Norse Jewel (Entangled Scandalous) (9 page)

Settling on the grass, Helena nibbled fruit. Hakan, knowing her preference for water, passed the full ladle to her before settling back on the tree.

Sven’s shrewd eyes beetled from Hakan and Helena. “I hate to interrupt your peace, but pressing problems bring me here.”

“Of what?” Hakan cradled his horn between both hands.

“Have you not heard? More berserker attacks…closer to Uppsala.”

Hakan tipped his head at Helena. “Helena and my nieces were attacked.”

Sven stroked his beard and watched her thoughtfully.

“None survived the latest attacks. What happened?”

“I told Halsten and Mardred everything, as did Aud and Katla.” She shook her head and crossed her arms against a phantom chill.

Sven leaned closer. “What do you remember?”

Helena’s words sketched the details of the attack. Squeezing her arms, her hand traced the design on her armband, and she stared at the creatures emblazoned in silver.

“There is one thing…in all the upset…” She glanced at Sven and shook her head. “’Tis nothing, I’m sure.”

“What is it?” Hakan asked.

“The berserker wore an armband.”

Sven’s dark eyes narrowed. “Do you remember the design?”

“A sea serpent.” She squinted and looked at the ground. “With slashes throughout its body. Here.” Her fingers scratched the design in dirt. “Like this.”

Hakan absorbed the sketch: roughly Jutland Norse in style, an animal with rounded eyes and a serpentine body slashed with stripes. Helena drew talon-like claws gripping the ends of the S-shaped design. The final detail, that odd S, was familiar. Helena dusted off her hands.

“And, something else…an amber stone. Nay, two amber stones.” She canted her head, as one does when recalling a hazy memory. “The stones made the serpent’s eyes. One broke—”

“Are you sure
this
is what you saw?” Hakan asked, pointing to the design.

“Two pieces of amber? Serpent’s eyes?” Sven leaned in close, almost menacing.

“Aye, I’m certain.” Helena inched back. “Why?”

“You were scared.” Sven frowned, his voice threading with doubt. “You’ve seen much since you came to Svea, many armbands.”

“I saw what I saw,” she snapped. “
This—”
She pointed at the serpent etched in the earth. “—was on the arm of the man who tried to kill me.”

Hakan set a calming hand on her shoulder. “We believe you.”

Sven’s deep voice boomed. “’Tis strong proof. The attacks are the work of at least one chieftain. I must return to Uppsala and tell Olof.”

“Because of the armband, you know this?” Helena’s brows pressed together as she glanced from one man to the other. “A chieftain of Svea?”

Hakan nodded at Sven, then turned to Helena. “I need to speak with Sven alone.”

She rose to her feet and dusted off her tunic. “Who would do this?”

Sven’s eyes burned black. “Gorm.”

Chapter Nine

Hakan followed Helena’s slender form as she moved through the yard. She hauled two buckets and bore the look of one distracted—looking but not seeing. What was on her mind? She stumbled on the path, and he started to get up, but Gamle rushed from the barn to carry the buckets for her.

“She’s a thrall.” Sven crossed his arms, warming to his gibe. “They’re known to toil and labor…makes life easier for us.”

Hakan glanced at Sven, but he was drawn to the maid laughing easily with the other thralls.

“What?” Sven chuckled. “You’ve nothing to say?”

“I want…” Hakan’s words trailed off as his eyes tracked Helena. How could he explain what he failed to understand?

“You ‘
want’
what?”

Hakan glowered at his friend and refused to rise to the bait.

“You want her. And because Olof taught you
his
code of honor, you’ll not touch her.” Sven flicked an insect off his arm. “Just be done with it. Take her. Like an itch that needs scratching. She’s
your
thrall.”

“There are times I wonder what sits between your ears.”

Sven shut his eyes and lifted his face to the sun. “You never danced attendance on Astrid. Not like this.”

Snippets of years past flashed across his mind, all hazy and blurred.

“Skalds will weave a new tale. The great chieftain bows low before his thrall, and spurns every highborn Norse maid from Jutland to Trondheim.” Sven chuckled at his own words. “But, unlike you, I cannot wile away the days with a fair maid.”

They walked to the barn, but Sven’s words nagged at him.

“I like Helena, aye. She serves me well. She lacks Astrid’s cold nature, nor does she have Mardred’s excessive need to talk,” Hakan reasoned. “Like being with the men…only not.”

“That’s it. You look at her and see someone like me: big, hairy arms and a beard with bits of last night’s stew.” Sven rumbled with laughter, slapping Hakan’s back. “To be sure, Hakan, next time we go to battle, feel free to carry my hammer. ‘Tis much for me to carry.”

Hakan punched Sven’s shoulder and both laughed at the jest. The Erse thrall, Selig, led Sven’s horse from the barn. Sven mounted his steed and the saddle creaked under him.

