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‘You worry about our son.’
‘Yes,’ Kara admitted reluctantly. ‘He is in my thoughts constantly. He’s a little boy, Ash. It is a mother’s job to worry. I want him to grow up happy and well.’
‘What are you going to tell him, about me and my return?’ He handed her back the reins. ‘I assume you will want to be the one to tell him.’
Kara concentrated on her horse’s twitching ears. He was giving her a choice. She thought he would blurt it out the instant he encountered Rurik. Ash had never been one to be tactful or realise that another’s feelings mattered. ‘You are giving me the opportunity to tell him? You are not simply going to leap down from your horse and demand to see your son?’
‘How old is the boy? Six? The last thing I want is a scene in front of the tuntreet. I can remember what it was like to meet my father for the first time.’
‘Can you? Hring never told that tale,’ Kara said, surprised. Funny, it was the sort of tale Hring liked to tell—a warrior returning home.
‘He had left just after my birth and didn’t return until I was five. After my mother died.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Is my son timid? I hid behind my aunt’s skirts when I first beheld my father and refused to greet him properly. It went badly.’
Kara bit her lip. Rurik was far too reckless for his own good. Far too impetuous. He liked to boast that nothing frightened him, but she knew the truth. She’d seen his white face and trembling hands. ‘Not timid, but he adores Valdar and has talked of being his son for months. He takes disappointments hard.’
‘I want him told, Kara. Before the sun goes down.’
Kara concentrated on her horse’s twitching ears. ‘You are going to allow me to do this in my own time.’
‘As long as you do it when we arrive, you may use your own words.’
‘That is far from the same thing.’
‘Consider it a favour that I allow you that.’ He gave a crooked smile which made her heart thump. ‘To stop you from riding your horse into another bog.’
‘You are not making this easy for me. I think it wise that we wait for a few days,’ Kara said, making her mind up. ‘Give him time to get used to you before you start demanding he love you.’
‘He is my son. I have spent far too many years away from him.’
* * *
Ash spurred his horse on around the last bend before Jaarlshiem.
With every mile they had covered, Kara had grown quieter and more remote. For a few heartbeats this morning when he had first spied her, he had thought he’d broken through her reserve, but she had retreated again into that impenetrable shell. And now she wanted to keep the truth from their son. Was he ever going to do enough?
‘Ash! Stop! You are going too fast. It isn’t a race.’
Ash turned slightly in his saddle. ‘I take it the hall is in the same place.’
‘It hasn’t burnt down. You said I could tell Rurik. If you go before me...’
Ash stroked his chin. What was Kara concerned about? From everything she had said, it appeared she kept the boy tightly on the lead strings. It was the wrong approach. He knew when he had been forbidden things, he’d acted out, often times getting into more danger than he should have been in.
‘We go together. Arrive together. I want to be there when you tell Rurik.’
Her cheek coloured. ‘Yes, of course, if you don’t trust me.’
‘Caution remains my watchword.’
They rounded the bend and the gabled long house with all of its outbuildings stood before him. The road through the bog might be in disrepair, but the farm certainly wasn’t. A prosperous air hung about the place.
The tuntreet with its leaves in autumnal splendour stood in front of the double doors. Even the air felt different, softer. Ash’s heart clenched.
How many times had he dreamt of this? Riding in to reclaim his heritage. To see his father’s eyes light up with the knowledge that his son had returned the sort of warrior a man could be proud of? And even now, he couldn’t be sure he was. All he knew was that he had returned home.
It was harder riding the final few miles to Jaarlshiem than it had been when he first learnt of his father’s death in Sand. Everywhere he looked, he saw ghosts and reminders of his former self, lurking and waiting for him to make a mistake.
‘Ash, your father would be overjoyed that you have returned.’
‘Are my feelings that obvious?’ he enquired in a tone that normally had his men running for cover, rather than continuing with the subject.
