Her Heart's Surrender Page 7

  “I’ll have to speak with him.” She didn’t want Birgir near Erik. It seemed certain Erland would be close to his father.

  “Thank you, Ma.” He hugged her, the joy on his face replacing the pout.

  “Run along. Ulrika get you all ready for bed. I’ll see to Skjótr this night.”

  Birgir grinned. “I love you, Ma.”

  “I love you too.” There were too many others around for her to kiss his cheek. He’d be embarrassed if she tried. Her heart ached when he walked away. Her arms would be empty without a child to hold.

  “The boy is spoiled.” Hella stood at her elbow, watching Birgir’s childish lope across the open space. “What do you know of caring for horses tired after a day’s ride?”

  “He’s not spoiled. He does everything I ask of him usually without complaint. And he has a name.” Hella seldom used it. “Have you forgotten it?”

  “Answer my question first.”

  She rubbed the toe of her shoe into the grass. “Oddmund will help me.”

  “As I thought.” He took Alfr’s reins. “I doubt you’re strong enough to lift the saddle from his back.”

  “I am.” She bristled at the suggestion of weakness. “I don’t need your help. There must be something more important you have to attend.”

  “I’ll forgive your snappishness. You are tired.” He unfastened the saddle buckle and lifted it from Alfr. “I should have insisted you sit in the cart with your thralls.”

  “I wanted to ride beside you.” She lifted her chin. “I took pleasure in it.”

  “You would say that if you hated it.” He moved to Skjótr. “Tomorrow the boy takes care of his own horse.”

  “Birgir.”

  Hella didn’t respond. He bent and took up the pony’s front hoof, picked at the dirt caked there, then ran his hands up and down its leg.

  His refusal to acknowledge her chafed more than the saddle. “Why won’t you call him by name?”

  “He hasn’t earned it yet.” Hella stayed focused on his task. “In a few years, we’ll see.”

  “He hasn’t earned his name, yet your elkhounds were named when they were pulled away from their mother’s teats. Vigr and Rifa? Battle and tear? They’re the laziest dogs I’ve ever seen.

  You call them by name.”

  The dogs were close by and responded by wagging their tails and crowding underfoot.

  “You see?” She gestured at the pair. “Shouldn’t these fierce beasts be guarding camp instead of begging for your affection?”

  Rifa cocked her head and blinked at Ealasaid. Her furry plume-like tail waved in the air. She awaited a command but flopped down beside her brother when none came.

  “Dogs and horses and all other animals are different. They have names to tell them apart from other animals. If I told Oddmund, ‘fetch my hound’, he might bring Vigr or any of the dogs from the settlement. That is why they’re named.” He moved to examine Skjótr’s hind legs.

  “Perhaps my father called me Ealasaid so he could single me out against a more worthy sister. And what of you?” She planted her hands on her hips. “You’re an only son. Why give you a name?”

  Hella scowled. “Erik’s father named me. The Bloody Raven lacked the sentiment. He found uses for his animals and uses for his thralls, but he didn’t need a son until I’d grown big enough to fight for myself. He called me boy until I could carry a sword and prove I wouldn’t cut my own throat by tripping over it.”

  Longer than that. She’d heard Ingvar call him boy years after he reached manhood. Guilt plucked at her anger. His words didn’t surprise her. Ingvar never called her by name either. “You wouldn’t name your own son?”

  A flash of uncertainty washed across his face. “I would be proud to have my own son. He would have a fine name.”

  Bitterness replaced her guilt. “I’m sure he would. My son, who bears the blood of Saxon chieftains, is no common-bred bastard. He’s the grandson of Cairbre, a great horseman and noble leader. He will be called Birgir or nothing at all.”

  Hella lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Have it your way, wife. Tomorrow, Birgir cares for his own possessions, or he walks to Freysteinn. The grandson of a horseman should see to his mount before all else.”

  “If the man he’ll follow into battle someday would show him how to care for the pony, I’m sure he would gladly take charge. Instead, he has to follow Erland about for guidance.”

  His gaze became distant, and his tight mouth slackened. “He’ll ride beside us in the morning. I’ll instruct him how I can.”

