Chapter Six
Soldiers
Kara’s father had been gone for weeks, not days.
She should have found a level of comfort in his absence; however, after Gunter overheard her conversation with Amelia, his treatment of her changed.
He accused Kara of having a secret lover and assigned a guard to follow her wherever she went—day and night.
Geilir was too weak with fever to intervene on her behalf.
Nothing felt right. With no word from her sire, the only solution she came up with was to visit her cousin in the north.
Of course, if she crossed paths with Jarl McNally during her travels, all the better.
At midnight, while most of the household slept, Kara dressed in her armor and grabbed her small leather bag of provisions.
The world wouldn’t wait for her—she must catch up with it.
She opened her bedchamber door and was pleased to find the bodyguard gone.
Amelia had promised to speak with Gunter and convince him he was wrong about what he’d overheard in the great hall.
Perhaps she had succeeded. She stepped into the hallway, then closed the door.
Everything was quiet. She walked slowly to the stairs.
Wall torches provided the light she needed to safely make it downstairs.
Gazing dazedly around the great hall, she was pleased to find no one about.
Amelia was waiting for her outside with two horses.
“You’re amazing,” Kara praised. “How did you manage—”
“Never mind what tactics I used . . . the longer we stay here, the more likely we are to get caught.”
Kara nodded. “I won’t forget your kindness.” She secured her bag on the saddle of a gray mare, then turned back to her maid. “Goodbye, Amelia.”
“What?” The maid cut her off with a harsh glance. “You’re not going without me.”
“You needn’t risk your life and livelihood for me.”
The maid clicked her tongue. “I risk everything if I let you ride off alone.”
Kara chastised herself for involving another person in her escape.
At times, her father might be a conciliatory man, but this overt act of disobedience would surely push him further away.
Noble daughters don’t leave without permission.
And Erik the Bald’s children didn’t make a mockery of his authority.
By morning, word of her absence would spread across Lagenheim like fog.
In all honesty, she welcomed her maid’s company.
“Are you sure?” Kara asked as she mounted.
“As sure as I’ll ever be.”
They rode north, the general direction Kara guessed Jarl McNally had gone.
Over the last few days, Kara had compiled a list of questions, some alarmingly immodest, to ask him.
What gave him the right to kiss her? Why did he question her relationship with Marteinn?
And of course there was the constant fear that Aaron had already revealed her unchaste behavior to her father.
If he ever found out, he’d arrange an immediate marriage to Marteinn.
Poor Marteinn—he’d nearly begged her to wait for him.
He’d never forgive her for not agreeing.
After Erik left camp, Aaron was forced to contend with the bitter memories the elder had resurrected.
Aaron’s cousin, Jarl Tyr Sigurdsson, should have executed Aaron for his betrayal.
Hatred, jealousy, and thinly-veiled lust for Tyr’s wife had fueled his rage against his cousin.
He desired everything Tyr had. Adding insult to injury, Aaron had bedded his cousin’s former mistress without permission.
Aaron covered his face with both hands. Without the love and support of family, Aaron finally had to admit, he felt lost—unbearably lonely.
New recruits were showing up daily. Word spread quickly about the draft.
Farmers and noblemen alike volunteered their sons and experienced warriors before Aaron visited their homes.
Better to keep the king’s representative pacified before he knocked on your gate.
Perhaps they feared what he’d discover if he visited their steadings—hidden assets—secret altars dedicated to the old gods.
Whatever inspired them didn’t concern him as long as this good fortune continued.
With eight hundred men under his command and thirty seasoned warriors to train them—nothing seemed impossible.
Aaron was confident he could fulfill Olaf’s demands now.
Weeks away from reaching his goal of two thousand fully trained soldiers to patrol the northlands, Aaron made an important decision. He knew there was only a brief period of time to take the trip he’d put off for years.
At the midday meal, Aaron approached Varinn. “I have private affairs to attend to. Given the current status of our recruits, I am satisfied I can leave you in charge while I’m gone.”
Varinn dropped his piece of half-eaten bread on his plate and eyed him critically.
