After three daysof separation from Rachelle, Tyr still didn’t know what to do. One brief look or touch of her body had the ability to impair his judgment.
Three generations of bedeviled Sigurdsson men had fallen prey to the charms of English women. Did it never end? Was there something putrid in Tyr’s blood or his soul that deserved this? His father had warned him.The gods blessed our family with superior strength and aptitude, increased our holdings, gave us wealth, and condemned our cocks to seek out the passion of English women.
Tyr didn’t crumble under pressure. Never. But tonight, he’d lashed out by telling Rachelle a callous lie. It was a natural reaction, inevitable after her cold rejection. Although deeply offended, she didn’t appear surprised. He brooded over that for a long moment. Surely the girl had deep-rooted suspicions and would doubt anything a Norseman told her. The reality of it made his stomach turn. So did her death wish. Those words were quick and careless. Her mannerism reminded him of an overindulged child. O’ that he could teach her a valuable lesson and remind her how prudent people wisely held their tongues.
He took comfort in the fact that Onetooth visited her every day. The girl had bonded with his old friend almost immediately.A poor substitute for his own relationship, but he learned from the conversations his captain had with her.
However, the longer he waited to resolve their troubles, the more difficult it would be to concentrate on anything else. With her room located directly over his, every night he stared up at the ceiling, as he was now, pretending to see her through the floorboards. She’d make a delightful life companion, worthy of his admiration and deepest affection. But that undisciplined mouth—thoughts burst out of it without forethought.
Raised in a distant country, without the love of her parents, adjusting to life amongst his people would be a constant struggle for her. Exasperated by his inability to settle his mind, Tyr rolled onto his left side, then punched his pillow.
To make matters worse, the course of Norway’s future was unknown. What expectations would the new king have of the paganjarls? If Tyr didn’t know where his own loyalties lay, how could he expect a woman to choose?
The hope of sleeping faded. He rolled onto his back. The morning after his argument with Rachelle, he’d gathered his household in the hall. So great was the pain inside his heart, it swept through his veins. As he’d predicted, rumors about the battle at Stamford Bridge had already begun to circulate. Women were without husbands—children without fathers. Tough questions were asked and demands for vengeance voiced before he’d even begun to speak.
Disgraced warriors who’d survived had returned home; three from the Trondelag. Word had reached Tyr’s steading within a day. And Hardrada’s eldest son, Prince Magnus, who was appointed regent before his father departed, would hold formal inquiries in Oslo. No ruler would accept this magnitude of humiliation. Tyr knew if the surviving captains didn’t willingly go to him, he’d find them. Dozens of inquisitors would be dispatched.
And the Trondelag wouldn’t be spared this degradation.
A week afterthe initial shock, Aaron strutted into the great hall. “At least fifty men are encamped a mile east of here.” He addressed Tyr too casually. Throwing himself into the chair opposite his cousin’s at the high table, Aaron poured himself a drink. “If Magnus wishes to restore faith in the Church and establish credibility with the people, he better do so quickly. Before the peasants decide peace can only be achieved through bloodshed.”
“Whose blood?” Tyr slammed his fists on the table. “Magnus’ paranoia will only add to the suspicions of the commoners. Three quarters of his subjects can’t read or write. They’ll believe what they’re told. Men lose battles—gods die. Countries crown new kings.”
“NotourGod.”
Rage had been building inside Tyr’s gut for days. He’d warned his cousin on numerous occasions to never refer to the White Christ astheirgod. Standing abruptly, he reached across the table, then grabbed Aaron by the front of his shirt. “Blood… you claim blood will mollify the cowards in Oslo. What about the brave men who perished while you sat on a boat waiting for me? You’re a bloodsucking tick on my hairy arse and nothing more. What gives you the right to make observations of any kind?”
“For the love of Christ.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “Have ye any idea how dangerous it is to be in opposition with the royal family at the moment?”
“I care nothing for what apostates think. Have you forgotten Hardrada’s younger son? Olaf survived. He’ll winter in the Orkneys, but after his return, he’ll bring some common sense to the table. Did I not tell you this country will be partitioned? Until that day, Norway is far from peace. A regent alone hasn’t the authority to cancel treaties or forge new ones. Things willremain as they are until Olaf returns. These are my lands—purchased with my father’s blood, sweat, and faith. I’m ajarl, not some sniveling thrall. Odin breathed life into me, not your mythological god! Think before you speak again!” He released Aaron.
A frown furrowed Aaron’s brow. He downed a second serving of mead. “A pity you feel so adamantly. Hardrada’s son is at your doorstep.”
Tyr’s mouth tightened instantly. Why would Magnus leave the security of his fortress to travel here? “How did you find this out?”
“I shared a drink with his guards. If you’re thinking the regent is here, don’t. This is the king’sthirdchild.”
Tyr wanted to strangle Aaron.Third child?His cousin thrived off the enmity between them. “Which son?”
“His bastard.”
Anger prickled the back of his neck. He stared at Onetooth, who stood close by. Did the regent think so little of the Trondelag that he sent his sire’s illegitimate spawn to investigate the nobles who sacrificed their wealth and lives to serve his father? Tyr wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt.
“What shall I tell him?” Aaron asked.
“You spoke without my permission?”
“Aye,” he answered cockily.
Tyr’s gaze swept the length of the great hall. He needed a diversion before he hacked this interloper in half with his battle axe. “I sent you on patrol, not on a peacekeeping mission. What does he want?”
“To meet with you.”
Tyr rubbed his chin, then sat down. Half-blood. Still Hardrada’s offspring. Diplomacy was a cumbersome process. Might he turn this unplanned meeting into an opportunity tobenefit thejarlswho shouldered the responsibility of protecting Odin’s faithful? What gods did this man worship? “Fetch him.”
Aaron threw him a skeptical look.
“Escort the man to the hall, you worthless whoreson,” Onetooth interposed.
