Page 6 of Merciful Salvation

Marteinn motioned him across the room. They passed the kitchen where women were busy placing fresh loaves of bread on racks. Aaron paused to take in the smell of roasting meat. Violence always made him hungry. His escort grinned as if he’d read his thoughts and stopped at a narrow doorway. Once Aaron caught up, Marteinn knocked.

“Enter,” a deep voice sounded from inside.

Marteinn opened the door, then stepped aside so Aaron could pass. Sitting at a table piled high with ledgers and weapons was a white-bearded giant he assumed was the jarl. True to his name, Erik the Bald had a head as hairless as a baby’s arse. He stood to greet them.

Marteinn bowed. “Milord, this is Jarl Aaron McNally, a representative for King Olaf. He intervened—”

The jarl held up his hand. “Kara gave full account. Save your strength. We’ll speak later.”

Aaron regarded Marteinn. Kar? Kara?Who is he?A faint smile crossed his lips. Perhaps this man’s youngest offspring was cursed with a feminine name.

Erik broke his concentration. “Come, sit. I owe you endless gratitude, Jarl McNally. You saved my son.”

Marteinn exited the room.

Aaron couldn’t help noticing the size and condition of Erik’s hands, gnarled and scarred from years of battle. He held a high level of respect for men who earned their wealth in the field. “You owe me nothing. I was passing by and heard the commotion.” He’d never admit that he was spying on the man’s warriors.

Erik eyed him speculatively. “Playing humble doesn’t impress me.” He offered Aaron a wine skin. “Your name is well known, Aaron McNally, kinsman of Tyr Sigurdsson.” The elder gave him a hostile stare.

Aaron crossed his arms over his chest. Whatever the jarl knew wouldn’t surprise him. “Your cousin has fathered two sons.”

“Yes.” Aaron knew already. “I often inquire after him.”

Erik’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I had the pleasure of speaking with Tyr last season at the Thing.”

Aaron nodded. “And his wife?”

“Beautiful and as virtuous as first snow.”

Yes. Aaron couldn’t envision his cousin’s wife as anything less. He remembered the short time he held that lovely creature in his arms four years ago. The sweetest bit of temptation he’d ever been challenged to resist. There was nothing ordinary about Rachelle Sigurdsson. Forcing those bitter memories aside, he said, “I’m not here to reminisce.”

“No, I doubt you are.” Erik placed his folded hands on the table and leaned forward. “I’ll be blunt, Jarl McNally. What does the king want?”

“Men.”

“For what end?”

Aaron felt like laughing. This man’s disdain rivaled his son’s. With the power and authority of King Olaf behind him, Aaron knew he’d get what he needed quickly. “Churches are being vandalized in the northlands. I’m forming a new army—soldiers to man the cities and protect the priests and holy sites from further destruction.”

The elder jarl snarled. “You expect my support?” he shot up, then paced behind his desk. “I donated gold and pledged thirty of my best warriors to the invasion of England four years ago. Do you know how many returned from Stamford Bridge?”

Aaron could only guess.

“One.”

“Many households suffered the same fate.”

“Does that ease my burden?” Erik snapped. “My youngest brother’s body was never recovered from that Odin-forsaken wasteland.”

Ten thousand men had died at Stamford Bridge—including Aaron’s own cousin. He understood the pain and bitterness, but would not tolerate disobedience to the king. “I share your sorrow.” He picked up the wineskin and opened it. He took a long swig. “Olaf desires peace.”

“I’m sure he does.” Erik rubbed his head, clearly frustrated and angry, then slammed his fist on the table. “Olaf hasn’t the resources or men to spare to protect his own assets. Our young king is too busy fortifying cities, instead of making peace with the men he needs most. Now he’ll steal the sons of the most powerful families in Norway without showing his face?”

“You misunderstood me, Jarl Erik.Everyhousehold is subject to this draft. The king has left this tomydiscretion.”

Erik’s eyes flashed. “I’ve worked side-by-side with just about every sort of man, Jarl McNally. Criminals and saints. Pagans and Christians. Do you know what kind of man I have no tolerance for? An outcast who betrays his kinsman out of jealously and hate. Do you understand?”

Aaron rose abruptly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. His reputation preceded him wherever he went, much like a bad stench.Goddamnit.No matter how hard he tried to separate himself from his dishonorable past, someone always seemed to remember.