Chapter Thirteen
Commitment
The longship arrived a day early in the Trondelag.
Aaron stared admiringly at the improvements on Tyr’s dock.
Room enough for three or four vessels to anchor at once.
The only cargo being offloaded today was Kara.
He slung their bags over his shoulder, then climbed overboard.
The old navigator helped her disembark. Ever since the night they’d discussed her family, she’d been less willing to open up to him.
Taking her by the hand, he guided her down the wood gangway. At the end of the pier, boys were setting their hooks to fish. He stopped. Memories of doing the same in Scotland made him smile, especially the sight of dough balls and wire hooks in their hands.
“How’s the fishing?” he asked.
“I’ve had better days,” a boy answered.
Fish eggs made the best bait. “Have you tried using roe?” Aaron asked.
“Ran out an hour ago.”
Aaron chuckled as he looked over his shoulder at Kara. For the moment, she seemed satisfied to watch. “Like fresh fish?” he asked her.
She responded with a terse laugh. “Of course.”
“Maybe we can fish this evening.” Perhaps if she did something constructive with her hands, it might improve her mood.
Whatever she felt, he couldn’t slight her.
The loss of a parent had proven nearly impossible for him to live with.
He gave her an appraising look. She possessed the perfect balance of beauty and wit, making it incredibly difficult to resist her.
And more than ever, he wanted to kiss her pain and doubts away.
“Where are we staying, milord?” she asked.
“The main house is over that hill.” He pointed, then started walking.
She trailed behind as he trudged slowly up a hill.
Once they reached the peak, Kara openly admired the view below.
The land was fertile and green. Aaron noted that the oat and barley fields had been expanded threefold.
Sheep and cattle were grazing. “I’ve always loved this place.
” The smell of fresh earth and wildflowers hit him.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Aye.” It pleased him to see her relax. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I’ve seen few places that rival it. Where are we?”
Up to this point, he’d left out as many details as possible. Only because he suspected she’d refuse to come if he told her where they were going. “Steingard,” he answered. “See the white rocks that dot the landscape? It’s named after them.”
“Whose land is this?”
“Jarl Tyr Sigurdsson.”
“And we’ll be welcomed?”
He sincerely hoped she’d understand the necessity of seeing her safe. “The jarl is my kinsman.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t you tell me before we left camp?”
“I knew you’d be uncomfortable—”
“I am,” she agreed. “Why should I visit your family when I have one of my own I wish to see again?”
He was suddenly sure of one thing—he’d be unwelcome in her bed tonight. “You’re not easily persuaded to do anything you don’t wish to do.”
She regarded him coolly. It would be wise not to challenge her. Although he spoke the truth, she didn’t like surprises.
“Visiting your kinsmen will make me miss my family more. I need time to think—away from you.” She started down the hill.
“Where are you going, lass?” he called after her.
“To find Jarl Sigurdsson.”
Kara followed the narrow footpath that eventually led to a stone archway, which opened into a wide courtyard. There were no women about, only warriors sparring or drinking and lounging like spoiled princes. Without asking, she entered, only to be questioned.
“Who are you?”
She suddenly felt clumsy in her peasant gown as she gaped at the huge conscript who blocked her way. If only she had worn leather and carried her sword. “Kara Dalgaard.”
“Where did you come from?”
“The dock. I’ve just arrived—”
“Bond or freewoman?” he asked, looking at her dress.
“Freewoman.” She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Damn the hot sun.
“Go inside.”
Quietly, she crossed the threshold of the great hall.
Accustomed to luxury, she still admired the comfort that surrounded her.
The flagstones were polished and the tapestries on the walls were exquisite—lovelier than any she’d ever seen.
Battle scenes were illustrated in silver and gold thread—Valkyries tending the dying and women weeping for their husbands and sons.
At the far end of the chamber, a man who greatly resembled Aaron, sat on a carved chair.
Although his hair was fairer, those eyes were unmistakable, as menacing and aware as Jarl McNally’s. She shivered.
Tacked on an overhang above the imposing man’s head was the most intricately woven of arras.
Swirling gray mist opened to blue skies.
High golden gates surrounded an opulent hall.
She recognized Valhalla with dozens of faceless warriors.
Allfather stood at the head of a table. If only her fingers were capable of producing such finery.
She explored further. A musician strummed his harp in the corner and people were shuffling in and out of the hall.
A smile lit the stranger’s face as she approached the dais.
