Heart of Honor (23 page)

Dressing in the linen shift she had worn last night, and the simple clothes Magda brought her—a loose brown woolen kirtle, along with a double-fold garment that went over it to keep out the chill—she followed the woman out of the room. As they walked through Leif’s bedchamber, Krista wondered again where he was.

He hadn’t left with Inga last night, she knew, or invited the woman into his bed. But a new day had dawned. Both Hanna with the shining silver hair and his paramour, Inga, desired him. Krista wondered if Leif’s lusty appetites would drive him into the arms of either one.

Leif’s head was pounding, his stomach rolling and occasionally his hand trembled. Blood of Odin, what had possessed him to drink like a fool last night? He was a man who prided himself on his control. He was the chieftain of the clan, and yet he had given in to the blessed relief of ale-wrought oblivion.

He shook his head, felt the pounding increase, and groaned.

It was Krista, he knew. It was aching with want of her, needing her as he had never needed a woman.

It was fear that in bringing her to Draugr he had done the wrong thing.

His mind swung back to the feasting last night, to the bawdy laughter and drunkenness she had tolerated, though he knew it bothered her. In his mind’s eyes, he saw her at supper, her soft, pale fingers wrapped around the heavy staghorn knife instead of a delicate silver fork, and remembered the kick he had felt in his stomach.

She was a lady, a woman who dressed in silk and satin. And though he hated the loathsome corset she wore, he liked the feminine way she looked in her garments. He liked the little flowered garters that held up her stockings, the fragrance of her expensive perfume, the soft kid slippers that encased her slender feet. He liked her just as she was, and seeing her in the hall last night among his drunken clansmen had made his heart feel heavy in his chest.

And yet, deep inside, he believed as he always had that Krista was meant to be his.

His head continued to pound and he ignored a wave of dizziness as he knocked on his uncle Sigurd’s door. A few minutes later, the leather hinges creaked and the door swung open.

“Nephew. You are up early, considering last night’s festivities. Come in.”

Leif moved past him into the house. “I am in need of your counsel, Uncle.”

Sigurd nodded. A thin man, pale complexioned, his hair almost completely gray, he was the wisest man in the settlement, Leif knew. If anyone could be of help, Sigurd was the man. He motioned toward the hearth and they moved in that direction, sat down on three-legged stools at a small wooden table.

“You look weary this morning,” Sigurd said. “Too much ale last night?”

“Far too much.”

“That is not like you.” He studied Leif’s face. “You did not announce your forthcoming marriage last night and you drank as if the stream had gone dry. Am I wrong to assume your lady is the source of your worry?”

Leif ran a hand over his face, felt the stubble of morning beard he had yet to shave off. “She refuses to marry me, Uncle. I have tried to convince her, but nothing I say seems to change her mind.”

“Seeing you together, I would guess you have already taken the girl to your bed.”

He nodded.

“And she went willingly?”

Leif’s head came up. “I would not force her. Of her own will, she gifted me with her virgin’s blood.”

“But you have not bedded her since your return.”

“How did you know?”

Sigurd smiled. “You do not have the satisfied look of a man who has recently taken a woman.”

Leif glanced away. “She needs time to accept things as they are. Since we are not married, I am giving her that time.”

“She desires you still. I can see it in her eyes whenever she looks at you.”

“I believe that is so and yet she will not wed with me. What am I to do?”

“You cannot force her to marry you. That is not our way. But perhaps there is a way besides words.”

“I would be grateful to know what it is.”

“Your lady desires you as much as you do her. Use that desire to bring her back to your bed. Once she is there, she will understand the need for marriage. There isn’t a woman alive who wouldn’t rather be a man’s wife than merely his lover.”

It made sense. Though in truth, Leif had tried a similar approach before. Still, his uncle was right about one thing—Krista desired him. Leif wasn’t a fool. He knew when a woman wanted him, and this one did.

“I will give it some thought.” And since his uncle was usually right, he would begin to think what he might do to bring her back to his bed. He smiled as he remembered what he had learned from reading
Miss Boots’ Confessions
and
The Pearl of Passion.
Inwardly, he cursed as his body stirred to life, and he was grateful for the loose-fitting clothes.

“There is another matter I came to discuss,” he said. “It concerns you and the members of the council. I wish to propose to the elders the opening of trade with the outside world.”

Leif leaned forward, his excitement beginning to build. “I have seen such amazing things, Uncle. I have brought some of them with me—lights that burn the oil from the fat of a giant fish, lengths of shimmering cloth woven from the cocoon of a moth. A substance called glass that you can see right through. It can be used for windows, letting in the sun while it keeps out the chill.”

