Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Finally, he was on his way to redemption.
Chapter 24
Cherine
It was April when the snow first began to thaw. I had grown fond of the pure, white landscape outside our hearth-warmed home, but the sight of the first green shoots of grass stirred something deep within me. Soon, the days would be longer, brighter.
Not that I needed much brightness in my life. I was about four months pregnant and glowing every single day. Trude fussed over me endlessly, her no-nonsense manner softening only in moments of true care. She lectured me on eating habits, concocted juices I should drink, and always seemed to have something to keep me busy. I knew it came from love, and I was grateful for it, especially now that I was Erik’s wife.
We had gotten married soon after we learned of the pregnancy. Back in France, I would have been ostracized for such a thing, but here, in Norway, where they still believed in their pagan gods, it wasn’t looked down on as much. The people of Møre weren’t heathens, but they were not as fanatic in their faith as Rolf and many of the Vikings. Erik’s more experimental views on religion were shared by some, though they seemed to make others uneasy.
But for me, it didn’t matter. I had never been happier. I had no idea it was even possible to feel this way. Sure, the morning sickness was awful, and learning the language felt impossible at times, but the Norwegian town had embraced me in ways I hadn’t expected. They were strong, helpful people, not the savages I once imagined. The true barbarians, I realized, were the ones who had left the land behind.
The food here was remarkable too. Even in the dead of winter, there was fresh fish from the cold seas, with dense root vegetables that tasted better than anything I had back in France. Trude was a skilled baker, and I had learned to make Erik’s favorite potato pancakes and rye bread. I even developed a taste for the strong caraway-seed akevitt, which Trude insisted would chase away the pregnancy blues.
Erik was everything I had hoped he would be—strong, loving, and dedicated. His sexual appetite remained as voracious as mine, though living with his mother made it challenging when it came to privacy. Nightly visits in the garden, hidden beneath fur blankets, became our refuge. We no longer worried about prying eyes, and every night together made our bond deeper. Even pregnancy didn’t slow our affections for each other. Erik’s pride in our family grew with the curve of my belly.
But even in the bliss of our new life, I could still see the shadow of the past in Erik. He sometimes sat awake late at night, staring out at the harbor or the mountains. I wondered if it was the memory of Rolf that kept him awake, or something else entirely. I had never spoken to him about what happened at the manor, afraid it would reopen old wounds, but the nagging fear lingered. Had Rolf been killed? Or was he still out there, waiting for his chance at revenge?
Then, one night, the someone Erik feared appeared.
We had taken to walking in the evenings, mostly for my sake, to help me sleep. Our strolls usually took us down to the docks and back, and tonight was no different. The weather was slowly warming, but the night air was still chilled as it swept in off the fjord, the moon bright enough to illuminate the entire landscape.
Erik, always prepared, carried his sword and dagger, even though there was no apparent danger in Møre. I had once pointed out that there was no need for such weapons, but Erik told me it made him feel like he could protect me and the life growing inside me. The sword he carried was the same one he had found back in Criolium—the one that had brought him to me in the first place. Perhaps it was a reminder of the luck it carried.
We spent a peaceful few minutes gazing out at the dark sea, Erik rubbing my back as it began to ache from carrying the baby. Every now and then, he would pause, as though listening for something, but then he’d quickly resume his comforting movements. I thought nothing was wrong.
When I grew too cold, we turned to head back. We were almost at the house when I heard it—a laugh, high, familiar, haunting.
From behind a tree stepped a tall, wiry man with curly blond hair and only one eye. His remaining eye glinted wildly in the moonlight, and my heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be, but there he was—Ross.
Before Erik could react, before he even had time to draw his sword, Ross was on him. With a crazed cry, he lunged forward, stabbing Erik in the chest with his sword. The sound of the blade sinking into flesh was sickening, and I screamed in horror as Erik fell to his knees, his hands clutching at the wound.