Page 22 of Merciful Salvation

Chapter Seven

Timing

After the longboatanchored at the mouth of the river that bordered his cousin’s lands, Aaron disembarked, then walked to the only village nearby to borrow a horse. He rode for hours. He didn’t remember his cousin’s home being this far inland. Perhaps it seemed longer and farther away because he dreaded the confrontation. Tyr had promised certain death if he ever found him in the Trondelag again. Aaron wanted to win back his confidence, his respect. Tyr’s influence stretched to the farthest reaches of the northlands. There wasn’t a jarl in Norway who didn’t seek his friendship. Even Christian leaders respected him.

Days after his banishment, Aaron had determined two choices for his future. Slither back to Scotland and beg his father’s forgiveness or prove himself as a soldier under King Magnus. With Magnus now dead, the chance of seeing his cousin had increased because his own lands were located so close to Tyr’s. The army had met all his needs short of mother’s milk.

As he neared Tyr’s steading, he dismounted and led his horse the rest of the way. As the large house came into view, music filled the air; he smelled roasting meat—a feast. His cousin was a generous man who treated his tenants and thralls as family. Nothing had changed, a gaggle of children were running wild in the fields. Women were working in the vast gardens, while the men drank in the courtyard.

As Aaron entered the courtyard, someone called his name.Onetooth. The loyal henchman lived.

“Fortelle min frende den fortapte sønn tilbake,” Aaron answered.

“Prodigal son, my arse,” the burly soldier uttered as he ducked inside the house.

Memories brought a smile to Aaron’s face. Within the span of two breaths, Tyr appeared in the doorway with a young boy perched on his back. No mistaking the boy’s parentage, he favored his father. His cousin swung his son around, then set him on his feet.

“Mine øyne bedrar meg, fetter?” Tyr’s lips curled in revilement.

Aaron ignored the words and hissing sounds coming from the men sitting nearby. This was the moment he’d anticipated... how he proceeded would have great consequences. It might give him a new future or deprive him of one altogether. “No, cousin, your eyes don’t deceive you.” He knelt at Tyr’s feet, bowing his head.

During the period of uncomfortable silence that followed, Aaron didn’t move. He waited to feel the steely edge of Tyr’s sword slice through his neck or feel his fist slam into his jaw. He’d never offered himself to anyone this way—never felt this helpless.

His cousin sighed. “What game do you play?”

Aaron lifted his head, meeting Tyr’s heated gaze. “I seek forgiveness, in Odin’s blessed name. For everything I’ve done.”

“Odin?” Tyr’s voice boomed. “Dette hund krever Odin’s nåde.”He pounded his chest with a fist and summoned his guards. “Youdareinvoke Allfather?”

Here was the man Aaron knew too well, the one he feared and respected. A chill swept over his entire body as he yanked his shirt over his head, revealing the dragon tattoo on his back. Its barbed tail curled its way around his right shoulder. The wordsrespekt gir maktwere scrolled across his broad chest. The sole symbol of Norse might, Thor’s hammer, adorned his left arm. “Proof of my unwavering faith and devotion.” Tyr couldn’t reject his claim—deny his conversion.Never before had Aaron publicly attested to his new faith.

“A liar dressed in silk still deceives.” Contempt laced his voice. His cousin had grown fiercer since he’d fathered children, not kinder.

“Aye,” Aaron concurred. “But a Christian would never mutilate his own body.”

Tyr brandished a long knife and stepped forward. “When did you abandon the White Christ?”

“Two days after I left this house.”

“Can baptism be reversed? Your spirit was dedicated when you were a babe in your mother’s arms.”

“What was done to me as a child has nothing to do with the man kneeling in front of you today.”

Tyr grunted, then frowned. “It’s always amused me how men think they receive full remission of their sins if they’re dribbled with water.”

Unexpectedly, Tyr’s son ambled over. He fingered Aaron’s shoulder admiringly, tracing the lines of his tattoos. “Far.” He faced Tyr. “Will I have these markings someday?”

“If you grow up fearing the gods and obey your parents—perhaps.” Tyr blinked, eyeing first his son, then cousin. “This is my eldest, Latham.”

“Hello, Latham.” Aaron half-smiled. “I am your kinsman.”

The boy grinned. “Do you have children?”

“None that I know of,” Aaron mused. “But I’m here today to make amends to your father so I can start my own family soon.” Kara’s beautiful features flashed before his eyes. He missed her.

Aaron owed the boy his gratitude for interfering when he did. The knife was meant for his gut. His knees ached from kneeling for so long. He glimpsed over his shoulder, studying the faces of the guards who had circled around him. Onetooth stood in the forefront with his weapon at the ready.

“I’ve kept a close eye on you, cousin,” Tyr informed. “Known yourwhereabouts since the day you left. I commend your service to Magnus—we all miss our king.”