The Heart's Warrior (3 page)

She braced her hands against his shoulders for

support, her fingers biting into his chain mail. “Only that you are the Beast and you suffer from some malady that caused you great pain and many scars. The gossips say that’s why you left and have been gone for so many years.

To hide and heal.”

His brow quirked with amusement. “I’ve never

hidden from anything. There’s nothing that can heal the Beast. The scars run too deep.”

“How do you know they can’t be healed?” She stared at him nose-to-nose.

As he drew back, his eyes narrowed, his voice low and hoarse. “The wounds have long since healed.”

“Surely your soul cries out for a healing balm.”

“Healing from you?” His eyes widened, his brows

drawn together in a horrified glare. “I want nothing more than your death. If not for the king, I would take my revenge and kill you now.”

Kerstin cringed as he held her in a gentle grip of steel, forcing herself not to struggle. He sighed with impatience. “No one can mend scars left upon the body, or upon the soul.”

“You’d be surprised what can be done. The heart, the mind...close your eyes and you won’t see the scars upon the flesh. Look at them with your heart and there is no deformity.”

For several moments, they stared at one another. She felt compelled by him and could not look away. Where were his scars? He seemed too solid, too strong, too 12

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godlike to have any flaws for her to heal. Perhaps the blemish was on his soul.

“You want to heal me, little witch?” In his eyes, she saw raw pain. Then, it was gone, replaced once more by the savage warrior.

“Yes, if it would bring peace.”

“There is only one way for peace between us.”

Pulling her close, he kissed her. His mouth covered hers and stole her breath and her senses. Time spun away until she numbed to the world around her. Nothing mattered except him, his touch, the taste of him. Her reaction startled her. When he let her go and placed her on her feet, her breath caught with indignation.

He gave her a chilling smile. “There will be peace, once you are my wife.”

As Kerstin stood in shock, his gaze ranged over her.

She opened her mouth to rebuke him but he gave her no opportunity.

“I treasure the thought of having a witch for my

wife.” His tone filled with contempt. “It’ll be interesting to learn what talents you possess. I want to discover if you quail in terror as other women do when they see me without my shirt.”

“You seek to frighten me.”

If forced to wed him, would he brutalize her? Such a large, towering man could destroy her—and this man had no reason to be kind.

“You
are
a beast,” she whispered.

“And you are a witch.”

“I won’t marry you. You can speak with my father, but he won’t agree.”

“What, ho?” he crowed. “Just moments ago you

pleaded with me to let you heal the Beast.”

“You’ve twisted my words.” She quivered with

mortification.

The fool. No doubt he would love to have power over her, to wield his strength to hurt her. “I will marry Elezer of Lade.”

He scoffed in disgust. “Lade is no longer a strong holding and Elezer has no great army to lend the king aid in battle. King Hakon has said you are mine.”

And what about Elezer? True, he had no great army 13

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like Jonas or her father, but he was young, strong and kind. He loved her, as she loved him. Since childhood, they had been great friends. After Bjorn’s murder, he had been one of her few allies, offering comfort when others stared at her with distrust and accused her of murder and practicing black magic. Their friendship had blossomed into love. She could never betray Elezer this way. Alrik would not break the betrothal—or her heart.

“I’ll
never
marry you, Beast.”

Jonas laughed and showed her a flashing smile. His blue eyes glinted with a steely edge. It reminded her of a wolfhound scenting prey in the forest.

“We shall see.”

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The journey to Kerstin’s home wasn’t long. Through the forest, down the green hills that rolled out above the sparkling River Tyne, and along the well-worn path to Moere.

As he looked out on the quay, Jonas saw the

protective inlet from the river. The natural harbor provided safe anchorage for Alrik’s ships. It also made a surprise attack by an enemy impossible; unless they came from the rugged hills above, which would prove difficult, but effective. Jonas and his men had hidden their ships and done just that, hoping to go undetected should there be an Eiriksson spy close by. Never had he expected supporters of the king—let alone his future bride—to attack him.