“When I return, be ready to practice for the Glima wrestling.” Sven rubbed the shoulder Hakan punched, and his eyes lit with mock seriousness. “A feeble hit. Your farmer’s ways have weakened you. And don’t think that I’ll spare your pretty face for any maid.” Sven tipped his head toward the fields. “No matter how pleasant the maid may be.”

Helena trudged again up the path, the buckets balanced easily in her grip.

Sven cupped his hands and called out to her. “Farewell, Helena. Take care of my friend. See that he is well-rested.”

Her head tipped as she yelled across the distance, “Farewell, Sven.”

The pleasant grin faded from Sven’s features, replaced with bear-like gruffness. “I will speak to the king about the berserker’s armband…ask around Uppsala, too.”

Hakan slapped Sven’s mount. “Go quickly.”

Sven kicked the horse into a gallop, stirring clouds of dust and air.

Hakan watched Sven disappear past the gate and kept his feet planted. He would not rush to carry the buckets for her. Mayhap he
was
too easy on her. Sven’s jest about dancing attendance nettled him. But the maid came to stand beside Hakan, placing both buckets on the ground. A faint sheen covered her freckled nose.

“What did he mean about being well-rested?”

One look at her dark blue eyes and Hakan’s resolve melted. Wisps of hair blew around her face as they always did by mid-day, whether her hair was braided or unbound. They played about her cheeks now. Her warm friendly manner enticed him.

“Hakan?” Her arched eyebrows pressed together when he failed to answer.

He liked the familiar way she said his name, as one well known. He was simply Hakan to her. His hand reached up to a lock of hair, running the silk between his fingers. That night on the ship, the first time he touched her hair, floated across his mind.

“Aye?” He tucked the strands behind her ear. One finger skimmed the inner curve of her ear, tracing the softness of her plump lobe.

Helena’s lips parted. Her dark blue eyes glowed under fluttering, thick lashes as a blush pinked her cheeks. The past week there had been accidental touches, times brushing close. But this was no accident. His touch had purpose.

Helena swallowed hard. Was she as spellbound as he? Closing her eyes, she tilted her face into his palm like a cat rubbing into a caress. Benumbed by the softness of her skin, Hakan stroked her neck…the edge of her tunic neckline, the long delicate collarbone. His fingers stopped at the leather thong she always wore and slid beneath it.

Helena stepped back, her eyes rounding.

“Please.” Her voice was breathy and low. She shook her head as if to knock away the alluring moment.

Hakan lifted his hand to touch her, but her hands shielded her.

“Don’t.” She tilted her head away from him.

“What’s this?”

Her eyes implored him. Hakan warred within himself. Never had he found such delight and ease with a maid. Yet, Sven’s words nettled him, hanging in the back of his brain. Mayhap, he made too much of this ease between them, and she was an itch to be scratched.

“My lord,” she said, smoothing her palms down the front of her tunic. “I have something of great importance to discuss.”

“Aye.”

Helena hooked her fingers under the leather necklace and pulled a worn pouch from her tunic.

“Inside this pouch is a stone…my dowry,” her voice faltered. “My father saved the life of a wealthy merchant passing through our town. In his gratitude, he gave my father this—” She tipped the pouch upside down and a necklace dropped into her hand. “—and my father gave it to me as dowry, so that I would be acceptable to Guerin and his family.”

She grabbed his hand and set the simple pendant in his palm. Hakan splayed his fingers, judging the gold link chain and rough red stone. The jewelry had middling value. Her eyes on him were full of hope.

“I couldn’t let the Danes take it. I…I had expected to be rescued and return home.” She motioned to the necklace. “If I returned home without it, I’d have no dowry.”

“And your Guerin would not marry you.” Hakan kept his tone even.

“’Tis our way.” Helena’s face tightened. “Sestra told me to trade it for my freedom on the ship, but I couldn’t part with it then.” Her shoulders straightened. “I think Guerin would have me with or without a dowry.”

“There was a question in your mind about that?” Hakan scoffed and glanced away. “Your betrothed. The one who let raiders take you…who failed to rescue you.”

“I know what you think of him.” She swallowed and raised a hand in entreaty. “Surely you understand someone wanting to go home?”

“Because you are so desperate to leave this place,” he said, his voice blade-sharp and mocking. “Because I treat you poorly.”

Helena’s lashes fluttered, and she studied the necklace in his hand. She tipped her head at the red-eyed dragon on his silver armband and pressed on with stiff persuasion.

“I noticed you have similar stones…your sword, your armband.” She inhaled as one does before making a risky request. “I would trade this for my freedom.”

Hakan’s eyes narrowed. A savage force rose in his chest, and some of it spewed from him like the brute she called him on the ship.

“By all rights, this is mine.” His fingers curled around the chain. “When I bought you, I can claim all that was on your person.”

“You could trade it for other thralls to replace me,” she wailed.

“Is that what you think? That I trade people without a care?” His voice was harsh and graveled.

“Isn’t that the Norse way?”

