Return of the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles
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he asked, through the lump in his throat. ‘Did you say Rurik?’
‘Rurik, Rurik Ashson. Once you said you wanted your first-born to be named Rurik.’
Rurik, his mother’s father’s name. The memory came rushing back. He had been standing on a rock above the lake, proclaiming what he’d do after he conquered the world and sired a batch of sons.
How had she remembered that? He didn’t deserve that sort of consideration, but he was grateful for it. More than grateful.
‘You did well. My first choice,’ he said and knew his words were inadequate. Anger surged through him. She’d known. She’d carried the knowledge with her through the morning and afternoon. All through the feast. But she’d kept the most important piece of news from him. It felt good to be angry. Anything was better than the all-consuming regret. ‘Why wait until now to tell me? Why not tell me at the temple?’
‘Ash...’ She held out her hand.
Ash ignored it. With a hurt expression, she slowly lowered it. Ash hardened his heart and forced the guilt back down his throat. Every other man at the feast had known, but not him. Had she wanted to humiliate him?
‘It should have been the first thing you said to me,’ he ground out. ‘Before you spoke of my father’s death. You risked making me the laughing stock of Raumerike. Or maybe that was your intention. A way to get back at me for something not of my making? I thought you better than that.’
‘I was interrupted before I had a chance...’ Kara pressed her hands to her eyes, hating the guilt that swept over her. She’d made a mistake. He was absolutely right. She should have said something. She hated that she’d been a coward about her son whom she loved with every fibre of her being. ‘You’d just learnt your father had died. Losing a father and gaining a son in the next breath is far too much for any man to bear.’
‘You’re sure he is mine?’ Ash gripped her shoulders, his face intent.
Kara’s entire body went cold. He had to believe her. She hardly wanted to confess that Ash was her only lover, not after learning about the parade of women who’d graced his bed before her and more than likely since. He was not the type to endure an empty bed for seven years. She had her pride.
‘Rurik is your son as well as mine.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Once you see him, you will know. He has your eyes, Ash, and your nose. Your father used to proclaim how like his father Rurik was and how I ought to be careful or he’d be steering ships on to the rocks.’
The tension eased in his shoulders. His hands fell to his sides.
‘I wouldn’t wish my nose on anyone,’ he mumbled, hanging his head.
‘I’ve always liked your nose.’
‘When was he born?’ he asked in a gentler tone.
Kara wound a strand of hair about her finger and tried not to think back to that fateful day. Ash needed the bare minimum. Later, maybe, she’d tell him the full tale. ‘He was a Jul-tide baby. The day of his birth was icy.’
Ash expelled a breath. Five months after he’d departed. Two months after he was supposed to have returned.
He’d been in the dungeon then, waiting for help which never would come. Nothing he could have done. The thought failed to ease his sense of guilt. She must have known before he’d left. Had she kept the news from him?
‘I want to see him. Immediately! Take me to him.’
Kara opened the door, her shoulders quivered like a nervous horse, scenting battle. ‘Shall we discuss this inside, rather than on the street for all to hear?’
Ash entered the dimly lit room. He would never have recognised it. Instead of the gloomy tapestries of battles which had frightened him as a little boy, the walls were hung with the most fantastical beasts. The weaving loom was set before the small hearth rather than being banished to the back room. The house which he remembered as a cold and austere place had a definite air of warmth. Things had changed for the better here, but he dreaded to think about Jaarlshiem. The farm had suffered when his mother had looked after it.
‘Is he here?’ he asked as Kara stood quietly just inside the doorway. ‘I want to see him. Now. Wake him up! His father is home!’
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