Chapter Fourteen
Unwelcome
By everything holy in the world, the last person Aaron ever expected to see again was Frieda. Bile burned his throat. That woman reminded him of everything he’d tried to forget. And right now, he knew the past and present were about to collide, violently.
“Who is that woman?” Kara asked.
“A spirit I’d long forgotten.”
“Spirit, milord?” Kara’s eyes narrowed. “She appears as real as the boy she holds.”
The child. Aaron studied the lad with a sinking feeling.
“Why are you here?” Tyr’s voice halted Aaron’s thoughts. “I asked you never to return.”
Lifting her head boldly, the blonde stared at Tyr. “I mean no disrespect.” She pointed at Aaron. “The purpose of my visit has nothing to do with you or your wife, milord. My complaint is against your kinsman, a man who sired a son out of wedlock and refuses to meet his obligation of support.”
Aaron rose slowly. She dared accuse him of fathering a child? He’d never received word—hadn’t been in contact with the bitch in four years.
“Could this not have been handled in a more appropriate setting?” Tyr asked.
“I’ve waited for Jarl McNally’s return long enough,” Frieda said. “Why should I give him the courtesy of time, when he’s shunned us for so long?”
Tyr turned to his cousin. “Does she speak the truth?”
Aaron only cared about one person at the moment.
Kara. He wanted to hug her close and explain everything in private.
She remained calm, but looked inevitably disappointed, embarrassed.
The past had finally caught up with him—neatly clothed in wool skirts, with a triumphant smile on her face.
And the child . . . He bore no resemblance to Aaron, but favored his mother with blond curls and a round face. Any man would be proud to claim him.
Instead of responding to his cousin’s question, he glared at Frieda. “How did you find me?”
“Word of your return to the Trondelag reached me weeks ago. I came here too late the first time, so I waited, hoping you’d come back.”
“Have I been hard to find all these years?” Surely the wench knew his whereabouts.
Why now? He didn’t trust her. What memories he’d suppressed came rushing back.
Bitterness crept up his spine. Their affair had continued for a few months after they were both expelled from Tyr’s household.
It was doomed from the start. Revenge and spite had driven them together, and guilt had torn them apart.
Rejected for the second time in the span of a year, Frieda had been only too willing to spread her legs for the next best man she could find, a soldier from a nearby steading.
When she’d realized he didn’t have the wealth and influence she had grown accustomed to as Tyr’s mistress, she left the Trondelag.
And no promises had been made between Aaron and her.
He knew she wasn’t pregnant when they parted.
If she had been, he would have found a way to mend their relationship.
He’d been the worst kind of fool most of his life.
Dipped his wick in treacherous water and now he’d drown for it.
Shaking his head sadly, he knew what he must do to protect himself. There was no alternative; she chose to make this a public issue, now he’d challenge her claim. “I deny your accusation. You never sent word to me about a pregnancy.”
Frieda sobbed. The small crowd murmured with sympathy.
“How can you refuse this woman?” Kara asked.
Aaron stared down at her. “Do you take the word of a stranger over me? Trust me when I say this is nothing more than well-practiced theatrics. This woman has waited a long time to snare me.”
“Why?” Kara asked. “What does she have to gain, but rejection and humiliation, if she lies?”
The conversation they’d had concerning rape in camp echoed through his mind. Of course she’d take sympathy on a woman left out in the cold. “I assure you, there is no truth in what she says.”
Doubt and deep displeasure showed on her face.
“Jarl McNally,” she said too formally, colder than he’d ever heard.
“I could forgive a philanderer. Men wander bed to bed. I know. I have two elder brothers and an unmarried father. But to deny this woman without further inquiry—without speaking to the child or questioning her kinsmen—I’ve never witnessed anything so contemptible in my life.
If you don’t offer them shelter and comfort, I will. ”
Through each damning word, he prayed for strength. Her insults pelted his body like jagged stones. Condemned before he was given a chance to explain? He watched helplessly as Kara hurried to his accuser’s side. What could they possibly have to talk about? The obvious answer made him sick.
Without further discussion, he strode out of the great hall.
“We cannot allow that woman’s lies to take root in Kara’s heart.” Rachelle wrung her hands. She knew the truth. Frieda had played a large role in separating her from her husband four years ago.