Her bitter, wrenching question struck a chord, as if dousing him with icy water. Her vulnerable blue stare and quivering chin thawed something inside him, playing on him. Nay, this wasn’t about thralls who come and go. He believed, or wanted to believe, that part of her found the same joy and ease with him as he did with her. Was it not shared between them?

“’Tis the Norse way for a master to use his thralls as he sees fit.” His bold gaze traced her body. “You’ve not been so abused. Nay, you’ve been treated very well. Would you not agree?”

He was a fool, wanting to strike back at the unknowing hurt she rendered. The maid cringed at his rudeness.

“Aye, you treat me well, my lord.”

He saw wetness on her lashes. She turned her face to the fields, and another piece of the riddle that made Helena fell into place.

Hakan cupped her chin. His thumb stroked her scarred jaw. “Your pouch, the stone is the reason for this. Magnuson said as much.”

She nodded, sniffling and swiping at tears that rolled down her cheeks.

His thumb brushed a tender stroke over her cheek’s curving pink scar. “The stone almost cost you your life. Why?”

Hakan, with great tenderness, stroked her face. The salve had done its work: smooth, touchable skin remained. But the salve only healed skin deep wounds. Some wounds lurked deeper than the Dane’s cut. What ached beneath the surface? More fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I am a peasant maid.” Her voice quivered. “When Guerin wanted me, I felt…” Helena sniffed and chewed her lower lip. “I was suddenly important. A woman of value. Without it…”

Her vulnerable admission was a tender spot for her. Couldn’t she see her worth was higher than any stone?

His thumbs wiped away her tears. “Keep the pendant. It came at a great price. Wear it for all to see.”

Hakan took her hand in his and set the necklace in her palm. He curled her fingers over jewel and chain.

“Aye, Helena, the stone could buy more thralls. But ‘tis metal and stone. They do nothing for me.”

Her lashes, spiked with wetness, fluttered at him. Bewilderment writ on her face, he soothed his voice as if calming a babe.

He shook his head. “I’ll not trade you for that.”

“I don’t understand.” Her eyebrows knit together.

How could he explain what he didn’t fully understand? He was on shaky ground. From the corner of his eye, part of a red sail caught a strong breeze and fluttered. Selig replaced the rocks that tamped down the sail before the whole cloth blew free. The vibrant red waved at him, a banner by which he could escape explaining why he would not let her go. Hakan waved his arm at the sails drying in the meadow.

“Look what you’ve accomplished in so short a time. You promised me great talent weaving fine linens…to expand my wealth.” Hakan’s arms folded across his chest. “Strong sails for my ships. This I understand.” Tilting his hand toward the jewelry in her own, the corners of his mouth turned down. “Stones do nothing for me.”

A thousand glittering stones couldn’t equal her worth.
He stared into the depths of her blue eyes and called himself a coward for not admitting this to her.

Helena sniffed again and clutched the pendant, returning it to the leather pouch. “Is there no custom? No means to gain my freedom?” she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

Hakan sighed. “There are ways.”

“Mardred told me a thrall can earn her freedom after some years of service. Is this true?”

“Aye.” His arms stayed crossed, unmoving. He’d give no more.

“Then, may I strike such an agreement with you?”

“Such as?”

“I want to earn my freedom.” Her eyes pleaded with him.

Hakan shifted his stance, cagey about giving an inch. His neck and shoulders knotted.

True, many a valuable thrall gained freedom after years of service. Most stayed.

“Serve me well for seven years, Helena, and you’ll be a freewoman.”

“The time cannot be shortened?” She clasped her hands together. “Seven years,” she groaned. “So long.”

“I will not be swayed on this.”

She canted her head at him, doubt clouding her features. “But, will you keep your word, my lord?”

“What makes you doubt me? The way I’ve mistreated you?”

Helena flinched at his sarcasm. She was not satisfied. Seven years must feel like one hundred to her. Her fingers plucked at her apron, and she kept silent. A stab, like a hot brand, hit him. This was rejection. An arm’s length from her, Hakan shut himself away as if in a distant fortress. “I require your respect. For seven years.”

Pain flashed from her eyes. She dabbed at their corners and nodded.

Hakan needed to move. He needed something to ease the itch that plagued him. He needed to keep a good distance from her. His ax leaned against the barn. He grabbed it and swung the heavy tool over his shoulder.

“I have to clear some trees,” he announced. The field did need widening, and he needed wood.

The tree line would keep him a safe distance from her, yet he could keep an eye on the longhouse. And the loom where she would sit. Hakan walked to the edge of the yard and something pushed him to needle her.

“I expect fresh bread at my table tonight. See to it.”

Her eyebrows shot up at his harsh command. He hadn’t spoken to her that way since the journey to Svea. Her body visibly bristled at his tone. He waited, and Helena bowed her head in exaggerated servitude. Hakan whistled on his way to chop wood, pleased at gaining the upper hand.

Much could happen in seven years.