The Warlord's Wife (21 page)

Sweat from his brow ran into his eye.

The old woman forced her small hand inside his wife.

“AHH! Get my babe out safe. Now!” his wife raged, making the sounds of an attacking bear.

The old woman lured the babe’s second leg out. The red, bloody, slippery mess spilled out onto the bed.

A cry erupted out of the twitching, slimy babe. He had had a strong vocal and bodily resemblance to a wet seabird. Magnus’s tiny offspring had the lungs the size of giant—he was shouting the foundation of his fortress to the ground.

“He’s out, Lida. He’s out.” Magnus stood beside Lida, patting her sweaty head, not knowing if any other part of her body was safe to touch. The midwife wiped the babe’s face once and placed him onto his wife’s chest.

“Oh, they are here,” she said. “They are both here. Where is my son? Where is he?” Clutching the latest slippery babe to her chest, she twisted her head until Brita came around the bed with their quieter son and held him close. “Oh, they are just gorgeous. Are they not the most beautiful, perfect creatures you have ever seen, Magnus? Oh, look how big they are. I thought for certain they would be small, but look at them. So long, and those cheeks, so sweet, and . . . what the devil are you doing down there, Seija?” His wife’s head snapped back onto the pillow, her face twisting, seizing in pain. “Take the babe, Magnus. Take your child before I—”

“What is happening to her?” He looked to the two maids.

“Simply the second after birth, my jarl,” Brita said.

“Simply! Easy for you to say.” His wife cursed at the devil himself.

Magnus held out the second smooth, pink babe. His wet hair would surely be as bright gold as his mother’s when it dried. Rakel draped a cloth around the babe, bundling him up tight.

“Do we have two sons or one of each?” His wife smiled at him for a brief moment, then turned her attention to the midwife. “Truly! Are you about done? Mother of mercy!” She flopped back and let out another calming breath.

“I did not see the sex in all the milky slime,” he answered his wife.

“Milky slime? Did you think birthing a babe was as clean as selecting a rug at the market? This was your idea, Jarl. I never asked you to be in this chamber.” She let out another loud, annoyed breath, closed her eyes, and fell back into the pillows. She breathed deeply several times. When she reopened her eyes, she was no longer possessed. “Please, Brita, may I hold him?” She pulled her soiled linen shift down and put their child to her breast. She rubbed her nipple to the babe’s lips.

“Magnus, can I hold whoever it is you have too?”

He passed her the second babe and she offered him the second breast, both babes soon tucked under her arms like large loafs of bread.

Magnus dropped to his knees, his head at the edge of the bed. He was not one for praying, but he owed a few prayers to the gods for this one. He might as well make himself useful down here anyway—his legs no longer had the strength to stand.

“Two sons.” His wife sighed. “I should have known you would get your way,” she whispered. He leaned over her and crushed his mouth to hers.

“Katia will be disappointed. We will have to try again for a girl,” he said.

“You filthy dog. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?” she said, smiling.

“You appeared uncomfortable, but it was worth the entertainment to hear your vocabulary of foul words.” He kissed her again. He may get up and dance.
This is what euphoria feels like.

“Do not tell Katia I cursed. She will use it against me as an excuse to talk like her uncles. We must stick together. Trust me, we have just become out numbered.”

Magnus held both bundled sons in his arms as Seija bathed his wife and helped her dress. He then carried her across the corridor, to his bed. It was a place from which she had been absent, yet it was where she belonged and where he would forever secure her. She closed her eyes and, a moment later, was asleep.

“I shall take you both on a tour and show you your new home,” he said to the blue-eyed babes. They did nothing but stare, opening and closing their mouths. How could a creature so small be so enthralling?

Half of Tronscar was crowded on the stairwell. He passed the screamer, babe number two, to Hök, and bent down to pick up Katia.

“All boys, no girls. What will we do for names?” he asked his daughter.

Katia kissed the first babe on the head and let out a loud, disappointed sigh. “I will ask my mother in the morn. She is very good at naming grandpa’s horses.”

