Page 50 of Merciful Salvation
“I’m innocent.”
“Of being a father,maybe,” she admitted. “But not of a being a cold hearted bastard.”
“When does your condemnation end?”
“After you tell me the truth.”
“I asked you at the feast whether you’d be able to forgive my past. Remember, Kara? You didn’t say no. You’re quick to judge and slow to forgive. Not the kind of woman I thought you to be.”
“Some things are unforgivable.”
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve grown used to condemnation, but expected so much more from you.”
Aaron stayed close to her side, but scanned the beach as if he were expecting someone.
“Four years ago, I sold Lady Rachelle to King Hardrada’s bastard son. My cousin recovered her—executed several men and exiled Frieda and me for our part in the crime.” He tried to sound repentant, but when she acted so stoic, it angered him.
Her eyes narrowed. “This is your great secret?”
“The one that matters most . . .”
Once again, Aaron found himself unprepared. Frieda’s surprise visit had forced his hand. Instead of sharing bits and pieces of his past over time, he was forced to confess his most grievous sin.
“Does my father know, Jarl McNally?”
He nodded.
Surprised, she let out her breath. “He’s always been an excellent judge of character.”
He didn’t want to listen anymore. But she wasn’t going to stay silent and neither should he. But the more information he volunteered, the more distant she’d grow.
“Shame on you for not speaking to me of these things before weconsummated our relationship. Shame on me for not knowing better.”
His mouth dropped open. “Shame?” That’s not what she’d exhibited the night they made love, or the morning after.
“Aye,” she said. “Did I not speak clearly enough? All these things I could possibly forgive. But what kind of man refuses his own blood? Looks on his firstborn and turns away? Doesn’t your White Christ emphasize mercy?”
“He’s not my child.” He swaggered, regretful he’d overindulged in spirits. “And you know nothing of what gods I worship, so hold your tongue.”
“I’ve seen the tattoos that cover your body—did you think me so enthralled I wouldn’t notice? You claim one god and pray to another. Further proof of your deficient character.”
Aaron leapt at her, dragging her into his arms. She stayed perfectly still, almost limp. “Don’t touch me,” she warned. “You’ve given me a glimpse into my own future—what if I were in Frieda’s place? Would you deny our child, too?” She’d spurn his affection forever if he let her. Maybe return home, pay whatever price her father demanded to make restitution for her disobedience, then marry Marteinn. A man whose integrity could never be questioned.
He pulled back, still clutching her arms. “You think I’d reject you if you were pregnant? Drive the blade straight and true.” He ripped the front of his tunic open. “So deep I bleed to death in front of you, Kara.” His face twisted. “Are you with child?” He wanted to make her weak with kisses—give her cause to recant her doubt in him. His guts were churning.
“If I were,” she said, breaking free of his grasp. “You’d be the last person I’d tell.”
One minute she was full of passion, the next, bitter with regret. It pained him to hear her speak that way. He desperately wanted a family—a dozen children—but only with her. “Go.” He gave her a gentle push toward the house. Something dark and ignoble hit himthen, feelings he hadn’t experienced since that night in the barn with Frieda years ago, the first night they’d coupled.
“You want me to leave?” She appeared astounded.
“Ichooseto honor your request.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful and I have little control over my desire at the moment.” And if she stayed there much longer, he’d be reduced to begging. “Go inside where it’s safe, Kara.”
She frowned. What did the poor little fool think he meant? Her lips parted as if she was going to speak.
