The Heart's Warrior (6 page)

Picking her up, he squeezed her against his hard

body. Kerstin found her mouth seized by his in a searing kiss that curled her toes. Cupping the back of her head, he pulled her closer. She couldn’t breathe. The sweet warm taste of him told her he had enjoyed some rich wine before his bath. She gasped for air as his kiss went on and on. A strange warmth spiraled through her, stealing her senses.

Before she realized what she was doing, she returned his kiss. The way her body betrayed her was more than she could comprehend.

Wedging her hands between their chests, she pushed away, succeeding only because he allowed it. Their gazes caught, held. His intense look no longer showed

amusement, but sultry desire. “Your passion betrays you, Kerstin.”

Humiliated, she stared at the wall, stained by years of weekly steam baths. How could she be so disloyal to 33

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Elezer? “I belong to another man.”

His jaw hardened. “Your passion belongs to me.”

“I want no part of you.”

His eyes darkened. “You shall have all of me,

Kerstin. ‘Tis only a matter of time.”

Jonas placed her on her feet. Relief flooded her when he set her free. She whirled about and fled, the sound of his deep laughter rumbling behind her.

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Careful of the mud, Kerstin picked up her skirts and raced across the yard to the hall. Sigurd’s men eyed her with malice as she passed. She ignored them, eager to get inside where she might be safe from Jonas’s prying eyes.

The clean scent of washed earth filled the air and she breathed deep, trying to settle her nerves. The encounter with Jonas left her trembling. The swine! How dare he threaten her? Everything within her rebelled at his cold accusations and callous pawing.

Loud voices came from inside the hall, many she

didn’t recognize. Her father’s low, angry rumble was unmistakable.

With little room for all the warriors to gather in the hall, many stood without, craning their necks to see inside.

As she approached, the men opened a path for her—

so many men she couldn’t count them all. Even Sigurd’s warriors stood back to let her through. They towered over her, their expressions fierce and savage. She imagined their swords and axes cleaving her neck in two and the hair against her nape prickled.

No doubt Sigurd was inside with her father, eating their food and drinking their wine—a distressing thought.

Kerstin ducked inside the hall and stood before the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dim interior. No one had lit the wicks in the iron candleholders. Only the large fire in the center of the room gave off light. Great shadows flickered off the carved walls and along the benches used for sitting and sleeping. The warm air smelled of cooking meat. Though filled to capacity, the occupants of the hall acted subdued. Sigurd’s men sat on one side of the long tables with Alrik’s men on the other.

She silently prayed they would end this evening without bloodshed.

Kerstin sent one of the thrall women to light candles.

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Looking up, she saw her father seated in his great throne-like chair on a raised dais at the head of the room. As the men became aware of her presence, they moved their gazes to her. She shifted uneasily. The feast hadn’t begun.

How odd if they were waiting for her.

Alrik sat beside the king and Sigurd. He had donned his best clothing and wore his sword at his side. Though pale with pain, his face showed stubborn lines that gave him a savage expression. His hard mouth compressed. His gray eyes took in her appearance and, with a curt nod, he indicated his approval and motioned for her to join him.

Though she longed to run to him, she approached

with dignity. She wanted to fling herself into his great arms and pour out her heart to his listening ear.
Please,
Father, don’t break my betrothal to Elezer. Please don’t
break my heart.

Jonas Sigurdsson entered the room and every one of Kerstin’s senses perked to his presence. Her gaze followed him as he came toward the dais, walking with a smooth swagger of confidence. Once again, he wore his chain mail. Though he had bathed, bloodstains still covered his tunic.

His cold gaze raked her as he rubbed his injured

shoulder. No doubt it pained him. Let it serve as a token of her affection for him.

Even now, she felt the brand of his mouth upon hers, his taste on her tongue. Her cheeks flushed with heat as she remembered their earlier encounter. His eyes

glittered with knowledge and his mouth curved in a satisfied smile. He seemed to know what she thought.

Kerstin stared at him in defiance. Oh, how she would love to slap his smirking face. Jonas would not be so prideful when her father told him she would not become his wife.