He roared with laughter, kissing his smart daughter on the cheek, startling the babies, causing them to howl, which ignited a thunder of laughter and cheers from his people.

His arms and heart had never been so full. In the stairwell were four people whom he would die for and never wanted to live without. And then there was one other, his wife, who had given him so much and demanded so little in return.

From the moment he’d laid eyes on Lida, she had possessed him, burdening him by owning every waking hour of his thoughts.

She had conquered him.

Hours later, with both babes resting in his arms, Magnus sat staring at his sleeping wife.

His father had taught him that love was a weakness. It crumbled kingdoms and destroyed men. It was untamable and changed with the wind.
“Stay away from it,”
his father had advised. Sons and brothers were the only rock upon which to build your kingdom’s foundation. Women were to keep you warm on cold nights and bear you sons. His father had been the bravest, wisest man Magnus had ever known, and this night, he realized his father had been a moron—vain, blind, and even sad.

Everything he had ever known and held true, swept away in a single event.

***

With the summer solstice a week away, Lida’s life had become blissful, filled with sweetness, the days wrapped up together in a sleepless fog. “Erkki Magnuson and Altti Magnuson,” she said, gazing down at their bed. Both month-old babes lay in naught but their nappies, wiggling their fingers and toes in the air.

“Aquilinus and Brutus Magnuson,” her husband said firmly.

“Not while I draw breath. Ransu and Saku.”

Her husband groaned in disgust. “Nero and Titus,” he offered with confidence.

She exaggerated rolling her eyes. “Vilhelm and Mathias.”

“Do you have no natural feeling for your sons, wife? Maximus and Felix.” He raised his chin with a strict authority, which she thought was darling.

“What is it with Roman names? They are sons of Norrland, not the southern realm. Max Magnuson, truly? He would sound like a cad.” Lida turned up her nose. “Not for my son.”

“You judge me when you offer Saku and Ransu Magnuson? I might as well fit them for their gowns and be done with it.”

The corner of her husband’s mouth turned up and the mischevious twinkle in his eye that she loved returned. They both started to laugh as they gazed adoringly on their sons, who lay unnamed and quickly falling asleep before their eyes.

“Haukka and Stål Magnuson,” Lida suggested, which earned her a long pause and an eyebrow arch of contemplation from her husband. Could these be the winners?

“We could pick a name from your family, one of your brothers.”

She felt a strong tug from inside her heart. Magnus was like this with her all the time in private—sweet, tender, obliging. He cared about her. Perhaps more than cared. “Svin and Peter are taken by two nice men. These babes will be men of adventure, of the north. They need strong names to suit.”

“Hök and Stål.” He folded her into his arms and kissed her, pulling her to his lap, lacing his fingers into her hair . . . oh, how she lost herself when he held her head, massaging her scalp. He kissed her so thoroughly that she felt it in her toes. His rough, calloused hands moved to her back and backside, caressing her, examining her returning form. When he pressed his hand upon her saggy stomach, she shrank away, abashed, breaking off the kiss and pushing off of his lap.

He would not release her.

“Why?” he groaned hungrily in her ear.

“Because I am not ready for more,” she said, although that was not entirely true.

“I ask not for more. I want you here,” he said into her ear.

She gulped. “I am . . . not ready. Soon—” She stopped speaking as he pressed his hand to the loose, soft skin of her belly.

“What must it have felt like to have them both in there?” His question hung unanswered as the seconds passed silently between them. “Your body is miraculous. What has man made? A ship, a fortress, a sword. You made them. You made them right here.” He kissed down her neck as he whispered. “This place here.” He gently rubbed his hand back and forth across her stomach.

She became undone, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing herself to him. She wanted to sink right into his skin. Their children had united them and bound them to each other’s hearts.

He did not know it yet, but Lida knew it. He loved her.

Perhaps he was only a little bit in love, perhaps only for this magical time after their sons’ birth, but it was real. She felt it. She forgot about her ugly, stretched-out stomach after that day. She would remember this feeling of love and adoration that poured from his hands into her body.

***

At three months of age, his sons ruled over Tronscar with unmerciful power. Time passed for Magnus in a rapturous haze.