  Her ire fell a little more. “I ask for nothing more, m’lord.”

  He stepped closer to her. “He’s not a common-bred bastard. The circumstances of his birth are unfortunate, but your son has the potential to become a good man and a great warrior. Forgive me for suggesting anything less.”

  “You’ll train him well.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “I appreciate your kindness toward him. He hasn’t known much of it.”

  “I made a promise to look after him. My word is good. As long as Birgir needs a guardian, I will do my best.” He offered his hand. “We should see if Ulrika has food for us. Then we must rest. The road will be harder tomorrow as we push to reach the settlement before dark.”

  “I’m tired,” she admitted. “I don’t fear I’ll have trouble sleeping on the ground tonight.”

  “If I had my way, you’d have plenty of trouble finding sleep.” He squeezed her hand.

  His words made her laugh. “I have no doubts.”

  He frowned as they made their way toward the cart where Ulrika laid out their bedding. “You’re sore from the ride.”

  “Yes, m’lord. It’s been some time since I last rode. Before my father’s domain fell.” She shivered as she thought of all the blood flowing through her dream.

  “After you eat, let’s walk a while. If you sit, you’ll become stiffer. Walking will loosen your muscles.”

  She preferred bed but didn’t want to argue. “Of course, m’lord.”

  “Hella. The groveling grows old, little lamb.”

  She hid her smile behind her hand. “I like to hear you complain about it.”

  “Such a temperamental woman. You see why I hesitated to take a bride. I knew what fate awaited me.” The corners of his mouth quirked upward and his eyes sparkled.

  “I think you knew what you were facing when you asked for my hand. I tried to tell you to find a more suitable wife.”

  He nodded. “One meek as a mouse, who would never question my thoughts or orders. Hmm. How dull.”

  “The king craves adventure. What’s more exciting than taming a Saxon woman? Nothing in the world. Not raiding or sailing or meeting exotic people on the trade routes. You’ve chosen the best way to adventure.”

  Ulrika spread their bedding near the small fire she’d built. “Erland took Birgir hunting before the last light fades. Some of the men killed hares along the way. Those boys thought it would be better to have fresh meat than the fare I packed.”

  “They didn’t go far?” Her son might be on his way to manhood, but she worried nevertheless. Out here, who knew what danger unsuspecting boys could stumble on.

  “Erland will watch over him.” Hella squeezed her hand again. “You’ve no reason to worry about Birgir traipsing through the wilds alone.”

  She would regardless of his assurance.

  “We’ll take that walk now.” Hella tugged at her. “Better to pull your mind away from a boy who will grow up to be a man.”

  “Don’t wander too far. There could be wolves on these roads,” Ulrika warned.

  “Yes, mother hen.” Hella grinned. “I’ll keep your beloved queen safe.”

  “We’ll return before they do?” Ealasaid held tight to him. “What if he worries?”

  “Let him have his fun without smothering him. Erland wouldn’t let any harm befall him.”

  Ulrika nodded. “Go on, enjoy the countryside. Work awaits us at Freysteinn. You won’t have a moment to b
reathe as we help prepare them for winter.”

  “It’s my pleasure to help them ready their stores. It’s my duty. Duty above all.”

  Hella’s eyebrows rose. “A noble creed.”

  She stiffened at the disbelief in his voice. “It serves me well.” It does the same for you. You gave everything to your father, the worthless dog.

  “Let’s walk. Talk of creeds and work don’t interest me now. This is a night under a clear sky and I plan to enjoy it.” He circled her waist with his arm. Leaning close to her ear, he said, “I know of a secret place in a cedar thicket we might visit.”

  It took little to imagine what he wanted to do there.

  He led her from the camp where thicker brush grew. The dogs followed, sniffing the ground, padding along silent and watchful. Conifers and bracken sprang up on either side of the road, but Hella seemed confident in his path. He pulled her across a game trail and into a small clearing.

  Thick moss grew on the ground and with the first hints of fog winding through the trees, the clearing seemed like something out of the stories Kirsteen used to tell. The first evening stars showed in the darkening sky. Secluded as the area appeared, Ealasaid hesitated to disrobe. “Someone will see—or worse, hear us.”

