Her Heart's Surrender Read online

  Birgir lifted the gutted carcass and passed it to Hella. “Can you tell me about Suibhne?”

  “What?” Caught off guard by the question, Hella nearly sliced into his own fingers.

  “Ma said you were there once.”

  “Once, long ago. I didn’t experience any of the pleasures there. We did some work, in and out. Just a matter of hours.” How much did the boy know about Ealasaid’s reasons for living in Solstad? How much did he know about her relationship with Ingvar?

  Birgir tore the hide off the big rabbit. “Oh. I thought maybe that’s why she loves you. You knew her from the village.”

  Hella almost choked. “Your mother loves me?”

  Birgir shrugged. “Isn’t that why you married her? She said we must always be loyal to you, thankful you took us in. We owe you our lives.”

  “It’s not the same thing as love.” Erland elbowed Birgir in the ribs. “You’re daft, boy. Love is about sex, not loyalty.”

  Hella gritted his teeth. “Erland.”

  The young man’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “Mind your tongue better around the queen’s son.” Hella ripped the rabbit skin down the carcass. “I’m grateful for your mother’s loyalty. I’d be honored if she someday came to love me.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Complicated questions from a young mind. “I’m very fond of the queen.”

  “She married you because my father died.” Birgir’s gaze didn’t waver. “She told me about him. You’re the king because yours died too.”

  Erland finished cleaning his rabbit. “Talk of death is unsettling. I’m going back.”

  When Birgir moved to get up, Hella put his hand on the boy’s arm. “We’ll follow in a moment.”

  Erland shrugged and carried his trophy away.

  “How did your father die?” Hella asked.

  “Ma said he took sick.” Birgir cleaned his knife on the hem of his trousers, then tucked it away. “Like the old king, but my father died when I was a baby.”

  He couldn’t argue with Ealasaid’s reasons for lying about Birgir’s parentage. Ingvar likely denied he sired Birgir. He’d never accept a son born of his enemy’s loins.

  “You favor your mother. There’s no shame in it. She’s from good lines stretching back to generations of heroes. Be proud of it, Birgir. It’s one of the reasons I chose her as my wife.” He tossed the rabbit hides away then cleaned his knife.

  “I ought to reclaim Suibhne. It’s all we have left.”

  “You’d be lord over a pile of rubble? I tell you, boy, there’s nothing there for you. It would make your mother sad to see what became of the place she loved.” He rose. “Solstad is her home. If ever she needs a place, if I should die in battle, on the road, or even in my bed, she has a longhouse in Freysteinn, plenty of riches, and an army of servants to care for you both.”

  Birgir nodded. “You do love her.”

  “You’re pigheaded, you Kentigern-born Saxons. What am I to do with you?” He ruffled the boy’s hair then drew back, surprised at his own action.

  Birgir grinned. “We are stubborn. She tells me about her brothers who fought off invaders from across the sea. They would have been great chieftains, but they scattered into the winds because others wanted to kill them.”

  By others, he meant Danes, no denying it. “Your uncles must have done something awful to warrant death by a Norse blade.” Why would Ealasaid tell her son those things? Sagas were one thing, legends passed down to inspire new generations of warriors. Outright lies would confuse Birgir when he was old enough to figure out the truth.

  “She never says. When I ask questions, she sends me to bed.”

  “She’s a wise mother. Be grateful for her. I barely knew mine.” He put his hand on Birgir’s shoulder. “Let’s take these rabbits to Ulrika. She’ll cook them up until the meat falls from the bones.”

  “I can’t wait to tell Ma I killed the biggest one.”

  “A warrior in the making.”

  It wasn’t his place to tell the boy his uncles were dead. He didn’t want to be the one to admit he’d taken the eye of a boy his age, Ealasaid’s brother Diarmaid. He’d injured her family and for what? So his father could kill a chief who wouldn’t bow. So they could raze a once-prospering village to the ground. They eliminated a threat standing in the way of their trade route, but he believed given time they’d have gained an ally.

  He planned to rule the village much differently than his father had. The people would speak of Ingvar as a conqueror, but they would speak of Hella as the king who settled them in this land, who raised them up beyond savage status.