Tero sat across the table from Magnus in his council chamber, waiting on the jarl’s reply. They needed to respond to the latest correspondence from the king, and Magnus’s frustration was mounting. Twice they had informed his cousin that they would send ships and weapons, yet Magnus would not command them himself this year. His cousin had not been pleased.

“Master,” Tero sighed, “he solely wishes to show a display of force and strength. He has no intent of making war with the Danes. Your—”

“No longer relevant. My mother’s line no longer holds power. My standing next to the king will mean nothing to this new Danish king.” Magnus yawned. “Tero, why did you not warn me of how exhausting fatherhood was?”

“I humbly suggest that you would have disregarded my council had I informed you that infants sleep odd hours,” Tero replied. “As for the king, having you at his side is a visible reminder to the Danes that past alliances were honored. With the addition of your fleet of ships, you will be a great asset to your cousin.”

“The problem here, Tero, is that I no longer care to be his asset. I have earned spending one summer on my own lands. Aleksi and Dag are enough to show strength if it is only a display that is needed.”

“I beg your pardon, my jarl.” Mikko stood at the open doorway, sweating. “Riders approach. They carry the banners of the king.”

“Ugh.” Magnus’s head dropped to the table.

The twins were giving him no rest, but he could not bring himself to force Lida to accept more help. She insisted on doing everything herself, spurring him headlong into sleepless insanity. He was in no condition to deal with his overly ambitious, high-handed cousin.

“Tero, go above stairs and tell my wife . . . no, wait, I shall go. You inform the kitchen.” He dragged himself to the door. “Tero, find my wife a wet nurse. Someone she will accept this time.”

“I have sent every maid, master—”

“Keep sending them until she lets one of them stay. I need to get some sleep if I am to deal with the king.”

***

Katia had begged Lida to come out to the stables to see the new kittens and colts. Her sons had been fed and tucked in for a long nap, so she had Brita help braid her hair and was relieved that she was able to fit into her favorite yellow gown. Her breasts strained against the fine fabric, but other than that, she was pleasantly surprised by how normal it felt to be back in regular clothes.

It was wonderful to walk to the village on such a bright, sunny day. The summer grasses were high, releasing a sweet, dry scent.

“Mama, when my brothers are bigger, can they sleep in my chamber? Lika will watch over them so they do not sneak away. She is very smart, Mama.”

“My love, you are an excellent big sister, but the babes are not your responsibility. I will be the mother, and you set your mind to learning and having fun.” She hugged her daughter tight into her side.

“I can do all that and still hold one of the boys.” Katia grinned, skipping at her side. “You can hold the other.”

Feeling refreshed and lighthearted, Lida reentered the great hall, which was a sea of commotion.

“Friherrinna Lida.” Ragna rushed forward. “The jarl has been looking for you. He is above stairs.”

“What has happened?” Lida asked, sure that something must be wrong.

“The king approaches. He will be in Tronscar within the hour.” Ragna spun around and rushed off, no doubt to see to her innumerable amount of chores.

“We had best hurry, Katia. The jarl may have assignments for us as well.”

As they reached their floor, Lida could hear Stål calling out to her for his next feed. Her breasts tingled and began to leak in answer to her crying child. She quickened her step.

At the doorway, she gasped in horror at the sight of Ylva’s large, round breasts, which lay bare before her husband.

Ylva paled, her hand clasping her bosom.

Her husband gave Hök to Ylva, and her babe, the traitor, instantly latched on to the offered nipple. He should be attached to her, not some other woman! He was
her
babe.

“Wife, calm yourself. Ylva is here to satisfy Hök, and you will see to Stål. Arrange yourself. Your son is hungry.” Resting against Magnus’s shoulder, Stål wailed louder.

Lida quickly settled Stål to purpose and Katia sat next to Hök, stroking his blond, spiky hair as he drank from Ylva.

Lida tried to bite her tongue. She wanted to be silent and argue with her husband later, in private, but she could not hold herself back. “Magnus, this is not necessary. Brita or Rakel should have come retrieve me sooner. They both knew where I was.” She tried to speak without vexation in her tone, but alas, sometimes it cannot be helped.

