The Heart's Warrior

3

Now Kerstin saw her chance! She could flee,

with Jonas in no condition to pursue her.

She would race back and the king could do nothing to stop her from marrying Elezer. She took a step, then stopped. Guilt nibbled at her, holding her in place.

Jonas would die if she left him and the king

might hold her responsible. Though she offered to tend his wound, Jonas refused. Surely the king wouldn’t blame her if Jonas died.

But she had given her pledge and promised her

loyalty. Even resenting him, she couldn’t stand by and let Jonas suffer. If she ran away, her people would be doomed and hate her for it. She might have Elezer, yet nothing else. Not even her honor.

Jonas’s shadowed face paled in the dim

light. Kneeling beside him, she cursed him as she tried once more to awaken him. A rock dug into his chin and she brushed it away. He looked so handsome, so innocent in sleep. So controlling when awake. She had never known such a man.

Should she run for help? He was so big, she didn’t think she could move him even if she wanted to. Bending low, she placed her lips against his ear and whispered.

“Do you want to die, Jonas? If you lie here like a big ox, I will flee to Elezer. Is that what you want?”

Jonas moved and a murmur of disapproval came

from his lips. He lay still again and Kerstin persisted in her efforts, unable to resist taunting him. ” I’ll give myself to Elezer if you die. Do you want me to give birth to his son, or yours?”

Rage rumbled from within Jonas’s chest and he

rolled onto his back. In the shafts of moonlight, Kerstin saw his eyes open and spit flame as he glared at her.

“Perhaps I will beat you after all, woman.”

Only love can heal wounds of the heart
.

Golden Heart winner Leigh Bale pens her second

novel, a poignant tale of love, war and learning to trust your heart.

This book was a finalist winner in the Orange Rose Contest and also in the Ignite the Flame Contest.

5

The Heart’s

Warrior

by

Leigh Bale

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Heart’s Warrior

COPYRIGHT © 2008 by Leigh Bale

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [email protected]

Cover Art by
Jane Wiedenhoefer

The Wild Rose Press

PO Box 706

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

English Tea Rose Edition, 2008

PRINT ISBN 1-60154-238-0

Published in the United States of America

7

To Mom and Dad,

for teaching me to love our family tree.

And to Steve,

the warrior of my heart

Only love can heal wounds of the heart.

Chapter One

Northern England, AD 954

Death surrounded her, a gruesome specter

threatening to consume them all. The stench of lifeless bodies filled the early morning air. Screams of men vibrated throughout the forest along with the ringing clash of swords. A chilling breeze swept the copse and the tall pines surrounding the glade shivered.

Cold fear washed over Kerstin of Moere. She stood at the edge of the woods and stared at the carnage. Sweat trickled down her neck and forehead. Her knees wobbled and her arms shook with fatigue.

The destroyer had come. Not a dark heathen with

fangs and cloven hooves, but a golden warrior, fighting in the thick of battle. He stood shoulders above the rest, broader with hardened muscles. He wielded his sword with the skill and strength of a berserker.

As he yelled orders to his men, they obeyed. His

mighty sword gleamed crimson as he thrust and lunged.

Several of Kerstin’s men surrounded him, seeking to cut him down. He hacked his way through one and sliced through another. Blood sprayed across his chain-mailed chest, spattering against a tree trunk to his right. As his muscled arms heaved, his shrill war cry vibrated in the air. The cry of death.

Kerstin’s throat tightened at the grisly scene. She longed to look away, but could not. He must be stopped else all would be lost.

With trembling hands, she reached over her shoulder and plucked a long, straight arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. Her metal helmet made it difficult to see, but it shielded her identity and protected her head.

Raising her bow, she aimed it at the warrior. His wide 1

Leigh Bale

back made an easy target. Drawing back her arm, she let the arrow fly.

The thin head of the shaft pierced through a link of his mail and buried deep in his left shoulder. He didn’t scream at the impact, but grunted.

Pity that her aim had been poor, but her arms were weary from firing arrows at the enemy.

The man whirled, a snarl on his lips. His gaze

stabbed her, marking her for death. With little concern, he snapped the shaft off, leaving the head embedded in his shoulder. Did he feel no pain?

He continued to slash his way toward her, his gaze leaving her long enough for him to slaughter any foe who stepped into his path. Kerstin’s men had little chance against his greater strength and a blaze of panic shot up from her toes. He would cut her down if he reached her.

Knut, one of Kerstin’s best warriors, turned in time to see the threat. Having been her protector since her mother’s death a year earlier, Knut placed his own large frame in front of her. “Flee! We have lost the advantage and it’s only a matter of time before we are finished.”

Kerstin couldn’t move, her feet leaden with despair.

She couldn’t abandon her men.

She stared at the demon warrior as his burly

shoulders flexed beneath his chain mail.

He came for her.

Terror clogged her throat. This man showed no

mercy.