“They sound very interesting.”

“There is more, Uncle. So much more. I have seen weapons more powerful than any you could imagine. They are called
guns
and they can reach across long distances to kill an enemy. We can arm ourselves with these guns and none will be able to defeat us. And that is only the beginning. With trade, the miracles that could be brought here are endless.”

His uncle rose from his chair. “These things you speak of…they are still on your ship?”

“I plan to unload them today.”

“Leave them for now. I will meet with the council to discuss this. They will wish to hear what you have to say, but…”

Leif rose as well. “But what, Uncle?”

“But I warn you, Nephew. For three hundred years we have lived in relative peace and safety on this island. Our simple way of life is our protection. There is a chance the elders will not want your gifts, that they will forbid you to bring them ashore. There is even a chance they will demand you destroy your ship so that none of those who came with you can leave and tell what they have seen.”

A sliver of alarm went through him. “Once they see what wonders there are—”

“Be forewarned, Nephew. Should you convince them, life here as we know it will never be the same. Change will come to Draugr, not all of it for the best. Be certain that is what you want.”

Leif left the house, convinced his uncle was wrong. But Sigurd’s words kept rolling around in his head. What if the council was opposed to trading? What if they demanded he destroy his ship, and he could never leave the island again, never take Krista back to see her father, her family, her home?

What if he were trapped in the very life he had fled, with no hope of ever seeing the outside world again?

Leif’s stomach rolled, and it had nothing to do with the ale he had consumed last night.

Awaiting a summons to appear before the council, Leif stayed away from Krista for the next several days. He needed to think, needed to decide what to do, and more and more, he worried that his uncle might be right. Once trade with England began, everything on Draugr would change.

He was chieftain now. Was that what he truly wanted for his people? Was it really in their best interests? Or was his dream motivated by a selfish desire to return to the foreign world he had discovered, to experience more of what he had only begun to learn?

Desperate for answers, he spoke to his sister, asking her to look after Krista until his return. Then he draped a blanket and lightweight saddle over one of the shaggy island horses, tied on his weapons and a sack of food, and prepared to head up to his special place in the hills.

“If there is trouble, you know where to find me,” he said to Runa. “Send word if the elders are ready to see me. If I do not hear from you, three days hence I will return.”

Swinging up on the back of the horse, Leif whirled the animal and rode away.

T
he next day and the next, Krista worked alongside the women. This time of year, they were cutting the reeds that grew along the edge of small ponds in the bottom of the valley. They were tied into bundles, loaded onto carts and hauled back to the compound, where they were cut into shorter lengths and soaked in tallow. The reeds, stuffed into hollow pieces of wood, were called rushlights and were burned to light the inside of the longhouse.

It wasn’t so bad, Krista discovered, being out in the fresh air and sunshine, except that the repetitious work soon lulled her into boredom. And the women completely ignored her, even Runa. They laughed and made fun of her clumsy efforts with the scythe, and spoke in whispers whenever she was near.

It didn’t matter. She had nothing to say to them and barely understood what they said about her. At least the work kept her busy, though even as she cut reeds alongside the shallow pond, her mind often strayed to Leif. She thought of the woman Inga, and the sort of life he intended for them to live, and despair crushed down on her.

Why hadn’t he told her? He wasn’t a man to lie, even by omission. Did Leif believe she would already know? Through her father, she had learned a great deal about the Viking culture and she had read more than once about the women in a man’s household, including his wife and sometimes his concubines.

How could she have forgotten? But perhaps Leif’s attentions had somehow made her forget.

It doesn’t matter,
she told herself for the hundredth time, and tried to convince herself that if she continued to refuse his offer of marriage he would be forced to wed one of the Viking women instead, perhaps Inga or Hanna, and return Krista home. But she didn’t really believe he would, and a pang of homesickness swept through her, followed by an ache in her heart.

She hadn’t seen Inga or Leif since the night of the celebration, and it occurred to her that even now they might be together. The thought made her physically ill.

To distract herself, Krista threw herself into her labors. By the end of the second day, her hands were red from wielding the scythe, and blisters had begun to form on her palms. When Runa saw the welts the next morning, she led Krista to the weaving room instead of outside, and set her to work carding wool from the vast basketfuls that were brought into the low, stone-walled chamber.