  We are Northmen, and we will thrive here or in any land where we set foot.

  But it wouldn’t have to be at the point of a sword.

  * * * *

  Freysteinn remained the same as he remembered it. Hilmir Hall stood on a hill, granting its occupants a stunning view of the river and valleys where the karls farmed. Smaller than Solstad Hall, but no less comfortable, Freysteinn seemed as welcoming to Hella as his childhood home.

  Ealasaid’s face gave away nothing as their horses plodded toward the hall. If it pleased her, she gave no indication. Beside her, Birgir’s head swiveled as he took in the sights.

  Jarl Njord Völlr waved in greeting from outside Hilmir. His wife, Skuld, a winter younger than Hella and big with her third child, stood with him. She kept her head bowed in refusal to look at Hella’s party.

  A lightning bolt of guilt burned in Hella’s chest. Ingvar had severed Skuld’s twin brother’s head over a dispute about wandering cattle. The matter would have been settled without bloodshed if the young man allowed Ingvar to take the cattle. Hella, young himself at the time, though old enough to be considered a man, stood for his father’s side of the argument. As king, Ingvar received whatever he wanted without question, even if taking it meant bloodshed.

  Since her brother’s death, Skuld’s demeanor turned bitter and icy.

  “Welcome back to Freysteinn, my king.” Njord bowed then glared when Skuld didn’t. “We’re pleased to have you during your stay.”

  Skuld managed half a curtsey. “My king.”

  “We’re pleased to be here.” Hella dismounted and passed his reins to Erik. He rounded the horse, then helped Ealasaid from her saddle. “Allow me to introduce my wife Ealasaid Kentigerndottir and her son, Birgir.”

  Njord’s mouth opened, but he didn’t make a sound.

  “Kentigern? You made your father’s enemy’s daughter your wife?” Skuld clasped her hands around her swollen belly.

  Ealasaid straightened her spine. “On last Frigga’s Day. He’s taken my son as his ward too.”

  Hella wrapped his arm around his bride. “We’ve come so the queen could see her morgen-gifu. In the event of my death, Ealasaid will move into Hilmir. For now, we’ll oversee the harvest and help where we can.”

  Skuld raised her brow and pinched her lips shut.

  “You introduce interesting times, Hella.” Njord recovered with another glare for Skuld. “Of course you, your wife, and your ward are welcome here. Your people are welcome as always, my king. Have the thralls settle the animals and come inside so we may share the evening meal and discuss the news since the last time we saw you.”

  They would speak of Ingvar’s death and perhaps if he found himself alone with Njord, they would talk about his marriage to Ealasaid. The real truth of it would never pass between his lips. He’d laugh about it, tell his friend she’d bewitched him and repeat the words he’d told his people.

  The fire blazed in the center of the hall. Thralls milled about, cooking and setting places at the tables. Wood smoke and the scent of roasting meats filled the air. Long benches lined the walls the way they did at home, comfortable and tidy.

  He tilted his head toward Ealasaid’s ear. “You like it, little lamb? It’s yours as promised.”

  “I hope I never need a place to go except Solstad.” She gazed up at him with a quick smile. “The lady
of the hall doesn’t like you much.”

  “Not even a little,” he admitted.

  “You’ll tell me why when we’re alone.”

  “When you tell me the truth about why Ingvar couldn’t stand the sight of you after Birgir’s birth.”

  She stiffened.

  “Smile,” he whispered. “These are your people too, and they’ll think you’re displeased with their efforts to welcome us.”

  He steered her to the high table, one set on a platform above the others. Birgir sat on her other side, seeming proud of their placement.

  Njord and Skuld joined them. She slid awkwardly onto the bench and stared at her empty plate.

  “The fields were fertile this year.” Njord lifted a loaf of bread and tore off one end. “Tomorrow, we’ll get every able-bodied person out there and reap a good harvest. There won’t be any who starve this winter.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Our own fields should provide well into the start of the growing season. The hunting has been particularly fine. The smokehouses are full.” Hella gestured to the cupbearer for wine. “There are a few things we’re without this year, some of the spices we enjoy, we’re short a few bolts of silk, our stores of exotic items are low. We lost some trades due to the Bloody Raven’s illness.” The downfall of Ingvar’s loss was that no one negotiated the way the former king did. Few wanted to—these days most men knew they could gain more from trading than raiding.

