A Heart of Fire (13 page)

Finna
blanched. "Aye, I'd not the time to bathe before that barbarian stole me
away from my home."

"Mayhap
you should not have been on a battlefield to begin with." Surguilde
paused. "You injured your father."

Again,
Finna cringed. Though inwardly she was not sure of all this, she found arguing
with them pointless. Her father, Hadarr. "Were I not on the battlefield,
he would not have seen me," she pointed out. "He is mending?"
Finna asked quietly, neglecting to point out that she had not known he was her
father when she had fought him.

She
shook herself.

She
wasn’t sure she could ever reconcile herself with this truth. All she wished
now was to be left alone. Truly, had she a place to flee to, she would go there
without hesitation and leave everyone behind.

Except
Fang.

Her
heart ached for her pet.

What
would become of him in her absence? She could only hope Hanna would care for
the bird, as the girl had always been fond of him.

Surguilde
gave her fingers one last scrub and held Finna's hand up for inspection.
"Aye, he heals. Thank the gods." She reached for the other to begin
on it, pulling Finna's arm across her body.

Both
women were startled as the door opened, and Finna pulled her knees up to cover
her breasts, water sloshing around her with her quick movement. She was
relieved to see it was only the young woman, Geera … her sister. It was strange
to think she had a sibling. Finna watched her, though Geera did not return her
curious look or so much as acknowledge her in the least, but kept her nose
upward and her eyes to the rafters.

"It
will all take time," Surguilde said as she poured water over Finna's hair
to rinse the pale strands. "I cannot imagine what you must be thinking of
all this. I told your father not to be hasty in forcing you to believe us, but
what we tell you
is
the truth."

Finna
watched Geera as the woman silently crossed the room. She dropped a drying
sheet close to them, onto the floor, and then turned to the bed to carelessly
toss something else before turning on her heel.

"Geera,"
Surguilde called
.
A quiver of
emotion laced her voice as she stopped what she was doing, her eyes following
her daughter across the room, a reprimand held in them as Geera glided away.

The
young woman did not respond. When she reached the door, she met Finna's gaze
with tearful pain and then hastily stormed out.

Finna
frowned after her, puzzled. "She is angry with me?" she asked a
moment later.

Surguilde
sighed and stood from the stool by the tub and went to the door. "Nay,
with her father," she said, closing it. She started back. "Yet I fear
you shall bear the brunt of her pain as you have been given to Valdrik when she
expected to become his wife."

Finna
remembered what Valdrik had said to her. The only reason he had collected her
was so he could wed her sister. He loved Geera. She imagined Hadarr's announcement
must have pained him as much as it had her, given the wild imagining that he
could possibly love anything.

She
stopped herself from scoffing aloud and turned to distractedly toy with a
grouping of bubbles clinging to her knee, spreading them around with her finger
as Surguilde began to wash her back.

"
Why
does Hadarr wish me to wed
Valdrik?" she asked several minutes later as Surguilde rinsed her with
warm, clear water.

Surguilde
tapped her on the shoulder and stood behind her, taking up the drying sheet and
flapping it open, holding the white linen out for Finna to step into.

"I
do not want to wed him, and I cannot see why Geera would be so hurt,"
Finna continued. "If you ask me, Valdrik is not desirable as a
husband." She stood, the water rushing down her body. She stepped over the
short wooden rim and into the sheet, finding it soft and warm. She could not
remember ever having such a luxurious bath, and even if she had been reluctant
to accept at first, she was grateful now. "I won't do it," she finished
as she gathered the soft linen around her.

Surguilde
laughed. "Joining you to Valdrik is your father's way of keeping you here.
He promised Valdrik a wife and position as a reward for bringing you back to
us. Surely, you see he is a good man." She gave Finna's shoulders a
squeeze and slipped her hands down to take the linen, bringing it up to Finna's
hair.

"Nay,
I saw only a barbarian tossing me up onto his horse to steal me away from my
home without care."

Surguilde
tsk'd
as she dried Finna's tresses
with the back of the sheet, but then she paused. "He did not harm you, did
he?" she asked.

"Nay,"
Finna murmured. "Mayhap my pride, but that is all really." She would
not dare tell of how he had touched her in his sleep, though even then he had
not
hurt
her. He had made her feel
things she never had, things that even now rushed warmth into her cheeks with
the thought.

"Men
have a way of doing that," Surguilde said. She draped the drying sheet
back around Finna and went to the bed. "You should have your sister look
at your wrist. She has the touch of a healer. Mayhap the request might mend
some of her resentment, too," she sagely suggested.

Finna
glanced to her wrist. Her injuries were that obvious? She grimaced. Though
Surguilde could not possibly know who had done this to her, she was obviously
very aware. And concerned. A spike of pain gouged into her heart, twisting
cruelly. She'd never had anyone care that she had been hurt, save Alice. Finna
sniffed, and then concealed her feelings.

She
was a grown woman. It was too late for all that now.

She
needed no one's care.

As
Finna turned, she noticed the dress Surguilde straightened. It must have been
what Geera tossed, along with the kirtle laying to the side. "Must I wear
a dress?" she asked. "I am more accustomed to leggings and
tunics." She looked around for her own clothing, wondering where they had
disappeared to, frowning when she could not find them.

Surguilde
gave her a look of warning. "Those days are over. Valdrik will not
tolerate his wife dressing as a man. The kirtle and dress are mine, and as we
are of a similar height—" she stopped to smile "—I hope they will do
until we can stitch you new clothing."

