Soren gazed at Ivar through a new set of eyes. He nodded as he leaned forward in his chair, one arm resting on the table as he twisted to face Ivar.
“You’ve given me a great deal to think about. More than I wanted to, but many things I should have considered years ago.” Soren glanced around the gathering hall, a room where he had spent countless hours over the course of his life. He had fond and sad memories, and he had bitter ones from events that took place in that very space. When he looked back at Ivar, it shocked the son to see how the father seemed to age in a matter of a glance.
“I know you despise me, especially for the way I treat your mother, but I do love you and want the best for you. I have made a great many mistakes with your mother, but what you said about her is true. I can admit that,” Soren said. “Your mother has been an admirable helpmate, and I couldn’t ask for a better frú for our clan. I should have been a better husband. Perhaps if I had been, we wouldn’t make each other so miserable.”
It stunned Ivar how candid his father was being. They had never had such a conversation. Ivar did not think his father had ever spoken to anyone so openly. Not even his second-in-command, Eindride’s father Magnus.
“I don’t want Inga to sentence you to a life like I did your mother. I’ve refused to acknowledge Lena as a suitable wife for you because she has no connections to another clan. She cannot strengthen our position in the Trondelag through bloodlines, but I’ve failed to accept that she can strengthen our position by being a force to be reckoned with in her own right.” Soren leaned in closer. “To be honest, if I were a jarl stupid enough to raid us, I would fear finding Lena defending the homestead more than anyone else. She is a bloodthirsty little thing.”
Ivar could not believe what his father was saying. Ivar’s heart raced as he listened to his father praise Lena for the first time since Soren had begun the marriage negotiations. He only nodded, too fearful that anything he said might alter the course of the conversation. He prayed the course was his father admitting Ivar should marry Lena.
“Ivar, we have signed the agreement, and the marriage will take place. I understand that is not what you want, and I realize now that it was a wrong decision, but we cannot back out. You were wise to insist this be a trial marriage. That said, you must give Inga a fair chance to become a wife you might keep. You cannot shortchange her the opportunity to prove herself. She may very well surprise you. If that’s the case, you can keep Lena but acknowledge Inga as your wife.”
Ivar’s heart cringed, and he was shaking his head before he was aware what he was doing.
“I would never ‘keepLena,’ and she would never agree to be my mistress once I’m married. Inga would never accept it either. She would sooner see Lena dead than live with the competition or the slight.” Ivar held up his hand before his father spoke. “Nor am I marrying both of them. I have no desire to have two wives. Not when I don’t even want the one I’m supposed to have. I will give Inga the chance you demand, but she will not be my wife in all senses. I refuse to bend on that.”
Soren’s mouth pursed in a scowl.
“You must bed her. You just agreed to give her a chance to prove herself as your wife. And that is one duty of being your wife. I will watch you the first time if I must.”
“Father,” Ivar did not hide the exasperation from his voice. “This takes us back to where we began. She is already bedding half the guards she brought with her. If I bed her, even if it’s only the once, you can guarantee she will somehow fall pregnant, forcing me to keep her. She is manipulative and self-serving. Inga wants the title of frú, believes she’s entitled to it, but she doesn’t want any other part that goes along with it. She will claim a babe is mine to ensure she gets what she wants. Do you want to risk a child not of your blood becoming the next generation’s heir?”
“Wear a sheath. Even if it’s only the once tonight. Be sure she doesn’t notice. Keep the candles out and the fire low. If she falls pregnant, then we will be onto her deception.”
“She is an experienced woman. She will recognize the difference.” Ivar warned.
“Distract her.”
“Father--”
“Son,” Soren’s voice held a note of warning, and Ivar knew the time for candidness had ended.
Ivar nodded, but he would not go through with it. He was sure his father suspected that, so he was certain there would be at least one witness tonight.
The rest of the day dragged on for Ivar. While the minutes seemed to stretch on interminably, the hours suddenly flew by once evening approached and the death knell rang for Ivar. He slipped away on his horse with Vigo and Eindride riding beside him. They told Einar that they were going hunting and that Ivar wanted to bring back an offering for the feast. In truth, Ivar, Eindride, and Vigo wanted to waste enough time that there would be no chance for Ivar to go through the sword ritual. Ivar insisted–and his friends agreed–that he should save the ritual of searching within the burial catacombs for an ancestor’s sword, marking the time when a boy transitioned into a man on the day of his wedding, for when Ivar married Lena. He treated that even as an inevitable part of his future rather than a possibility slipping through his fingers.
