Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thorvald’s Shock
The whole village was buzzing with activity when Thorvald, Ozrik, and Hrolf roamed back through. It was early evening. The night birds were beginning to sing their goodbyes to the day.
Thorvald turned to Ozrik. “What’s going on?”
A light breeze tousled Ozrik’s hair. He shrugged. “Seems they’re preparing for a feast.”
Thorvald’s brows sank. That was exactly his suspicion. “What would they be feasting for?”
“Only one way to find out.”
At the back of the great hall, Thorvald pushed open the door and let himself into the dim space. He moved more silently than he’d intended, for none of the women turned at his entrance.
He came up behind the princess. Her dark brown hair, cleaned, combed, and plaited elaborately, gleamed in a way it hadn’t during the sea voyage.
“You understand why I had to do it, right?”
The princess turned in a whirl, the plate of food she’d been preparing forgotten among the steaming dishes. When she saw it was him, her eyes flashed like the dark center of a vengeful storm. “To which of your many noble doings do you refer?”
His mouth turned dry. He deserved no less. “Why I left.”
His throat felt like he’d swallowed sand.
“If you do not want to make an apology, you have no business here.” She jerked her chin, indicating he could leave the way he came. “Be off with you.”
Thorvald wanted to reach for her. This longing was a portion of himself he never knew existed. Not until he’d met her. Now he realized it, it seemed as much a part of him as needing air.
“I want to tell you—”
“You left. When I recovered from my shock, I said good riddance. Nobody wants you back here. Go back to wherever it was you vanished to.”
A jolt went through him. Part of him had been hoping she’d see him and be grateful for his return. But no. Odin’s eye, it was as bad as it could be. She’d expected him to stay. To fight for her. And he’d done worse than simply let her down. Far worse.
He’d failed her. Because she was right. He never should have left. It had taken him a shamefully long time to realize it.
Once again, he was the witless one. If skalds were going to remember him to future generations, he was going to have to start acting like a man and warrior worth singing about.
More than that—he was going to have to start acting like a man and warrior worthy of her.
He took a step closer, dropping his voice to a whisper so the nearby women wouldn’t overhear. “I’m not sorry I kissed you while I had the chance.”
If only he’d seized the opportunity to do more. His body ached for hers. But he was doomed never to taste her skin. Never to explore the swells and hollows of her womanly form. Never to watch her expression change the moment his body breached hers.
Her color went high. “I hate you more because you did.”
“Do you?”
She made a sound of disgusted exasperation. “You handed me over to him.”
“I had to.”
“You wanted to.”
“I never break the promises I make. And I need my land back. If I didn’t come here and deliver you as he’d asked, I’d have been left with nothing. No kind of life. Nothing to give—”
“You and your ilk are very good at taking what you please. That I’m here is proof enough of that.”
“You like to hurl that at me as if you mean to insult me. But I don’t deny it. I know what we are and I know what we do. I’ve done it myself.” A fact about his past that troubled him more and more.
“Taking what belongs to others is wrong.”
“By what measure?”
He’d expected her to begin speaking of her lone god. It wouldn’t have had the same effect as the single word she spat out from between her teeth. “Mine.”
He looked briefly into the distance. The way she looked at him could burn him to cinders. “I love the sea, but I was born for land.”
“I hope you die alone. Cowards like you deserve no better.”
Hearing “coward” applied to him was like the red-hot blade of an axe struck against a vault of ice. Thorvald slammed his fist onto a table. The surrounding women emitted a collective shriek and grabbed at each other.
He could barely breathe. That this woman—this woman who he could so easily have loved—that she could call him such a thing…he shouldn’t care. His father had torn his life apart. Thorvald had lived in anguish for the entire following winter.
This felt worse. “That’s the last thing I am or will ever be.”
The princess remained undaunted. Her eyes were narrow, her spine straight, her shoulders down. Her arms were long and rigid by her sides, ending in tightly balled fists. “Not the way I see it.”
“Then you must have been glad to be rid of me.”
“I was. Now leave and make me glad again. Gift us all with the grace of your absence.”
He let out a growl of frustration. It was difficult to see past the overwhelming onslaught of burning rage. He wanted to rip everything they’d said right from the air and set it on fire.
A voice from behind broke in. “My greatest warrior and my bride together again so soon?”
His what? Mute, all senses vibrating with shock, Thorvald turned. The jarl stepped toward them, his face unsmiling. Two of his guardsmen hung back, watching and waiting.
Everyone went silent as Jarl Erlendr stood before them. He’d come in through the other door and now he stared hard at Thorvald. “I thought you wouldn’t leave your land again for anything.”
His land seemed a distant and useless thing. A pile of worthless dirt. All Thorvald could hear in his head was the jarl saying “my bride.” Thank the gods he had returned. His heart thudding, he kept his features carefully impassive and spoke with a detached air. “I came to join the wedding feast.”
“Yes. So I assumed.” The jarl’s flat expression didn’t change. If he’d caught Thorvald’s lie, he gave no indication.
“You were hoping I’d never return, weren’t you?”
The room was deathly quiet. The jarl’s face gave no indication of what he might have been thinking. “Have you ever thought about that day?”
That day. Thorvald could have drowned in the ensuing flood of panic. They’d never talked about it. Never. His throat tightened. The jarl was making it abundantly clear what he was capable of doing if Thorvald didn’t obey him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?” The question simmered with an underlying threat.
Forcing himself to ignore the jarl before the spectators could begin to guess what they might be discussing, Thorvald took a step closer to the princess. “No woman can be married against her will. Unless…” An unwelcome thought lodged itself like a splinter into his mind. “Is this…is this what you want?”
When she looked at the jarl, it was with sheer rancor. “I’ll never accept being his wife.”
Relief as sweet as amber honey poured through Thorvald’s knotted muscles.
The jarl raised his head. “I don’t need her consent. I do her an honor. I don’t have to marry her. She will learn gratitude toward me for my benevolence.”
With that, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the door. He paused at the passageway to yell to one of the other women. “Bring the food.” Then his attention flitted back to Thorvald, malicious cunning in his eyes. “Join us.”