Blind Redemption (Viking Romance) (Blind Series)

by Rand, Violetta

She crossed her arms over her chest. “What would you have me do, send him away with a punch instead? Didn’t seeing me kiss another man end your interest in me?” Her eyes glistened in the sunlight.

  He chuckled. “I’d have you reserve your lips for me.”

  She rolled her eyes, thrusting her hand on her shapely hip. The dress she was wearing left little to his imagination—it hugged her feminine curves too well. “Why do you presume you can determine my future without knowing what I want? I’ll kiss whoever I wish.”

  The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed. Did she really think she had a say? Look how poorly she handled herself alone with him—what else was she willing to do without proper supervision? In reality, Aaron mistrusted her because he didn’t trust himself. This realization intensified his feelings. “Save your complaints for another time. What I need to know, what I must know, do you have any attachments to Marteinn?” He desperately hoped she didn’t.

  “Of course, you fool.”

  Perplexing wench. He’d end her free-speak with another kiss. His jealousy overtook him. Naturally she felt something. “A familial tie?”

  “Call it whatever you wish.”

  The lass countered everything he said, wore bloody armor, toyed with weapons, and stole his breath every time she flashed those liquid eyes his way. A smart man would abandon her. “Lass, I leave soon, but rest assured, I will return.”

  “How fortunate for my father.”

  “Your father?” He remained fascinated with her wit. “This has nothing to do with your sire.” He bowed; there was not enough time to further explain himself. The king’s affairs could be put off no longer.

  Late afternoon sunlight filled the unusually quiet hall. Kara sat alone at the high table. Servants scurried by preparing for the evening meal. Why did her father join Aaron and Marteinn? With Geilir restricted to bed after tearing some of his stitches, Gunter was left in charge. Gunter! Nothing felt right. Especially after she watched Aaron ride away. Already confused by her reaction to him, his absence increased her discomfort.

  “Kara?”

  What was it about that accursed man that made her act so brazen and hesitant at the same time?

  “Kara.”

  She jumped. “Amelia?” How long had her maid been standing there?

  “What grieves you?”

  Kara feigned a smile. “Private thoughts.”

  The maid grinned, revealing a slight gap between her front teeth. “Shall I guess? Six and a half feet of perfect male?”

  Kara flushed. Did everyone think she wanted Marteinn? If she possessed the courage to tell the truth, she’d admit she was daydreaming about a Scot whose stormy eyes revealed everything he felt. She’d do anything if he spoke to her in that same velvet tone he’d used when they’d met on the island. Crossing her arms over her chest, she exhaled exaggeratedly. All the servants missed Marteinn.

  “No,” she disagreed. “I’m glad he’s gone.”

  Amelia frowned. “You couldn’t possibly mean it, child.”

  Kara gritted her teeth. “Why ask if you refuse to believe me?”

  For all the qualities her father lacked, Erik the Bald treated his servants well, especially the women. They spoke freely. Kara appreciated it, but wished they would keep their personal opinions to themselves. Her ideas differed from most women’s. Life didn’t stop at the gates. An expansive world lay beyond Lagenheim, and she wanted to see it, experience it firsthand. Not rely on men’s tales for glimpses of what the world was really like.

  “We all love Marteinn,” she soothed. “He is like my own brother.”

  The maid wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ve suspected something was amiss between you two for a long time.”

  Kara stared at her, surprised. “What?”

  “Only what you’ve now admitted—you do not love him as a man. Your heart and mind are elsewhere.”

  By Odin, hadn’t she concealed her interest in Aaron well enough to keep anyone from seeing it? “Who else—”

  “Be at peace, milady.” The maid patted her arm affectionately. “Tis my duty to keep watch over you. I’m no muddleheaded girl.”

  “I know.” Truth be told, Amelia had always been her favorite. Nearly ten years separated them, but Amelia’s sisterly affection added happiness to her life. She ran her father’s household so efficiently, Erik valued her above most warriors. Her husband had perished at Stamford Bridge, along with so many others.

