The Silken Cord Page 23

  His words bit into her mind. She had always preferred her soft tunics and pinafores to the coarse garb men wore, but battle was no place for long, tangling skirts. "My father lies in his bed, wounded by a sword from the last battle he fought against your people."

  "Will he die?"

  "Nay, I won’t allow it."

  "You do practice witchcraft, just as your people say," he whispered in a harsh voice. "Do you call upon the powers of Hel to aid you?"

  Kerstin drew in a sharp breath, hating his insinuation. At one time, her people had called her a good witch out of fondness. Later on, it had become a vile label that brought suspicion and hatred from those who didn’t know her or understand her skill. “I am no witch. I simply tended his wounds and gave him something to ease the pain. I’m more interested in healing than causing mayhem.”

  The man stepped closer, taunting her with a wave of his hand. “Your actions today indicate a desire for blood. Now that I have the Witch of Moere, my brother’s life can be avenged.”

  Kerstin gasped. Could it be? Of course.

  She knew him now. He was a Sigurdsson. All his people hated her because they thought she murdered his brother, Bjorn, last summer when he had come to wed her.

  “Jonas? Jonas Sigurdsson?”

  Even as she said his name, she recognized him from the few times she had seen him at the clan gatherings when she was no more than a child. The muscled body, the stubborn tilt of his head, the harsh jawline.

  Eyes bluer than the sea.

  A brutal warrior replaced his boyish charm. People didn’t call him the Strong Arm without good reason. Never beaten in battle, he was the youngest son of Sigurd, the Earl of Hawkscliffe.

  The Undefeated.

  Closing her mouth, she blinked her eyes. What a shame they must be enemies. She found him easy to look upon and respected his fighting skills. “I heard you were traveling the world, selling your sword arm as a mercenary. You’ve been gone several years. When did you return?”

  “Recently.”

  She lifted her brows. “Why did you come back? I would think our farms quite boring after the adventures you’ve had.”

  Jonas’s blue eyes flashed. “I returned at my father’s bidding when he sent word you had murdered my elder brother.”

  “I murdered no one.”

  “You deny it?”

  “Of course. I would have honored the betrothal my father made with your brother.”

  “If you didn’t kill Bjorn, then who did?”

  “I don’t know.” She refused to cringe or feel shame over a crime she did not commit, yet she couldn’t push aside the doubts shadowing her mind. Because of Bjorn’s death, people branded her a witch. In spite of the good she tried to do with her healing skills, the stigma remained.

  “Now, who is the liar?”

  “Nay! I tried to save his life. I wanted him to live.”

  “Who would know better how to administer poison than a witch? Your own people accused you of killing Bjorn.” The low rumble of his voice filled the forest glade, seeming to join with the encroaching storm.

  Shifting her weight, Kerstin crunched dried leaves beneath her feet. Sweat dampened her woolen shirt. She tried to ignore the cloying wetness, but wished she could remove the heavy chain mail and yank off the shirt.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she moved back, chilled by her damp clothes and the increased cold. He watched her in silence and though she couldn’t deny what he said, for hours she had tried to purge Bjorn when he became ill, to remove the poison from his body. Her efforts had been in vain. When he had drifted into a deep sleep and died, she had sobbed bitterly, knowing what his death meant to her people. Already there existed harsh feelings over land disputes. Bjorn’s death meant all-out war and they all paid dearly for it.

  A drop of rain struck her hand and Kerstin shivered. The bleak clouds above them compacted, the treetops swaying like hulking beasts.

  “I know you’re ruthless and cruel, Jonas Sigurdsson, but I’ve heard at one time, you were a kind man, a farmer and trader. That you had mercy and delighted in peace.”

  His face whitened. As he took a step toward her, his fine mouth curved in a sneer of malice. “Mercy has no place during battle. I know your black deeds and won’t listen to your denials. I wish I could kill you and end this feud between our people, but the king has forbidden it.”

  Kerstin held her ground, prepared to meet her death. Her blood ran cold. A morbid shiver ran up her spine and she drew in a hissing breath.

