Chapter Ten
-DECLAN-
If not for my overwhelming need to keep Astrid safe, I was positive I never would have been able to allow our first kiss to be so brief. Not when the mere touch of her plush lips against mine ignited a fire inside me.
I had never, not for a second, wanted a lass as fiercely as I wanted her.
Watching her tend to her countrymen the night before had been the most beguiling thing I’d ever seen.
She had been mesmerizing while speaking to the wounded men, regaling them with tales of old, painting a picture of not terrible lands to the north, but a stunning oasis of snow, ice, and mystical landscapes.
Even her stories of battle enraptured me, making me crave seeing her fight even as I longed to protect her.
If all that didn’t enchant me enough, when she had begun singing softly with the voice of an angel, I well and truly had lost myself to her.
How had I ever thought of her as the enemy when she was the furthest thing from it?
Watching her tend to men I could have very well cut down in battle had I been here, I had felt a sense of forgiveness blossoming inside me for the first time in a long time..
Not for the monster who had killed my mother, but for all the innocent Norse Astrid was here to protect.
As if something about my thinking that as well as the sweet sound of her voice which had invoked flames to twirl off the fire, not aggressively but gently, and momentarily covered the wounded.
There could be no doubt she had woven some sort of spell, but it didn’t frighten me.
Instead, I experienced a strange sense of peace.
That is, until she’d slumped to the cot and I thought I had lost her.
As I swept her up into my arms and confirmed she was still alive, things became crystal clear.
Although I had never felt such for a lass, as I sat with Astrid on my lap and gazed at her beautiful, slumbering face, I knew I had fallen in love.
And that realization was brutal in its own way because she was at such blasted risk on this journey.
Truly vulnerable, whether she could fight well or not.
Something I tried to push to the back of my mind as we entered King Alexander’s tent that morning to break our fast, only to find Gustav there already, proving yet again how close he had become to my king.
“I dinnae see any point in lingering here if you dinnae think these wounded Norsemen will be of any use, Astrid,” Alexander said as drinks and a light fare of fresh venison and baked beans were set down on a small wooden table.
“So we will leave after we eat and head to the next village north of us, where ‘tis rumored there is a sizeable Norse population.” He sighed and shook his head.
“Mayhap we will even find this mysterious fierce Norse warrior they call Soren there, for how far could the man have gone in such an injured state?”
“Aye,” Gustav agreed, digging into his food. “’Tis verra likely. From the sounds of it, his wounds were every bit as bad as those Astrid tended overnight.”
“And yet they still live,” Alexander noted, eyeing Astrid, “when I was under the impression they likely wouldnae by morning.”
“’Tis hard to pinpoint these things,” she replied smoothly enough, sipping her mead, undoubtedly as grateful as I that they didn't know exactly who Soren was, given he was as well-known a warrior on our shores as I evidently was on his.
This not only made him especially valuable to King Alexander but a dangerous point of interest if he ever learned Soren had married Astrid's sister.
So best to keep his true identity forever a secret.
“And whilst I understand your desire to set out straight away,” Astrid went on, speaking to the king, “I would ask that you have someone continue tending the wounded in my absence as a gesture of goodwill that might again carry to Norse ears. Innocent Norse ears that consider themselves your countrymen now. Those who consider you their rightful king.”
Alexander considered her for a moment before nodding once. “Aye, ‘twill be done, lass.”
“Thank you, my liege,” she replied, surprising me by how genuine she sounded when she addressed him that way.
As expected, King Alexander seemed most pleased by it, no doubt seeing the truth of it in her eyes like the rest of us.
Enough that he asked questions that could prove precarious if she did not answer correctly.
“What do you make of my attacking the Isles, Astrid?” he wondered, watching her a little too closely for my taste to see how she responded. “And of King Hákon attacking in what some call ‘retaliation’, yet I call invading?”
“I think if our positions were reversed and the Scots had invaded Norwegian shores for generations, I would have done the same as you if diplomacy failed,” she replied without hesitation, deadly serious.
“I would want my Norwegian Isles back.” Her delicate eyebrows edged together, and the corners of her mouth tugged down.