Jonas sat beside his father and the king, close by Alrik. Placing his dented helmet on the plank table in front of him, he watched Kerstin.

Alrik glanced at his daughter with curiosity. She ignored him, praying he didn’t notice her flaming cheeks.

Alrik would kill Jonas if he knew the man had watched her bathe. Kerstin dared not speak of it. Their people needed no more incentive to rush into battle.

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Alrik signaled for the feast to begin. The men sitting on the dais didn’t speak amongst themselves, not even in hushed whispers. They sat stiff and unyielding, barely looking at one another. What a farce! They couldn’t tolerate one another, yet they were supposed to be supping in camaraderie.

Had Alrik already spurned the king’s request that she marry Jonas? Had the king taken the news badly? It served him right. If true, Kerstin would laugh with triumph.

Alrik raised his drinking horn in toast and called out in a clear voice. “Let us drink to Hakon, King of the Danelaw.”

A deafening roar filled the hall as the men raised their horns high in salute. The king smiled with pleasure.

“Wait!” Jonas called.

Every gaze turned to him. Bracing his hands on the table, he rose to his feet. A subtle flinch crossed his brow as he stood. Because his pained expression was so fleeting, Kerstin doubted anyone else noticed, but she was a healer, trained to detect subtle changes in the body.

Hefting his curved drinking horn, he lifted it high. “I would have the witch taste my ale before I partake of it.”

Kerstin froze. Did he dare suggest she poisoned his drink?

Jonas lowered his brows in a frown, his eyes

glittering like a serpent’s.

Alrik tensed and turned white as the buttermilk

Kerstin had churned the day before. “What is this?” he demanded.

Jonas glanced at her father, his face arrogant and dangerous. “I don’t intend to die of poisoning as my brother did. Let the witch taste my ale so I might know she hasn’t been up to more mischief.”

A brief surprise washed over Kerstin. Mortification burned her cheeks. How dare he call her a witch before all their men? Her own father? Oh, how she wished she knew some evil spell to cast upon him. She was tempted to learn witchcraft for that reason alone.

Alrik tightened his jaw. “My daughter is no witch.

She has just returned to the hall. How do you think she can poison your ale?”

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At this point, Knut came to his feet, lifting his sword.

He didn’t speak, but his steely gaze centered on Jonas and he looked fierce enough to split the other man’s skull.

Tension in the room escalated. The warriors braced themselves. The scrape of metal being drawn cried through the air. Men scooted back from the table and gripped the hilts of their blades in preparation.

They had all lost their wits. Did they intend to fight a battle right here in the hall?

“She could have cast an evil spell,” Jonas said. “If she tastes my ale, I will know she hasn’t put a hex on it to poison me.”

Kerstin’s blood ran cold. As she looked around the room, she saw the accusation in the men’s eyes. The suspicion. Didn’t they know how hard she worked to heal their wounds and save them if she could? How she longed for them to see her for what she really was.

“My daughter will not go around this room and taste each man’s cup,” Alrik said. “You do me an injustice, Jonas Sigurdsson. I’m offended by your demand.”

Jonas didn’t move, but his jaw hardened and his eyes glimmered with malice. “I haven’t asked that she go around the room. But she will taste my ale before I honor your toast.”

“Jonas,” King Hakon snapped. “We’re too close to

victory to let your temper destroy it now.”

Alrik rose to his feet, eyes blazing.

Kerstin put her hands over her mouth to stifle a cry.

Though still strong, her father was older now and ill.

Certainly no match for Jonas the Strong Arm. If Alrik defended her honor by fighting Jonas, he could be sliced to ribbons. A blaze of panic tore through her. She couldn’t stand to watch her father die.

“Wait! I’ll taste his ale.”

She scurried around the table to grab Jonas’s

drinking horn. Tilting the brim to her lips, she took a deep swallow. With a flippant toss of her long hair, she handed the drinking horn back to him and went to take a place on the opposite side of her father.

