Page 5 of Merciful Seduction

Marteinn considered it. The stranger’s daughter was pretty, smiling when she saw her father gesturing in her direction. “Lead the way.”

He served Marteinn a glass of wine, then raised his own cup. “We are honored to welcome you.”

Marteinn emptied his draught. “Where are you from?”

“The Trondelag,” his daughter answered. “We traveled with Jarl Tyr and Lady Rachelle.”

Damn his misfortune. It seemed every time he attempted to escape his past, it chased him down. Kara lived in the Trondelag now, only miles from Jarl Sigurdsson.

“Have you greeted them yet?” the girl asked.

Marteinn gazed at the high table. He’d met Tyr while serving under Jarl McNally a year ago and they’d exchanged threats the night Erik discovered his daughter had married Aaron without his consent. Needless to say, Marteinn carried a grudge against him. “I’ve only just arrived,” he explained. “You are the first people I’ve spoken with.”

The girl’s cheeks turned red and Marteinn grinned at her. Attractive enough to deserve a second look, but too enthusiastic for his taste. He preferred a woman who didn’t speak out of turn or smile too much—the opposite of Kara. That would keep him safe if he ever chose to open his heart again.

“My name is Odell. This is my daughter, Roda, and my son, Eskil. You’ve shown us great favor.”

Marteinn grasped his arm. “I wish you a fair night.”

“Will you not stay to eat?” Roda pouted.

“After I have completed my rounds, perhaps I will find you again.”

Mercia counted herself among the luckiest of women to be seated at the high table. Although she’d grown up with Lady Rachelle in England, she’d worked as a maid in her uncle’s household. To be included as a family member now, was something she’d never expected. Since her escape from the war-torn country, she’d found happiness in Norway. Instead of working as a servant, she served as Rachelle’s companion, which meant nothing more than wearing pretty gowns and helping manage her household.

She reached for a piece of bread, her gaze travelling across the guests below. She gasped when she spied Lady Kara’s friend, Captain Marteinn, standing nearby. Chestnut curls framed his magnificent features, and his high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes gave him the look of an exotic heathen deity. The rare combination set him apart from the other men. And his broad shoulders and narrow waist didn’t escape her attention.

“Is everything all right?” Rachelle leaned close. “Are you ill?”

“No-no.”

“Your hands are trembling.” Rachelle felt Mercia’s forehead. “No fever …” Then she followed her gaze. “Oh, the despondent stallion all the women whisper about.”

Ridiculous. It was mere coincidence the captain came into her line of vision when he did. “I don’t know what you’re prattling on about.”

Rachelle laughed. “Flushed and trembling—all symptoms of a very familiar sickness I suffered from several years ago when I met my husband. He’s very handsome, Mercia. But don’t subject yourself to a man who already loves another woman.”

She was still staring at him. “What woman?” Perhaps she already knew the answer. When she’d joined Kara earlier in the day, she’d overheard part of the conversation her friend was having with the captain.

I no longer entrust anyone with my secrets or my heart.

“Kara Dalgaard.”

Unable to stop staring, she winced when their gazes finally met. His eyes flashed with interest, but she immediately turned to face Rachelle. “Is he headed this way?”

“I thought the captain didn’t pique your interest. You’re a bad liar, Mercia.”

“Tell me, please.”

“Indeed, he is.”

Her heart pounded. They’d never been formally introduced. Why couldn’t she control herself? A few stolen glances shouldn’t make her shake as if she’d never met a handsome man before.

“Lady Rachelle.” Marteinn bowed.

“Captain Marteinn. Always a pleasure to see you. I enjoyed the death match today.”

Mercia sucked in a breath. The Saami hadn’t died, although it had been a brutal fight.