“As to what King Hákon did, I think ‘twas foolish, impulsive, prideful, and wrong, and put many lives in harm’s way. Whilst he might have taken our country far, and I will always love my homeland, I cannot in good conscience claim to respect him anymore, let alone view him as my king.”
All stopped eating, and silence fell at how firm, if not impassioned, her answer had been, leaving no room for doubt.
She told the truth, however difficult I suspected it had been for her.
I’d seen the tears in her eyes last night as she tended the wounded.
Saw the frustration I didn’t understand until now.
“Well said all the way around, lass,” Alexander finally said. He resumed eating along with the rest of us, cunning at work as he continued looking at her. “Might you say those heartfelt words amongst the Norse that wish to call Scotland home? Might you rally them to my cause?”
Though difficult questions to answer, I would ask them as well if I were in his position. It would be important to test how far she was willing to go for her new king and what she hoped to call her new homeland. What was her homeland, because she was my wife, whether they knew it yet or not.
This time, Astrid didn’t answer so swiftly but considered his question for a moment before replying, piquing our interest with her hesitation.
“I will,” she finally said, still looking Alexander in the eyes, sounding confident in how she wanted to handle things.
“Yet designed with words that do not incite those Scots they live among to start harnessing unjust anger toward them. Words that speak less of battling, invading, and taking back land, and more of embracing a new future under a king who will unite them. One who will fiercely protect their homeland from not just the Norse but anyone who thinks to take what does not belong to them.”
“’Tis sound thinking, my king,” I said, backing her up because it was. “It rallies them to your cause whilst not making them feel unwanted nor disliked by their fellow Scots and neighbors, keeping peace within our borders.”
“Or,” Gustav countered, “it could give our fellow Scots the impression all the Norse among them are to be trusted when ‘tis verra unlikely that is the case.”
“Mayhap for a few days,” Astrid countered.
“I suspect ‘twill be during those days that those who don’t truly support King Alexander will make themselves known and be dealt with. I intend to challenge those who take issue with my words to confront me so that we might understand each other better.” She rested her hand on the dagger sheathed at her waist. “And if words do not work, then things will be handled in the way of my shield-maiden ancestors.”
“Yet we havenae seen you use that blade,” Gustav pointed out. “So how are we to know if you truly possess the skill to back up your words?”
“Fight me,” she returned, not batting a lash, making me tense. I knew how skilled Gustav was. “Battle me one-on-one so that the king might assess my capabilities for himself.”
A slight, barely-there, condescending smirk curled Gustuv’s mouth before he caught himself and gave her a warm, friendly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I dinnae think that is necessary, lass.”
“I disagree,” Alexander said, finally breaking his silence. He looked from Gustav to Astrid. “’Twould do me good to see what infamous Norse shield-maidens are truly capable of. What I may or may not have at my back going forward.”
“Then have her fight me,” I said, keeping emotion from my face, lest they see my worry for her.
My stark fear of her going up against the likes of Gustav, given his heartfelt hatred of the Norse.
He might want to bed her and use her, but in the heat of the moment with a blade in hand, God knows what he could do.
Instead of worry, I showed only a healthy competitiveness with Gustav that the king had seen a time or two over the years, winking at my former friend before returning my attention to Alexander. “I am, if you recall, your prized warrior, so have her fight me, if you truly want to gauge her skills.”
“A prized warrior who swore to his father he would protect her,” Gustav reminded wryly. “So what kind of true test would that be?”
“One can test another’s skills in the capacity of a teacher,” I countered. “And I have trained my fair share of warriors.”
“You have,” the king granted, having come to a swift decision that worked against my wishes for Astrid entirely.
“Therefore, once we have traveled out of this encampment to somewhere more private, I would see Astrid fight you both—” he looked from me and Gustav to Astrid— “at the same time so that I might witness firsthand how true these fables of fierce shield-maidens.”
“Of course,” Astrid said before I could counter Alexander. Even a seasoned warrior would be hard-pressed to take on Gustav and me and succeed. “’Tis a test of skills so ‘twill be skills you see.”