The work was slow and monotonous, and by the end of the day, Krista was exhausted. She had yet to see Leif, and when she asked Runa about him, the girl merely said that he had gone into the hills. Krista hoped he had not taken Inga with him.

She was sitting in her room, weary to the bone, her hands red and burning, when Leif appeared in the doorway. Krista rose to her feet, her gaze going to his face, so handsome, so impossibly dear that her eyes welled with tears.

“Krista!” He was beside her in an instant, hauling her into his arms, pressing his cheek to hers. She could feel the rough stubble of his beard and wondered if he had decided to let it grow, to become completely the Viking that he had been before.

“I am sorry I left you,” he said in English, whispering against her cheek. “I needed time to think. I do that best in the hills. I should have told you, explained why I had to go. I am sorry,
honning.
”

She turned away from him though she didn’t really want to, her pulse beating dully, a painful ache in her heart. It was nonsense. Leif was a Viking. He lived as they did and there was no changing that.

He moved behind her, gently rested his hands on her shoulders, very softly caressed them. “Tell me what is wrong.”

She swallowed, trembled, forced out a single word.
“Inga.”
It came out on a sob, and she hated herself for letting him see how much he had hurt her.

“Inga?” He turned her to face him and his jaw firmed. “What has she done?”

Krista shook her head. “I heard you the night of the feast. I heard her offer herself to you. I know…I know you plan to make her one of your…your women.”

His eyes darkened. “If you heard us, then you know I did not accept her offer, nor do I intend to. Whatever Inga and I shared is long past. She holds no appeal for me now. There is only one woman I want in my bed and that is you.”

Krista looked away, her heart squeezing painfully. “Even if we were wed, a Viking man often takes other women into his household, his bed. Are you saying…?”

“I am telling you I do not intend to seek out another. My father had one wife and none other. He was true to my mother until the day she died—as I would be true to you.” Leif caught Krista’s chin and very gently kissed her. “Say you will wed with me.”

The warmth of him surrounded her, the scent of his skin, the strength of his powerful body. Tears welled in Krista’s eyes and began to slide down her cheeks.

“I cannot.” She brushed away the wetness. “You know in your heart I don’t belong here. You know it, Leif, as surely as I do.”

He turned away from her and walked to the door, his hands unconsciously fisting. For several long moments, he stood there, his back rigid, his long legs braced apart.

When he turned, his face was an unreadable mask once more. “Runa said you worked with the other women cutting reeds. You did not have to. I should have told you that.” He strode toward her. “She said you worked hard, harder than any of the other women. She said it would seem I had chosen well.”

Krista hid her surprise, or hoped she did. “That was kind of her to say.” During the days since he had left, the women had ignored her or given her extra chores to do. Runa had been no different, but now, hearing his sister’s words of praise, Krista couldn’t help thinking that perhaps if she stayed on the island long enough, she and Runa might someday be friends.

“I need to bathe,” Leif said. “It would please me if you would join me.” The heat was back in his eyes, the desire he had kept mostly banked since their arrival.

“I don’t…don’t think that would be wise.”

“To me, it seems very wise.” He stared at her for several long moments, his eyes a scorching blue, then he noticed her palms.

“By the gods!” Reaching out, he caught both of her hands in his to examine them. With another soft curse—this one in English—he led her into his bedchamber, to a table that held some of his things, and opened a small soapstone jar filled with salve. Very gently, he spread the ointment over her blistered, work-roughened hands.

“You will stay home on the morrow and every day until your hands are healed. My sister will pay for this.”

“It wasn’t Runa’s fault. I wasn’t used to that sort of work, is all. When your sister saw the blisters, she moved me to the weaving room. And they really aren’t all that bad.”

He scoffed, lifted a sore hand and pressed a kiss against the tips of her fingers. “Tomorrow you will stay abed.” He smiled at her softly. “I only wish you would invite me to join you there.”

Her heart clenched. She wouldn’t, she knew, but dear God, it wasn’t because she didn’t want to.

Morning came, and with it a stiff breeze that ruffled the valley grasses. Leif left the meeting hall and strode out into a weak autumn sun. His insides were in turmoil, his heart beating dully. Earlier that morning, the council of elders had sent for him, and he had gone to speak with them, to plead his case for the opening of trade with England. To his amazement, he had done so with far more uncertainty than he had thought he’d feel.

Striding from the meeting hall, a small stone building at the far edge of the compound, he made his way toward the barn, intent on saddling one of the shaggy brown horses for a mind-clearing ride into the hills.

“Leif! A moment, please!” It was his uncle, a senior member of the council. Leif waited as Sigurd approached where he stood in the shade of the barn.