  “You’ll get through the winter easily with a wife to warm your bed.” Njord winked at Ealasaid.

  Her hands tightened into balls on her lap.

  Birgir tugged her sleeve. “I’m hungry, Ma.”

  “Then you shall eat and eat well.” Skuld reached across the table as far as her belly allowed and tore the legs off a roasted chicken. She deposited them on his plate. “Hilda, bring the boy some goat’s milk. I’m sure he worked up a thirst riding for two days.”

  A thrall scuttled to do her bidding.

  Birgir nodded. “Thank you, Frú Skuld.”

  “Eat whatever you like. As my husband says, we’ll all be fat and content this winter.” The lines bracketing her mouth suggested otherwise. A darkness hung over her.

  Others from their party and a few faces Hella didn’t recognize filled the hall. “Where are your sons, Frú Skuld? I thought they would be here to greet us.”

  She stroked her stomach and lowered her eyes. “Hunting, sire. They are eager to fill our smokehouse with winter nipping at our heels.”

  “I am their king.” Hella pressed his palms against the rough table. He said it without any malice, keeping his tone low. “They should know better.”

  “They’re boys.” Njord chuckled nervously. “They enjoy mischief. I remember when you were no older than—”

  “When my father or uncle presented me to lords and chieftains, I showed my respect. I didn’t put hunting over a man’s importance.”

  “Hella.” Ealasaid curled her hand around his upper arm.

  He shrugged off Ealasaid’s hand. “They’ll be home before nightfall, won’t they, Njord? I have something for them.”

  “I’m sure they will appreciate a gift from the king.” Njord lifted his cup. “I give you my thanks ahead of theirs.”

  Ealasaid stared at him, her mouth turned down and brows drawn together.

  “Stay, eat,” he told her. “I’d like to see the village. I want to stretch my legs.”

  “Hella.” Eyes blazing, her mouth tightened.

  “Njord and I have things to discuss, little lamb. Frú Skuld will make certain you and Birgir are settled. Enjoy the hospitality of Hilmir.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head then rose from the table. “Njord.”

  The jarl gave Ealasaid an apologetic smile.

  Hella stepped out of the hall. The air held the tang of the smoke. Njord followed him. A sheen of sweat stood out on the man’s forehead.

  “Where are the boys?” Hella asked.

  “Not here, your grace.” Njord stared at the ground between them.

  Hella waited.

  Njord’s chin trembled. A man who’d faced enemies while cursing their ancestors in the heat of battle shook like a kicked dog. He’d gained weight since he’d given up raiding for the life of an indulgent jarl. “I sent them to my brother in Normandy.”

  “Why?”

  “There are...rumors from the north.” Njord wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “An army is marching this way. I sent the boys weeks ago, before the Bloody Raven’s death.”

  “Why was I not informed?” Tension tightened Hella’s shoulders. “Who’s army?”

  Njord’s face paled. “I sent a messenger straight to the Bloody Raven. He sent his own in return, carrying my thrall’s head, and said think nothing of the rumors. It’s too close to winter for an army of soft southerners to make an attack on us. I tried to tell him...”

  “What?” Hella grabbed Njord by the front of his tunic. “Spill your secrets now.”

  “The leader claims he is a great chieftain driven from Suibhne years ago. He watched his home burn, his family and people die under Norse blades. He’s no ignorant Saxon savage. They say he’s Diarmaid Kentigern, reborn from fire with the spirit of his father burning inside him.”

  Hella’s grip slipped and Njord backed away.

  “I did not mean to be the bearer of grave news, my king. You see, that’s why the presentation of your wife startled us. Diarmaid declared he’ll have vengeance in the name of his father and his family. He will leave no Norse settlement unburned until he wipes out the Bloody Raven’s line. I don’t believe he’ll resist because his sister is married to a Norseman.”

