Free The Warlord's Wife by Sandra Lake Page A

garment.
    Lida’s cloak was as much a part of her identity as her coiled braids. ’Twas not the most beautiful garment, but it was hers, and wearing it brought her comfort and security. On the other hand, the bold, opulent white fur screamed out for attention and would draw the eye of anyone within a hundred yards.
    “Nay, my father has never killed a bear. He prefers to fish.”
    “It was slain by one of your brothers?”
    Lida swallowed. She knew where he was going with this. “Nay, it was a gift.”
    “From the Lylasku boy?” The jarl’s back shielded Katia from the battle of wills taking place.
    “He was not a boy,” she whispered. “He was a man. A very brave man.” Her heart raced faster as he continued to touch her cloak, a snarl on his lips. She curled her fingers into the lining, balling her hands into fists. The jarl’s hand traveled up the front to her tarnished cloak pin. She glared at him, sucking in a sharp breath. He untied the leather strap. Lida held on.
    In one clean jerk, the jarl ripped the cloak from her grasp. Callously flicking his wrist, he tossed her beloved cloak over the side of the ship.
    Lida lunged. Her foot went to the rail as she began to swing herself over the edge before she lost sight of it under the surface of the water—there was still time to save it. A powerful hand clamped around her, subduing her completely. The air tore from her lungs.
    Her cloak was gone. She could no longer see it floating on the surface in the ship’s wake.
    The crushing reality of her grave mistake in wedding the warlord overwhelmed her instantly. Tears came to her eyes, and she felt that this could not be real. Yesterday, she had worked in her mother’s root garden. Today, she sailed away, most likely never to return to her homeland. This could only be a night terror. Her barbarian slave owner had tossed her cloak into the sea without a thought. What prevented him from tossing her over when she ceased to please him, or grew old and useless to him?
    The heavier, silk-lined, white cloak came down around her shoulders, suffocating her. He tugged her hair out from under the collar, freeing it to lie on top, whipping her face in the wind.
    She had wedded the devil incarnate. What kind of danger had she recklessly put her daughter in?
Thoughtless, stupid, selfish cow, learning nothing from—
    “Mama, it is so pretty and soft. You look like a princess.”
    Nodding, Lida swallowed hard. She stroked Katia’s hair, trying to reassure her that all was well, that her mama’s heart was not at this moment ripped out of her chest and sinking to the bottom of a cold, black sea.
Ha! Cold, black sea—sounds like the perfect description of the jarl of Norrland’s heart.
    “Friherrinna, your refreshment.” Mikko appeared and offered a chalice of wine.
    “Gratitude, Mikko, but I am no longer thirsty.” She turned to her daughter. “Katia, would you care for some milk?” Her daughter nodded. In a daze, she returned her attention to the steward. “I believe my mother sent some goat’s milk.”
    “Right away, Friherrinna.”
    To keep her eyes from watering, she blinked rapidly. “Many thanks, Mikko.”
    “You said you were hungry,” the jarl said from over her shoulder.
    “I have lost my appetite.” Her eyes did not leave the last spot she had seen her cloak on the surface of the water. She pictured it slipping below, sliding in the current to the bottom of the murky seafloor. Would she one day share the same fate as her cloak? Would her child?
    ***
    Magnus had not struck Lida for her defiance, though most husbands would have. The old cloak was nowhere near suitable for a jarl’s wife, dirty and matted at the fringes. It was unacceptable that she would wear another man’s pathetic offering while he offered her a far superior one.
“It does not change my love for your father.”
His wife betrayed him with a dead man.
    He studied his wife and the child, distracted by Katia. The girl beamed as bright