  “A girl’s wandering eye is hard to miss at a feast. That Scottish rogue is handsome as the devil, but not as tempting as Marteinn.”

  That observation made Kara blush. “I would never compare them.” She covered her mouth, ashamed of her near confession. “I’ve revealed too much.”

  The older woman smiled. “Passion.”

  “I don’t like how it feels.”

  “Aye, you do.”

  Kara smacked the table with her palms. Since she’d opened her big mouth, why hide anything? She needed someone to talk to. “Before I met Aaron, I never felt the slightest inclination to know a man intimately. Now my insides are churning.”

  “When a girl meets the right man, the tiniest spark between them ignites the fiercest flame. There are no words to describe it. One night you go to sleep a girl, the next day, you wake up a woman. I felt that with my blessed husband.”

  Halfway across the room, Gunter stood glaring. “Has my sister suddenly blossomed into a woman?”

  Four days of riding with Erik the Bald as your companion could inspire a man to fall on his own sword. At first, Aaron suspected he’d joined them to undermine everything he had planned. But they’d picked up twenty more recruits along the way, relying on contacts the elder jarl had in the region. And fifteen more from Floro. Grudgingly grateful for Erik’s assistance, Aaron could hardly ask the man to leave. But telling him to shut up was another thing altogether. Why did he insist on engaging in conversation at full gallop? And if Aaron didn’t answer his questions, the jarl called him a rude bastard.

  Along with his present issues with Erik, Aaron also contemplated a location for their permanent encampment. He finally selected a spot near enough to the coastal village of Alesund, where they could regularly buy supplies. A seasoned rider could make the round trip in two days.

  The tents were pitched along the edge of the forest, where the soldiers would find relief in the shade. A large clearing provided ample space for training. Archery targets were constructed on the far side. The female thrall’s quarters consisted of two tents segregated from the men’s.

  A hundred yards inside the tree line, Aaron constructed an altar for the pagans to sacrifice on. Although his Christian captains disagreed, Erik approved. It was the first of many actions Aaron intended to use to demonstrate that this was a collaborative effort. King Olaf might kneel to the cross, but he valued all of his subjects equally.

  The night before Erik the Bald’s departure, Aaron invited him to share a meal in his tent. “I cannot say I’ll be sorry to see you go.”

  “It’s good we understand each other now,” the old man said with a broad smile as he scooped some fish onto his plate, then sat on a stool across from Aaron.

  Mutual toleration doesn’t equate to friendship. But Aaron preferred this version of Erik over the one he met in Lagenheim. “When your eldest son heals, I’ll be sure to send for him.”

  “Why?” There was a long pause. “Haven’t I been generous enough?”

  “Rest easy, old man. Marteinn is worth his weight in silver. If your sons want to serve the king, I’d welcome them.”

  Erik poured himself another measure of wine. “To the gods.”

  Aaron raised his cup. “Aye,” he said. “And to King Olaf. May this country finally flourish under his tender care.”

  Chapter 6

 
Soldiers

  Kara’s father had been gone for weeks, not days. She should have found a level of comfort in his absence; however, after Gunter overheard her conversation with Amelia, his treatment of her changed. He accused Kara of having a secret lover and assigned a guard to follow her wherever she went—day and night. Geilir was too weak with fever to intervene on her behalf. Nothing felt right. With no word from her sire, the only solution she came up with was to visit her cousin in the north. Of course, if she crossed paths with Jarl McNally during her travels, all the better.

  At midnight, while most of the household slept, Kara dressed in her armor and grabbed her small leather bag of provisions. The world wouldn’t wait for her—she must catch up with it. She opened her bedchamber door and was pleased to find the bodyguard gone. Amelia had promised to speak with Gunter and convince him he was wrong about what he’d overheard in the great hall. Perhaps she had succeeded. She stepped into the hallway, then closed the door. Everything was quiet. She walked slowly to the stairs. Wall torches provided the light she needed to safely make it downstairs. Gazing dazedly around the great hall, she was pleased to find no one about.

  Amelia was waiting for her outside with two horses.

