Heart of Honor (22 page)

T
he longhouse rang with the sounds of shouting and laughter. Vikings were dressed in their finery: women in long flowing robes much like Krista’s, some trimmed with intricate embroidery, others with fur; men in tunics and breeches, some with belted waists, most wearing ornate armbands, headbands, brooches and pendants made of silver, beads or shells.

Many of the women were astonishingly beautiful, Leif’s sister, Runa, among them—and
tall,
Krista couldn’t help but notice. For the first time in her life, she was just a woman, no different than anyone else. The men were tall, as well, big men, heavily built, some extremely handsome even with their long hair and thick beards.

Rows of wooden tables had been set up for the feasting, and a fire blazed in the hearth so the room felt comfortably warm. Seated next to Leif on a raised dais at the far end of the room, Krista thought how much her father would enjoy being here with these people, enjoy the entire adventure that she so completely hated.

The speeches were finally over. Leif had declared this a night of mourning for his father and the men who had died at sea, but also a night of celebration that a new chieftain would take Ragnaar’s place as head of the Ulfr clan. It meant
wolf,
she knew, and understood now the silver armband Leif wore above the one with the carved head of a dragon, along with the ivory amulet around his neck.

The hall was full of clansmen from the settlement as well as others who had heard the news of Leif’s return and come to join the celebration. Earlier she had met his brother Olav, just a year younger than Leif, and Olav’s wife, Magda.

“Welcome home, brother,” Olav had greeted Leif, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “We had all given up hope of your return.”

“The gods took pity and so I still live.” Leif smiled. “It is good to see you, brother. I am sorry to hear about our father. I will always regret I was not here when he died, though I cannot say I regret my journey.”

“Was it truly so different?” Olav asked.

“In a lifetime, I could not begin to tell you the wonders I have seen.”

Olav shook his head. He was blond and blue-eyed, not as tall as Leif, his features not so well-defined, and yet in a more subtle way, he was attractive. “I am content right here, as always I have been.”

Leif turned. “Olav, this is Krista, the woman I have chosen to wed.”

“She is a beauty,” Olav said, as if Krista weren’t there.

“And the woman walking toward us is Olav’s wife, Magda,” Leif said to Krista, who repeated the only greeting she knew how to say.

“It is good to meet you both.”

Olav smiled and nodded, but Magda ignored her. “So you have finally returned,” the woman said to Leif. “We had begun to believe you had abandoned us.” She appeared to be several years older than Krista, with pale skin, raven-black hair and striking features. With her unusual coloring, Krista wondered if perhaps she was descended from someone who had once been a captive.

“It is good to see you, as well, Magda,” Leif said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“You and your foolishness cost the lives of good men.”

“They knew the risks.”

Magda scoffed. “And what of your duty to your clan? If it hadn’t been for your brother, the Hjalmr would have taken everything.”

“I am grateful to Olav…and to you, Magda. But as I told Olav, I do not regret my journey. Besides, I am home now and that is what matters.”

Magda said no more. It was clear Olav was happy his brother was alive and well, but Magda seemed far less pleased. She had been wife to a chieftain, if only temporarily, and it appeared she still coveted the position.

Two more men arrived at Leif’s side, and as he spoke to them, he settled a possessive hand at Krista’s waist. “These two rogues are Thorolf and Eirik, my youngest brothers.”

“It is good to meet you,” Krista said, managing the semblance of a smile. All of the brothers were handsome. Amazingly so. Thorolf had dark hair brightened with faint traces of red that glinted in the light of the fire. He was leaner than Leif, his body long and sleekly muscled, but his shoulders were wide and he was nearly as tall, with the same intense blue eyes.

Eirik looked even more like Leif, with the same muscular build, blond hair a darker golden hue and fine green eyes.

“And this is my uncle, Sigurd. He and my father were brothers.”

Sigurd’s smile was warm and broad. He was older, perhaps in his fifties, with iron-gray hair and a scar above his left eyebrow that stood out against his pale skin.

“So, at last my nephew has found himself a bride.” His pale blue eyes assessed her, taking in the fullness of her lips, her high cheekbones, her softly curling long blond hair, pulled back on the sides with tortoiseshell combs. His gaze moved down her body, measuring her height, her build, the size of her bosom, all of which he seemed to approve. “It appears his wait was worthwhile.”

Leif smiled. “Krista is beautiful, but she is also intelligent and strong of heart. She was a gift from the gods and one for which I am truly grateful.”

He gazed at her with such warmth she couldn’t speak the words that would tell his uncle and the others she had no intention of marrying him. This was Leif’s first night home and she didn’t want to spoil it for him. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the battle to begin anew.

Instead she gave her usual greeting to his uncle and noticed the way he continued to assess her. As Leif’s wife, she would be a powerful member of the community. It was clear he hoped Leif had chosen well.

The evening continued. On the dais, she sat with Leif on one side and his uncle on the other. Next to Sigurd sat the settlement priest, and beyond him, Captain Twig. Below the dais, but in a place reserved for important guests, Jamie Suthers sat next to Felix Hauser and Bertie Young, and perched on Jamie’s slim shoulder, little Alfinn chattered merrily at the others in the room.

The small group of Englishmen looked entirely too happy, and Krista sighed, more depressed than she had been when she arrived. There was no way she could convince the men to steal the
Sea Dragon
and return her to London. At least not yet.

The notion gave her a shot of hope. Perhaps in time the men would tire of their primitive environment and agree to take her home.

She was considering the possibility when the growling in her stomach began to distract her. She hadn’t realized she was hungry until servants appeared in the hall carrying trays weighed down with food. A wooden trencher was placed on the table between her and Leif, and she remembered it was the way people ate back in medieval times.

