Blind Redemption (22 page)

Aaron mopped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Two days of felling trees was one thing, cutting shingles could take weeks. Several test bolts from the trees he selected had divided into smooth shingles. Now, cutting enough shakes to cover the roof would take time. Aaron gripped his wedge and hammer. Amund held a wood drum on end, while Aaron sawed it in half. He inspected the grain. Next, he split off a triangular section and removed the heartwood. The width of every shingle needed to match in order for the roof to seal properly.

He cursed when two riders arrived unexpectedly.

“Milord,” one called, dismounting. “My name is Dillingr. I’m a representative for Jarl Alfgeir. We welcome you to the Trondelag.”

Aaron handed Amund his tools, wiped his hands on his tunic, then addressed the stranger. “I’ve only been here a few days, how did you learn of my arrival?”

Dillingr smiled. “Word travels quickly.”

“Offer salutations to your master.”

“He requests your company on a hunting trip.”

Aaron eyed his house, then the messenger. “As you can see, I’m in the middle of repairing my roof.”

“A short delay, milord. And why would the king’s captain waste his time on menial labor? Jarl Alfgeir is only a few miles from here. He’s willing to pledge several men for service. And I’m sure your servants can finish what you’ve started.”

Aaron frowned thoughtfully, scrutinizing the strangers. Dressed as warriors, they appeared legitimate in every respect. “Amund.”

“Milord?”

“I cannot risk offending our neighbor.”

“No, milord.”

And Aaron had spent half the day instructing his men how to cut shingles. Surely they’d make good progress in his absence. “I’ll be back before nightfall.”

After he changed his clothes, Aaron mounted, then followed Dillingr and the other horseman north. They crossed the Gaula River, riding deeper inside the forest before they stopped in a small camp miles from Aaron’s steading. Three tents, similar to the ones Aaron used, were arranged around a fire. Half a dozen horses were grazing nearby.

After he climbed off his horse, Aaron straightened his weapon belt. He smelled roasting venison.

“This way, Jarl McNally.” Dillinger ushered him to the fire.

“Where is Jarl Alfgeir?”

“Over here, you piece of shite.”

Aaron swung around, then stared at Erling, stupefied. “I should have finished you the first time we met.” Ripping his sword from its sheath, he prepared to fight, feet spread wide and shoulders squared—his blade raised over his left shoulder.
Forgive me, Kara, I failed you miserably . . .
Not again. “Why are you here?” He knew the answer, but wanted to hear the bastard say it.

Erling bellowed with laughter. “To recover what you stole from me.”

This time Aaron laughed, but it came out sounding more like a growl. Rage pulsed through him.
“Dra til helvete din mor.”

Three guards flanked Erling now. “My whore of a mother died shortly after giving birth to me, so it would be difficult to take my pleasure with her, but your wife will serve as a perfect substitute.”

Aaron controlled his breathing to keep himself from sinking into the fury that threatened to override his senses. Erling’s spies must be everywhere, including watching his wife. His gaze swept quickly over his surroundings. Two men stood behind him, four in front. Although Erling held no weapon, his men were heavily armed. And more fighters were likely hiding in the shadows. “Face me, one-on-one.”

Erling spread his arms. “We don’t live by the same rules. Honor is something boys dream about, Jarl McNally. I live to win. And my shoulder is still healing—I haven’t the strength to fight you. Even if I did,” he said, gesturing. “Why should I dirty my hands?”

Aaron didn’t bother answering, but spun around, slicing through the hip of the nameless rider who helped lead him into this ambush. The man shrieked in pain as he hit the ground. With lightening quick reflexes, Aaron’s steel blocked a poorly executed strike by Dillingr. Then their blades locked. Aaron roared and booted him in the ribs, forcing the arsehole backward a few feet.

“There’s no escape for you, Aaron,” Erling mocked. “Give up and I’ll let you live long enough to watch me bed your beautiful wife.”

Just then, a raven crowed. Another blasted sign from the gods. Holding his sword firmly in both hands, Aaron rushed forward, impaling his opponent through the center of his chest. The crunch of cartilage and bone made him smile.

“Go to
Hel
,” Aaron fumed, blood oozing from the corners of Dillingr’s mouth.

