Her Heart's Desire

by Merritt, Allison

  “Idunna.”

  She risked a glance at him. His face betrayed his pity. “Yes, my lord?”

  “I paid tribute to your first husband for his service at Freysteinn. He fought valiantly for his people and lands. His loss was a blow to our world, though he bravely fights in Valhalla now. I know that's no comfort for a widow, even as it eases our worries for what comes in the next life. Much as the reasons drag at my heart, I must ask you to allow me to borrow Eoghann for a short time in service. If there was another way, I would never take him from you.”

  Guilt over asking left her raw and embarrassed. “He reminded me of that. It is an honor to march beneath the hound banner. Ofbradh will tremble when he sees such mighty warriors coming for him.”

  “Your words are as flat and hopeless as Ealasaid's.” Hella sighed. “No one desires peace more than tired warriors. Leading men into death brings me no joy. My father would have sent others in his stead and lost many. I will try harder to prevent bloodshed. Too many have already fallen.”

  What a terrible burden, claiming responsibility for hundreds of people and mourning the loss of them when battle raged. The weight of it hung over Hella's shoulders and sorrow darkened his eyes.

  “I know you will do your best to keep each man safe and return them to Solstad. There is no one I would trust more to lead Eoghann.”

  “Tell him I am grateful for his willingness to follow me. I hope his shoulder is mending well. I'll leave you to your business.”

  “If you need to speak with him—”

  “Not tonight. I'll seek him in the morning after he's had a chance to rest.”

  Hella nodded and followed the hall toward his own room. He paused at the door where Birgir slept and his face melted into an expression of love and warmth. A gentler version of his look when he saw Ealasaid.

  He caught her staring, waved, then continued his journey.

  She covered her stomach with her splayed hand and raised her eyes toward the thatched ceiling. Bring each of them home safely. I need Eoghann as much as Ealasaid needs Hella. As much as any wife needs the strength of her husband.

  Chapter Eight

  Every word of comfort Idunna attempted died on her tongue before finding her lips. What could she say to Eoghann that hadn't been said?

  She waited next to him alongside a borrowed horse that looked more likely to fall over than make the long ride to Ofan. The animal bore Eoghann's sleeping blankets and the food Idunna packed for him. This was goodbye, maybe for days, maybe forever. Worry stung and plucked at her like thorns.

  Ealasaid had inspected his wound, declared him well enough, but cautioned him against harsh activity. The likelihood of him facing danger worried his sister and Idunna. No amount of reassurances convinced either of them the departing men would return safely.

  Eoghann stood apart from the other warriors, his features brooding. The sparkle in his eyes died, reduced to a pinched look that made him seem fierce. His shoulders slumped beneath his cloak. The sun, reluctant visitor, had finally burned through iron gray clouds. Snow sparkled beneath its reach. In a few spots, the earth showed through again. The wind wasn't quite so bitter today, but she knew better than to believe winter was short and spring on the way. They'd barely tasted its long reach.

  Other men said parting words with their families, but the jarls who'd brought warriors from the nearby villages waited on the edge of the courtyard.

  She took Eoghann's hand and squeezed it hard.

  His expression softened. “Do not fret for me, wife. I'll return sooner than you expect.”

  “Swear it.” She pressed her hands to his face and pulled him closer. “Make the vow and a pledge to Vár. She'll see it kept.”

  “By any god and every god listening, I will do my best to return to you and Solstad in one piece, Idunna Fundinsdottir. I take my vows and promises to you seriously. If Odin sees fit, I will spend my days at your side.” His smile was soft, lightening the darkness that clouded his eyes moments ago. “Rest easy while we're apart. Don't fear for me lest it bring down trouble. Soon I shall return for you to fuss over.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I will try to be patient.”

  “Know that I carry the memory of our last hours together as a token to keep me warm on this journey.” He stroked his fingers across her cheek. “Take care, Idunna.”

  Tears blurred his face and she hurried to wipe them away. “You carry my heart as well, Eoghann. Treat it kindly.”

  He opened his mouth and his eyes blazed with renewed joy.

  “Eoghann.”