  “But they wouldn’t dare interrupt. Vigr and Rifa will frighten them away before they know what’s happening.” He unfastened the hound’s head brooch on her right shoulder. “I hope you’re pleased by these.”

  “They’re finely crafted, Hella. I would have proudly worn two hounds instead of my father’s old crest. It’s a thoughtful gift.” She traced the engraved bull. “You surprise me, husband. I thought you’d prefer I let go of the past.”

  “We both watched Cairbre die. He did it with valor. If there is a Valhalla for Saxons, he’s there. There’s no shame in honoring your sire.” He unhooked the opposite brooch.

  Ealasaid’s apron slid over her underdress. She held her hands out at her sides. “You are an honorable man too.”

  “One must always think of honor or risk becoming an animal.” He tugged at the gown collar.

  Her clothing fell away without much effort. The cool evening air made her skin prickle. She lifted her hood from her hair and dropped it beside her dress.

  Hella ran his palm down her side. He lingered a moment over the scar on her abdomen. His thumb twitched as though to wipe the mark away then he lifted his gaze to hers.

  Please don’t say ask about it. She couldn’t bear the thought of discussing children with him.

  He slipped his fingers into her wetness and pumped them, two hard thrusts, then a slower stroke and repeated the motion over and over.

  She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “Poor substitute for your rod, m’lord.”

  “Yet you seem pleased.” He toyed with her nub, giving it a gentle tug before returning to her sheath.

  She whimpered. Her legs trembled like a leaf in a storm. “I think we should lay down.”

  “Let’s have a seat instead.” He nodded at a fallen oak and pulled his hand away to unlace his breeches. His cock came out, hard and ready for her. He lowered himself onto the trunk and pulled her onto his lap.

  Ealasaid straddled him. The head of his shaft positioned at her opening, and she slipped onto him slowly. He grasped her waist, helping her slide along his length. She closed her eyes as she gripped his shoulders. Warmth closed over one breast. His teeth scraped over her nipple and she clenched tight around him. He ground against her and kissed her collarbone, nipping and sucking his way to her neck. She let out a shuddering breath as she came. He throbbed inside her and groaned.

  “Much as I wish we could stay here the rest of the night, you need food and rest.” He kissed the top of her head. “Dress and let’s hurry back. Erland and Birgir may have found rabbits.”

  She lingered a moment longer to savor the feel of his rod inside her. “We’ll pass this way again, won’t we?”

  He laughed. “Indeed.”

  In the distance, a sharp scream pierced the air, shattering the solitude. Vigr bounded to his feet with a growl, and Rifa laid her ears back and bared her teeth. They faced the camp, bodies tense and ears pricked.

  Hella lifted her from his lap and fastened his breeches. The steel of his sword rang as he unsheathed it. “Dress quickly and stay behind me at all times.”

  All the traces of her lover were gone, replaced by a warrior king with death on his mind.

  Chapter Eight

  Hella pushed through the crowd gathered around the fire. “What is it?”

  One of his men, Ralf, kneeled on the ground. Blood pooled beneath his hand in a steady flow. His wife, Danna, clutched his shoulder as she cried.

  Ralf, his face pale beneath his sun-darkened skin, swallowed, but otherwise showed no signs of succumbing to pain. “Lost my grip on the hatchet, sire.”

  Ealasaid slipped past Hella and took hold of Ralf’s hand. “Hold it up, like this. It’ll slow the bleeding.” She wiped blood away from the wound and tsked. “Severed the tip, fingernail and all. You’ll do fine without it. Little cut like this won’t matter. Ulrika? My herbs?”

  Ulrika melted through the crowd with a woven bag in her hands. “My queen.”

  “The yarrow paste, please.” She curled her fingers around the base of Ralf’s finger. “Set it next to the fire, let it warm a little. I’ll need water and something to bind up his finger too.”

  Hella put his sword away and stood with his arms folded.

  Ealasaid held tight to Ralf’s finger while she waited for Ulrika to assist her. There wasn’t a hint of worry or revulsion on his wife's face. She’d often helped clean wounds and tended the feverish after battles. Impressed she carried a bag of herbal remedies with her, he waited silently while she dressed Ralf’s wound.

