“My lord?” Altene looked confused.
“She’s my insurance. I cannot have anything happening to her.”
“If the child dies, you can simply swear her to another.”
“Altene,” he said sharply. “Do as I instructed and arrange for the guard.”
“Yes, my lord. But what of her?” She nodded toward Nena.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
After Altene left the tent with the mother and child, Jarl weighed his options. Judging from the mother’s response, Jarl believed it to be true, but was he willing to take the risk? Even if he did trust Nena to remain in the prisoner compound without escaping—which he did not, female prisoners were fair game for his men. No matter what his orders, the only truly safe place for her was here. And if Altene was right about her being the daughter of Meln, what a ransom she would command.
Altene pushed back through the tent flap in a rush. “Shall I release her for you now, my lord?” she asked Jarl, breathless.
Nena wondered if she’d run all the way. Scurrying little mouse. So eager to do her Northern master’s bidding.
“I can take her to the compound and make sure she is settled in with the other new prisoners,” Altene offered, trying to regain her breath.
“I’ve decided to keep her here, to better keep an eye on her,” Jarl announced. “She’s far too valuable to risk something happening to her. And I’ve seen her with a weapon. Her bond to the child won’t stop her from trying to kill my men.”
“Keep her here? In your tent? With you?” Altene repeated, not appearing to have heard any words past those.
“Yes,” Jarl replied.
“But my lord, her skill with a weapon is all the more reason she cannot stay here. I doubt she would risk her life to kill a foot soldier, but you, on the other hand, would be a different story. For that reason alone, she should be far removed from you. And if you’re worried, she can be kept under restraint with the other high risk prisoners.”
Jarl cut her off before she could continue. “I did not inform you of my decision to invite debate, Altene. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. What I do with her is none of your concern.”
“Of course, I only thought....”
“You may go now,” Jarl said and turned away.
Altene’s disappointment at being so dismissed was palpable. She hesitated, her mouth still open to protest further. Nena wondered with sudden interest if she would refuse him. She’d been so pliable to his every request thus far. Maybe the little mouse had a spine after all.
Altene composed herself and bowed her head again. “As you wish, my lord.” Without another word, she turned and left the tent.
Soon after her exit, two thin boards hanging just inside the entrance clattered together. Nena had noticed them earlier, but only now realized their significance. Someone outside was requesting to enter. Nena wondered if it was Altene, returning with some new argument or offering to regain his favor, though she had never used the boards before. Jarl scowled. He must have thought the same.
“Enter,” he called out, his tone harsh.
It was not Altene but another Northman who entered, still wearing his blood-streaked battle armor. He was of similar build to Jarl, tall and muscular, and, like Jarl, he moved light on his feet. His face was also clean shaven, though his hair was quite a bit longer and secured with small tight braids against both sides of his head. Nena assumed it was to keep it from his eyes during battle. But it wasn’t his form, or the braids, or the length of wavy hair flowing just past his shoulders that held Nena’s fixed attention. It was his coloring. His hair was pale as the grass in winter and his eyes the same bright blue as a mid-summer sky. Nena had never seen one colored so strangely.
Jarl approached him and took his outstretched hand before they met in a brief gruff embrace, ending with pats on the back. “You look well for after a battle, Gunnar. I’m glad to see it,” Jarl said.
“As do you, my captain. Odin and Thor continue to favor us.”
“Come. Sit. Have a drink.” Jarl waved him to a chair, filled a heavy fired-clay mug with wine and handed it to the fair-colored newcomer. “And Tryggr? Have you seen him?” Jarl asked.
“Aye. He’s fine, or he will be. The wound in his chest was deep, but luckily he’s a large man and can take it. And you can rest assured the healer will make sure he mends as quickly as possible. There’s already rumor he’s a terrible patient.”
“Imagine that,” Jarl chuckled.
“Though I think it’s his pride that will be the longest in healing. Is this the woman who cut off his ear?” Gunnar nodded toward Nena.
“Only part of his ear, if you are to mention it in his presence,” Jarl cautioned. “And yes.”
Gunnar laughed. “It will be some time, if ever, before I do that. The last thing I want is that great bear out of sorts with me.” Gunnar looked back at Nena, his eyes traveling over her with appreciation. “I must say, though, he was a fool to give up so easily. One such as that would be worth at least two ears—maybe even part of a nose.”
“Keep your ears and your nose, Gunnar,” Jarl warned, his tone friendly, but his meaning clear.
“Of course.” Gunnar nodded and laughed as he turned back to Jarl. “Everything is secure. I came to see if you have any other orders before I find myself a hot bath and a hot woman to share my furs. There are many among this new batch of captives, though none so fine as yours.” His eyes returned to Nena, despite Jarl’s warning, and roved over her once more.
Jarl found himself not at all liking the other man’s admiration, though he was confident of Gunnar’s loyalty and his
