Return of the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles

to halt this marriage!’ Kara forced her hand to stay in her lap and not tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She was determined her hair would be beautiful and not hanging like a witch’s for this marriage. ‘The king approves of the marriage. I’m hopeful the king will finally confirm my son as the rightful jaarl of Jaarlshiem once he sees that Valdar will protect Rurik’s interests.’

      ‘How can I help you to finish your preparations? It wouldn’t do to keep your new husband waiting. These Nerisons can become impatient when they want something.’

      Right now, she wanted to run back to the security of Jaarlshiem; she wanted the nausea to retreat back down her throat and the panic to recede. She wasn’t a naïve bride of sixteen any more. She was a widow of twenty-three. She couldn’t afford the luxury of being unwed any longer. The very public marriage would show the entire kingdom, indeed the entire North lands, that she’d chosen a strong warrior to guard the estate until her son came of age.

      While her father-in-law had lived, there had been no need to remarry as he had still commanded all of Raumerike’s respect. But now that he was dead, she knew she could not hold the lands without help. She had no choice—she had to remarry or risk losing everything she had worked so hard to keep these last few years. She had promised herself on her father-in-law’s deathbed that it wouldn’t be as he predicted with his final gasp of breath—that as a lone woman, everything would slip from her grasp and Rurik would inherit nothing when he came of age. She would succeed and prove him wrong.

      ‘Unpack my mother’s bridal crown. I should have done it before now, I know, but I had to look at that horse and then there were the final preparations for the feast and...’

      ‘Old crowns are the best. I had to make do with a simple wreath of flowers when I married.’ Auda clapped her hands together. ‘In a few days’ time you will wonder why you ever hesitated, Kara. Valdar confessed how many times he asked you. Was it fifteen or twenty?’

      ‘Seventeen—not that I kept track.’

      The marriage made sense. Valdar was kind, steady and dependable. He never had any inclination to go Viking or even on long, distant voyages for trading purposes. Her father-in-law had proclaimed Valdar to have been born under a steady star, unlike Ash’s wandering one. He would be the right sort of father for Rurik—patient and caring, present instead of risking it all many leagues away. A man to lean on.

      ‘A pity Rurik isn’t here.’ Auda fastened the white cloak about Kara’s shoulders. ‘He would have loved seeing his mother looking like a goddess. And his first opportunity to see the capital.’

      ‘Jaarlshiem is safer. Fewer opportunities for mischief. My nerves are in shreds enough as is.’ Kara firmed her mouth and ignored Auda’s remark about looking like a goddess.

      If she’d been more of a woman, Ash would not have gone. Ash would have stayed and made sure that he had a healthy heir. Her father-in-law’s bitter words just after he found out about Ash’s tragic death still had the power to hurt. Kara shook her head. Her late husband was the last person she wanted to think about today of all days. It was her wedding day.

      A new start. A new chapter to ensure that Rurik grew up without fear. Jaarlshiem had been without a strong warrior at its helm for far too long. Ash Hringson belonged to the unremembered past and the girl she had once been. If she had been the one to die instead, her ashes would have barely been scattered on the tuntreet’s roots before Ash found another to warm his bed.

      ‘What has Rurik been up to?’ Auda gave an indulgent smile. ‘Surely he learnt his lesson after being caught out in that thunderstorm with a horse he could barely control.’

      ‘Trust me, you don’t want to know.’ Kara held up her hand. ‘But he worships Valdar. I hope he will be a calming influence.’

      She refused to think about the narrow escapes her six-year-old son specialised in recently. The incident with the horse had been enough, but he had taken to defying her at every opportunity. Leaving him with Gudrun, Ash’s old nurse, had seemed like the best option. Gudrun was used to such behaviour. She often proclaimed how like his father Rurik was, particularly around his ears and nose.

      Ash’s many scrapes were the stuff of legend. They first met because he had fallen while trying to recapture his falcon. The falcon suffered a hurt wing and Ash had brought the falcon to her mother rather than wringing its neck as his father had advised.

      Her mother’s skill as a healer had been second to none and it had been the first time Kara had been allowed to bind up a bird’s wing while her mother had attended to Ash’s twisted ankle. Five months later her mother had died in an accident. Ash had spoken to Kara during the funeral, taking the time to discover her hiding place behind the iron trunk and bring her a sweetmeat. Instant adoration had followed and when he’d asked her to marry him, all of her girlish dreams had come true.

      Until it was too late, she had never considered that he might not feel the same way about her. Foolishly she’d failed to realise her hero was a selfish man, not a god.

      A sudden shiver coursed down her back. Rurik might look like Ash, but she was the one raising him. She refused to make the mistake Ash’s father had with Ash—spoiling him when he showed prowess at being a warrior or did something which pleased him and abandoning him to his fate if the challenge proved impossible.

      ‘Kara, you’ve become very quiet.’

      ‘I’m always quiet, Auda.’

      ‘Only when people don’t know you or if you are upset. When you are comfortable, you talk all the time.’

      ‘I’m trying to get my eyeliner right. Why I have to wear it is beyond me.’

      ‘A bride needs to make sure she is well painted. Everyone knows that. You don’t want to risk Freya’s displeasure. You do want the goddess’s blessing for this union?’ Auda started chattering like a magpie about various weddings and how the recent brides had looked and whether or not Freya had been pleased. ‘You’ve smudged it. Start again and keep to the corner of your eye, rather than trying to draw a line under it.’

      Kara picked up the small brush and started again. This time, she was going to be a bride to be admired, rather than laughed at or pitied. She shuddered, remembering how the liner had run down her cheeks at the last wedding. Ash had cleaned it off with his handkerchief with an indulgent smile.

      Auda held out the gleaming crown. It was even more ghastly than Kara remembered. The last time, she had worn it with such pride, thinking Ash would want her to look radiant. But she’d heard the whispers and catcalls of ‘witch’s child’ which had followed her progress.

      ‘You do agree, Kara?’

      Kara started and realised she was expected to say something. ‘I missed that, Auda.’

      ‘I merely said that the women will now have several more things to envy you for—a gorgeous bridal crown and a handsome warrior in your bed.’

      ‘How could anyone envy me?’ Kara forced a laugh. The thought of sharing a bed with Valdar left her cold. She’d do her duty, but ever since she had learnt of the truth about her marriage with Ash, she had felt entombed in ice. Despite his looks, Valdar’s kisses chilled her. Even the simplest touch from Ash had been enough to send her up in flames during that long-ago spring.

      ‘You’d be surprised. There are rumours about Valdar’s exceptional good fortune in bed. Many have hoped to capture him, but thus far he has only wanted one woman for his wife—you.’

      ‘The rumours failed to reach Jaarlshiem.’ Kara kept her back stiff. She knew Valdar could have had his pick of the women, but he’d chosen her. His many proposals had emphasised his growing friendship with Rurik, the nearness of their estates and the compatibility of their natures rather than her golden hair or the curves in her bottom lip as Ash’s had done. ‘The bedsport will be what it is.’

      ‘You should see your face, Kara. Redder than a beetroot. Anyone would think you a maid of sixteen rather than a widow.’ Auda tapped a finger against the