“Daughter of Odin,” he greeted, “what brings you to my hall?”
She took a deep, shaky breath. Still irritated with Aaron, she didn’t think before she spoke. “Your deceptive cousin.”
He bellowed with laughter, then scratched his bearded chin. “I warmly welcome anyone who shares a common opinion of my kinsman. And where is Aaron?”
Hmmm. Without revealing her lover’s identity, Tyr knew exactly who she meant. Jarl McNally was even disreputable amongst his own family? “He’s—”
“Here.”
Kara winced at the sound of Aaron’s voice.
Tyr stood. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”
“My plans changed.” Aaron threw her a fleeting look. “Blame this vixen’s irreverent disobedience.”
Tyr chuckled. “Not all defiance should be seen as bad.”
“I’ll leave that to your excellent discretion.” Aaron made a sweeping bow.
“Tell me,” Tyr addressed Kara. “What carelessness are you guilty of?”
Uncomfortable that all attention was focused on her, Kara shuffled her feet.
Curious people started to gather around them.
She should have never insulted Aaron publicly or sought an audience with his cousin without a proper introduction.
Once again, her heedless temperament had gotten her into trouble.
Instead of answering right away, she stared at the high windows overlooking Tyr’s throne.
Sunlight spilled across the floor. The apertures were fashioned after sacred runes.
“Have you lost your voice?” Aaron asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry, milord.” She gazed at Tyr. “Your cousin has done nothing wrong, except lure me north under false pretenses without a chaperone.”
“A serious grievance, if I’ve ever heard one.” Tyr eyeballed his cousin.
“The lass is unharmed.”
“I see no bruises,” Tyr observed. “But some wounds are invisible to the eye.”
His words were spoken softly, but the closest spectators snickered. Tyr must think it nothing more than a lover’s quarrel.
“Come, lass,” Aaron urged. “We’ll talk privately.”
If she agreed to go somewhere quiet, he’d smother her with kisses.
Although she didn’t want to be away from Aaron, she needed time to sort out her feelings.
Looking directly at him, she knew she must decide what she wanted to do.
She missed her family and didn’t appreciate how Aaron had brought her here.
With a sigh, she chose. If her father sent for her, she’d be forced to go unless .
. . “Jarl Sigurdsson,” she said. “I request sanctuary.”
“Sanctuary?” Aaron repeated, clearly puzzled. “Do you know what you’re asking, lass?”
Butterflies filled her midsection.
Before she could explain, Tyr spoke. “I’ll grant your request.”
“Don’t interfere, cousin,” Aaron warned through gritted teeth. “This is a personal matter.”
“Then I pray you find quick resolution. Until that time.” Tyr gestured to a female thrall. “The lady will remain under my roof. Take this woman to my wife.”
Aaron wanted to punch the arrogant smile off his cousin’s face.
He refused to look at him any longer, too afraid he’d say something he’d later regret.
Peace between them was fragile. If he let his feelings for Kara cloud his judgment, the very thing his captain voiced concern about, he’d lose everything he’d fought so hard to gain.
Patience—acceptance—forgiveness—tolerance—he focused on the higher attributes that linked men to the gods.
“Put aside your anger,” Tyr suggested. “Come and sit beside me.”
Aaron climbed the steps, then plopped down on the chair next to his cousin. The delicate wood frame creaked under his weight. “Is this what a man of leisure does all day? Sit lazily and find ways to make men in desperate situations more miserable?”
“Desperate?” Tyr arched a brow. “Inconvenienced perhaps, but not desperate. The girl doesn’t realize she’s trapped herself.”
“I cannot be sure of what she does or doesn’t know. She’s too clever.”
“What—”
“I’m in love with her,” he professed. “But she’s impossible to reason with when she’s mad.”
Tyr placed his hand on his shoulder. “Why did you bring her here?”
Aaron explained.
“You’ve done the right thing. Erling Solheim is well known in the Trondelag—he’s an unscrupulous bastard. There’s more honor in a wild pig.”
“I’ve yet to discover why the misbegotten fool wants her.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Tyr queried.
Aaron had deliberated the subject until near exhaustion and still couldn’t settle on a reason.
Her father’s wealth and close proximity to Erling’s camp made Eric the Bald’s home a likely target.
Yet, the steading hadn’t been attacked. Perhaps the lass witnessed something she refused to admit. Or was there a darker purpose?
“She’s beautiful. Does a man need more justification?” Tyr pointed out.