by Sandra Lake
“Nay, Klara will take her. You will stay until I am ready to retire.”
“My humble request, Jarl Magnus,” she said with great restraint, remembering that she would catch more flies with honey than vinegar. “These are her first hours in your vast fortress . . . home. She may awaken scared and confused. I ask for your understanding on this occasion.”
“As you will, wife. See the child to her chamber. Klara will stay with her until you select a nurse.”
“A nurse?”
“Aye, the child is here for your purpose. You are here for mine,” the jarl said.
Delightful. How thoughtful of you to remind me. Lida bit her lip to keep her words in, closed her eyes, and prayed for calm.
“See to her, and then you will return,” he added, with a flick of his wrist to dismiss her. He was really pouring on all of his Norrland charm for her tonight.
Lida nodded once, curtly. Tero scooped her daughter into his arms and began carrying her toward the wide stone staircase to the right of the hall. Lida turned to follow.
The jarl snatched her wrist, jerking her back to the side of his chair. He pushed up the gold band and thumbed the leather bracelet she wore underneath. It was of no value. Why would it be of notice to him? Squeezing her wrist tighter, he searched her face, a tempest of blue anger collecting in his eyes. What had she done wrong now?
He released her. Heart racing with a renewed surge of panic, she fled up the stairs behind Tero, ascending higher and higher, thankful for the distance that grew between her and the jarl.
“How much higher, Tero—will we be there before dawn?”
“Your chambers are the most private in all of Tronscar, Friherrinna. No one is permitted on these steps without the consent of the jarl, Klara, or myself,” Tero said.
From a step below her, Klara muttered, “And to think it only took me twenty years of cleaning piss-pots to make me so special.”
Lida smiled tightly at the dryly delivered quip. Klara’s unapologetic wit was hard to ignore or refute.
“Don’t mind the domina, Friherrinna,” Tero said. “She ages like a mishandled wine, becoming more sour as every year passes.”
“Pft,” Klara blew out.
Tero ignored the scoff and continued on with his tour. “You will come to bless every single step on this long climb, as it grants you solitude. ’Tis the sole peace you will find in this fortress of continuous activity.”
“Yes, privacy will be appreciated,” Lida said. If only that privacy were from her husband. She sighed. “Does all of Tronscar regularly take their meals with the jarl in the great hall?”
“All of Tronscar?” Klara said in a mocking tone that Lida was beginning to understand was her standard delivery. “The principal hall served less than a quarter of Tronscar tonight.”
“Every man in the jarl’s service that applies himself is rewarded,” Tero answered quietly, so as not to wake Katia. “His principal centurions live within these walls, his legion just outside. The barracks are in the lower bailey. The top men from each station are invited into the jarl’s hall to take the evening meal. Each night, a hundred and fifty men are served the jarl’s wine, ale, and meat.”
“So many? Every night?” Lida was taken aback. “How does the kitchen manage such a demand?”
“Tronscar has two principal kitchens,” Klara said in a marginally more sincere tone. “The barracks’ meals are frequently stews and less prime cuts, but still the best quality. We must always be prepared for the jarl’s inspections. If the stew is too watered down, the cook is demoted. Jarl Magnus expects the best from his people and he is willing to give them the finest he can offer in return.” She spoke with a considerable amount of pride for her jarl. Heaven help her, Lida thought. The jarl had disciples.
“He must turn water into wine in his spare time,” Lida mumbled. Klara laughed softly from beside her.
“Forgive me for my many questions, Tero,” Lida said, “but can you explain why the jarl uses so many Roman titles in his household and among his men? I thought to understand his family originated in the Skåne.”
“His grandfather’s grandfather relocated to the north after his brother, King Erik, gifted him rights and control of the northern realm. Our jarl is pure Norrlander. I believe he developed his appreciation for Roman design and order through his continual study of the triumphs and downfalls of past empires. He is a most learned man, your husband.”
