Page 72 of Merciful Salvation

He dropped the water skin on the ground and latched onto her arms. “Do you know what slow death you saved me from?”

Horrified by the thought, she preferred not to know. “Home,” she whispered. The effort of talking made her feel sick to her stomach now. All this violence. All this death. She wanted none of it. Her husband needed food and rest. And after he recovered, love.

A few minutes later, both mounted, Kara and Aaron headed westward, back to Jarl Sigurdsson’s steading.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Kinsmen

Gratefully, three daysof bed rest restored Aaron’s health. Of course, it helped that he was under the watchful eyes of Rachelle and the spaewife while Kara, too, rested. He never had a chance of climbing out of bed. But today proved entirely different. Jarl Erik the Bald had arrived late the previous night. A meeting and feast were being prepared. Although Kara ached to see her father, she agreed to adhere to Tyr’s carefully thought out plan.

The jarl believed seeing her first would only increase her father’s anger.

So now, dressed in a black tunic and braies, his weapons polished, boots cleaned, beard trimmed, and hair braided in Norse fashion, Kara’s Scottish husband left their bedchamber and made his way to the great hall. If a man could shed his birthright like skin and be reborn a Viking, Jarl McNally would be a perfect candidate for such an honor. She feared her father would reject his conversion and focus on his inferior heritage. Norse women only married Norsemen. Something he’d repeated over the years.

She opened the bedchamber door, then silently settled on a stair where she could see and hear everything going on below without being discovered. Her father had been given a seat of honor at the high table, next to Tyr. Rachelle sat to her husband’s left. Kara nearly choked when she sighted Marteinn next to her father. The man hewanted her to marry.

Aaron stood at the center of the hall, feet away from the dais where the high table was situated.

“What have you done with my only daughter?” Erik asked.

Kara’s hands fisted so tight her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

“I fell in love and married her, milord.”

The jarl drained his cup, then slammed it down. “So the rumors are true?” He shook his head. “You kidnapped her, travelled unchaperoned across the north country, begged your kinsman for sanctuary, and only after one of your many women returns with a suckling bastard at her breast you allegedly sired, then you decide to marry her.” Erik never misconstrued his words. He leaned back in his chair, perfectly comfortable and in control.

Aaron stared up at the ceiling, then back at Erik. “You’re twisting things around, milord. And although I forgive your lack of manners, considering how you learned about our nuptials, I’d ask only one thing. Never defile the sacred oaths we exchanged on our wedding day. There’s nothing more pure than the love I have for your daughter.”

Her father laughed so violently his whole body shook. “What’s this talk of purity? Were you a bloody virgin on your wedding night?”

Laughter sounded.

Kara bit her lower lip to keep herself silent.Don’t interfere. You promised.

“From what I hear,” Marteinn interjected, shooting up from his seat. “Kara wasn’t a goddamned maiden, either.”

If he could, Kara was sure he’d froth at the mouth. He’d never spoken against her. Her heart plummeted, as she leaned weakly against the wall behind her.

“Say it again, within reach,” Aaron challenged, strutting closer. “Your intent matched my own. Only, the best man claimed her.”

Marteinn’s hands clenched as he looked Aaron over disapprovingly. “Widows are made every day—and remarried within a fortnight. Say the word, I’ll help you reach Valhalla, if outlanders are permitted.”

Aaron’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword.

“Enough!” Tyr stood. “What’s done is done. And you,” he faced Marteinn, “have no more claim to Valhalla than my cousin.”

“ButIdo.” Erik said. “Lines were crossed, sacred trust violated. The day a father is denied control over his own children’s destinies is the dayRagnarokdescends.”

Jarl Sigurdsson rubbed the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “No one denies your right to be angry, Jarl Erik. But I won’t tolerate insults from a man who has no claim on my kinsman’s wife.”

“A matter for theThingto decide, I think,” Erik retorted.

“You question the validity of the marriage I presided over?” Tyr shot back.

“I question the motivation. I intended her for someone else.”

“You never formalized the betrothal,” Aaron argued, climbing the first step of the dais. “Never made a public announcement—never advised your daughter to save herself for her intended.”