  Hella approached with Erland in his wake. The younger man carried a leather-wrapped object the right size to be a sword.

  She sucked in a breath. Regaining his sword meant Eoghann had earned Hella's trust. It meant he would not walk so blindly into any danger presented in Ofan. But it also revealed the seriousness of the situation.

  Hella gestured at it. “I pray you won't need it, but better safe than with a belly full of regret and enemy steel.”

  Erland lifted the sheath on the flats of his palms. “I hope you don't mind, but I practiced with it one evening against my father. Fear not, I sharpened the blade to an edge that would split bone like soft fat.” He smiled at the sword. “It's a thing of beauty. Fine workmanship. Whoever created it deserved every coin that went into it.”

  Eoghann's face paled. He reached for it, then drew back. Sunlight reflected across the exposed portion of the blade. “I did. A few months before the plans to raze Freysteinn were finished.”

  Erland's eyes rounded. He looked to Hella as though to say, Did you know?

  Hella's gaze was firmly on Ealasaid who approached carrying Fulla. Regret twisted the king's mouth into a sad smile.

  “You're sure, Your Grace?” Eoghann's voice was a leaf-dry crackle.

  Hella waved him off. “It may be needed. We cannot afford to ride into Ofan with unarmed men.”

  Idunna's heart squeezed painfully.

  At last, Eoghann took it from Erland's hands. He strapped the sheath to the horse's side. “Thank you for taking good care of my weapon. It's the finest Saxon steel in Briton. I'm relieved that you know quality and have the sense to treat it with respect.”

  “Out here, a sword is as important as an arm or leg. When the king entrusted it to me, I knew it must be special.” Erland inclined his head. “I'll join my father now. Idunna, I hope to see you again soon.”

  She waved, her throat too constricted for speech. Had theirs been a normal wedding, she would have purchased a new sword to give him during the ceremony. The sword he'd forged would be in her safe keeping until their son was of age to bear it. Perhaps when he returned...

  Ealasaid stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss against Eoghann's beard-roughened cheek. “Erik will watch over Hella as closely as his own shadow. I would ask you to watch him as well, but do nothing to endanger yourself again. Do not make Idunna weep for you.”

  “I hope no tears will be shed over this event. See to her for me and give little Fulla my love each day.” He passed his fingers over the baby's head. “She's beautiful. One day, I may hold a daughter as beautiful as she.”

  “I look forward to the day. You will make a fine father.” Ealasaid held the baby closer to her breast. “Be safe, brother.”

  “And you, my queen.” Eoghann dropped to one knee. “We'll make every village under Hella's rule safe once more.”

  Ealasaid gave him a watery smile. “Get up, you fool, no enemy was ever conquered whilst the hero kneeled.”

  He rose. “To vikingr glory, then.” His smile appeared brittle and he locked his gaze with Idunna's.

  I love you sat on the edge of her tongue, but her teeth gritted together to stop the flow of tears. Freya, please let me have good news to share with my husband on his return.

  He stole a kiss before he mounted the horse. With the nudge of his heels, he joined the other men circled around Hella.

  “To reclaim Ofan!” Hella lifted Almáttigr
, then swung the blade west.

  The procession left on hoof beats and the shouts of warriors eager to claim peace.

  Hot tears cut across the cold stinging Idunna's cheeks. Ealasaid wrapped one arm around her shoulders. Her face mirrored Idunna's grief.

  Two dozen other women remained in the courtyard with them until the men became little more than black specks cresting a distant hill.

  * * * *

  Sure the sound of his weary gait would give him away, Eoghann trudged to the curtain covering the entry to his room. Christo, days without Idunna in his arms nearly had him running to her.

  Sore, tired, and hungry enough risk eating one of Hella's precious hounds, he dropped his blankets outside the room. None of that mattered. He'd die happily right now if he could get a glimpse of his wife. He'd only remained outside long enough to tend the horse Hella had loaned him. Others were as eager as he to see the women they'd left behind, but duty to the animals that had carried them safely home came first.

  The curtain made a soft whisper as it rolled back.

