Chapter Eleven
Truth
Marteinn stalked into Kara’s tent uninvited. He paced restlessly, but didn’t speak.
“What is it, Marteinn?” she asked.
“You’ve been in this camp for ten days and I don’t like the rumors I’m hearing. Do you know what some of the soldiers are saying about you?”
She was really starting to hate this place. She crossed her arms over her chest, bracing for the worst. “What?”
His usually bright eyes were full of resentment. “You’re in love with Jarl McNally.”
She edged off the cot, then walked to his side. “Wouldn’t it be a blessing if I were?”
“How can you say that?” He huffed. “Remember the kiss we shared before I left?”
Did she need to explain everything to an experienced warrior like Marteinn? “Women offer kisses for the same reason men accept them. To enjoy.”
He laughed. “I don’t appreciate your indifference, Kara.”
She knew what he was thinking. Three years of waiting—she must wipe the scales from his eyes. “I don’t love you, Marteinn.”
“I know.”
A chill slid down her spine. “If you already know, why do you continue to invest your time and energy in me?”
“I hoped you’d change your mind. Remember, you started this with a kiss, it renewed my belief that in time you might grow to care for me.”
“I do care,” she said. How could she express herself without destroying his faith in her? “Please don’t misunderstand me. You’re a part of my family. I trust you implicitly. That kiss . . .” She stared at the ground. “It was a mistake.”
“Damn you, woman.” He threw his hands up.
She retreated a step. Marteinn had never cursed or yelled at her before.
“Forgive me.” He cradled her hand in his.
“But I’m naturally disappointed. I’ve gotten into two fights defending your honor.
Tell me it isn’t true. Assure me you don’t love the outlander.
I don’t care if he’s a representative for Olaf or the king himself.
You belong with a Norseman, not a Scotsman.
” He released her hand and rubbed the back of his neck.
“Haven’t I always shown you warmth and kindness? ”
She considered confessing everything. Judging by the look on his face, she shouldn’t. “Yes,” she started. “You’ve been everything a brother should be. That doesn’t make us a good match for marriage.”
“And he is?” His giant shoulders tensed.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not denying it.”
She frowned. Why did all men insist on asking questions she didn’t want to answer? She knew her duty, but marriage to a man she didn’t feel even the slightest bit of attraction for would never be acceptable to her. “I admit there’s something between us.”
“By Odin.” He whirled about. “Did he molest you?”
“Erling?”
“Don’t play the part of a fool, Kara. You know I’m fully aware of your situation in that camp. That bastard didn’t touch you. Praise the gods. But reminding me in any way I wasn’t the one to rescue you makes me angry.” He glared at her. “Honestly, I’m more concerned about Jarl McNally’s conduct.”
“He’s treated me with utmost respect.”
“By keeping you sequestered in this tent?”
“Didn’t you just complain about the rumors you’ve heard?” she asked. “Perhaps Aaron keeps me well guarded so no one will hurt me.”
He grunted. “Or to keep you all to himself.”
For some reason, the thought of Jarl McNally confining her to the tent out of jealousy pleased her.
But she still preferred freedom to move about.
“Do I appear happy with my current arrangements, Marteinn? If I can’t live comfortably here, I’d like to go home.
But Aaron refuses to send me until my father returns from Oslo. I’m stuck here—as you are.”
“Shall I speak with the jarl?”
“No,” she snapped.
“As I suspected.” He raised his hands in frustration. “You love him.”
“I never mentioned love.”
“What else is there?”
“Lust.”
He grasped her arm. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way.”
She snorted. “I recall the last time we were in the woods, you made it a point to mention something about having me in your bed.”
“In humor. Not out of wedlock.”
“I’m no child.”
“No,” he said and let go. “I suppose you aren’t.” His heated gaze swept over her body.
“You are an honorable man, Marteinn. I’ve always admired you. Whatever woman you choose to love and marry, she’ll be the luckiest female in the world.”
“I can’t let you stay here.”
“Jarl McNally is in charge. If you try—”
“Be quiet.” He fisted his hands. “I’m fully aware of who and what that scoundrel is. The more you defend him, the more suspicious I get.” He unsheathed his short sword, then gazed at the blade. “This is the answer to most men’s miseries.”
“And your invitation to the gallows.”
“I’m not stupid.” He sheathed his weapon. “I must go.” He kissed her forehead and left the tent.
“By Odin,” she whispered. “What will he do?”
“Kara is an unnecessary risk, and quite frankly, milord, affects your judgment,” Tayte commented.