“Lida, I brought Ylva here. She has been serving as a wet nurse to Sigurd’s wife for the past few months. Their child is now weaned. I thought to bring her here to see how the boys would take to her.”

“Magnus,” Lida hissed and jerked her head sideways, silently beseeching him to come sit next to her. “This is not your decision. ’Tis mine. They are my sons and I will not have them attached to some other woman’s flesh. They are mine!” she whisper-shouted. He smiled at her, stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles and kissed her head like she was a foolish child. “This is not a game, husband. Get my babe off her breast before I—”

“Shush. You upset Stål. See, he is starting to choke.” He ran his hand down Stål’s back. Her milk was flowing so quickly that her babe could not keep up. Milk was leaking out the sides of his plump lips. She breathed deep, forcing herself to be calm.

“You have done a fine job, wife. Our sons grow strong. I shall not insist you stop feeding them, but I am insisting that you have Ylva assist for a few nights. She will sleep in the chamber across from Katia. For a part of the night, she will keep the boys with her. Brita will stay with her. After a few nights, we will decide if we should continue the arrangement.” Her husband had stopped stroking Stål’s back and had started stroking hers. He did not fight fair. When he was affectionate with her, it made it impossible to say no.

“I do not like it, Magnus. They are mine.”

“Aye, and you all are mine,” he said into her ear. “Let Ylva help us for a few hours in the night and you and I will both sleep. Do you remember what sleep feels like, Lida? ’Tis very”—he kissed behind her ear—“very”—another kiss—“very nice.” Lida was a puddle of quivering nerves.

Knowing he had won and clearly proud of himself, Magnus stood.

“You look very becoming today, wife. That gown is . . .” He made a playful growling noise. “The king will envy me. Perhaps I should hide you above stairs.” He smirked, something he never used to do, but that he now used as a weapon to get whatever suited him.

“Why did you not tell me the king was expected? I would have overseen a few finishes in the hall.”

“He was not expected. I have been avoiding him for months. But he is an impatient hound who does not understand the meaning of the word ‘nay.’”

“Sounds strikingly familiar to someone I am acquainted with,” she said. He appeared not to hear her, distracted by ogling her breast, where their son still fed. She ached for her husband’s touch, but with no sleep or time alone, they had not yet resumed relations. Perhaps Ylva looking after the boys for a few hours was not a terrible idea. She licked her lip, and he traced a finger across the top of her breast. They needed to stop this. Katia and the maids were watching. She shook her head, attempting to knock loose the lustful feelings. “Why have you said ‘no’ to the king visiting?”

“Not ‘no’ to him coming to Tronscar. ‘No’ to me departing.” He reached down for Stål, who had finished his meal, and placed the babe on his shoulder to burp. When Magnus held their sons, helping in their care, she often became weepy.

“And you had not wanted to leave us?” she whispered.

He answered her question by kissing Stål’s head. Stål burped loudly. “That’s my son.” He chuckled. “We will have to endure feasting with my relatives for a few nights. We will need all your female servants to help us when we’re needed below. Do you think you will be up to it, my queen?” He winked at her. Katia carried over Hök. “And you as well, little mother,” he said to her daughter. “Will you charm the king for me? Do you speak any Danish? That would please him; all he writes to me about is Denmark.”

“Selvfølgelig,” her daughter replied in Danish without skipping a beat.

Her husband roared with laughter, startling the babes. “Is there a tongue you do not know?” he asked Katia.

“The Saxon tongue is tricky. And my grandma said the Slavic tongue is from the devil, so she never taught me that one.”

“How many tongues does your mother speak?” he asked Lida, sounding more serious.

“I do not know,” she answered. “I never held an interest in languages, as Katia does.”

“Why does a farmer’s wife learn so many tongues?” he asked.

“She is Swedish, remember? Garamar Stan, or someplace.” Lida patted Hök’s back.

“Where exactly?” he asked.

“I do not remember. She never liked to talk much about her homeland. She taught me songs and . . .” She choked up, overwhelmed by missing her mother, who would be so proud of her for birthing these two beautiful boys.

