Page 2

Einar clenched his teeth so hard, his jaw hurt.

“And putting down roots will only make you feel more at home,” King Harald continued. “Is that not what you want, Einar? Living in your own home after being your brother’s guest for many winters? Is it not time for you to get back to being a leader? To building a dowry for Svanhild?”

Einar put his hands on his hips, helplessness weakening his muscles, anger burning his gut. Oh, he was sly, this king. Sly, smart, and manipulative. Loki was his god, no doubt. Einar picked up a barrel of mead that the king had given him. The thing weighed as much as Svanhild had when she was two—the last time he’d held her in his arms.

“Yes, Lord,” Einar said, “That is why I go. For her.”

He threw the barrel to the man, who barely caught it. Einar breathed out. It was good to do something with his body, and the tightness and the burning muscles were a relief.

King Harald nodded. “Good. I know a widower of your age must want for more children, too. A new home, a new start. Why not a new wife, Einar?”

The blood left Einar’s face. He must have turned the color of cotton grass because both King Harald and Rögnvald frowned at him.

“No wives, Lord.” Einar wiped his forehead—surely from the strain of physical activity, not from hearing the word “wife.”

“There will be no one else for me,” he said.

“Nonsense.” King Harald waved his hand. “You need a woman who will make the Orkneys your true home.”

Einar shook his head. “No.”

Harald’s expression shifted from concern to something resembling anger. “You must find a wife and marry this year.”

Einar suppressed a growl of fury. How dare this man decide his private life?

“Yes, in fact, this is my final condition,” Harald said. “If you want to be the jarl and to own the Orkney and Shetland Islands, and if you want a good dowry for Svanhild, you need to be wed in two moons.”

The wooden jetty must have shifted under Einar’s feet. He stood like an oaf, blinking and slack-jawed.

“You are jesting, King, surely,” Einar mumbled.

“I am serious.” He turned and waved someone over. A skald approached, the young man who had recited beautiful poetry of Harald’s victories during last night’s feast. The skald’s eyes burned with curiosity.

“Solver Tykirsson.” Harald clapped the man’s shoulder. “You will go with Einar to the Orkneys and be my envoy. You will see if the wedding goes through in two moons and report to me.”

Solver beamed at Einar and Svanhild. “Yes, Lord. I will be happy to entertain the settlers and lift their spirits. I will commemorate the settling of the Orkneys and Shetlands by the Norwegian jarl Einar Birgirsson.”

Einar listened with an open mouth, still not believing what he was hearing. The king dared to send a watchdog to make sure Einar married in two moons. Hot fury began rolling through his veins.

“You cannot be serious, Lord,” he rumbled. “I am not your son. I am not your brother. Or your—”

“You are my subject,” Harald said, his eyes dead cold. “And you will do as you are told, or you can forget the Orkneys.”

“Lord—”

“That is my final word, Einar. I need a stable annex of Norway, an excellent strategic point for trading and raiding expeditions. Fertile land that can feed you and many more generations of Norsemen. A family is key to all that. So marry in two moons or forever lose a chance to have your own home.”

Anger roared within Einar.

“The last thing I need is a wife,” he said.

“I think it is the first thing you need, brother,” Rögnvald said quietly.

Einar shot a furious glance at him, but Rögnvald only shrugged one giant shoulder. Einar looked at Svanhild, who cuddled the kitten and met his eyes with no protest. Did she want a new mother?

Pain stabbed Einar in the gut as he remembered holding the feverish, dying Agdis in his arms. After four days of labor, their second child had died inside of her, and she had been pale, in pain and bleeding.

He could not go through that again. He had one child. That was good enough.