Page 8 of Merciful Seduction

“Transferring Captain Marteinn is better than losing such a gifted fighter completely,” Tyr added.

“And what do I gain?” Erik asked.

“I’ll leave one of my men in his place.”

Erik sat back, considering it.

“If I refuse?” Marteinn felt freedom slipping away. He must fight to leave the mainland and seek out his kinsmen—Christian or pagan, it mattered not. Just having a family would give him something to live for.

“You’ll lose your tongue if you don’t sit down and let me think.” Erik waved Marteinn away as if he were dismissing an errant child. “Eat, drink, and choose a bloody maid to fuck.”

Chapter Four

Marteinn had visited the Trondelag before. Thousands of inlets dotted the coastline like fingers on a hand. High, rocky outcrops surrounded them, and to the south, snow-covered peaks stretched for miles in every direction. As he approached the wood and stone longhouse, the very place he’d argued with Tyr last year, he admired the deep valley surrounded by forest and pastures. Jarl Sigurdsson’s lands were vast, and if he could someday own a place as rich, he’d be a happy man.

Ornamental stone and woodcarvings of mythical creatures graced the double-arched doorway into the house. A gray stone fence demarcated the main courtyard at the front, and dozens of men were drinking around a huge fire pit. Kara had married into a wealthy family, the one thing Marteinn didn’t begrudge her. For all the years of hard work he’d put in with Jarl Erik, he’d saved a considerable amount of gold. But a landless man was as useless as a soldier without arms.

“You’ll sleep in the main house,” Tyr said as he crossed the threshold into the great hall.

“I’d rather bunk with the men.”

“You’re my guest,” Tyr reminded him. “Not a common soldier.”

“I appreciate your generosity,” he countered. “But if I’m going to train new recruits, I’d rather sleep, eat, and shite beside them.”

“Your humility is appreciated, Captain Marteinn. But in my home, my captains are regarded as heroes. They don’t sleep on pallets or shite in a hole in the ground. You’ll sit at the high table and enjoy the life accorded men of high rank and honor.”

They’d said nothing to each other on the ship, but now he suspected the jarl was disagreeing with him just for the sake of argument. “And if I refuse?”

Tyr reached inside his cloak and produced a scroll. “Your signature on this contract provides the answer. Complete loyalty—remember?”

“In battle, not in personal matters.”

“If it affects the morale of my soldiers, then I am the one who makes the final decision.”

He growled, knowing he’d lost the dispute. “Where is my room?”

“One of the maids will show you. Men sleep on the third floor. The women’s quarters and my own are on the second.” He studied him. “I know your history. You’ve served Jarl Erik well. Do the same for me, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“Why did you intercede after I made my request?”

Tyr shifted on his feet. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear the truth yet.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“The only one you’ll get for the moment.”

“What are they talking about?” Mercia asked, intently watching the exchange between Marteinn and Tyr.

“Doesn’t appear to be a friendly discussion,” Rachelle said, digging amongst the trunks and bags piled in the great hall. “From the day they first met, nothing went easy between them.”

“Why did the jarl bring him here?”

Rachelle shrugged. “We don’t discuss such things very often. I do know he admires the captain’s leadership abilities and fighting skills.”

“As do I.”

“You’ve seen him fight?” Rachelle tilted her head.