Return of the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles
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stop teasing. When would I have had time to enjoy Valdar? I am a mother and I run Jaarlshiem. Valdar and I have barely had an hour alone since the match was agreed.’ Kara reached for the crown and jammed it on her head.
Her doing, not his. It hadn’t felt right dishonouring Ash in that way. Once the ceremony was over and she no longer belonged in any way to Ash, everything would be different.
Seeing her friend’s increasingly troubled expression, Kara relented. ‘I just want this ceremony over and done with. The whole day, in fact.’
‘You look exquisite, you know that, Kara.’ Auda laid a gentle hand on Kara’s shoulder. ‘Anyone looking at you now will understand why one of the finest warriors in the land chose you for his bride and why he laid his heart at your feet. All you have to do is see the way his face lights up when he spies you.’
‘Sweet Auda.’ Kara gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘But I do know my limitations. Shall we get this ceremony over with? Before Valdar realises the sort of woman he is marrying and changes his mind?’
‘He won’t. Once my brother-in-law has made up his mind, he stays the course. He is exceedingly stubborn.’
‘Steadfast, I know. You’ve said.’ Kara gave one last despairing look in the small mirror. She repeated the words she had taken to saying over the past few weeks. ‘And precisely the right man for me. Seven years married and six of them a widow. I deserve a man in my life.’
‘That’s the Kara I know and love.’
Balancing the awkward crown on her head, Kara trod a careful path to the temple. At the entrance to the temple’s grounds, she froze.
The temple overflowed with people, so many that they filled the courtyard. A great cheer and stamping of feet rose up when someone viewed her.
Kara fought the temptation to flee. She hadn’t realised there were this many people in Raumerike, let alone in the capital. Suddenly, this wedding felt wrong, as though she was making the biggest mistake of her life. A marriage should be more than simple practicality—her mother’s long-ago words welled up within her.
She firmed her mouth. Her biggest mistake had been marrying Ash in a haze of romantic dreams. This marriage promised to be different, based on mutual respect. No one was marrying under false pretences.
Towards the middle of the temple she saw Harald Haraldson, Ash’s uncle, sitting like a spider in the middle of his web, and knew why this marriage had to be so public. His very being radiated hatred and smug arrogance. Only she and Rurik stood in the way of his inheriting all that her father-in-law had acquired. The Raumerike inheritance laws were quite clear—if a man died without an heir, the estate passed first to his mother, next to her husband and only then to the remaining relatives. And a jaarldom could only be confirmed when the warrior proved worthy.
He noticed her glance and his lips turned up into a humourless smile, the sort of smile a hunter gives before he brings down his hapless prey. A shiver went down her spine.
She’d fought so long and hard for Rurik’s life when he was a baby that she wasn’t about to stop now. And she wasn’t about to be forced into a marriage where first Rurik’s life and then her own would be forfeit. Valdar would protect them with his dying breath.
She’d endure this ceremony, knowing she’d be back in Jaarlshiem in a few days. She had promised Rurik that she’d bring him a new father.
The last few steps to where Valdar was standing were far easier than the first ones. Auda was right. He did look every inch the handsome warrior, a formidable opponent for any foe. In time she would welcome him in her bed. She could play her part in bedsport.
How hard could it be to pretend passion? Other people did. Ash had done it with her and she’d been fool enough not to notice.
Kara held out her hand and Valdar lightly grasped her fingers. The simple touch did much to calm her nerves.
The priest began to invoke the gods, calling on Freya, Odin and Var to witness the union.
This marriage would be a better marriage than her last one, she silently promised. She would be a good wife to a good man.
The priest asked if anyone knew of an objection why the gods would not look on this union with favour. He paused dramatically.
Wriggling her shoulders, Kara tried to remove the sudden sense of impending doom.
She nodded to the priest to hurry him up and get this ordeal over with. He cleared his throat and lifted his hand.
‘I object! This woman is not free to marry! This ceremony must stop!’ a voice thundered from the back of the temple.
The priest’s hand halted. Kara forgot how to breathe. Ash! Ash’s voice from beyond the grave?
Impossible! Ash was dead. Buried in a watery grave. Someone else had called out and it was a trick of the temple’s walls. Sudden anger filled her. Who dared disrupt and dishonour this marriage? She would make them pay for it.
‘Stop the ceremony now! Listen to my words. This woman is not free.’
Valdar gave her a questioning glance. Kara forced a tiny shrug as her head began to pound. A distraction, nothing more. She belonged to no man. But whoever had planned this knew her weak spot.
She placed a hand on her stomach. She had to stop hearing ghosts. This objection had no merit. False and unfounded. But logically it would have to be heard.
Giving in to her temper seldom solved anything. In fact, it often made things worse. Over the past few years, she’d learnt the value of appearing calm and collected even if her insides were churning.
A little delay now would save a lifetime of innuendo and false rumour. Clinging to that thought, she attempted to breathe.
‘Make your objection known,’ the priest intoned. ‘Show your proof. This woman claims to be free.’
The crowds parted and the speaker came forward, walking with a distinct limp. His fine cloak swung about his body, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders and trim line of his waist. The deep blue colour set off his reddish-gold hair perfectly. There was something in the way he moved. Her stomach roiled as the scent of incense grew overpowering.
Kara shook her head, wished the crown was lighter and that the priest in the corner would stop waving his brazier about.
What her eyes saw was impossible. She dug her nails into her palm. Impossible.
The dead could not walk on this earth and Ash was dead. The ship had gone down without any survivors.
Ash’s uncle had brought back the intricately carved sternpost from Ash’s ship, charred from a fire, and laid it at her father-in-law’s feet. The day was etched on her brain. Her father-in-law had made a dreadful noise and collapsed in a heap. She had had to nurse him back to health along with Rurik, who had been suffering from one of his dreadful colds. There hadn’t been time to breathe, let alone grieve for the man whom she’d once made her whole world.
For a few days, both her father-in-law’s and Rurik’s lives had hung in the balance while Ash’s uncle had strutted about the hall, issuing orders and proclaiming how the hall would be his. Finally she had ordered him out and he’d gone with bad grace, promising his vengeance.
Was this some ghastly dream and she’d wake up in her bed with Rurik slumbering close by? She knew she was awake from the growing pain in her head and the nausea in her belly.
A conjurer’s trick? An apparition?
An insistent whisper went around the hall, growing in strength. Ash. Against all reason and expectation, it had to be. But utterly impossible. It had to be a trick, a way of sowing dissent and preventing the marriage. Harald Haraldson had to be behind it. She refused to allow this pathetic outrage to happen. This time Harald Haraldson had overreached. He would regret it when she was finished with him, but first she needed to be married with a warrior who’d defend