“Tis a strange thing to say without a greeting or providing further detail. You simply announce you’re leaving and I’m supposed to accept it?
Curse that Odin-loving bastard for riding with us.
Ever since we met Erik the Bald, you haven’t been the same. ”
“The man has nothing to do with it.”
Varinn dismissed his lie with a flick of his hand. “Do not withhold the truth from me.”
Aaron ignored his challenge. “I leave after the meal.”
“Take an escort.”
“No.”
“You aren’t thinking clearly.”
He appreciated his friend’s concern. “You cannot convince me otherwise. If I’m needed, send word to the Trondelag.” The conversation ended there.
Varinn had spoken correctly. Erik’s words pushed Aaron over the edge.
And he wouldn’t be able to function properly unless he faced his past. Nothing short of an edict from Olaf could persuade him to stay.
His trustworthy captains didn’t need him.
He planned to ride to Alesund and pay passage on a ship bound for the Trondelag.
In four short days, he’d be reunited with his cousin.
Known for his explosive temper, Tyr wouldn’t appreciate an unannounced visit from a banished kinsman.
Through his training as a Berserker, Aaron had learned the value of patience and humility.
He’d rely on these skills to guide him as he sought forgiveness from the one man he desperately wanted to make peace with.
He prayed wholeheartedly that siring children had softened his cousin’s heart.
Kara plucked the last few petals from the wildflower in her hand.
“He loves me . . .” The silly childhood game didn’t include he wants to bed me .
. . Love or lust, she’d undeniably affected the brooding jarl.
Possessing that kind of power over a man both thrilled and frightened her.
Amelia had warned her about toying with a man’s heart.
Especially a Highlander. Born in Scotland herself, the maid considered herself an expert on such matters.
In Amelia’s good opinion, Scotsmen were superior to Norsemen and twice as virile.
A Highlander would sooner kidnap a lass and claim they were handfasted just so he could bed her.
“. . . he loves me not.” Disappointment ruined Kara’s fine mood. She ripped the last petal from the flower, cast the remnant of it down, and tromped on it. “If that’s how it is, I’ll cut his heart out instead of just playing with it.”
Amelia chuckled. “Never let anyone force you down a path you don’t wish to take. I exaggerated to make my point, child. Jarl McNally is a titled man, not a barbarian. He’s obligated to the king. Winning a Scotsman’s heart is no small thing.”
“I don’t want his love.”
The maid smiled wryly. “Don’t lie.”
As inexpressible as her feelings were, she admitted to harboring feelings and most definitely wanted to feel his lips on hers again.
But she’d never opened her heart to anyone.
Every second she had spent with him played out in her mind over and over again.
Nothing suggested love; not from him or her.
A wish had simply come true, to experience real passion with a man of her choosing.
Most of the women at home did it. Only they weren’t the daughters of Erik the Bald.
And those women didn’t run away to track the whereabouts of their lovers when they were supposed to visit a kinswoman.
Damn her weakness. She cradled her head between her hands.
“Every touch weaves invisible chains around your heart,” Amelia warned.
“Drit,” she cursed. “Marteinn’s hands never excited me.”
“Watch your wicked little tongue,” Amelia scolded. “You never shared Marteinn’s affection, never desired him.”
“We held hands.” Kara conveniently forgot to tell her about the kiss.
The maid folded her hands over her stomach. “You shouldn’t require further explanation then.”
Defeated, Kara stood, then brushed dirt and grass from her backside. “No. I wouldn’t dream of giving you the opportunity to hear yourself speak again.”
“Irrational creature.” She slapped Kara’s backside playfully. “Make ready to leave, we’re wasting precious daylight.”
By late afternoon, the heat had grown unbearable. Amelia mopped her forehead with the back of her hand as they brought the horses to a slow walk. Wetlands dotted the countryside and Kara searched for a lake in a secluded area to bathe in.
“I can’t remember a hotter spring,” the maid complained.
“Nor I.” Kara searched the horizon. “I’m beginning to think it would be better to ride at nighttime.”