The Alriksson’s had built the long pier of strong oak.

The fortress was a magnificent structure. The stone walls surrounding the hall would not burn and would hold better against attack.

As they walked, Kerstin stared in front of her,

ignoring him. How amusing. Would her father refuse the king’s demand that they wed? Above all else, Jonas wanted peace—to escape the constant bloodshed of a mercenary. He had returned home for no other reason.

But it had been a futile dream. He had arrived at Hawkscliffe and discovered his father and people were not only still feuding with Alrik’s men, but also embroiled in battle for the king’s throne.

Again Jonas must fight. Not out of duty, but out of friendship for his longtime friend, King Hakon. Having fostered together as boys, they were still close, still loyal companions.

Where were his men? After defeating Kerstin’s

warriors, perhaps they traveled to Moere with the king.

Jonas could only imagine what he might find when he arrived. He prayed Hakon had been able to speak to 15

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Kerstin’s people, to stave off more fighting. Once he discovered what Hakon planned, Alrik would either agree or fight his own king. Jonas reached to cup the hilt of his sword. He must prepare for the worst.

Kerstin cast a quick glance at him. Their gazes

locked, held, and she flinched. His stare dropped to her shirt of chain mail and he tried to imagine her dressed in women’s clothes.

Her gasp of outrage told him she wasn’t pleased to have him ogling her. Her cheeks flushed with anger. Ah, she was lovely. A maiden warrior like none he had seen before. With witchy hair that told in truth what she was.

She swallowed and averted her gaze. His instinct was to be gentle with her. Under the circumstances, he doubted she would allow it. Whatever she thought of him, he had never been a cruel man. Yet never could he trust this woman, never could he let down his guard. Even in marriage, there would be no peace.

A thud of remorse filled his heart. Would she at least give him heirs?

He walked beside her along the narrow path,

conscious that she held her breath.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” She spoke between clenched teeth.

Shifting his weight, he rolled his shoulder. Her

arrowhead burned like a fiery ember lodged in his flesh.

What kind of woman fought in battle like a man? No female he had ever met. Once he wedded her, she might try to kill him as she had done Bjorn.

The thought brought a swell of anger crashing over him. He would not allow it. Somehow he would control the witch and put an end to her magic spells.

She stumbled on loose gravel and cried out when

Jonas caught her securely with his free arm. He pulled her tight against his side. Her fist barely missed his jaw before he snatched it and held it still. “None of that. Our fight is ended.”

She snorted. “You think so? You don’t know me very well.”

Her green eyes blazed clear as glass, her complexion alabaster smooth. He’d been ordered to wed a treacherous woman, but at least she was beautiful.

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As he bent his head down to her, she tried to bite him. She jerked against his hold but he held her fast. Her breath quickened, her lips parted. The curve of her face showed high, smooth cheeks. When her eyes narrowed, he wondered what it would be like to see her smile, to hear her laughter. Was she capable of being gentle and feminine?

She looked away and the scent of lavender spiraled around him, soft and tempting. A womanly scent.

Her warm breath glazed his cheek, her jaw harsh. In her eyes, he saw doubt and fear. When her gaze centered upon his mouth, she licked her bottom lip. The urge to taste her again gave him pause.

“Are you injured?” His voice sounded too low.

Kerstin shook her head. It wasn’t normal to want a woman this much. Had she bewitched him? Perhaps she had cast some spell over him. He should release her, but his hold tightened.

“You aren’t Elezer,” she said.

The way she said Elezer’s name—so sweetly, so

lovingly—brought a thud of regret to his heart. How he wished someone would speak his name with such longing.

Bah! It must be the magic of her spell that made him think such foolish thoughts. He frowned at her, trying to see the maiden beneath the chain mail.

She struggled to be free and the tranquil moment

vanished. He released her. Without his support, she almost fell. Kirsten regained her balance and stepped away. She glared at him, rubbing her arms as if to erase his touch. If he moved toward her, she might try to run.

Flexing his throbbing shoulder, he backed off. “For now, I will leave you alone.”