Lida contined walking behind the zealot servants, finally reaching the master’s floor several minutes later. Tero turned left down a long, torch-lit corridor with six doors feeding off of it. He entered the one at the very end.
“We selected this chamber for your daughter due to the morning light,” Tero said quietly. “The adjoining chamber will be convenient for the nursemaid. The summer breeze that flows through here is the envy of Tronscar. May I place her on the bed?”
“Aye, my thanks, Tero.”
Klara walked ahead to the large canopy bed and helped turned down the thick, soft layers of bedding. Lida smiled at the housekeeper and, for the first time all day, a person other than Katia honestly smiled back.
“This little kitten will be safe and comfortable. I give you my word. Did her father give her the fur?” Klara asked in a friendlier tone as she began to unfasten the ties on Katia’s mantle.
“No, your jarl selected it for her on the voyage. Do you have children of your own, Klara?”
The housekeeper nodded with a tight, proud smile. “I birthed three daughters and five sons. Two sons have fallen in battle, but three remain in service to the jarl on his ships. My daughters live within the keep. One is wedded to a master ironworker, one to Roffe, the first battalion commander, and my youngest is still taking petitions.”
A mother is a mother first, Lida thought, no matter what house or master she serves. Perhaps here, within the community of women, there would be room for comfort in this cold palace. All women shared certain indisputable truths that easily could grow into bonds, making them sisters. Would the sarcastic housekeeper be a woman Lida could share a sisterly bond with?
“So many children. Blessed indeed,” she said. “Though I am sorry to hear of your losses. Many thanks for your assistance this eve. I hope Katia and I will not impose an added burden to your duties.”
“This little cat, a burden? I do not see how that is possible.”
Lida stared down at her beautiful daughter, tucked in warm and safe under a thick, soft wool blanket. She wished to crawl in next to her. It was an exhausting idea to return to the iron chair, on display for hundreds.
Yet, this is the life she had gotten herself into. She sighed.
“You best not keep the jarl waiting,” Klara said in a gentle hush. But her body language spoke differently than her tone—she stood with her arms crossed, leaning back with a small smile. The woman did not trust her—yet. Lida would do what she could to bridge the gap between servant and mistress and to foster a bond.
“Aye, ’tis only that I . . . I have never slept without her. She may wake and have need of me or . . .”
“I would never dishonor my jarl by not seeing to my duty. Enjoy your evening.” Klara touched her shoulder lightly.
“Oh, my gratitude, Klara. I . . . many thanks.” Lida surveyed the serene chamber more thoroughly. The artfully carved canopy bed curtained with a rich blue fabric—a touch of embroidery could brighten it up. The corner chamber boasted two windows, one with a most pleasing window bench under it. Fur rugs and fur-lined chairs; fur, fur and more fur. Why did every small woodland creature need to be slaughtered to decorate the iron castle?
Candleholders of polished silver sent a twinkling light into every corner. With the small crackling fire in the hearth, the large room did not feel hollow as some stone chambers can feel, but warm, tranquil, and . . . lovely. Katia’s animal wood carvings were unpacked, and her charc
oal and birch bark paper lay on the small table, ready for play first thing in the morn. Three bright, colored ribbons hung off the back of a chair. Her daughter now slept in a grand chamber fit for a princess.
Why, then, did Lida feel like weeping?
It was all too much. The confining jewels around her neck itched. The grandeur of this secondary chamber made her head spin. This was either a strange dream or impending doom.
“Friherrinna, may I be of assistance?” Klara asked, her brow taut with concern.
“Can you call me Lida? I have never been a mistress of anything before. I have less need of a housekeeper and more need of a friend.”
“The jarl will prefer I call you Friherrinna.”
“Aye, so I heard.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Shall I call you Lida when he is not with us?” Klara’s confident smile was wearing off on Lida. A rush of relief flowed through her. She had made a friend. “My thanks, Klara. I am certain that after some much-needed sleep, I should be myself again.” Lida tried to borrow confidence from her new friend.