  The wind sprayed dirt in her face and she felt the grit between her teeth. “If you kill me, there will never be peace between our people.”

  Flickering doubt filled his eyes, so quick and subtle she almost didn’t notice. He did seem to care.

  “Are you frightened of me?” she taunted. “I would think a strong warrior such as you wouldn’t fear a witch.”

  “I fear no man, or woman. And I don’t believe in magic, though I believe in evil.”

  She believed the same.

  “Have you become a traitor to our king?” She gave him an accusing glare.

  He cocked his head to one side and his brows lowered in a thoughtful frown. “Why do you think I’ve betrayed our king?”

  “I saw the banner you fought under. It was the royal colors. You have an Eiriksson with you and they conspire to take the throne from King Hakon.”

  His shoulders relaxed but his grim mouth betrayed him. “You are mistaken. My men would kill any Eiriksson we found. Like you, we support King Hakon.”

  Kerstin knew what she had seen. The vivid red and green of the royal house of Vestfold had flown above them as they fought. They must have an Eiriksson spy with them, the dirty traitors.

  She would take the news to her father and he would warn the king. Jonas wouldn’t be so smug when he faced the vast army of King Hakon. Yet, death was a constant threat and she was so tired of war.

  There might be one other way to end this feud between their people. Seeking to be brave, she walked to stand before Jonas and tilted her head back to stare up at him.

  “I can heal the Beast of Hawkscliffe,” she offered.

  He blanched white and took her arms in his gruff hands. As he lifted her close, her feet left the ground and her chest pressed against his. His furious gaze locked with hers. “What do you know about the Beast?”

  She braced her hands against his shoulders for support, her fingers biting into his chain mail. “Only that you are the Beast and you suffer from some malady that caused you great pain and many scars. The gossips say that’s why you left and have been gone for so many years. To hide and heal.”

  His brow quirked with amusement. “I’ve never hidden from anything. There’s nothing that can heal the Beast. The scars run too deep.”

  “How do you know they can’t be healed?” She stared at him nose-to-nose.

  As he drew back, his eyes narrowed on her earnest face, his voice low and hoarse. “The wounds have long since healed.”

  “Surely your soul cries out for a healing balm.”

  “Healing from you?” His eyes widened, his brows drawn together in a horrified glare. “I want nothing more than your death. If not for the king, I would take my revenge and kill you now.”

  Kerstin cringed as he held her in a gentle grip of steel, forcing herself not to struggle. He sighed with impatience. “No one can mend scars left upon the body, or upon the soul.”

  “You’d be surprised what can be done. The heart, the mind ... close your eyes and you won’t see the scars upon the flesh. Look at them with your heart and there is no deformity.”

  For several moments, they stared at one another. Their gazes clashed. She felt compelled by him and could not look away. Where were his scars? He seemed too solid, too strong, too godlike to have any flaws for her to heal. Perhaps the blemish was on his soul.

  In his eyes, she saw raw pain. Then, it was gone, replaced once more by the savage warrior. “You want to heal me, little witch?”


  “Yes, if it would bring peace.”

  “There is only one way for peace between us.”

  Pulling her close, he kissed her. His mouth covered hers and stole her breath and her senses. Time spun away until she felt numb to the world around her. Nothing mattered except him, his touch, the taste of him. Her reaction startled her. When he let her go and placed her on her feet, her breath caught with indignation.

  He gave her a chilling smile. “There will be peace, once you are my wife.”

  As Kerstin stood in shock, his gaze ranged over her. She opened her mouth to rebuke him but he gave her no opportunity.

  “I treasure the thought of having a witch for my wife.” His tone filled with contempt. “It’ll be interesting to learn what talents you possess. I want to discover if you quail in terror as other women do when they see me without my shirt.”

  “You seek to frighten me,” she accused.

  If forced to wed him, would he brutalize her? Such a large, towering man could destroy her. And this man had no reason to be kind.

  “You are a beast,” she whispered.

  “And you are a witch.”

  “I won’t marry you. You can speak with my father, but he won’t agree.”