  Near the fire, Idunna stood with a cloth in one hand, naked as a babe. She propped one leg up on a stool that also bore a steaming bowl of water.

  Cold had burned to the marrow of his bones, but one glance at her and he warmed through. His breath caught when she bent to wash her ankle, then stroked the cloth up to her thigh. A cascade of shining brown hair hid her face, clinging to her shoulders and back in damp curls.

  Curved and soft in the right places, she moved with grace even in the simplest of tasks. She turned slightly and revealed the rounded side of her right breast. Full and heavy, it all but begged him to touch it.

  Just as the night he'd wed her, he stood frozen at the door, unable to conceive how a greater power blessed him in such a manner. Beautiful, sweet, and pure, she deserved better than a man wearing blood-stained clothing and dragging a tired sword behind him.

  “Eoghann?” The cloth fell to the floor with a wet splat. Her eyes widened and her mouth split into a wide smile. She sprang toward him, then squeezed him in an embrace. “Eoghann!”

  Though hugging his chainmail couldn't have given her any pleasure, she continued to grasp him.

  “I'm filthy, Idunna.”

  “But alive and...” She stepped back to look him over. After a moment, she nodded and touched his face. “You seem well. Except for a bruise and a scrape. And on your own feet.”

  “Nothing to concern yourself with.” He craved her touch and the nearness of her body. “Free me from the chainmail?”

  Hair spilled over her shoulders, nearly covering her breasts. She tossed it back before she reached for the tightly woven metal links. The strength with which she pulled at them surprised him. For such a petite woman, she had a fierce grip.

  He bowed his head to allow her to lift the chainmail over his head and then pain exploded in his temple.

  “Eoghann?”

  A palm smashed across his face.

  He blinked. The harsh tangs of blood, smoke, and death filled his nostrils as his vision cleared. Coldness gripped his muscles. Hope fled like a shadow at midday.

  Erland crouched over him, soot-streaked, sweaty, and pale. “Týr's spear, I thought you were dead when your legs went out. The bastard who hit you looked like a giant. I stabbed him clean through. He's no threat now.” He drew in a breath. “Get up. They're retreating to the hall.”

  A buzz rattled in Eoghann's head, but he found his feet with the use of Erland's arm. The young warrior retrieved Eoghann's helm and sword.

  “You'd have a nice dent in your head but for that helm. Careful. It seemed as though Idunna wanted you to return home.” Erland grinned. He jerked his chin toward the main longhouse. “Hella and the others are on their way to confront Ofbradh. Nefr's men say he's holed up inside. Coward.” He spat on the half-frozen ground.

  “Let's go.” Helmet in place over the tender lump on his temple and sword in hand, Eoghann staggered down the street. The village was eerily silent but for a few terrified shouts of people attempting to put out flames ravaging some of the thatches.

  “Who set the fires?”

  “Men who didn't want us sacking their homes.” Erland held his sword at the ready. “None of our own or those traveling with us.”

  Clan wars were no unusual thing. Homes and businesses burned all the time because of petty fighting, but in the dead of winter, such loss meant the difference between life and death. To burn one's own home... He clenched his teeth. Had those men any idea what they sentenced their families to?

  Upon entering Ofan, the warriors had met little resistance made by defending Norsemen. The village was unnaturally empty.

  They turned a corner in the street and ran into a burly man with a blond beard. The man lifted his hands to show he held no weapon. He coughed, a wet sound that ended with him spitting up a glob of mucus. “Don't kill us.”

  Behind him a woman with graying hair held two small children. Three more clung to one another at her side. Their faces were thin and sweaty as though they were ill.

  “We've come for Ofbradh's head. Go back inside,” Eoghann snapped.

  “Can't. Our house is burning because the neighbor set his roof ablaze.” The man's skin bore a greenish tint.

  “Then run until the smoke dies. Staying in the open is a poor choice.” Erland brushed past the man. “Let's go.”

  A battle cry reached Eoghann's ears.

  Erland grinned. “My father.” He broke into a run and sent out a call of his own.

  Eoghann followed, though the noise and jostling made his head throb. They raced for the longhouse, which appeared unprotected. Perhaps a small army of men gathered inside, around Ofbradh's chamber, ready to die for him.

