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“I-I …” Her shoulders drooped in shame, maybe defeat. No man would marry her now.
“Let me explain,” Marteinn offered. “Blame me for this indiscretion. Deep in my cups, I could no longer resist Lady Mercia’s charms.”
Curse him for blaming spirits for his poor judgment.
“I see.” Tyr scrubbed his face. “Do you know what this means?”
“I should hope she does.” Rachelle joined them, frowning at Mercia. “Fate has made your choice for you.”
“What?” Mercia didn’t like the implication. Fate had nothing to do with Marteinn’s trick.
“By afternoon, everyone will know that Captain Marteinn spent the night in your room. Do you want to be the subject of their gossip?”
“Of course not.”
“We will announce your betrothal after you’ve gotten some rest,” Tyr said. “I am greatly disappointed in you, Captain. It seems you’ve taken advantage of my hospitality and trust. But all will be set right in the next few days.”
Marteinn didn’t oppose him, didn’t say a word in his own defense, or hers. He bowed, then eyed Mercia. “I am sorry if you feel slighted in any way. How could you expect me to remain silent after I spent the evening watching other men compete for your time and affection?”
“I didn’t know …”
“A blind man would have noticed, Lady Mercia,” he said hoarsely. “You mistook my reaction as rejection.” He cradled her hand in his, gently massaging each finger, then kissing her palm. “Until later.” He trudged out of the room.
Tears stung her eyes. “He never expressed any feelings.”
Rachelle walked to her bed. “Come and sit with me.”
Mercia nodded, but addressed Tyr first. “I am sorry—nothing happened between us.”
“There will be no reprisals from me, Mercia. As my wife already explained, fate has delivered you into the arms of an accomplished warrior. I will rest better knowing your future is decided. Captain Marteinn will make a fine husband. Now, if you ladies are quite finished …” He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I will return to my warm bed.” He closed the door behind him.
“I warned you about that man.”
Still a bit dazed and confused by the turn of events, Mercia realized how poorly she’d misjudged him. Marteinn deceived her like the serpent in Eden—causing her fall from grace. “It seems he couldn’t live with the idea of me loving another man.”
“How did he end up in your bedchamber?”
“He knocked on my door and stepped inside before I could stop him.”
“As cunning as he is handsome. I believe the captain desired you the day he met you in Lagenheim. Perhaps he’s been struggling with his conscience ever since, trying to let go of his past.”
Mercia agreed wholeheartedly, but how could she ever completely trust him, he’d plainly taken advantage of her. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“Leave that for tomorrow. Sleep now, I will stay with you.”
Marteinn plucked a wineskin off a table as he passed through the great hall. The celebration had lasted all night, and beyond the guards on duty now, people were sprawled on the floor sleeping. There would be no rest for him, not after what he’d just done—condemning Mercia to a life as his wife.
Jealousy had overridden his manners, driving him upstairs to confront her. As soon as he’d reached the landing on the second floor, he’d made up his mind. Considering Mercia’s bold nature and pride, giving her a choice in the matter meant risking her refusal.
Would she ever forgive him?
He marched up the hill, settling in the long grass, studying the river below. He enjoyed the way the water rolled over the jagged rocks—much like the violent churning in his gut. He sighed, then took a long swig from the skin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Impetuous fool …
He was no poet, only a man driven by fury and passion for battle. Proposing to Mercia in the traditional way, spouting awkward phrases of endearment, frightened him more than anything. Instead, he’d acted decisively, claimed what was rightfully his. The way any true Odin-loving warrior would; with action, not words.
From the moment he’d spotted Mercia in Lagenheim, she had dominated his thoughts, even invaded his dreams. And on the voyage to the Trondelag, he’d caught her staring at him at every opportunity. Each night, after she’d fallen asleep, he’d traversed the deck, standing guard over her, hoping for a chance to gaze into her beautiful eyes.
