Page 19 of Merciful Seduction

“The very one.”

Rachelle shook her head. “I didn’t know that old fox has been vying for your hand.”

Mercia went to her mistress’s side, then whispered in her ear, “And a couple other unmentionable parts.”

“Your arse?”

“Pinched me twice in front of his sons, all seven.”

“We must admit how virile he is.”

“I refuse to wed someone twice my age.”

Rachelle rested her palms on Mercia’s shoulders, gazing at her intently. “But you acknowledge you must marry someone?”

She shifted on her feet, suddenly uncomfortable. “Perhaps I shall become a spinster or join a convent.”

“Tyr would never allow you to remain unwed. As for a convent, I’m afraid England is no place for a girl who prays to Odin and Frigg now. And even if you hid behind a veil and worshipped Christ openly, eventually, the truth would come out. You’d be imprisoned or executed. No, as your legal guardian, it is my duty to see you happily situated in life. You will have a husband I approve of, and soon.”

Mercia’s plan to confide in her best friend had ultimately failed.

Unable to recall a time when they hadn’t been together, she didn’t know how to feel. Of course, Rachelle had always been her mistress, even as children. Mercia knew her proper place and would never displease her on purpose. But that had never stopped them from treating each other as equals.

Social standings erected no boundaries between them.

But now, Rachelle was a Jarl’s wife with children of her own, expected to make important decisions that would benefit her family and household. As her legal guardians, Tyr and Rachelle would receive a bride price, money that would reimburse them for all the years of financial support they’d provided.

“Is that a command, milady?”

Rachelle eyed her tenderly. “Take it as a friendly warning. Make your selection before my husband chooses for you. You’ve always valued freedom, more than most women. I’m afraid I may have something to do with that, I was never a very good influence growing up. You watched me run wild, defying authority at every turn.”

She wrapped her arm about Mercia’s waist, drawing her into a hug. “As women, we live within the confines of what society dictates and the men we love set for us. I know how lonely you are, Mercia. Do you think I don’t notice the tears in your eyes when I hold my sons or the way you disappear when Tyr and I are affectionate in front of you? When Uncle Henry claimed you as a daughter so the bloody Normans would spare your life, he did so wholeheartedly. He expected us to treat you as a kinswoman.”

Tears wet the corners of Mercia’s eyes. She disliked thinking about the past. How she missed her blessed mother. “Aye, I remember. And if Uncle Henry were here, I’d attest to every kindness you’ve shown me.”

“Perhaps you’ll get a chance.”

“What?” The statement caught Mercia off guard. Henry had taken up residence in Sweden three years ago, serving as a spy and ambassador on behalf of Jarl Sigurdsson.

“My uncle swore he’d return for your nuptials.”

As good as it sounded, Mercia just couldn’t accept that she needed a husband. If ever she married, she wanted to do so out of love, not necessity.

“This could be the beginning of an exciting time in your life.”

Or the beginning of the end of life as she knew it. But there were things she could do to stop all this talk about picking a husband. If she seduced Captain Marteinn, men would stop making offers.

“Did you hear me, Mercia?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Wear the new gown I had made for you. We’ll dance and celebrate. There will be no mistaking what man or men want you.”

Chapter Ten

“Another feast in my honor? You gave one a few days ago.” Marteinn didn’t understand all the flutter about his arrival in the Trondelag.

“This time, my very own wife demanded it. We will not disappoint her.” Tyr offered him a wine skin. “Do you know how to dance?”