to write a few letters as well,” Lida added, “and we still need to discuss Katia.”

Magnus helped his wife’s legs back onto the bed, noticing the swelling had increased. “What of Katia?” He sat on the bed, picked up her foot, and began rubbing and stroking with the firm pressure she preferred.

Closing her eyes, she rested against the headboard and sighed with pleasure, stirring his desire to life. It had been more days than he could count since he had last heard her soft sighs and moans of pleasure. He hungered to hear them again, yet he felt undeserving. How would he regain trust in her bed?

“We need to discuss what will happen to her if I do not survive the births,” she said, as if it were some minor inconvenience. “Our babes will live, you will be sure of that. Nevertheless, I need to understand that Katia will be returned to my mother. I know you will see to our children’s care and well-being, and I am certain that you would keep Katia safe. ’Tis merely . . . I need to make sure you do not delay. If you delayed returning her, she would be stuck here for the winter, and—”

“Katia is not leaving Tronscar.”

“Magnus, she is a daughter of Finland and my family would see better to her future care. Here she will be—”

“Mine. The terms of our agreement were that she would bear my name. Why are you going back on your word?”

“I am not going back on my word. She is very fond of you. I apologize if you take offense, but still, it must be said. I have no time for compromises or complaining. I will face death when these babes arrive, and I need to have my mind and heart clear. I do not wish Katia to remain here if I do not.”

She took a deep breath and calmed herself. “These babes will be yours. You will make an excellent father. You are so concerned for my care that I have no doubt that you will do everything in your power to raise them well. You will love them.” She laughed airily. “Babes have a way of demanding love from us that we did not realize we had the ability to create or carry. These two will govern your heart and they will thrive in your love. But Katia . . . she will not be your blood, not ever. Regardless of if you grant her use of your name, it would only be a name. She would witness your love for these two and suffer the feeling of not having a real father. She will not be treated equally—not to say that it is your fault. You are a good man, Magnus, I know you care for her, but please appreciate there are just some things that you may not yet understand.”

Breeding has softened her head.

She continued to babble her lunacy. “If she were to return to Turku, she would live with a family that would love her equally to my brothers’ children. She would be accepted as their blood and never compare herself to the love she would or would not receive here.”

Magnus reached out to still his wife’s shaking hands. She did not say these words without considerable cost. He could see she was struggling to keep her tears from falling.

“I would never treat her with indifference. She shares blood with our children and will be reared as their equal,” he said, keeping an even tone to calm her. A ripple moved under the thin nightgown. She stroked her taut belly.

“Last summer, Katia came to me in tears. Some children had teased her that no father wanted her. I told her that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Those other children merely had one father, but she had a grandfather who adored her and two uncles who played games with her every day. A few days later she came to me and told me that the love of her grandpa and uncles was better than the love from one father.”

He searched in her eyes for answers, not understanding what she was endeavoring to explain. “You would take her from me because you would not want to be proven wrong in her eyes?”

“Nay, not take her from you. When she sees you love these babies, the look of adoration that you will hold for them in your eyes, she will see the difference. She will know that I lied to her, that the love of one true father is worth more than that of two uncles and a grandfather.” She wrinkled her nose—the floodgate of tears was about to burst. “She will question it one day.”

“She lives here.”

“Magnus, this is . . . you agreed . . . you—” The dam broke, and tears took over.

Magnus found his wife’s conclusions inane and confusing. He needed to think. Sitting next to her, leaning back on the headboard, he pulled her into his arms, pushing her head to rest against his chest. She stopped crying, and a short time later her breathing became soft and even. Mercifully, she had fallen asleep.

He placed his hand on her stomach and felt the sea of movement below. His sons were battling it out in the sparring ring. He rubbed lightly, sending them a silent instruction to settle because their mother needed to rest.

His sons paid him no mind.

***

Magnus sat in the comfort of his council chamber before a large fire with a belly full of roasted meat. Tero place a tankard of ale before the jarl and his guest.

“He says, “Tis fine.’” Tero translated.

Magnus grunted. Although he trusted and relied on Tero for all things, he did not wish to receive personal information through a translator. Magnus glared at the fisherman. His wounds had fully healed and he was dressed in a thick wool tunic with leather breeches and fur-lined boots. Housed in the chamber across from Tero, the Finnish man had now been in Tronscar for many months. “How much of our tongue do you understand?” Magnus asked. He had come to believe the fisherman understood much more than he admitted. “Tero, stay. If there is a need, speak up, but if not, this is between me and him.”

“She have babe?” Otso asked.

“Nay. Soon. She is anxious for the birth.”

“He say two,” Otso said.

“Twins, aye,” Magnus said. “My wife said that you had information from Lylasku you wished to give her. If you have some thing to say, you will speak it first to me. I will decide what news of her past life to burden her with. How long have you known her?”