Chapter Ten
Test of Faith
Left standing alone with a mouthful of angry words and a raging erection, Tyr took out his frustrations on a pile of logs outside the bathhouse.
He swung a heavy axe over and over again until he sank to his knees.
This time, the wench had gone too far, unfairly provoked and teased him.
After exposing him to her passion, she’d ripped it away before he had a chance to show her what he could do to please her.
’Twas obvious she intended to disgrace him.
His words and actions hadn’t been persuasive enough.
Anger slithered up his spine. A drop of water on a bone-dry tongue only deepened his thirst.
Damn her.
Her words wielded the same destructive force of a sword. He’d asked for her hand in marriage, only to be dishonored with absolute silence.
Recovering from the physical punishment, he wiped his face on a towel and threw it on the ground.
Relief awaited him inside. He staggered into the great hall.
Frida brought him a glass of wine, then sat down at a table near the fireplace with him.
Was he so inept? How could he have misinterpreted the girl’s signals?
Sucking down his drink, he held up the glass.
Frida obediently refilled it. Tyr admired her; soft in all the right places and always eager to please.
She possessed the physical attributes most men admired in a woman, why shouldn’t he bed her?
She touched his cheek. He didn’t discourage her affection.
In fact, he struggled to maintain control.
Nothing could stop him from taking her on the tabletop.
No oaths existed between them. If Frida was summoned, she came.
And when he was satisfied, she left him alone.
A perfect arrangement for any man. The Saxon had deserted him, he owed Rachelle nothing.
Headstrong, conceited, irresistible, perplexing, heart-stealing bitch …
The vision that passed through his mind—killed his raw needs.
No matter how much he craved the soft mound between a female’s legs, only one woman would do.
“Leave me.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.
“Milord?” Frida’s big eyes searched his face.
“Go,” he repeated gruffly.
Frida touched him again, shaking her head.
His jaw clenched. Didn’t she understand? After warming his bed for six years, she deserved his respect and he didn’t wish to hurt her. Tucking a stray hair behind her ear, he spoke softly. “Our relationship must change.”
She jerked her hand away from his face. “What are you saying?”
“I cannot share my bed with you any longer.”
She laughed. “You’re confused.”
That was the farthest thing from the truth. “No, I’m not.”
Tears filled her eyes. “That girl doesn’t return your affection. I’ve seen resentment on her face.”
That was about to change if he had anything to say about it. “Don’t mistake fear for hatred. And if I’m wrong about her, I accept that it might be too late to seek your favor again.”
“She’s not suited for life here. So pale and thin—a Saxon witch.”
His lips tightened at the insult, but he kept a grip on his temper.
Rachelle possessed more grace and beauty in her fingertips than Frida possessed in her whole body.
Not that he’d compare the two. Frida had given him years of companionship.
Good years. And for that he’d be eternally grateful.
But men change. And what he wanted now was a wife.
“Imagine what the king will say after he finds out one of the great princes of Norway has fallen in love with a Saxon. You’ll be marked as a traitor.”
If she were a thrall, he’d whip her. But Frida was a freewoman, paid to manage his household. “Go.”
She gestured angrily. “Be careful what you ask for.” Her body convulsed as she stood up. “You’ll change your mind.” Her voice was as unsteady as her body.
“Have you ever known me to regret a decision I’ve made?”
She shook her head.
“I mean you no insult.”
“How else should I take it? You’ve dismissed me as carelessly as a whore.”
“You put words into my mouth.”
“Do I?” she asked morosely. “Amongst other things …”
If he were sensible, he’d ignore that last statement. “I would never deny the pleasure we’ve shared. I made no promises, Frida. Neither did I declare my love for you. If I’ve misled you, tell me now.” No matter what he said or did, his former lover wouldn’t leave satisfied.
With her hands clenched at her sides, she shook her head violently, Tyr accepted this as acknowledgement of his honesty with her.
“Good.” he said. “I do not wish to strip you of your honorable position in my household or your dignity. Let us part peaceably.”
Everything in his life had changed without warning.
What else could he have done, made love to Frida once more and risked deepening her attachment to him?
No. He’d made the right decision. Bedding two women at the same time dangerously complicated things.
He refused to breed rivalry and hatred between females and have it overflow onto him.
