CHAPTER ELEVEN
It felt as if her heart had been ripped from her chest. Katarina wept as Arik closed his eyes, and she could feel the life fading from him. Never again would she feel his kiss or the warmth of his embrace. She had never imagined she would feel so strongly for this man, but he had invaded her heart and stolen a piece of her soul.
She lowered her face to his chest, resting her cheek upon his heart. His pulse was ragged and weak, and after a moment, she could no longer feel it beating.
It wasn’t fair. She wanted to rail at the gods, cursing them for stealing the man she had fallen in love with. And now he was dead.
The wind swelled, whipping at her hair while silence descended among them. Only the faint crackle of the fire broke the stillness. She was covered in blood, and she was hardly aware of anything except the loss of Eric. Time seemed to slow for a moment, and she glanced up, watching as a shadow crossed over the moon. A coldness slid over her, and when she lifted her hands, she saw that all traces of blood had disappeared. Seconds later, Arik’s body disappeared from her arms.
She bit back her terror, not understanding what had happened. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone. It was as if he had never existed, had never been here.
Because he did not belong within her time, the voice of reason insisted. He had been brought from a thousand years later, just as he had said. And although this man was not Arik Thorgrim, the man she had wanted, he had captured her heart by being the man she needed. He had fought to save them and had won.
When she looked back at Valdr, his attention was focused on Hrafn. Her brother was bleeding from his wounds, and the soles of his shoes had been burned by the flames.
She hurried toward him and demanded, “Are you all right? Did you see what happened?”
Her brother nodded and his face was grim. “I am glad you were strong enough to kill Leif.”
She frowned, not understanding what he meant. She hadn’t killed Leif at all, but perhaps in the midst of the fight, he didn’t realize that it was Arik’s blade. “I meant, did you see what happened to Arik?”
Hrafn’s face twisted with confusion. “Leif must have struck you hard when you killed him, Katarina. Arik Thorgrim died in East Anglia, months ago.”
She stared at him, wondering how he could say this. An icy chill washed over her and she looked over at Valdr. “But he was there just now. Didyousee him?”
Thejarlmet her gaze and shook his head. “You must have glimpsed his spirit when you were fighting.”
She sank to the grass, her whole body trembling. But when she examined her hands and her gown again, there was no blood anywhere—not even on the grass. Above her, in the night sky, the crescent moon shone down, as if nothing had changed. As if Eric had never been here nor even married her.
The oldvolvahad been right. He had been given only a little time to be with her. And now she could not help but wonder if he had been a spirit all along. Perhaps that was why he’d had no scars. She had fallen in love with a man who was not real.
In the darkness, she stared at the fire, which had now consumed Leif’s body. She had gained her vengeance on the enemy who had slain her sister, but only emptiness filled her heart now. She wanted to be in Arik’s arms, to make love with him and be his wife in truth.
The tears would not stop, and she grieved for him, burying her face in her knees as her heart broke.
“Katarina,” Hrafn said quietly. “It’s over. I will take you home.”
Although she knew he was right, it felt as if the world weighed upon her shoulders. Her husband was gone, and with him, the life she had dreamed of.
With reluctance, she followed the men back to the settlement. She saw Svala there, helping to tend the fallen bodies of the men who had defended them earlier. Katarina didn’t bother asking the woman if she had seen Eric—if none of the others had seen him, why should she?
Hrafn led her behind one of the room dividers, to a bed of furs. She lay down upon it, hoping that sleep would take away the memories she didn’t want to face.
Perhaps she was imagining it, but upon the bed she saw a cloak that Eric had worn. She brought it to her face, breathing in the scent of him. It was so real, she could hardly bear it. And when she closed her eyes, she could see his face before her.
As she drifted off into a hard sleep, her hand moved over to her womb, wondering if even their lovemaking had been a dream. Or whether thevolvahad been right, that they would conceive a child.
It might be the only piece of him she would ever have, and she prayed for it to be so.
All around him, Eric was surrounded by a gray mist. A part of him knew he was dead, but he felt as if an invisible barrier prevented him from crossing over. He was afraid to feel anything, not knowing what was real and what was imagined.
“My son,” came Gregory’s voice.
He saw his father’s face emerging from the mist. No longer did the man appear haggard and world-weary. His gray hair was now a dark brown, and Gregory appeared to be a younger version of himself. The lines of worry were gone from his face, replaced by immeasurable joy. The duke embraced him hard, and his father’s arms held a lifetime of love. The strong arms were real, and for a moment, Eric gripped the man in return. The years fell away, and he once more became a boy beloved by his father. He regretted the time he’d spent at sea, leaving this man to fear the worst.
“I never meant to hurt you in the way I did,” he told his father. “I was reckless and selfish.”
“You were young,” the duke countered. “And I was unyielding.” A quiet glimpse of kindness slid over the man’s face. “I, too, am sorry.”