Aaron gave his captain a grim look. He didn’t recall asking him for his opinion.
But to be fair, since Aaron had confined Kara to her tent, she’d refused to open up to him anymore.
She’d launched as competent an emotional campaign against him as any enemy could.
When he visited, she either sat as motionless as a stone or begged to go home.
To make matters worse, he’d received word that Erik the Bald was on an extended visit in Oslo.
Aaron would be damned if he sent her home.
Gunter failed to protect her before, why should he trust his capabilities now?
No, she’d remain here until proper arrangements could be made.
At least Erik knew she was alive. The jarl’s correspondence had been short.
The elder remained in Aaron’s debt for rescuing his daughter.
And he assured Aaron she’d suffer an adequate punishment once they were reunited.
What sanction awaited? Every time he mulled it over, he imagined an arranged marriage.
Not the future Aaron envisioned for the woman he loved.
But if she wouldn’t trust him now, how could he keep her from such a fate?
Tayte seated himself next to Aaron. The soldier opened two ledgers.
The first contained personal information on every recruit, the second was a detailed record of expenditures.
Aaron submerged himself in the numbers. He scanned each column; weapons, food, wages .
. . The costs were mounting. But King Olaf hadn’t cut them off yet.
The treasury had limits. Halfway through his evaluation, a messenger arrived.
The boy bowed awkwardly. “I bring news from Alesund.”
Aaron peered over the ledger. The lad carried bad news. “Speak.”
“Jarl Gustav Undset, a Christian lord south of Alesund, requests your help.”
Why did dispatchers insist on announcing their master’s faith? It made no difference to Aaron; he was tasked to protect all Norwegians. “What happened?”
“My father’s chapel was ransacked six days ago. Holy relics were stolen. We stopped them before they could destroy everything.”
“Who?” Aaron raised a brow.
“Pagans.”
“You set eyes on the guilty?” Proof. That’s what Aaron needed. Prejudice served no purpose. “Or are you making dangerous assumptions?”
The lad didn’t move. “Christians wouldn’t ransack a church.”
“Christ,” Aaron said. He couldn’t risk anyone finding out which altar he really worshipped at yet. As far as the nobility was concerned, he was a Christian. And he was bound by oath to protect their interests—including their false relics.
“You are sure there’s no reason to suspect your brethren are envious of the wealth you have?” Anyone could be guilty. “Make no further allegations until we’ve investigated fully. Understand?”
The boy’s glance shot to Tayte.
“What did they take?” Aaron continued.
“Saint Olav’s finger.”
Idiot. Aaron stifled his laughter. Declared a saint after his death, it was impossible for Olav Haraldsson to have as many fingers and toes as the Christians claimed.
At least thirty parishes in Norway exhibited his digits.
Parishioners would lie and steal, sacrifice life and limb to keep their vestiges safe.
“Did they steal anything else?”
“Gold, tapestries, dozens of scrolls, and a pair of silver communion cups. They stripped the walls, floors, and closets clean.”
These were the priceless heirlooms the boy should care about most. Aaron would be happy to cut off his own finger to replace the lost one if it removed this sallow-faced runt from his presence. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
Tayte gave him a strange look after the boy left.
“Milord, why waste your time on this errand? I’ll go.”
“No.” He wanted to get Kara out of camp and trouble. More than a few of his men wanted to thrash her. And Marteinn continued to grow suspicious of him. His men reported the talented warrior had been asking questions about him.
He closed the books and excused himself. Why not share the news with her now?
Aaron hailed the guard stationed outside her tent. “Problems?”
“Nay, milord.” He opened the flap.
Kara sat on the edge of her pallet with her back facing the entrance.
Either she didn’t hear him, or didn’t care.
He admired the gentle curve of her spine.
She wore a thick braid, which offered an unobstructed view of her slim neck.
He’d fantasized about kissing that throat a few times.
Truth be told, he’d drool over the soles of her feet, if she offered them. “Milady.”
She gazed over her shoulder.
“Another church has been despoiled.”
“Why report this incident to me?”
“I have an idea that benefits us both.”
“So do I.” She shifted sideways. “Send me home.”
“Please.” Aaron approached slowly. “You know I cannot do that—I promised your father—”
“Don’t speak to me about promises.”
All right. He’d avoid the subject. “Agree to cooperate and I’ll take you to Alesund for a few days to help investigate the attack.”
She chewed on her fingernails, deep in thought. “You want my help?”
“I’m offering you an opportunity to leave this tent.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it.”