  “You’re amazing,” Kara praised. “How did you manage—”

  “Never mind what tactics I used . . . the longer we stay here, the more likely we are to get caught.”

  Kara nodded. “I won’t forget your kindness.” She secured her bag on the saddle of a gray mare, then turned back to her maid. “Goodbye, Amelia.”

  “What?” The maid cut her off with a harsh glance. “You’re not going without me.”

  “You needn’t risk your life and livelihood for me.”

  The maid clicked her tongue. “I risk everything if I let you ride off alone.”

  Kara chastised herself for involving another person in her escape. At times, her father might be a conciliatory man, but this overt act of disobedience would surely push him further away. Noble daughters don’t leave without permission. And Erik the Bald’s children didn’t make a mockery of his authority. By morning, word of her absence would spread across Lagenheim like fog. In all honesty, she welcomed her maid’s company.

  “Are you sure?” Kara asked as she mounted.

  “As sure as I’ll ever be.”

  They rode north, the general direction Kara guessed Jarl McNally had gone. Over the last few days, Kara had compiled a list of questions, some alarmingly immodest, to ask him. What gave him the right to kiss her? Why did he question her relationship with Marteinn? And of course there was the constant fear that Aaron had already revealed her unchaste behavior to her father. If he ever found out, he’d arrange an immediate marriage to Marteinn. Poor Marteinn—he’d nearly begged her to wait for him. He’d never forgive her for not agreeing.

  After Erik left camp, Aaron was forced to contend with the bitter memories the elder had resurrected. Aaron’s cousin, Jarl Tyr Sigurdsson, should have executed Aaron for his betrayal. Hatred, jealousy, and thinly-veiled lust for Tyr’s wife had fueled his rage against his cousin. He desired everything Tyr had. Adding insult to injury, Aaron had bedded his cousin’s former mistress without permission.

  Aaron covered his face with both hands. Without the love and support of family, Aaron finally had to admit, he felt lost—unbearably lonely.

  New recruits were showing up daily. Word spread quickly about the draft. Farmers and noblemen alike volunteered their sons and experienced warriors before Aaron visited their homes. Better to keep the king’s representative pacified before he knocked on your gate. Perhaps they feared what he’d discover if he visited their steadings—hidden assets—secret altars dedicated to the old gods. Whatever inspired them didn’t concern him as long as this good fortune continued. With eight hundred men under his command and thirty seasoned warriors to train them—nothing seemed impossible. Aaron was confident he could fulfill Olaf’s demands now.

  Weeks away from reaching his goal of two thousand fully trained soldiers to patrol the northlands, Aaron made an important decision. He knew there was only a brief period of time to take the trip he’d put off for years.

  At the midday meal, Aaron approached Varinn. “I have private affairs to attend to. Given the current status of our recruits, I am satisfied I can leave you in charge while I’m gone.”

  Varinn dropped his piece of half-eaten bread on his plate and eyed him critically. “Tis a strange thing to say without a greeting or providing further detail. You simply announce you’re leaving and I’m supposed to accept it? Curse that Odin-loving bastard for riding with us. Ever since we met Erik the Bald, you haven’t been the same.”

  “The man has nothing to do with it.”

  Varinn dismissed his lie with a flick of his hand. “Do not withhold the truth from me.”

  Aaron ignored his challenge. “I leave after the meal.”

  “Take an escort.”

  “No.”

  “You aren’t thinking clearly.”

  He appreciated his friend’s concern. “You cannot convince me otherwise. If I’m needed, send word to the Trondelag.” The conversation ended there.

  Varinn had spoken correctly. Erik’s words pushed Aaron over the edge. And he wouldn’t be able to function properly unless he faced his past. Nothing short of an edict from Olaf could persuade him to stay. His trustworthy captains didn’t need him. He planned to ride to Alesund and pay passage on a ship bound for the Trondelag. In four short days, he’d be reunited with his cousin.