  Wisps of hair fell from beneath Ealasaid’s hood, which sat askew on her head from their dash through the woods. “Keep it clean. If infection sets in, we might have to take more of it, or even the whole hand. Continue using the yarrow and come see me if it develops red streaks. That’s a bad sign.”

  “Yes, my queen. I’ll see to it he does as you say.” Danna clutched at Ealasaid’s dirty hands. Tears streaked the woman’s face. “You’re a kind queen.”

  “I did what I could. The rest is up to the gods. Give him a little wine and put him to bed, Danna. The wine will dull the pain, and we could all use some rest.”

  Danna ushered Ralf away from the fire, and the crowd dispersed except for those with beds nearby. Ulrika hefted the bag over her shoulder.

  Blood stained Ealasaid’s loose apron and dried on her hands. In the fire’s orange glow, her skin appeared pale, but she didn’t seem upset by tending the karl’s injury.

  “I asked you to stay behind me in case of danger,” he said.

  “You told me, you never asked. There wasn’t any danger. The poor man needed my help.” She lifted her chin. “Are you going to punish me, m’lord?”

  “You cannot resist danger, can you, lamb?” He traced the scar on his upper arm where she’d stabbed him although it was hidden beneath his sleeve. “You want to rescue everyone.”

  “Better than leaving the world to burn.” Her shoulders slumped. “I failed to keep my father safe the night you came to raid Suibhne. My sisters too. I warned them your ships were coming, but they couldn’t have done anything. I do what I can to help those who can’t do for themselves. It’s not much.”

  “You were a little girl then. How could you stop an army of Norse raiders?”

  She rolled her shoulders. “I couldn’t.”

  “I’m sorry for what happened to your father. He wouldn’t yield and the Bloody Raven only took women as prisoners that night.” Those he’d taken ended up scattered across Britain and a few perhaps in Franks’ lands. Fewer still in Scandinavia.

  “I should wash away the blood before Birgir sees.” She held out her shaking hands. “They’re a bit of a mess.”

  “The dress too. It’s an honorable thing you’ve done
. The things a good queen does for her people.” He placed his hand on her lower back. “Come, you’re more in need of rest now than before.” He guided her to the oxcart. “Ulrika, wine.”

  “Asking goes farther than telling,” Ealasaid muttered.

  “If you please.” He shook his head. “And you have my thanks, of course.”

  “Our Blade Tongue, always good in a crisis, but worthless after.” Ulrika laughed. “She doesn’t care for blood.”

  He silenced her with a look. With her history, he didn’t wonder why Ealasaid disliked it.

  She took the wineskin from Ulrika and drank before passing it back. “Don’t speak as though I’m not here. I do not like blood, but I won’t take leave of my senses and faint because of it.”

  “It’s been a long day.” Ulrika handed her a wooden bowl of steaming stew. “Not too much now. Birgir will be brokenhearted if you don’t save room for the rabbit he swore he’d return with.”

  “Should you search for them, Hella? They’ve been gone a long time.” New worry lines creased Ealasaid’s forehead.

  “I won’t be long.”

  Easier to put her mind at ease if he searched for the boys—one boy, one half-grown man—than if he repeated his words about their safety. He set out in the direction where he’d last seen Erland.

  He found them not far from camp, skinning three fat hares.

  Birgir grinned and held up his sling. “I killed the largest one myself.”

  “He’ll make a fine addition to the stew pot.”

  His father’s smile lit Birgir’s face, though it held no cruelty. Still, the memory pained Hella. “Who taught you to use a sling?”

  “Ma. She used to hunt around Suibhne with her brothers,” Birgir said. “It’s gone now. Her old home, I mean. That’s why we live in Solstad.”

  Erland paused in his cutting. “You like it there, yeah?”

  Birgir nodded. “I do, but Ma misses her home. When I’m big...do you think I could rebuild it for her?”

  Erland lifted his dark gaze to Hella. His eyes were accusing while Birgir’s were curious.

  “There’s nothing left but ruins. Better to look forward, at the future of Solstad and Freysteinn. Give me one of the rabbits to skin.”