The three men arrived back with a boar and only enough time to bathe. Thor’s scowl matched Soren’s fierce frown, but there was nothing to be done short of delaying the ceremony. Ivar wanted to see Lena once more, to promise her one last time that he would sort this debacle out, but that would only endanger Lena. Between Inga’s ire and the clan’s gossip, it would leave Lena in an even more tenuous position. He prayed that Eindride would speak to Brenna before the end of the night’s feast. He and Lena were depending upon the plan that Eindride would step in and replace him in Lena’s life, or at least appear to replace him.
Eindride walked beside Ivar, nudging him when Ivar seemed to drag his feet as they walked to the altar that stood among the tall fir trees. Ivar scanned the crowd, searching for the flaxen braid that he had untangled the night before. He searched for the cobalt-blue eyes he had stared into for as long as he could remember. A memory flashed through his mind of when they were children. He had once compared Lena’s eyes to the blue that sparked in a fire when dung was burned. He almost chuckled aloud when he remembered the blackened eye he received for the comparison.
Ivar found the face he looked for at the edge of the crowd. Lena stood with Tormud and Jan, but she looked small and alone to Ivar. He wanted to race to her, comfort her, but his feet continued to carry him to the altar. Only moments later he found Inga standing beside him. When he turned to face Inga, his eyes darted to the crowd, and he caught sight of the back of Lena’s head as she slipped away. For the first time, Ivar allowed the fact that their relationship was over to take hold. He was aware that his mouth moved as he spoke the vows, but he could not tell a soul what he had said. He could not describe what Inga wore or what she said. There was nothing from the blessing that he could recall once it was over. The clan and Thor’s entourage moved to the gathering hall where the feast started.
Lena was a glutton for punishment. She considered skipping the blessing ceremony, the idea of watching Ivar marry another woman was abhorrent, but she could not stay away. She had to see it for herself. However, the moment she realized Ivar was looking for her in the crowd, she could not bring herself to stay. Lena could not watch her future being handed over to another woman. She slipped away, certain Ivar had seen her, but unable to keep her composure any longer. She ran through the trees until she came to the edge of the longhouses. Lena rushed towards her own home even though there was no longer anyone around to witness her falling apart. Lena was nearly at her door when she sensed, more than saw or heard, someone approach. She drew the knife from her belt as she kept a steady pace in an attempt to fool her pursuer into believing she was unaware that he or she followed her.
Lena pushed through the door to her family’s longhouse and slammed it shut only a moment before a thud made the wood rattle against her ribs. She dropped the bar into the slats, locking out whoever attempted to catch her. She ran across the main room just in time to bar the second door as the handle jangled and another thud came, but this time it sounded like an ax rather than a person. The woodpile stood just beside the kitchen door. Whoever was trying to gain entry now had a far more efficient tool than their body or a sword. She ran to her chamber and slipped on a pair of leather pants before yanking the over-tunic of her dress over her head. As the tunic slipped free of one arm, she was already reaching for her sword belt. Lena strapped it to her waist before adding two more knives to her belt. She touched the knives in each of her boots. She picked up the knife she carried into the longhouse but tossed on the bed as she changed. Lena put her ear to her chamber door and listened before opening it a crack. She heard an ax thunking against the door as someone attempted to hack their way into her home. Lena snatched her bow and quiver from where they rested near her door and slipped into her brother Jan’s chamber. From her brother’s chamber, she had a better line of sight to either of the doors leading outside. She nocked an arrow and waited.
Lena forced herself to breathe, calming her racing heart. Inevitably, someone would breach the door and enter her home. It was also inevitable that whoever dared would receive an arrow in the chest.
Even while she’s getting married, that bitch can threaten me.
Lena suspected who arranged the impending attack. While Jarl Soren may have wanted Ivar to end things with her, he would not condone an attack on her, if not for Ivar’s sake, then for the practical reason that she was one of his best warriors.
The door burst open, and Lena paused for only a heartbeat, ensuring it was a true enemy before she released the first arrow. It landed in a man’s neck before he stumbled toward her. The next arrow went into the second man’s chest. He was dead before he fell to the floor. Lena was ready to fire again when she recognized the beautiful fair skin and blonde hair that only belonged to Lorna. Her friend was winded and carrying a bloodied knife. As the man in front of Lorna fell, Lena realized that her arrow entered him from the front while Lorna’s knife entered him from the back. Rangvald was close on Lorna’s heels.
“We have to go,” Rangvald’s gaze swept across the main room of Lena’s home. “Now.”
Lorna stepped over the two dead men and met Lena halfway. Lorna pulled Lena into a tight embrace.