  Known for his explosive temper, Tyr wouldn’t appreciate an unannounced visit from a banished kinsman. Through his training as a Berserker, Aaron had learned the value of patience and humility. He’d rely on these skills to guide him as he sought forgiveness from the one man he desperately wanted to make peace with. He prayed wholeheartedly that siring children had softened his cousin’s heart.

  Kara plucked the last few petals from the wildflower in her hand. “He loves me . . .” The silly childhood game didn’t include he wants to bed me . . . Love or lust, she’d undeniably affected the brooding jarl. Possessing that kind of power over a man both thrilled and frightened her. Amelia had warned her about toying with a man’s heart. Especially a Highlander. Born in Scotland herself, the maid considered herself an expert on such matters. In Amelia’s good opinion, Scotsmen were superior to Norsemen and twice as virile. A Highlander would sooner kidnap a lass and claim they were handfasted just so he could bed her.

  “. . . he loves me not.” Disappointment ruined Kara’s fine mood. She ripped the last petal from the flower, cast the remnant of it down, and tromped on it. “If that’s how it is, I’ll cut his heart out instead of just playing with it.”

  Amelia chuckled. “Never let anyone force you down a path you don’t wish to take. I exaggerated to make my point, child. Jarl McNally is a titled man, not a barbarian. He’s obligated to the king. Winning a Scotsman’s heart is no small thing.”

  “I don’t want his love.”

  The maid smiled wryly. “Don’t lie.”

  As inexpressible as her feelings were, she admitted to harboring feelings and most definitely wanted to feel his lips on hers again. But she’d never opened her heart to anyone. Every second she had spent with him played out in her mind over and over again. Nothing suggested love; not from him or her. A wish had simply come true, to experience real passion with a man of her choosing. Most of the women at home did it. Only they weren’t the daughters of Erik the Bald. And those women didn’t run away to track the whereabouts of their lovers when they were supposed to visit a kinswoman. Damn her weakness. She cradled her head between her hands.

  “Every touch weaves invisible chains around your heart,” Amelia warned.

  “Drit,” she cursed. “Marteinn’s hands never excited me.”

  “Watch your wicked little tongue,�
�� Amelia scolded. “You never shared Marteinn’s affection, never desired him.”

  “We held hands.” Kara conveniently forgot to tell her about the kiss.

  The maid folded her hands over her stomach. “You shouldn’t require further explanation then.”

  Defeated, Kara stood, then brushed dirt and grass from her backside. “No. I wouldn’t dream of giving you the opportunity to hear yourself speak again.”

  “Irrational creature.” She slapped Kara’s backside playfully. “Make ready to leave, we’re wasting precious daylight.”

  By late afternoon, the heat had grown unbearable. Amelia mopped her forehead with the back of her hand as they brought the horses to a slow walk. Wetlands dotted the countryside and Kara searched for a lake in a secluded area to bathe in.

  “I can’t remember a hotter spring,” the maid complained.

  “Nor I.” Kara searched the horizon. “I’m beginning to think it would be better to ride at nighttime.”

  They traveled a couple more miles and found the perfect place to stop, a pool surrounded by spruce and oak trees. They tethered their horses in the shade. Soft grass and wildflowers carpeted the ground. Kara stripped off her armor, then struggled to unlace her boots and get free of her tight braies. Once she did, she felt as carefree as a wood nymph. Careful to check the area before emerging from cover, she smiled after she confirmed they were indeed alone. Praise the gods. She unpinned her long hair and then stepped out. Amelia spread a blanket on the ground, then unpacked some food.

  “Afraid to show yourself to the gods?” Kara taunted.

  “Me?” the maid asked, wiggling out of her gown. “If I traipsed naked in front of the same man for eight years without blushing, I think I have the courage to face the gods.”

  Kara eyed her admiringly. Tall and thin, Amelia had perfect breasts and finely muscled legs from years of hard work. Why hadn’t she married again? Kara gazed at her own legs. Father called her slender and graceful. She couldn’t disagree more, she felt awkward oftentimes. It didn’t matter if she was wearing silk slippers or leather boots—she’d never feel comfortable in her own skin.