“Of course you will,” Klara said.
Lida dragged her feet from the chamber to find Tero waiting for her in the corridor. He led Lida in the direction of the stairs and then across the landing. “The jarl awaits you in his chambers.”
“Delightful,” Lida said. Clearly, Klara’s sarcasm was contagious.
Chapter 10
Tero stopped at a set of massive double doors. He knocked briskly and entered without waiting for a response, Lida trailing behind.
In front of a beautiful stone-etched hearth, the jarl lay stretched out in a soaking tub twice the size of the one he’d used in Turku. His thick, silky auburn hair curled against the shiny rim. His eyes were closed, legs crossed at the ankles, feet resting up on the opposite end. Have mercy, his feet are large, Lida thought. The smell of pine scented soap permeated the air, steaming up from the surface of the water.
If she had not known him to be an unpleasant, bigheaded lout, she could almost see why people considered this man to be attractive and appreciated his magnificent, powerful form. He truly was a man like no other. Molded in perfect scale, he had brawn without cumbersomeness and thick, long limbs, and was curved without appearing overstuffed. Even his chest hair seemed to display his vitality and manliness.
The heavy wood and iron door latched behind her. Lida jumped, startled by the sound. Tero had abandoned her in the private lair of an angery warlord—though she still could not figure out what she had done to anger him. The privacy of his personal floor, constructed with stone walls and thick timber doors, would guarantee no one would hear her if she called for help. Perhaps he would beat her for her small displays of defiance on their journey and had simply held off his beating until he had her in the privacy of his chambers.
“Remove all but the gold, wife. I would see it against your bare skin.” The jarl issued the instructions without opening his eyes to acknowledge her presence.
Lida sucked in a ragged breath. He had already laid with her earlier in the day when the horses were stopped to rest and water. He had led her into the forest and made quick work of what he wanted to accomplish. It confounded her that he should have need of her again so soon.
Piece by piece, she unfastened the layers of clothing. He was not a cruel man when it came to coupling. It was clear that her pleasure was important to him, though she could not understand why. Was it simply another example of his swollen ego?
It provided nothing more than a momentary release for her, leaving her feeling shamed and unclean after. Each carnal encounter reminded her that she had willingly given her body over to a man whom she did not love, and who would never love her.
In any event, what want did she have of love? Her life had taught her that true love burns bright, attracting one to its warmth and light. But, as any flame, it is quickly and easily extinguished, leaving wounds and scars to be borne for years to come.
She contemplated the jarl’s chamber as she disrobed. It was decorated in more of the opulent beauty that all of Tronscar seemed to hold. The difference in this chamber was that everything was grander in scale. The plank floor had been freshly waxed, a Persian rug lay under a seating area in front of the fire, another plush sheepskin rug surrounding the immense canopied bed. She surmised that many of the rich furnishings were acquired from distant shores, much like her.
In the far corner, a man-sized reflecting glass stood in an artfully crafted steel frame, a rare and precious treasure indeed. She could not begin to presume its value. Tapestries, jewel-encrusted swords, and brightly polished braziers adorned the walls. The chamber was fit for a king, or, as it happened, one very wealthy, power-hungry warlord.
Even the smell of the jarl’s chamber reminded Lida that she did not belong here. Would he expect her to spend the entire night, or would he send her to a chamber down the corridor when he was done with her? No, her travel chest was here. He probably designed to keep her here for now . . . until she was with child. Tupping her more than once a day was clear evidence that procreating was his pressing priority.
She placed the last of her undergarments across the top of her closed apple wood travel chest.
“Take down your hair,” he ordered in a deep, rough voice. In no rush to comply, she turned around to face him. She found the sight of the jarl disturbing and conflicting. He had not shaven since they left Turku. His face was covered in dark golden whiskers, his bronzed skin glowing with a breathtaking beauty and strength. He stirred a primal lust in her that she hated, and hoped to find a way to eliminate.
