look. “A tainted bloodline—deceptive bastards.”
“I wish to strike a blow that will leave Roald crippled. He must be taught a lesson. If I can rescue my sister, I am inclined to give her a second chance. The man she is engaged to will still marry her, if she purifies her spirit and submits to his authority over her.”
“A fitting future for a girl who has fallen from the grace of the gods. A better life than my poor sister ever knew.”
“What happened to her?” Markkos asked, hoping to stir the man’s rage up as much as he could.
“Died giving birth to Brandr’s bastard daughter.”
“And the babe?”
“Perished a sennight later—malnourished and writhing in pain.”
“I am sorry, milord.”
“Aye. I wish she would have survived.”
Jarl Magnus considered his visitor. “Sit down, Markkos. Will you drink mead?”
“Aye.”
The jarl poured two cups. “Where is your sister now?”
“Likely on her back with her legs spread in Roald’s bed.”
“Did you see her with him?”
“Earlier today. I went to recover her and she sent me away, shaming herself and my family.”
“Women are incapable of intelligent thought. She must be shown who has her best interest at heart.”
Markkos tapped the whip hanging at his hip. “Fear not, milord, the moment she is in my custody, she will know the sting of the strap across her lovely back. Discipline is something she escaped because my father died when we were young. Instead of being firm with the girl, I indulged her as many brothers do. The result is heart wrenching. She’s spoiled and wild.”
Magnus took a swig of his drink. “The gods blessed me with four sons.”
“Sisters and daughters have their uses.”
“Aye,” the jarl agreed. “I will help you. For the memory of my sister and for the sake of yours. What do you need?”
Chapter Twenty
E xcept for the sound of the wind, the mountainside village where Eva lived was silent. Close to dusk, she easily slipped into her mother’s cottage unnoticed. There was a centrally located fire pit with a pot of reindeer stew hanging over it, bubbling and smelling so good she wanted to taste a spoonful. One side of the hut was dedicated to her mother’s work. Shelves were packed with jars of dried herbs and medicines. A thick mat woven from river reeds covered the dirt floor. A place for patients to lie down while they were examined.
The other side of the space contained two beds, a table, and four chairs. Meager accommodations compared to where Eva had spent the last days. She sighed as she looked about, reacquainting herself with her surroundings, surprised at how strange it felt to be back.
Several drums hung on the wall over her cot and she traced the figures she’d painted on them. Reindeer, herdsmen, salmon jumping in the stream, trees, the sun, moon, stars, and the netherworld, where her ancestors lived after they died. All symbols of her heritage, the only thing she had left to cling to.
“Eva?” Her mother stopped at the doorway. “Where did you come from, child?”
“Ma…” She ran to her mother, hugged her, then dropped to her knees. “Forgive me.” Fresh tears stung her eyes, for she’d started crying the moment she parted ways with Troel and hadn’t stopped since. “I am a bad daughter. I’ve neglected you and my people. Followed my own path without your blessing. Sacrificed much to satisfy my own needs. I beg your forgiveness. Please .”
“Self-indulgence isn’t always wrong, child. What other way exists to teach our children the difference between right and wrong?”
Eva palmed her tears away and gazed up at her mother. “What do you mean?”
“Remember the widow’s son? She treasured that boy so much that she let him do whatever he pleased.”
“Yes,” Eva said. “Until he started to throw up from drinking fermented milk.”
“The boy didn’t have the stomach for it, but refused to give it up because he loved the way it tasted. His mother grew weary
“I wish to strike a blow that will leave Roald crippled. He must be taught a lesson. If I can rescue my sister, I am inclined to give her a second chance. The man she is engaged to will still marry her, if she purifies her spirit and submits to his authority over her.”
“A fitting future for a girl who has fallen from the grace of the gods. A better life than my poor sister ever knew.”
“What happened to her?” Markkos asked, hoping to stir the man’s rage up as much as he could.
“Died giving birth to Brandr’s bastard daughter.”
“And the babe?”
“Perished a sennight later—malnourished and writhing in pain.”
“I am sorry, milord.”
“Aye. I wish she would have survived.”
Jarl Magnus considered his visitor. “Sit down, Markkos. Will you drink mead?”
“Aye.”
The jarl poured two cups. “Where is your sister now?”
“Likely on her back with her legs spread in Roald’s bed.”
“Did you see her with him?”
“Earlier today. I went to recover her and she sent me away, shaming herself and my family.”
“Women are incapable of intelligent thought. She must be shown who has her best interest at heart.”
Markkos tapped the whip hanging at his hip. “Fear not, milord, the moment she is in my custody, she will know the sting of the strap across her lovely back. Discipline is something she escaped because my father died when we were young. Instead of being firm with the girl, I indulged her as many brothers do. The result is heart wrenching. She’s spoiled and wild.”
Magnus took a swig of his drink. “The gods blessed me with four sons.”
“Sisters and daughters have their uses.”
“Aye,” the jarl agreed. “I will help you. For the memory of my sister and for the sake of yours. What do you need?”
Chapter Twenty
E xcept for the sound of the wind, the mountainside village where Eva lived was silent. Close to dusk, she easily slipped into her mother’s cottage unnoticed. There was a centrally located fire pit with a pot of reindeer stew hanging over it, bubbling and smelling so good she wanted to taste a spoonful. One side of the hut was dedicated to her mother’s work. Shelves were packed with jars of dried herbs and medicines. A thick mat woven from river reeds covered the dirt floor. A place for patients to lie down while they were examined.
The other side of the space contained two beds, a table, and four chairs. Meager accommodations compared to where Eva had spent the last days. She sighed as she looked about, reacquainting herself with her surroundings, surprised at how strange it felt to be back.
Several drums hung on the wall over her cot and she traced the figures she’d painted on them. Reindeer, herdsmen, salmon jumping in the stream, trees, the sun, moon, stars, and the netherworld, where her ancestors lived after they died. All symbols of her heritage, the only thing she had left to cling to.
“Eva?” Her mother stopped at the doorway. “Where did you come from, child?”
“Ma…” She ran to her mother, hugged her, then dropped to her knees. “Forgive me.” Fresh tears stung her eyes, for she’d started crying the moment she parted ways with Troel and hadn’t stopped since. “I am a bad daughter. I’ve neglected you and my people. Followed my own path without your blessing. Sacrificed much to satisfy my own needs. I beg your forgiveness. Please .”
“Self-indulgence isn’t always wrong, child. What other way exists to teach our children the difference between right and wrong?”
Eva palmed her tears away and gazed up at her mother. “What do you mean?”
“Remember the widow’s son? She treasured that boy so much that she let him do whatever he pleased.”
“Yes,” Eva said. “Until he started to throw up from drinking fermented milk.”
“The boy didn’t have the stomach for it, but refused to give it up because he loved the way it tasted. His mother grew weary
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