  “Why wasn’t I told? I sat with nothing to do while my father died. He never breathed a word of an enemy threat.” Red rage built in his chest. How dare Ingvar put their people in jeopardy?

  “He killed my thrall because of a simple message. I urged him to gather his own men in case of attack. He didn’t listen.” Njord shook his head. “I did what I could to protect my sons. Skuld wished to go as well, but I told her you would be coming for the harvest. I didn’t wish to cause your men and thralls alarm, my king.”

  “My wife is not to hear of this. You find two boys and pretend they are your sons. Don’t allow them to talk with her at length.” Hella clutched his sword hilt. Gods, the first and last time he’d confronted Diarmaid, he’d been certain the boy would die of his wounds. Had he truly escaped the fire that consumed Suibhne?

  Njord took another step back. “Of course. Forgive me for the deception. I should have sent another messenger when I learned of Ingvar’s death.”

  “You’ll send men north. A pair of them. Saxon thralls if you have them. I’ll buy their freedom from you. I want to know if the rumors are true. Have them find out how many men Diarmaid has gathered and who lifted him to the position of chieftain. There can be no more surprises, Njord. Not when our villages and livelihoods are at risk.”

  “I’ll send them tonight without delay.”

  In the fields, karls and thralls toiled to bring in the crops, unaware of potential trouble. Hella understood an attack before winter. Only a man sure of his own victory would do something so foolish.

  Chapter Nine

  “When is your baby due, Frú Skuld?” Tension ran high between them. Clearly Skuld no more wanted Ealasaid here than she wanted Njord for her husband.

  “Any day now. We’re hoping for another son.” The frost in her voice suggested she repeated Njord’s hopes, not her own.

  “I’m sure it will be a lovely baby, no matter the sex.”

  “Another lovely baby to lift his sword or her skirt when the king commands it.” Skuld sliced a thin piece of chicken even thinner with her knife. Slowly, as though torturing secrets out of it.

  Chills raced up Ealasaid’s spine. She glanced at Birgir, but his attention remained on his own chicken. “Please tell me what you mean.”

  “It’s what they do. They command, and their lessers follow or end up with
their heads on pikes. The Norse care for their own families, true enough. If Hella died right now, you’d order us out of Hilmir and take it for yourself.” Skuld slammed the knife point into the table. Her hood covered auburn hair, and her dark eyes burned with anger. “Forgive me, my queen. I need some air.” She pushed the bench away from the table and hauled herself up.

  “Feel better, Frú Skuld.” If the woman wasn’t so far gone with child, Ealasaid might have given her a long lecture about speaking crassly to her queen. Relieved to be free from the other woman’s company, she allowed it to go unaddressed. She understood why Skuld resented her presence here. Hilmir was no permanent home for the other woman.

  “Full of bile, Frú Skuld is.” Ulrika folded her hands together in front of her.

  Ealasaid frowned. “No woman is a continual joy when she’s close to giving birth.”

  “On your worst day, you weren’t that disagreeable. Even with Ingvar threatening to kill you.” Ulrika followed Skuld’s departure with her eyes. Intense displeasure created a deep frown on her face. “And dare insult a queen? You could have her head if you liked.”

  “We’re in her home with her thralls listening. Hold your tongue, or we might find the food and service aren’t always this good. Perhaps she can’t help being miserable. Something is odd here, Ulrika. Hella knows it, which is why he left. I should have followed.”

  The old woman chortled. “You think he wouldn’t have sent you straight back in here if you tried? Don’t be a goose, your grace.”

  “It isn’t fair,” Ealasaid muttered.

  “Nothing in the world is fair. You might have a bit of good fortune here and there—for instance, a handsome warrior with genuine affection for you. You have a beautiful son, a gracious husband, a devoted old crone of a thrall. Smile and soon we’ll be back in Solstad.”

  “Another two-day ride on the back of an animal that’s more sheep than horse.” She folded her arms.

  “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the stop last night. Or were you interrupted?” Ulrika laughed. “I wouldn’t mind getting cozy with your husband if I were younger.”