Frida left the room.
On the following eventide, rage and passion collided inside Tyr’s chest after Rachelle entered the great hall draped in rose-colored silk.
If he stared too long, she’d suck the life force out of him.
Drifting casually around the room, while holding onto Onetooth’s arm, she ignored Tyr, reserving her brilliant smile for Prince Edwin.
The Odin-forsaken maggot had the gall to invite her to the meal without Tyr’s permission.
His eyes narrowed to slits as she approached the high table.
She curtsied and finally looked at him. Curbing his temper, he folded his hands on the tabletop.
That defiant glint in her eyes … This girl would be a thorn in his side for the rest of his bloody life.
“You may sit.” Tyr directed her to the chair at Edwin’s right hand.
Aaron was seated on Tyr’s left. “Look at her,” he droned near Tyr’s ear before Rachelle was settled. “Her shoulders are uncovered and her breasts—”
“Shut up.”
His cousin swallowed whatever remained of his crude observation.
“She’s dressed appropriately for an eventide feast. Have you scrutinized the other women sitting at the tables?
Look.” Tyr pointed at a woman sitting nearby.
“Do you whir tiresomely in another’s lord’s ear concerning the attire of his wife and daughters?
From the moment you first encountered Rachelle, your aversion for her has been exaggerated. Why?”
Aaron shifted on his chair, took a swallow of ale, and spit on the ground.
Had Tyr uncovered the truth? He admired Rachelle’s delicate features, which were more prominent tonight because she had arranged her hair to reveal her forehead, instead of wearing it framing her face.
He understood why any man would struggle endlessly to resist her charms. Parted in the middle and braided into three sections on both sides, the smaller strands were intricately woven into two larger braids and knotted high on the back of her head, exposing her elegant neck.
Tiny, well-shaped ears begged to be nibbled and kissed.
No queen looked half as noble. A tear-shaped ruby, hanging from a silver chain, adorned her forehead—a jewel he had provided for her. Beautiful.
He pressed Aaron. “Well?”
Silence.
He knew. Lust showed in his cousin’s eyes and he suspected Aaron wanted her for himself.
Every time Rachelle’s eyes wandered in Tyr’s direction, her heart beat erratically.
Suffering from terrible nightmares last night, the same brooding face she stared at now had filled her dreams. Hopefully, Prince Edwin couldn’t detect the tension between them.
She foresaw the difficulties of the evening unless she could focus exclusively on Edwin and ignore everything else.
“Good evening, Prince Edwin.” She curtsied.
“I’m pleased to see you again.” He smiled.
She scanned the table nervously, admiring the wonderful foods; roast duck, venison, cabbage and onions, peas and carrots, and fresh bread. A platter of cheese and berries was closest. The succulent food couldn’t distract her for more than a few moments.
“Didn’t you sleep well last night? You look as pale as a snowflake,” the prince observed.
“As well as can be expected, milord.”
Those ravenous kisses she had shared with Tyr challenged her principles.
And his naked body … what an irascible fool.
Everything about their encounter frightened and surprised her.
As she stared at his hands now, she shuddered to think how those fingers had blazed a trail across her flesh last night.
Fear pummeled her heart like a pair of angry fists.
Looking back at Edwin, she realized his attractive features couldn’t obscure Tyr’s superior looks.
By God, she needed to change the direction of her thoughts before something regrettable happened.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop the persistent moisture between her legs.
It had started after Tyr stretched her across the bed last night. Something had opened inside her.
Meaningful conversation might help. She eyed the prince. “Tell me again how you would change the political tides in the Trondelag if you were granted governance here.”
He smiled, obviously pleased by her interest. “I’d unite these lands under a banner of peace. Welcome Christians and pagans and even Jews if they sought refuge here.”
“Jews?” Rachelle sputtered.
“Yes.” His eyes sparkled. “I would rescind any edicts my father made against the establishment of a Jewish community. Enmity serves no purpose. If I allow the population to expand, moderate taxes will raise the revenue I need to maintain an army and build a capital city.”
“Incredible.”
“Oppv?kning, milady, consider it an awakening of sorts. The success of any kingdom depends on prosperity.” He filled her wine glass. “The Semites are only the first outcasts I’ll reach out to.”