  Hella, Erik, Bjorn, Nefr, Tyrfingr, and Falgierr gathered in the courtyard with other warriors.

  “Not dead yet, Saxon?” Erik shoved his elbow into Eoghann's chainmail clad ribs. Fresh blood dripped from his swollen nose. “Fortunate thing my boy watched over you.”

  Eoghann gritted his teeth. “Not yet, although Ofbradh is undefeated thus far. Perhaps he'll rid you of my company.”

  “He won't have the chance.” Erik's crooked smile appeared. “I'll gut him myself. Pity Hella didn't bring his hounds to feast on the remains.”

  A score of arrows rained down on them. Eoghann raised his shield and flinched as points dug into the wood. He lowered it enough to see four men perched on the thatching, nocking their bows again.

  Hella led the charge into the longhouse. The door crashed inward with the weight of a dozen men pushing it.

  A shrill scream rent the air and rang off the walls. Huddled thralls cowered near the walls. Many cowered on the floor and begged for mercy.

  With hatred burning in his eyes and Feykir's head bouncing inside a sack tied to his belt, Hella strode past them until he reached the thrall closest to the door leading into a hall. “Where will I find Ofbradh?”

  A weeping woman with a runny nose and wearing a stained dress pointed her trembling finger through the doorway. “In his chamber, Your Grace. Please don't harm me.”

  “Meet me outside when Ofbradh's blood stains the floor. Your freedom is the reward for your honesty.”

  She lowered her head. “Thank you.”

  They clambered through the door with Erik calling out taunts and slurs. Frightened men and women scattered as Hella's men advanced into the rear of the longhouse. There, sitting upon an oak throne with serpents carved into the arms and back, sat Ofbradh. He'd once been a large man, but disease had wasted him into sagging flesh and protruding bone. A sword lay across his lap with the firelight reflecting red on the blade.

  “Feykir failed me.” His long black hair fell in greasy twists around his time-weathered face. He looked straight at Nefr. “Though he swore he would not.”

  Hella tossed the sack containing the bowman's head at Ofbradh's feet. “You are relieved of your earldom, Ofbradh.”

  “You have brought the wrath of Eir on us.” Ofbr
adh lifted his hand to his mouth. Long strings of bloody drool came away on his skin. The smell wafting off him near drowned the stink of rotted head. “You see? Pride will be your downfall.”

  “What is this?” Tyrfingr sneered. “Some winter malady descends and you start a clan war to justify it?”

  “Death, you fool. Hel's gates are opened wide, bringing demons that plagued my family. She scooped my children from their beds weeks ago.” Ofbradh wiped his shaking hand on his tunic. “She spares few.”

  The hair rose on Eoghann's neck.

  “Madness,” Nefr muttered. He stepped closer, hand on the short knife in his belt.

  “Hella's false claims of kingship brought down the gods' fury. There is but one king in Northumbria and this man is not him.” Ofbradh clutched his ribs with one hand and pointed at Hella with the other. A groan of misery punctuated his words.

  “Why was there no word of illness?” Hella sheathed Almáttigr. “There's little use in hiding such information.”

  Ofbradh gasped. “Váli appeared to me in a dream. She commanded your death and my loyalty to the Danelaw under Amlaíb Cuarán. The ailment would spare my kin and the rightful king would reward me for delivering your head.”

  “Fuck Amlaíb Cuarán.” Erik sneered. “You vowed allegiance to the Bloody Raven and again to Hella Ingvasson. Týr has punished you for looking toward another leader.”

  Ofbradh laid his hand upon his sword. Bloody drool slid from the corner of his mouth. “The scourge will find you all unless you recant Hella's rule. Kill me or let me waste away in peace, false king. This curse has taken my three sons, my wife, and anyone who ever loved me. As it will do to the rest of you. Nefr—”

  A long dagger sliced through the space and entered Ofbradh's chest with a thud. His eyes widened as he convulsed. A grimaced twisted his mouth, then he took a last, rattling breath before he slumped on the throne. The sword clattered to the floor.