“Warn our people,” Knut said. “Your father will carve the blood eagle in my back if I let anything happen to you.” He pushed her around to face the dense foliage of the forest. With a mighty shove, he thrust her toward the sheltering trees.

“Go!” he roared.

She ran. With her bow clutched in her fist, she

sprang through the forest, ignoring tree limbs and branches that snatched at her as she passed. Her long shirt of chain mail slapped against her knees, hampering her flight. Tripping, she crashed hard upon the ground, her heart pumping.

Lying in the dirt, she tried to catch her breath. Her 2

The Heart’s Warrior

3

lungs burned and her calf muscles cramped, but she had no time to tarry. She must warn the women, children and the old ones. Kerstin dragged to her knees, wiped her bleeding hands against her woolen hose, then picked up her bow where she had dropped it. As she placed one foot beneath her to stand, she heard a crashing behind her.

Whirling, she saw the demon warrior plunging through the forest, moving at an alarming rate.

She gasped. Knut must be dead—slain by this

monster.

As she sprang to her feet, her heart lurched with grief. She raced through the woods, veering uphill, away from her home. Never would she lead this heathen to Moere, but she must find a way to outwit him before he caught her.

Dodging hanging branches, she swooped over fallen logs. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him gaining fast. Relentless in his pursuit, he didn’t bother to push tree limbs aside as he charged after her. His heavy chain mail and helmet didn’t hinder him at all. Clutching his bloody sword in his hand, he yelled with fury, like an evil fiend from the netherworld.

Twice, she evaded his grasp. For all his enormous size, he moved fast and light on his feet, his heavy breathing now at her back. Something brushed against her neck. His sword!

With a fresh spurt of speed, she dipped around a tall pine. He hurtled after her. She couldn’t lose him.

He knocked her to the ground, then fell upon her.

Screaming with terror, she sprawled upon her stomach, her face pressed into the dirt. Bracing her hands beneath her, she tried to rise, but he flattened her again. Her skin crawled, awaiting the sharp bite of his sword.

She rolled to press a frontal attack, kicking and biting. He straddled her with his great thighs, his chain mail leggings digging into her hips. He tried to grasp her flailing hands. Had he dropped his sword? Why didn’t he kill her? He had plenty of opportunity.

Their scuffling knocked his helmet from his head. His fierce gaze clashed with hers, blue as the ocean on a clear day. If he subdued her, he would kill her. She clawed at 3

Leigh Bale

his face. He knocked her hands away with a stinging blow and she sank her teeth into his hand.

“Cease!” he roared.

He struck a blow to her helm, knocking it from her head. As her long hair fell about them, the man grunted with surprise and his grip loosened.

“A woman?”

Kerstin took the advantage and clouted his head,

knocking him backward. She scrambled from beneath him, but he recovered and grabbed hold of her ankle, jerking her back.

Clawing the ground, her fingernails filled with earth.

She scooped up dirt and threw it into his eyes. The man roared with fury and she tensed, ready to duck a blow from one of his hammer-like fists. Instead, he lay against her, holding her wrists to the ground. She lunged upward, meeting the solid wall of his chest. She couldn’t move, nor barely breathe. Her skin prickled. Terror screamed inside her mind.

“Hold still, woman.” His deep voice shook her.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes and she

swallowed, refusing to let them fall. Her brothers had taught her to be strong and she wouldn’t disappoint them now. His breath whispered across her lips, his chilling eyes crinkled with curiosity. Drawing back, he studied her, his voice like thunder. “Why would a woman battle amongst the men?”

She jutted her chin. “I came to fight for my people. If you plan to kill me, have mercy and get it over with.”

An evil chuckle shook his chest. “Nay, I have other uses for such as you.”

Even subdued, his suggestion outraged her.

“How dare you? You’ll have naught of me,” she vowed and shook her head.

He peered at her chain mail and hose, as if amused by her man’s garb. “Why did your men attack? We were on a peaceful mission.”

“Hah!” She snorted. “When has a Sigurdsson ever

sought peace? You’re dressed for war.”

“We are dressed for protection.”

“Oh? And I suppose you also sought peace a sennight 4

The Heart’s Warrior

5

ago when your men raided our flocks and killed my youngest brother. Your presence in our hills can only be taken as a sign of hostility. You can’t blame us for attacking.”

He frowned. “I find it difficult to believe your men take orders from a mere girl. Yet, they followed your command.”

Pride enveloped her. “They are loyal.”

“Loyal to their death.”

“You could have sailed up the river, where we

would’ve seen you. Instead, you hid your ships and landed behind my father’s steading. If you came in peace, you should’ve sent us word you were here.”

“Your father?” He tilted his head to one side, his brows quirked. His mouth tightened, his entire body tensing against hers. “The Witch of Moere,” he whispered in a scathing tone.

Kerstin cringed. With her foolish babbling, she had given away her identity.

“You are Kerstin of Moere, are you not?”