The thought depressed her even more and much of her appetite faded.

“You like meat,” Leif said, shoving a chunk of beef to her side of the trencher. “There will be mutton and fish and also several kinds of cheese. Our food is simple, but you will never go hungry.”

Her stomach rumbled again. She glanced down at the eating utensils beside the trencher, saw a big, antler-handled knife and spoon. The spoon wouldn’t help. She picked up the knife, gripping it the way Leif held his, and stabbed it into a big piece of meat. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it now that she had it, and when she looked at him for guidance, she saw that he was frowning.

“It is all right,” he said gently. “You can use your fingers. It is proper to do so here.” But as he watched her tearing the meat apart and stuffing it into her mouth, his expression seemed to darken and his jaw tensed. “On the morrow, I will show you how to use the knife.”

She thought of the lessons she had given him in the elegant dining room of her town house. There was no crystal here, no linens, no gilt-rimmed plates to hold the delicious array of food Cook prepared nightly. Krista was no wilting lily. She was a survivor, and if she had to, she could live as these people did.

A lump swelled in her throat. But dear God, how she wanted to go home.

Leif watched Krista all through the evening. He had introduced her to every person in the hall, and though he knew she was weary, she carried herself like the highborn lady she was. He had never been more proud of her.

Only once had she balked. When he stood to make the announcement of his upcoming marriage, she had clamped her lips together and firmly shaken her head, warning him what would happen if he did.

“By the gods,” he said to her softly, “you are a vexing creature, Krista Hart.” His words, muffled by the rowdy noise and laughter in the hall, didn’t seem to faze her. Furious and strangely depressed, he turned to the revelers, who fell silent as he lifted his drinking horn in a toast to his father instead.

“Let us drink to Ragnaar!” he shouted. “The greatest chieftain ever to rule Ulfrvangr!” Putting the horn to his lips, he emptied the contents, and the hall went up in a cheer.

More toasts were made. One to him as the next great chieftain of the clan, one to the men who had perished in the sea. A toast was made by his brother Eirik, to the Viking with the smooth cheeks of a lad and how pretty he looked, which sent the hall into fits of laughter.

Hoping to dull his anger and disappointment, Leif emptied the horn every time it was filled. His mind grew muddled, his words slurred. He barely noticed when Thorolf escorted Krista from the hall. But as soon as she stepped down from the dais and made her way behind him toward her room, Inga appeared. He remembered the last time he had seen her, the night in the barn when he had taken her in the hay.

“She is gone and you are left alone,” Inga said, pressing her lush breasts against him. “It is not right for a man to be alone on his first night home.” She smiled, ran her hand along the nape of his neck, sank her fingers into his hair. “I will give you what you need this night, Leif.” She cupped his cheek and bent to kiss him, but he turned away.

“I am to wed, Inga. Leave me be.”

“She will not wed you. She has said so to your sister.” She caressed his clean-shaven jaw. “She does not want you, but I do. Let me give you pleasure. You remember how good it was between us. Take what I freely offer.”

He only shook his head.

“Even should you wed, I will come to you. I will live as your concubine. This I will do for you, Leif.”

Leif set his empty drinking horn down on the table, suddenly tired to the bone. “The hour grows late, Inga. It is sleep I need this night, not a woman.”
At least not this woman,
he thought.

Moving unsteadily, he made his way to his room behind the dais at the end of the longhouse. Sitting down on a bench at the foot of his bed, he removed his fur-trimmed boots, then, with a last glance at the door leading to Krista’s room, lay down on the furs and dropped into a heavy sleep.

Krista could not sleep. She had watched Leif drink cup after cup of ale until his senses were dulled and he swayed in the ornately carved, high-backed chair that had once belonged to his father. She had never seen him drink that way before. She was grateful to his brother Thorolf—Thor, he was called—who had come to her rescue, leading her quietly back to her bedchamber.

“It is not like him to drink so much. I have rarely seen my brother drunk.” He grinned and she saw that his teeth were white and straight. With his dark hair and brilliant blue eyes, he was incredibly handsome.

“Only once did it happen,” he said. “When we were young boys, we wanted to know what it was like to drink like the men. Our father caught us. The next day he ordered us to dig out the pigsty, which, after so much ale, made both of us violently sick. Neither of us ever drank that way again.”

“Until tonight,” she corrected.

Thor sighed. “You will have to forgive him. He has a great deal on his mind.”

Thor left her there, and Krista intended to go to bed, but instead found herself wandering back toward the hall. Careful to stay out of sight in the shadows, she searched for Leif, then froze where she stood as a ripely curved blonde stepped up beside him on the dais.
Inga,
he called her.

Krista remembered the night Leif had called her that, thinking she was the woman he had made love to in the barn. Though the pair stood a little ways away, most of the guests were now sleeping or passed out drunkenly at one of the tables, and she could hear every word.

Hear that the lovely blond Inga intended to become Leif’s whore.

Concubine, they were called, and Krista’s stomach violently churned. Dear God, how could she have forgotten that Vikings took women into their households other than their wives? Women who serviced their benefactor’s needs.

It doesn’t matter,
she told herself. She wasn’t going to marry him. She didn’t care how many damnable
concubines
he took to his bed!

But it did matter. It made her sick to even think of sharing him with another woman, perhaps more than one.

As she lay on the pallet of furs, Krista tried to push the thought away, tried to empty her mind so that she could fall asleep. But dawn had begun to purple the sky and still she lay awake, staring at the turf roof overhead.

Eventually, she slept. Olav’s wife, Magda, awakened her not long after, telling her it was time she took her place with the other women, either weaving or working in the fields. Krista wondered if Leif had sent her, for the door to his room was open and it was clear he was already gone.