“My mama is sad, Jarl Magnus. She misses her mama,” her daughter explained.

“Aye,” he said. “Perhaps when the boys have grown some we might make a voyage to Turku. Would you like that, Katia?”

“Oh, aye. I miss my cat, and Grandma has never met Lika, or Brita, or Rakel—”

“Or your brothers,” Lida reminded her.

“Or your Hök, Jarl Magnus. Can Hök come too?” Katia hopped up and down.

“Perhaps, if you ask him.” Her husband returned her daughter’s smile. “He does not come along when I ask, but he seems to like you more. I must speak to Tero and Hakon. Will you all join me below stairs in a few hours?” he asked. His eyes were warm and inviting, returning Lida’s thoughts to tonight and the prospect of being alone in bed with him.

“I will see you tonight.” Her heart beat faster, her stomach fluttered with building desire. Magnus kissed her firmly on the mouth and placed Stål back in her arms.

The simplest words or touch from him set her on fire.

As her husband marched out of the chamber, Katia started to giggle.

“What is so funny?” she asked.

“He is wed to you, Mama. He is allowed to kiss you,” Katia snickered mischievously.

“Yes, he is. Now, which one of these beauties do you want to hold?”

After Lida had a long talk with Ylva, she felt differently about the new arrangement. Ylva had been treated well by Sigurd, who’s wife’s milk had dried up early since her next babe was already on the way. Ylva had been able to mourn her lost child but also had cherished the time with little Hagen. She had found it very difficult to leave her charge and asked Lida for permission to visit the babe. That small request told Lida so much. Ylva loved children, all children, and Lida knew she would make a worthy addition to her sisterhood of maids.

The women spent the hour bathing Lida and her three children, combing her hair and dressing her in a gown of the finest silk to meet the king. The mood was lighthearted, with a pulse of excitement for the privilege of meeting the monarch.

Ylva demonstrated a six-strand braid to Katia, and her daughter agreed to let Ylva try it in her hair. A few hours later, before the feast began, Lida descended the stairs with her procession of maids and babes.

Magnus stood at the hearth with the king, horn of ale in hand, his chest expanding with pride as his family approached.

The king handed off his tankard of ale to a servant. “Cousin, we have been invaded by Freyja and her band of goddesses. This explains everything.”

“Mistress of Tronscar, Friherrinna Lida.” Magnus announced as the king approached Lida with an overly eager smile. Lida and her servants dropped into a deep curtsies, even those with the babes in their arms—wholly unnecessary, in Magnus’s opinion.

The king took his wife’s hand and kissed it. The hound better not take this too far if he knew what was good for him. “Friherrinna Lida, you have made the journey from Götaland well worth the effort. My, my, cousin, where did you find this creature?”

“At your bishop’s in Turku,” Magnus said. “This is my daughter, Katia, by way of my wife’s previous union, and these are my sons, Hök and Stål.”

“They are most impressive, Magnus. I must say you set a goal for yourself and you certainly see it through.” The king turned and addressed the rest of the room. “My cousin said to me last year that he wanted a wife and an heir by this summer. Magnus, you’ve outdone yourself—two sons and a daughter. A little greedy if you ask me. I think you should give me at least one by way of tax to your king. What about this one? She has a pleasing smile and smart braids.” His cousin reached to pick Katia up. His daughter shrieked and dove for Magnus’s leg, wrapping around him like a kitten.

His cousin laughed from his belly and slapped his leg, filling the hall with his cackling. Katia buried her face into Magnus’s side.

He untangled her limbs, raising her high into his arms. Her little arm quickly locked around his neck. “Only the king thinks his jests are funny,” he whispered in her ear, patting her back.

Already deep into his cups, the king continued to roar with laughter, and so began the feast. The packed hall drank and ate the long day away.

For most of the evening, Katia sat quietly on Magnus’s knee. The babes had returned above stairs with the nurses. Katia nibbled on her sweet cake and he realized with pride that she was unquestionably his child—his feeling for her was strong as for his sons. He ran one of her braids through his fingers and smiled at her.