“I cannot stand in judgment until I hear both sides of this story.” Tyr cradled her hand in his. “Aaron bedded her for months. The child belongs to someone—what if he is Aaron’s son? Will you have me reject our own blood?”
A fair question. But Frieda’s past behavior cast more than doubt on her.
Regardless of the truth, the innocent child could stay.
Relieved most of the guests had departed, Rachelle considered what to do next.
Welcoming Frieda into her household would take every ounce of patience and tolerance she possessed.
Rachelle had forgiven Aaron because he was a kinsman.
The woman, however, remained nothing but her husband’s former lover.
Tyr kissed her cheek. “The truth will come out.”
She nodded. The truth was what she feared most.
Kara stroked the curly hair of the little boy sprawled across her bed. His blue eyes were heavy with sleep. Frieda sat in a chair beside them, sniffling and dabbing her eyes dry on a borrowed kerchief.
“I never considered it,” she wheezed. “After all the time we spent together, how cruelly he’d reject me.” She looked pitifully at her child. “And our beautiful son.”
Kara couldn’t believe how callously Aaron had responded, either. Admittedly, any man would have been shocked, but his latest action had nearly succeeded in plucking Aaron right out of her heart. That could be her sitting in that chair a few months from now. “What’s his name?”
“Wray.”
Kara grinned. “Be at peace. As soon as I’m free to leave, if you have nowhere else to go, accompany me to my father’s house. We are always in need of experienced maids.”
“You’d do that for a stranger?”
“I would.” She scooted off the bed. “Now sleep. Tomorrow is another day.”
“But this is your chamber, milady,” Frieda said. “Where are you going? Where will you sleep?”
“I couldn’t possibly rest.” In fact, Kara’s heartbeat thundered inside her chest still. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Alone?”
“Aye.”
“Wait,” the woman pleaded. “Don’t you want to know more about my history with Aaron?”
“I’ve heard enough for one night.” Aaron deserved a chance to defend himself, and if Kara listened to another heart-wrenching story, it would only cloud her judgment.
“Nothing at all?” Frieda persisted.
Perhaps she needed someone to talk to, the way Rachelle had listened to her. Sighing with resignation, she leaned against the wall.
“Aaron seduced me four years ago, after his cousin ended our relationship.”
Expressionless, Kara stared at her palms as if they held answers, then looked into the woman’s eyes.
Men slept with women. This came as no shock.
Frieda seemed overly eager to inflict as much damage on Aaron’s reputation as she could.
But who could blame her—caring for a child on her own mustn’t be easy.
But the woman wasn’t entirely the poor dejected creature she pretended to be.
Well dressed and obviously not underfed, someone had supported her all these years. Kara took a deep breath.
Long walks offered solitude—especially at night. “I must go,” she announced suddenly, then left the chamber.
Only a few guards were on duty in the great hall. The lamps were dimmed, the fire burned low, and what guests remained were sleeping on the floor. Quiet. No one questioned her as she stepped outside.
She walked to the dock, intent on swimming.
With no one around, she felt safe climbing down the ladder that granted access to the beach below.
Her eyes quickly adjusted to the dark. Another cloudless night welcomed her—the moon and stars shimmering above.
She kicked her slippers off. The sand felt good between her toes.
Next, she tested the water, dipping her feet.
Cold, but not altogether uninviting. She stripped her clothes off, folding her gown carefully before she laid it on the ground.
At first, she considered swimming naked, but instead, she knotted her silky shift above the knees, allowing for free movement of her legs.
Someone had taken great care grooming the small beach.
She envisioned Lady Rachelle playing with her sons here.
The rest of the riverfront was dominated by steep, muddy shoreline.
The shallows where Kara waded was safe. The water tickled her calves, then her knees.
Someone stopped her from taking another step.
The firm hand on the back of her arm yanked her backward.
“What are you doing?” Aaron growled.
She owed him no explanation. Her eyes widened as she turned to face him. “Let go of me.” He reeked of ale.
His lips flattened. “I’ll let go after you answer me, girl.”
“I’m going for a swim.”
“No.” His hold tightened.