“I know you are disappointed, Nephew. I hope you will try to understand.”

“They do not want trade. They never have. I should have known it would be hopeless to try to change their minds.”

“You must remember our history, Leif. For hundreds of years our culture was assimilated, little by little, into other cultures, until it all but disappeared. Even before we came here, we were the last true Vikings, and only because Greenland was so isolated. It was difficult, nearly impossible to survive in such a hostile world, and so we began to search for another, better place to live, a place where we could remain as we were, as we wished to be.”

“I know our history, Uncle. I know the gods blessed us by showing Harald the way to this island.”

Sigurd nodded. “We followed him, believing we would be safe, that our culture, our way of life would be protected.”

“And so it has been.”

“Yes, but only because we have worked so hard to keep others away, to preserve the customs we so value.”

Leif sighed. For days he had been thinking that same thing, thinking that it was his duty to keep his people safe, to help them maintain the way of life they had had for hundreds of years.

“I understand, Uncle. And in my heart I believe you and the others may be right. All of my life I have wanted to know the world outside this one. Now that I have done so, it is hard for me not to want to share some of the wonders I have seen, to bring those wonders to my people. And yet I can see how those things would change the very core of our lives.”

“It is not what we want.”

He glanced away. “I see that now as I should have before.”

His uncle clapped him on the back. “You are a strong leader, Leif, and an unselfish one.”

Leif just nodded. “I will do my best not to disappoint you or them.” He started to walk away, but his uncle’s voice stopped him.

“There yet remains one question unanswered.”

“What is that?”

“Are you certain your path lies here and not this place you call Eng-land?” Sigurd smiled gently. “When you were a boy, I saw it in your eyes, a thirst for knowledge unlike I had ever seen before. I see it there now, even as you say that you have returned to lead your people.”

“It is my duty. I will not dishonor my father by ignoring it.”

“Sometimes there are higher duties. Perhaps yours lies elsewhere, Leif.”

“I made a vow and I will not break it. And I am needed here.”

“And yet, deep inside, you doubt that you now belong here. Do you deny it?”

Leif made no reply.

“Think on my words, Nephew.” Sigurd walked away, his shoulders straight as he made his way back to his home at the edge of the compound. Releasing a breath, Leif continued on into the barn.

At least they hadn’t asked him to destroy his ship. It was well-hidden in the inlet, out of sight of any passing vessel, and the elders believed it posed no threat. Captain Twig and his men would be allowed to leave whenever they wished, since it would not be possible for them to find their way back to the island in future without Leif’s help. At the moment they seemed content in this place, where they were treated as honored guests and popular with the women.

The only threat the ship posed was to Leif’s peace of mind. The wonders of England glittered in his memory like stars in the black night sky, calling for his return. And there was Krista to consider. As he saddled his horse and swung up on the animal’s back, he tried not to think what the council’s decision would mean to her and to her father and the rest of her family. His chest feeling leaden, he urged his horse up into the hills.

Krista had not seen Leif since early that morning, when he’d checked to see how she fared. During the day, the serving maid, Birgit, attended her, helping her learn new words, sewing new clothes for her and preparing her meals. By afternoon, Krista was bored and wandering aimlessly around the longhouse. Drawn into the weaving room, she sat down at the loom next to Runa.

Viking women did very fine work, she had noticed the first time she was there, spinning wool into threads of various sizes, some incredibly delicate. The fine thread was used to make soft woolen fabrics or for embroidery. Heavier threads were for sewing fur pelts, making rugs or tapestries to warm the floors and walls.

Runa no longer ignored her, and neither did the other women. After her days of working beside them in the fields, they spoke to her almost as an equal. Almost. But the red-haired girl still didn’t understand Krista’s refusal to marry her brother.

“Do you love another man?” she asked as they sat in front of the loom and Runa showed her again how to work the soapstone spindle, weaving it back and forth across the threads.

“I love your brother, but I do not belong here. I have a life of my own in England, the place I came from. I have duties there, responsibilities, just as Leif has here.”

“What sort of duties?”

Krista wasn’t sure she could explain about the newspaper and her father and grandfather. Her vocabulary was limited, after all, and describing a world so different from Runa’s was nearly an impossible task. But she struggled along, doing the best she could.

When she finished, Runa seemed to ponder her words. “This place you describe…it does not seem real.”

“It is very real. You can ask your brother.”

“He has yet to say much of his journey. I think it bothers him in some way to speak of it.”