“I like your braids, daughter. Did your mother force you to wear them to please me?”

“No, she never forces me. Ylva has the same braid in her hair, and I thought it looked pretty, so I asked for it.”

“My thanks. You look very smart for our guests.” He was about to return his attention to the king when he saw her looking up at him strangely. “What is it?”

“You are not my father, Jarl Magnus. You made a mistake. I will not tell anyone.”

“You are my daughter. I wed your mother, therefore you become my daughter.”

“I have a father. He is buried beside a lake, beside a big rock in Finland, in Lylasku. My mother told me. He died fighting with your cousins. I am glad I only have girl cousins. Boy cousins always seem to get in trouble for fighting.” She looked over at the king.

“How did you get so wise for someone so small?” He tickled her side.

“My grandma always says,
‘Things will look large or small to you equal to whether you are large or small.’
” She continued to giggle, squirming, drawing attention from those seated closest to them.

“I beg your pardon, Jarl Magnus. My I inquire, who is the child’s grandmother?” Count Charles Flander sat on the other side of Magnus, because of his royal position. The Danish diplomat was an elderly man with a sharp nose and of few words, whose cousin was the new king of Denmark.

“My wife’s family is from Finland, Count,” Magnus answered. “Family name is Starkka.”

“May I ask the child what other expressions her grandmother says? I confess she has caught my ear.” The count smiled warmly at his daughter.

Katia smirked shyly. “
‘Mighty things grow from small beginnings, like the mustard seed,’
” she said sweetly in Danish.

Magnus and the Dane laughed.

“Does your grandmother have any more pirated works of philosophy?” Count Charles asked.

“Um . . .
‘If you steal something small, like a calf, you are a thief and hanged. But if you steal something big, like a country, then you are worshipped and called a king.’
” She smiled and the table fell deadly silent. That is, until his cousin slapped the table, his boisterous, roaring laugh breaking out again.

“That decides it, poppet,” his cousin bellowed. “I am firing all my council and stealing you back to Götaland.” He grabbed her up off Magnus’s knee, and Katia shrieked.

“Nay, you cannot! Jarl Magnus said I am his.” Quick as a cat she climbed back to Magnus’s lap, flinging her little arms around his neck. He patted her back with pride.

The table roared again, all except for the Danish count sitting next to him. He was silent, staring at the child. “Where in Finland is your wife from?” he asked, the smile fading from his face.

“Turku,” Magnus said. “Our union was blessed by Bishop Henry.” He raised his chin. Was the count challenging him?

“Your wife, the child, they . . . they are familiar.” He continued to look hard at Katia and then down the table to his wife, who was engaged in conversation with the king. Magnus’s unease grew at the attention the count paid to his family. “Katia, does your grandmother have any other wise sayings?” the count asked.

“She has things to say all day long, but no more sayings about small things . . . or maybe I forgot them.”

“What other things does she like to say? What is her favorite?” This Dane was walking on thin ice with his suspicious manner.

“
‘Love is not in our choice but is our fate.’
She told me that one over and over, sometimes twice a day. She said I would not understand until I grew up. I think it is funny because I choose to love all the time: my dog, my new uncle, my new chamber, my new cat spot cloak. I guess my love for my brothers is my fate. Is that what she meant, Jarl Magnus?”

“I do not know.” He stroked her flushed, soft cheek. “Your grandmother sounds too wise for me.”

“Excuse me, Jarl, King Birge.” The count tripped on his chair in his rush to depart.

“Tero!” Magnus summoned his steward.

“Yes, master.”

“See after the count. He may be ill.”

“At once, master.” Tero nodded.

“Are you getting tired, my little Kat?”

Katia rested her head against his chest. He enjoyed the feel of her sleeping in his arms, but an itch scratched at the back of his mind. Instinct warned him that an unspecified threat had been delivered by way of the count’s questions and strange reaction to the answers. Would the count try to use his wife’s lowborn status against Magnus and his position? History did have a pattern of repeating. His gut told him treachery from the Danish shore was now in play.