“After tonight,” she said. “There’s nothing left for us to say to each other. You’ve shown yourself to me, Jarl McNally. For that, I am grateful.”
He laughed. “How quickly you turn.”
“You betrayed yourself.”
“I didn’t sire that child.”
“Whether you did or didn’t isn’t the issue, milord. It’s how quickly you rejected him. Without a thought for what the boy felt.”
“He’s hardly old enough to remember how to wipe his arse, much less what I did.”
“I disagree.” Kara remembered many things from early childhood. Too many.
He let go.
“You denied any chance of being his father, without considering anything first.”
“I remember what women I’ve slept with and if I left one pregnant.”
“Impressive,” she retorted. “And what a vast memory you must have.” He didn’t react to her accusatory tone.
“I’m innocent.”
“Of being a father, maybe,” she admitted. “But not of a being a cold hearted bastard.”
“When does your condemnation end?”
“After you tell me the truth.”
“I asked you at the feast whether you’d be able to forgive my past. Remember, Kara? You didn’t say no. You’re quick to judge and slow to forgive. Not the kind of woman I thought you to be.”
“Some things are unforgivable.”
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve grown used to condemnation, but expected so much more from you.”
Aaron stayed close to her side, but scanned the beach as if he were expecting someone.
“Four years ago, I sold Lady Rachelle to King Hardrada’s bastard son. My cousin recovered her—executed several men and exiled Frieda and me for our part in the crime.” He tried to sound repentant, but when she acted so stoic, it angered him.
Her eyes narrowed. “This is your great secret?”
“The one that matters most . . .”
Once again, Aaron found himself unprepared. Frieda’s surprise visit had forced his hand. Instead of sharing bits and pieces of his past over time, he was forced to confess his most grievous sin.
“Does my father know, Jarl McNally?”
He nodded.
Surprised, she let out her breath. “He’s always been an excellent judge of character.”
He didn’t want to listen anymore. But she wasn’t going to stay silent and neither should he. But the more information he volunteered, the more distant she’d grow.
“Shame on you for not speaking to me of these things before we consummated our relationship. Shame on me for not knowing better.”
His mouth dropped open. “Shame?” That’s not what she’d exhibited the night they made love, or the morning after.
“Aye,” she said. “Did I not speak clearly enough? All these things I could possibly forgive. But what kind of man refuses his own blood? Looks on his firstborn and turns away? Doesn’t your White Christ emphasize mercy?”
“He’s not my child.” He swaggered, regretful he’d overindulged in spirits. “And you know nothing of what gods I worship, so hold your tongue.”
“I’ve seen the tattoos that cover your body—did you think me so enthralled I wouldn’t notice? You claim one god and pray to another. Further proof of your deficient character.”
Aaron leapt at her, dragging her into his arms. She stayed perfectly still, almost limp.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned. “You’ve given me a glimpse into my own future—what if I were in Frieda’s place?
Would you deny our child, too?” She’d spurn his affection forever if he let her.
Maybe return home, pay whatever price her father demanded to make restitution for her disobedience, then marry Marteinn.
A man whose integrity could never be questioned.
He pulled back, still clutching her arms. “You think I’d reject you if you were pregnant?
Drive the blade straight and true.” He ripped the front of his tunic open.
“So deep I bleed to death in front of you, Kara.” His face twisted.
“Are you with child?” He wanted to make her weak with kisses—give her cause to recant her doubt in him. His guts were churning.
“If I were,” she said, breaking free of his grasp. “You’d be the last person I’d tell.”
One minute she was full of passion, the next, bitter with regret.
It pained him to hear her speak that way.
He desperately wanted a family—a dozen children—but only with her.
“Go.” He gave her a gentle push toward the house.
Something dark and ignoble hit him then, feelings he hadn’t experienced since that night in the barn with Frieda years ago, the first night they’d coupled.
“You want me to leave?” She appeared astounded.
“I choose to honor your request.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful and I have little control over my desire at the moment.” And if she stayed there much longer, he’d be reduced to begging. “Go inside where it’s safe, Kara.”
She frowned. What did the poor little fool think he meant? Her lips parted as if she was going to speak.
“Go,” he repeated brusquely.
She hugged herself, turned, then trudged away.