  “What, ho?” he crowed. “Just moments ago you pleaded with me to let you heal the Beast.”

  “You’ve twisted my words,” she replied with mortification.

  The fool. No doubt he would love to have power over her, to wield his strength to hurt her. “I will marry Elezer of Lade.”

  He gave a scoff of disgust. “Lade is no longer a strong holding and Elezer has no great army to lend the king aid in battle. King Hakon has said you are mine.”

  And what about Elezer? True, he had no great army like Jonas or her father, but he was young, strong and kind. He loved her, as she loved him. Since childhood, they had been great friends. After Bjorn’s murder, he had been one of her few allies, offering comfort when others stared at her with distrust and accused her of murder and practicing black magic. Their friendship had blossomed into love. She could never betray him this way. Alrik would not break the betrothal.

  Alrik would not break her heart.

  “I’ll never marry you, Beast.”

  Jonas laughed and showed her a flashing smile. His blue eyes glinted with a steely edge. It reminded her of a wolfhound scenting prey in the forest.

  “We shall see.”

  Chapter Two

  The journey to Kerstin's home wasn’t long. Through the forest, down the green hills that rolled out above the sparkling River Tyne, and along the well-worn path to Moere.

  As he looked out on the quay, Jonas saw the protective inlet from the river. The natural harbor provided safe anchorage for Alrik’s ships. It also made a surprise attack by an enemy impossible, unless they came from the rugged hills above, which would prove difficult, but effective. Jonas and his men had hidden their ships and done just that, hoping to go undetected should there be an Eiriksson spy close by. Never had he expected supporters of the king to attack him, let alone his future bride.

  The Alriksson’s had built the long pier of strong oak, the fortress a magnificent structure. Rather than being constructed of wood, the stone walls surrounding the hall would not burn and would hold better against attack.

  As they walked, Kerstin stared in front of her, ignoring him. How amusing. Would her father refuse the king’s demand that they wed? Above all else, Jonas wanted peace. To escape the constant bloodshed of a mercenary. He had returned home for no other reason. But it had been a futile dream. He had arrived at Hawkscliffe and discovered his father and people were not only still feuding with Alrik’s people, but also embroiled in a battle to keep the king’s throne.

  Again he must fight. Not out of duty, but out of friendship for his longtime friend, King Hakon. Having fostered together as boys, they were still close, still loyal companions.

  Where were his men? After defeating Kerstin’s warriors, perhaps they traveled to Moere with the king. He could only imagine what he might find when he arrived. He prayed Hakon had been able to speak to Kerstin’s people, to stave off more fighting. Once he discovered what Hakon planned, Alrik would either agree or fight his own king. Jonas reached to cup the hilt of his sword with his hand. He must prepare for the worst.

  Kerstin cast a quick glance at him. Their gazes locked, held, and she flinched. His gaze dropped to her shirt of chain mail and he tried to imagine her dressed in women’s clothes.

  Her gasp of outrage told him she wasn’t pleased to have him ogling her with boldness. Her cheeks flushed with anger. Ah, she was lovely. A maiden warrior like none he had seen before. With witchy hair that told in truth what she was.

  She swallowed and averted her gaze. His instinct was to be gentle with her. Under the circumstances, he doubted she would allow it. Whatever she thought of him, he had never been a cruel man. Never could he trust this woman, never could he let down his guard. Even in marriage, there would be no peace.

  A thud of remorse filled his heart. Would she at least give him heirs?

  He walked beside her along the narrow path, conscious that she held her breath.

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?” She spoke between clenched teeth.

  Shifting his weight, he rolled his shoulder. Her arrowhead burned like a fiery ember lodged in his flesh. What kind of woman fought in battle like a man? No female he had ever met. Once he wedded her, she might try to kill him as she had done Bjorn.

  The thought brought a swell of anger crashing over him. He would not allow it. Somehow he would control the witch and put an end to her magic spells.

  She stumbled on loose gravel and cried out when Jonas caught her securely with his free arm. He pulled her tight against his side, enjoying the feel of her feminine curves. Her fist barely missed his jaw before he snatched it in his hand and held it still. “None of that. Our fight is ended.”