Jonas moved down the trail, conscious of her staring after him. The cold wind whipped against him and a spattering of thick raindrops struck his head. The storm was almost here, not a good premonition.

They approached the steading, perched high on a

hilltop overlooking the River Tyne. A well-worn path led to the quay where the solid dock had been built. Several elegant ships swayed in the choppy water, tugging at their mooring lines. Higher up, a forest of spruce covered the mountain, winding over the hills as far as Jonas could 17

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see. Kerstin followed him, plodding through the wide palisade gates of Moere. Thankfully, she didn’t try to flee.

With his shoulder burning like fire, Jonas felt in no mood to chase her down.

Hordes of their men stood within the main yard,

clutching weapons, glowering at each other. It appeared to Jonas they had arrived but moments before. He

expected chaos, yet they remained silent as they watched him and Kerstin approach. King Hakon must have spoken to Kerstin’s people. Nothing less would keep the two clans from killing each other.

Jonas’s gaze filtered through the crowd until he

found his father standing amongst the men. Tall and proud, a formidable warrior in his own right, Earl Sigurd of Hawkscliffe smiled at his son. Affection filled Jonas, and also relief. Dying in battle was always a concern, but Valhalla would not claim them today.

The large farmstead included a manor house, a

sturdy structure dominating the grounds. Home to many of Alrik’s people, Jonas knew they slept on the same wooden benches they used to sit on. Similar to his own home, more of the serfs would live in small huts

throughout the valley, close to their crops and Alrik’s vast herds of sheep.

Jonas caught the tangy aroma of stewed onions and meat simmering over the cook fire in the main hall. It made him homesick for a hearth and family of his own.

Inwardly, he shook himself.

A few chickens scratched in the dirt. A single goat bleated and went back to chewing on a shrub beside the cow byre. Storage sheds, low timbered barns, a stable, and the main hall sat safe inside the stone wall.

A vast stone bathing hut rested across the main yard, with mighty cauldrons for heating water. Jonas made a mental note to enjoy it later. Perhaps a hot bath would relieve his aching shoulder and make it easier to remove the arrowhead.

He sighed, weary of bloodshed.

Men carried away the injured and Kerstin left

Jonas’s side to give instructions for their care. A thrall woman scurried from the hall with a leather pouch and 18

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handed it to Kerstin. “Your healing herbs and bandages are inside, my lady.”

Mumbling her thanks, Kerstin accompanied the

wounded. Jonas’s men went to one warm barn while

Kerstin’s men went to another. Relief surged through Jonas that the two clans were separated. They needed the barest motivation to fight again.

Curious about Kerstin, Jonas followed her to where his wounded men were housed. Standing in the shadows of the low doorway, he fingered the hilt of his sword and watched her in silence. It amazed him that Kirsten entered his men’s tent first.

“You are foolish to refuse me. I can help ease you,”

she said with no surprise in her voice when his men rebuffed her offer to assist them.

“You wish to ease us to our deaths. ‘Twas your

arrows that caused many of our wounds. Come no nearer, witch,” one of Jonas’s men muttered.

Kerstin drew back, her mouth stiff, eyes crinkled.

“We were at war then. Didn’t you also try to kill me and my men?”

“Not until you attacked us,” another warrior

exclaimed. “Leave us be.”

The man grimaced with pain, his arm nearly severed.

“You’ll bleed to death within the hour if you don’t receive care.”

“Better that I die from my wounds than from a spell you might cast upon me.”

Opening her mouth, she appeared ready to plead her cause. Another healthy warrior rose to his feet and lifted his heavy cleaver. A snarl curved his mouth. “Begone, witch, before I sever that pretty head from your evil neck.”

Large, angry men surrounded her, their eyes

smoldering with hate. They would never allow her to give them aid. Clutching her healing bag to her chest, she backed away.

As she made a hasty retreat, she collided with Jonas at the door. He reached to settle her and she gasped, jerking away. Hoping to hide his inner thoughts, he glowered at her. Her eyes widened as she scurried around him.