Something hard and solid slammed into the back of Aaron’s head. Sharp pain shot through his skull. He staggered forward, his eyesight blurry, then he dropped to his knees. “Kara.” She couldn’t hear him, but thank Odin she was safe.

“Don’t worry.” Erling towered over him. “She’ll be well taken care of, the same way you provided for my sister.”

Sister?
Confusion rolled in as quickly as thick fog. Then darkness overtook him.

Chapter 20

Ignited

Jarl Sigurdsson cleared the room after Amund arrived with a handful of warriors. Kara recognized them from her brief visit to her husband’s home. As much as she respected her host, she couldn’t go up to her bedchamber and ignore the fact that Aaron hadn’t sent word to her since he’d left. No, she had the right to stay—or linger on the stairs.

“We’ve searched north and east, milord,” Amund reported. “There’s no sign of Jarl McNally or the men he rode with. I also sent word to Jarl Alfgeir. He didn’t invite my master to go hunting.”

“Sit,” Tyr directed. “How long has he been missing?”

“He intended to return for the eventide meal.”

Kara’s mind whirled—her heart pounding frantically. “I must find him,” she muttered to herself.

Tyr raked his fingers through his beard. “Hours.” He stood and started pacing. “My cousin doesn’t miss a meal. Nor would he leave for an extended period of time with his new bride waiting abovestairs. There’s no one in the Trondelag seeking vengeance and Jarl Erik the Bald is days away.” He stopped abruptly. “If Aaron didn’t kill Erling Solheim, he may be to blame.”

The spoken name obliterated Kara’s resolve. “No!” she screamed.

Tyr looked up. “Come here.”

Heavy-hearted, she stomped down the steps.

Amund stood as soon as he saw her. “Milady.” He bowed.

“Save the formalities for another day,” she mused. “I demand to know everything—I deserve to know—Aaron is my husband.”

Tyr grimaced. “I understand the urgency you feel.”

“No, Jarl Sigurdsson,” she retorted. “You don’t.” Overcome with fear and something akin to rage, Kara didn’t have the patience for coddling. “I’ve cut a man down in battle, shed blood. I’ll be treated as an equal here, not as a simpering wife.”

“But you are a wife,” Tyr reminded her.

“Does that mean I’m expected to wait behind closed doors weeping, when I could be searching for Aaron alongside these men? As long as there is breath in my body, I refuse to stay here.”

“I’ll chain you to a stake in the cellar,” Tyr warned, his eyes fiery coals. “I begin to see what my cousin meant when he claimed you were trouble. I’ll gently remind you, Lady Kara, this isn’t Lagenheim. You pleaded for sanctuary. I gave it.”

“I’m not a prisoner.”

Tyr edged closer. More monolithic than his cousin, the jarl
’s
close proximity made her shudder. “Oh, but you are.”

She folded her arms over her stomach. Better to acquiesce, than argue. But everything she loved was at stake—damn Tyr’s overprotectiveness—curse Erling Solheim to the darkest regions of
Hel
if he lived. She knew the evil that man was capable of, having experienced his malevolence. “Are you aware of my history with Erling Solheim, milord?” She’d risk his displeasure once more.

“Fully aware,” he answered. “And I’m here to remind you of what your husband said before—men aren’t permitted to fight women in the real world.”

“But a woman can challenge a man.”

He spread his hands angrily. “Go to your room,
now
.”

“Milord . . .”

“Storr.” Tyr focused on one of his warriors. “If my kinswoman doesn’t obey me, carry her upstairs.”

“Milord.” Storr stepped forward.

“Last chance,” Tyr said.

She frowned, hating him for what he represented. Paternal authority—intimidation—utter control. Turning to the stairs, she called over her shoulder as she walked, “Allfather will aid me.”

Aaron woke with a powerful pain behind his eyes. Darkness surrounded him. When he tried to move his hands and feet, he couldn’t. For a second, he wanted to scream out. But then he remembered where he was. Erling Solheim had tricked him—lured him into the woods. Now his hands and feet were tied to four stakes in the ground. He writhed, testing the strength of his bonds. When he moved, the ropes tightened.

“I suggest you stay perfectly still or you’ll cut off your circulation.” Erling stared down at him.

“Free one arm and I’ll kill you.”