  She snorted. “You think so? You don’t know me very well.”

  Her green eyes blazed as clear as glass, her complexion smooth as alabaster. He’d been ordered to wed a treacherous woman, but at least she was beautiful.

  As he bent his head down to her, she tried to bite him. She jerked against his hold but he held her fast. Her breath quickened, her lips parted. The curve of her face showed high, smooth cheeks. When her eyes narrowed, he wondered what it would be like to see her smile, to hear her laughter. Was she capable of being gentle and feminine?

  She looked away and the scent of lavender spiraled around him, soft and tempting. A womanly scent.

  Her warm breath glazed his cheek, her jaw harsh. In her eyes, he saw doubt and fear. When her gaze centered upon his mouth, she licked her bottom lip. The urge to taste her again gave him pause.

  "Are you injured?" His voice sounded too low.

  Kerstin shook her head. It wasn’t normal to want a woman this much. Had she bewitched him? Perhaps she had cast some spell over him. He should release her.

  His hold tightened.

  "You aren’t Elezer,” she said.

  The way she said Elezer’s name…so sweetly, so lovingly…brought a thud of regret to his heart. How he wished someone would speak his name with such longing.

  Bah! It must be the magic of her spell that made him think such foolish thoughts. He frowned at her, trying to see the maiden beneath the chain mail.

  She struggled to be free and the tranquil moment vanished. He released her. Without his support, she almost fell. As she regained her balance and stepped away, she glared at him, rubbing her arms as if to erase his touch. If he moved toward her, she might try to run. Flexing his throbbing shoulder, he backed away. "For now, I will leave you alone."

  Jonas moved down the trail, conscious of her staring after him. The cold wind whipped against them and a spattering of thick raindrops struck their heads. The storm was almost here, not a good premonition.

  They approached the steading, perched high on a hilltop overlooking the River Tyne. A well-worn
path led to the quay where a solid dock had been built. Several elegant ships swayed in the choppy water, tugging at their mooring lines. Higher up, a forest of spruce covered the mountain, winding over the hills as far as Jonas could see.

  Kerstin followed him, plodding through the wide palisade gates of Moere. Thankfully, she didn’t try to flee. With his shoulder burning like fire, Jonas felt in no mood to chase her down.

  Hordes of their men stood within the main yard, clutching their weapons, glowering at each other. It appeared to Jonas they had arrived but moments before. He expected chaos, yet they remained silent as they watched him and Kerstin approach. King Hakon must have spoken to Kerstin’s people. Nothing less would keep the two clans from killing each other.

  Jonas’s gaze filtered through the crowd until he found his father standing amongst the men. Tall and proud, a formidable warrior in his own right, Earl Sigurd of Hawkscliffe smiled at his son. Affection filled Jonas, and also relief. Dying in battle was always a concern, but Valhalla would not claim them today.

  The large farmstead included a manor house, a sturdy structure dominating the grounds. Home to many of Alrik’s people, Jonas knew they slept on the same wooden benches they used to sit on. Just like his own home, he knew more of Alrik’s serfs lived in small huts throughout the valley, close to their crops and Alrik’s vast herds of sheep.

  Jonas caught the tangy aroma of stewed onions and meat simmering over the cook fire in the main hall. It made him homesick for a hearth and family of his own. Inwardly, he shook himself.

  A few chickens scratched in the dirt. A single goat bleated and went back to chewing on a shrub beside the cow byre. Storage sheds, low timbered barns, a stable, and the main hall sat safe inside the stone wall.

  A vast stone bathing hut rested across the main yard, with mighty cauldrons for heating water. Jonas made a mental note to enjoy it later on. Perhaps a hot bath would ease his aching shoulder and make it easier to remove the arrowhead.

  He sighed, weary of bloodshed.

  Men carried away the injured and Kerstin left Jonas’s side to give instructions for their care. A thrall woman scurried from the hall with a leather pouch and handed it to Kerstin. “Your healing herbs and bandages are inside, my lady.”