Several tense moments passed before each man

regained his seat. They settled once more as Jonas tipped the brim of his drinking horn to his lips. They drank to 38

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the toast, but animosity crackled all around. Kerstin’s heart hardened. The idea of marriage to Jonas repulsed her. Alrik lifted his cup again. “I drink to the death of King Hakon’s brother and our enemy, Eirik Bloodaxe, and to the destruction of his sons, the Eirikssons.”

Again, the men offered their assent, raising drinking horns, gulping their ale with greedy enjoyment. Kerstin picked up a pewter cup and took a sip of sweet wine from the Rhineland. Curiosity crinkled her brow. Why would her father bring out the wine for the Sigurdssons? So exotic and expensive to obtain? No doubt he would give his best to the king. She longed to become drunk on it and forget her dilemma, but she would not.

“I drink to Sigurd, Earl of Hawkscliffe, my one-time friend.” A third time, Alrik offered a toast. “For years our people have been feuding. Now, we will finally have peace between us.”

Kerstin doubted this. Her father had hated Sigurd since before her birth. Alrik had vowed to kill him one day. Seated on the other side of the king, Sigurd showed a scornful smile. Beside him, Jonas remained passive.

Kerstin knew better. The golden warrior was silent and deadly, as shrewd as her father.

His gaze unnerved her. His blue eyes seemed so

forceful that she felt as if he had delivered her a blow.

Flinching, she regretted it, hating to show him any weakness.

She had to force herself not to stare at him. He held her in a hypnotic trance, drawn to him even as she feared him. What would he be like under different

circumstances? Handsome and strong, Jonas was

everything her father and brothers had taught her to admire. Bold and aggressive, a leader of men.

He was as brutal as he appeared. Aye, she had seen him in battle and felt his iron grip upon her body.

Thinking back on the battle, she realized she never saw him strike a fallen man. He spared her life even before he knew her to be a woman. Perhaps he had some scruples after all.

Again, she wondered what blemish gave people a

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reason to call him a beast. What hidden flaw stained his perfection?

Jonas smiled slowly and raised his drinking horn, as if to honor her. Kerstin knew differently. She could see the subtle lift of his brows, the flash of his eyes, so mocking. Did he think her such an easy conquest?

With a scathing look of contempt, Kerstin turned her back on him and leaned closer to her father. Very few of Alrik’s men honored the toast to Sigurd. They lowered their drinking horns and glared at the enemy. It wouldn’t be easy to forget their hatred and the long years of feuding, even if Alrik demanded it.

“We will drink to peace and to the marriage of my only daughter to Jonas Sigurdsson,” Alrik’s voice boomed.

Kerstin sucked in a breath and sat up straight.

Stunned. Incredulous. Had she heard right? Her stomach churned. Sweat broke out on her brow. She couldn’t move.

Could not breathe!

It must be a jest, made to poke fun at the

Sigurdssons. Her father couldn’t mean to force her into this marriage. He wouldn’t do such a thing to her. Not without telling her about it before he announced it publicly.

Determination filled his eyes. For a brief moment, she detected his sadness, his regret. He knew how much she loved Elezer and wanted to be his wife.

Thick heartache coiled within her. She realized her father didn’t want to force her to marry Jonas, but he would. For peace and to preserve their people from the king’s wrath.

“This cannot be.” Kerstin came to her feet, her hands clenched. No wonder Jonas had been so smug in the bathing hut. The cur! He had known her father agreed to their marriage.

Her face burned with shame and anger. How happy

Jonas must be to have his way. And then what?

Thousands of thoughts shadowed her mind when she

considered how Jonas might humiliate her once they were wed. And what of Elezer? This would crush him.

“Father, don’t do this to me.”

“Sit down,” Alrik commanded.

Sagging into her seat, Kerstin wanted to cry but

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refused to let these men see such weakness. Tears were not for a strong woman, not at this moment. Later, in privacy, when none could witness such a flaw.

“Please,” she whispered pitifully.

Looking away from her, Alrik spoke to the king. “The marriage will take place on the morrow. The day after that, my army will be ready to accompany you and Sigurd to Hawkscliffe. There, you can gather your own men to travel to York and engage the Eirikssons in battle.”