Surguilde
gave her a bright smile and came to her side, leaning over and planting a kiss
to Finna's cheek before she could avoid the woman's affection. "I shall
leave you to dress, child. Tonight, we feast in your honor." Surguilde
glided past Finna and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Finna's
stare fell back on the dark green dress lying across the bed. She stepped
closer, the wood floor cool on her bare feet, and reached down to smooth her
fingers over the material. It was softer than any she had ever touched.

Red
and gold embroidery danced along the sleeves and around the hem, also at the
low dip in the neckline. Finna blushed. Surely the dress would expose her. She
sighed as she looked upon it, imagining herself wearing the clothing of a
woman. Finna lifted the sleeve as she admired the deep color and then dropped
it back to the bed.

She
turned and walked back to the hearth and sat down on a stool there, taking up a
comb Surguilde had left for her use. As the warmth of the fire dried her hair,
Finna stroked her tresses until they were free of tangles, which wasn’t hard as
her hair had never been overly thick. She left the pale colored mass to hang
loosely down her back.

Finna
closed her eyes and sighed, the heat on her back seeping into her sore muscles
and easing away tension. She brought her elbows to her knees and rested her
chin on her fists. When she opened her eyes, the room before her seemed even
more alien. So neat and clean. A richly woven tapestry hung on the wall with an
assortment of polished metals. A linen blanket covered the bed, and at the foot
was a wooden trunk.

This
was almost too strange to contemplate being real, but try as she might she
could not summon the will to deny what was before her anymore.

She
thought back over her childhood and Aldar's disinterest in her when she was
young. His indifference turned to a shade of disdain as the memories filtered
through her adult mind. She could clearly see the evidence now.

Her
heart constricted, and she sucked in a hurtful breath.

Aldar
had lied and used her sorely.

A
single tear leaked from the corner of her eye and slowly rolled down her cheek.

She
snarled.

One
day, she would have her vengeance upon him.

He
had not only deprived her of her real family, of the love due her, but he had
used her in a depraved way. He had used her in his plot. Oh, how she could see
his delight in sending her to face her own people! Her grooming as a warrior
had never stemmed from any admiration, but was borne of his sickness.

How
he would have thrilled to know she had almost killed her true father in battle!

Hadarr,
Valdrik—they might wish their own vengeance—but no one deserved to take Aldar's
head as she did. Finna slammed her fist into her leg above her knee and threw
her head into her hands. She began to sob. For once, her heart and mind agreed.

How
could she have been so stupid to have longed for that man's love?

She
cried as she had never done so before. Hot tears washed away the hurt, the
humiliation. She reminded herself then that she had only been a child, always a
child, naturally desiring the attention and love from the only parent she'd ever
known.

Finna
sniffed and wiped at her face with the drying sheet, forcing calm back into her
mind.

No
more. Not for now anyway.

She
put away her thoughts of Aldar and set the comb aside. She stood, and as she
glided across the room, Finna dropped the drying sheet, letting it flutter
behind in her wake.

She
went to the bed and turned the kirtle over to hike up the bottom, lifted it,
and slipped the end over her head. The cool rush of the soft inside fell down
her body, and once her arms fit through the sleeves and her head came through
the top, the hem fell into place and she pulled the middle around her hips to
smooth the material over her flat belly. She followed with the dress in the
same fashion and fitted the ties at the sides and bosom.

Finna
looked down at herself when she was satisfied she had the dress on right. She
could not remember the last time she had worn one. The sleeves fit perfectly,
and the hem came just to the floor. Though she looked fine, she felt awkward
and silly. She had nothing else though, and she supposed Surguilde was right.
Valdrik would not tolerate her wearing leggings, and neither would Hadarr, she
guessed.

The
only item of her own that remained in the room was her boots, left by the fire
to dry. Yet at the foot of the bed were a delicate pair of slippers with tiny
beads sewn onto them, and since she was forced to wear women's clothing Finna
opted for the slippers. She put them on, surprised at the fit. They were only a
little snug, but not overly uncomfortable.

With
a groan, she sank down onto the bed and stared at the wall for a time.

She
was unready to face her
family
again
just yet, as she was not sure how to react. It seemed she was not sure of much
anymore, but if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she would not
be marrying Valdrik or any other man here. Not unless she chose to.

If
she was free of Aldar, she was at last free to live as she wished.

When
Finna stood again, having to wear the dress did not seem so bad.

She
caught her reflection in a polished metal on the wall and stopped to look at
herself as a woman.

Through
her well-hidden pain, she smiled at the image looking back at her.

****

Aldar
paced before his hearth, furiously awaiting word from his men as to Finna's
whereabouts. The fire cracked and popped in the otherwise strained silence.

Though
there were servants present, no one dared speak to him in his dreadful fury.

At
last, one of his men entered the hall, and Aldar whirled on him, coming to the
edge of the dais. The man halted and dropped to one knee before him.

"What
have you found?" Aldar demanded.

"Jarl,
we have looked everywhere, and she is not to be found."

Aldar
stilled, looking past the man and into the night beyond the open door.

There
was the lapse of only a second before he suddenly strode down the steps and
pushed past the warrior, knocking the man to the floor.

With
heavy strides, Aldar tore down the path to Finna's dwelling. Once there, he
crashed through the closed door. His chest heaved and fists clenched as he
scanned the empty interior.

For
a moment, he cursed himself for ever giving her this dwelling. At the time, his
thoughts had only been turned toward how much Finna looked like her mother. He
could not stand the pain she caused him, for every time Finna looked at him, he
thought of Surguilde—until he saw her eyes. Those eyes reminded him of his
brother, and of Hadarr's betrayal. There were times he would have sooner taken
Finna's life than look upon her a moment longer.