Erling chuckled. “I do appreciate a man who’s fearless. But do try to think of this in a positive way, Jarl McNally. There are many advantages to laying on your back.” He stressed his point by booting Aaron in the ribs. “You can see everything going on around you.”

Aaron held his breath, sucking in the pain.

“You killed my cousin,” Erling continued. “It’s difficult to find trustworthy servants. Although I don’t value too many men, you’ll suffer the consequences.” He whistled and six men approached. “Bring the barrels.”

Aaron lifted his head off the hard ground and tried to watch. But they left his line of vision, only to return minutes later carrying large, wood casks. Again, Aaron tried to free himself by jerking his hands and feet. The twine bit into his skin. His eyes grew wide as the drums were placed next to him.

“Three of these barrels contain water,” Erling started. “And three contain pitch.”

Aaron stared nervously at the fire a few yards away.

“I will randomly choose one, then my captain will open it—”

“
Du må betale med livet ditt
.”

“Pay with
my
life?” Erling snorted. “You’re excessively arrogant.”

Erling pointed at the fifth keg. A man shoved a metal wedge along the side of the lid, prying it open. Another upended it, pouring cold liquid all over Aaron. He shut his eyes tight.
Water, goddamnit, its only water.
His eyes popped open. Then he exhaled, silently praising the gods for their mercy. Although he didn’t know why they’d let him fall prey to such wicked men.

“Again.” Erling picked another barrel.

More water.

“That one,” Erling said, choosing again.

Fate favored Aaron today, water.

Aaron coughed violently, soaked from head to foot. It took every ounce of control he had to keep his mouth clamped shut as the torrent of water spilled over him. Fuck Erling—he’d snap his neck the minute he was freed. Then he tried to unleash his hands.

His torturers hooted.

“Shall we save the other barrels until morning?” Erling asked. He faced his men. “I believe our guest is tired. And venison and ale awaits us.”

Left alone, Aaron stared above, the moon and stars reminded him of his wife. He’d willingly breathe his last if he could catch one last glimpse of her beautiful face before he died.

Kara didn’t go to her bedchamber. Instead, she withdrew further into the shadows, listening to everything discussed below. Search parties were quickly organized and dispersed. Waiting until the great hall fell eerily silent, she crept downstairs and slipped out the back doors. Horses were waiting in front of the stable. Almost too many to count. She took cover behind a nearby storage shed and waited. Minutes later, a group of soldiers exited the stable and mounted, riding off.

At least a dozen horses were left unattended.

She weighed her options. Stay here or steal a horse and follow the search party. She didn’t care about the consequences that would follow. Defying men seemed to be something she did quite well. She dashed toward the barn, seizing the reins of the closest animal, then led him away. Behind the shed again, she opened a saddlebag and reached inside. She found a knife and a water skin. The second contained rations of food wrapped in linens, rope, and a flint stone. She secured the bags, then climbed on. An hour later, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon, she found their tracks in the mud headed east.

Steadily riding for what seemed hours, she stopped when she overheard men shouting ahead. Other than the noise of her horse’s hooves pounding the earth, the world had remained silent until now. She dismounted, letting her horse stray. Then she followed the sound until she came to a stand of pine trees.

“We should turn southeast,” one of the guards suggested.

“No,” another disagreed. “We should stay on course.”

“Jarl McNally’s captain already combed the woods. Head toward the river—Erling Solheim may have a longship waiting,” the first man who spoke added.

They bickered back and forth, then called for a vote. Eventually, they rode southeast.

Their decision made it easier to choose her own riding direction. She’d continue on an easterly trek, no reason to follow them anymore. The more ground they covered, the better their chances at recovering her husband. She found her mount grazing nearby. Drinking some water from the skin tied to her saddle, she wiped her mouth dry on the back of her hand and grabbed her knife.

The dim morning light veiled the forest in gloom. Fear drove her onward, when exhaustion should have stopped her. She scrutinized every inch of the forest floor, looking for footprints or remnants of a campfire. Birds occasionally flew overhead or cried out. But there was nothing to see. A cold hand tightened around her heart. Tears welled up in her eyes more than once. And then she wished for her sword and shield, her chainmail and breeches, as if iron and steel and leather could improve her chances of locating her beloved. Or provide some comfort. She even called on her brothers and Marteinn, but no one came.