“Come to me, wife,” the jarl said, more quietly.
The freshly bathed, naked jarl stalked toward her, a determined look in his eye, and Lida retreated out of instinct. But before she could think to plot a sensible escape, the jarl pinned her back to the warm stone wall next to the massive hearth.
“I commanded you to come.” His breath was hot upon her cheeks, their naked skin pressed together.
“I . . . you startle me.” She feared his touch, yet yearned for it, her body and spirit no longer working together as one. His size, his scent, his dominant presence assaulted her senses.
“Why do you fear me? I have never harmed you,” he asked, searching her eyes.
“I do not fear you . . . I do not know you.”
“You have known me for many nights.”
“I will come to understand your ways.” She worked to regulate her breathing, but before she could master it, the jarl punished her with a consuming kiss. The back of her head pressed into the wall as his hands roamed over her sides, goose bumps rising across her flesh. He captured her wrists, pinning them over her head, kissing her with more urgency, more force, more intensity. Lida thought she would shatter into a thousand pieces.
Moving against him, she panted. Her hands were no longer balled in fists above her head but open-palmed. She had surrendered. There was no hiding the fact that she desired him.
One of Magnus’s fingers caught on the leather band concealed under her gold armbands. The jarl pulled back and searched her eyes. “I instructed you to remove all but the gold.”
“I have—” Lida felt dazed from the overpowering current that surged from him into her. The jarl jerked her arms down and held them out in front of her, wrists turned up.
“What is this?” He pulled back the gold band, revealing Urho’s bracelet, which she had worn on her wrist since the day she had first met him. The small leather band, like her cloak, had become part of her identity. They were what she felt natural and comfortable in—not the gold, furs, and jewels that the jarl dressed her in. Her simple belongings made her feel most like her true self.
“Nothing.” Her lust drained, replaced with dread. He released her with a shove.
She rubbed her wrists as the jarl crossed the chamber. Her heart accelerated with the growing uncertainty of what would
happen next. He stalked back toward her, fisting something in his hand. Candlelight reflected off a shiny surface in his hand. ’Tis a blade!
He would kill her for her forgetting to remove the thin piece of leather. Panicked, she rushed backward and immediately cornered herself in another ill-conceived retreat. “Forgive me. I shall remove it.”
“Why do you flee from me?” he asked.
Magnus grabbed Lida’s wrists, her eyes shifting back and forth with palpable fear. She continued to betray him with her loyalty to a dead man. He would not accept such an insult.
Pressing his body into hers, he pinned her hands high above her head. He raised his dagger and she flinched, turning her face away. That she cowered revealed that she expected to be beaten for her disobedience. He cut away the leather band.
“Nay, I beg you.” She twisted, nicking her flesh against the edge of his steel. Blood ran from her wrist down her arm.
“Senseless wench! I intended you no harm.” Magnus tossed the blade to the floor. He released her to seek out a cloth to bind the small wound.
He picked up the offensive leather. “What is this to you?”
“’Tis mine . . . all I have left. Tero has taken all my garments,” she said. Her fear was fading, quickly being replaced by rising anger. She raised her chin and thrust her chest upward. Magnus felt his blood soaring, his manhood hardening. How her defiant spirit aroused him.
“’Tis nothing, as you said.”
“Twas on my wrist for so many years, I forgot I wore it.”
The jarl stared at her with judgment and contempt. Lida would never come to understand his ways.
“The gold and jewels around your neck and on your wrists are but a fraction of the gold and stones that you now possess. They are not nothing. I am your husband!”
She turned her face into the wall and braced for his blow. He would surely beat her this time . . . only, it never came. She peeked her eyes open.
“I do not strike any weaker vessel, regardless of if they deserve punishment for their insolence,” the jarl said in a low, controlled tone. “Your manner continues to insult me.”