Nena Ann Boelter (english books to improve english .TXT) 📖

Lothor didn’t have that option, even though Jarl had offered it to him. Because Jarl was not Dor. “In what ways am I not Teclan?” Jarl’s question echoed again in her mind, followed by his claim that he embodied every aspect of a Teclan warrior that a woman would use to choose. If he truly possessed all the qualities the Teclan respected, and he did, then why couldn’t he be one?

He could be! In the same way her mother and Exanthia had been inducted to the Teclan tribe, Jarl could be. They were not lion and wolf. They were only wolves from different packs. Man and woman from different tribes—as Altene and the other women prisoners in the camp had tried to tell her—as the gods had tried to show her.

“Wait!” Nena shouted as she leapt to her feet.

Jarl paused and looked up at her, though thankfully he did not release his grip at her distraction.

The crowd looked at her in shock, and an uneasy murmur rippled through them. What was she doing? No one interrupted a trial—not a loved one, not even the chief. Her father knew that, which is why he had not intervened, even when Jarl had so clearly requested it with his eyes.

“I, Nena, daughter of Meln, chief of the Teclan tribe, accept the gods choice of Jarl as my first union and choose him as my husband, if he accepts my choosing?”

Jarl recognized the significance of the timing of her words. “He does.”

“Then by our union, he is eligible to become Teclan.” She paused and looked to her father. “If my father permits?” She waited with bated breath as did everyone in the crowd, praying he would agree. Her father nodded, and Nena breathed a sigh of relief, but she was not yet finished. “From this day forward you shall be known as Jarl of the Teclan, Husband of Nena, Daughter of Meln, Chief of the Teclan tribe. Your previous life is forgotten. Your blood is now as true Teclan as any born to the mountain. You are one of the Teclan people, deserving and entitled to all rights, equal in every way.” Nena continued in a softer tone, her words directed now at the recumbent Lothor. “As Teclan and as my husband, Jarl becomes my brother’s brother. My brother would yield to a brother.”

The crowd was nodding in agreement, but Lothor remained unmoved. Nena held her breath as she waited for his response. He was proud, perhaps too proud, and she knew how deeply he was still wounded from their younger brother’s death. How deeply he considered Jarl to be his worst enemy. How deeply he had longed to kill him. This was to have been Ruga’s avenging and he had failed. In his shame, would he refuse the reprieve she had given him? With her father’s support thrown behind it, he should accept it. Yet he remained motionless and silent. Whispers began to spread through the crowd. At first Nena was unsure of what they were saying. Then she heard someone close to her picking up the word.

“Yield. Yield. Yield,” they chanted.

The words must have reached her brother at the same time. She saw his hand clench into a fist at his side before he extended his two fingers in the symbol of submission. He was still too proud to speak the words, but it didn’t matter. The gesture meant the same.

Jarl stood and grasped Lothor’s wrist before hauling him to his feet. They stood facing each other, bloody, battered and exhausted.

“My sister has chosen a great warrior,” Lothor said quietly. The words were stilted and forced, but they were spoken. For whatever else her brother was feeling at that moment, he did what was expected of him. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was an obvious respect there. He had never been bested since he was a boy.

Nena leapt from the dais and went to stand beside Jarl, but he pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately on the lips. He felt her stiffen, but didn’t stop, refusing to release her. In that moment he had no care for Dor customs or rules on public displays of affection. He had won. He had won the greatest battle of his life, and he had won her. He felt her melt against him and return his kiss.

For an instant Nena was embarrassed for him as a man, to be so expressive of his emotions in front of other men. But he had just defeated Lothor, the greatest warrior among them! No man would dare to consider him soft—bizarre perhaps, but never soft. Caught up in his passion, she returned his kiss, suddenly unaware of anyone or anything around them. When he lifted his head and pulled away, Nena’s senses returned. She stood flushed and embarrassed to have been so touched in front of the entire tribe, and to have reacted to it. She glanced at the crowd out of the corner of her eye, expecting to see indignant disapproval, but was surprised to find her aunt and several of the other women smiling, whispering, and nodding.

Jarl kept his arm possessively around her waist and turned to the chief. “I would have my horse, to report my victory to my men.”

Meln nodded.

“Come. I’ll show you where the horses are kept,” Nena said and took his hand.

“You’re coming with me,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

Nena smiled and nodded. There was no way she could have tolerated being separated from him.

Nena handed Jarl the bridle and watched as he slipped the bit into the stallion’s mouth. He didn’t wait for her to retrieve the saddle before vaulting onto the horse’s bare back. “No saddle,” he said. He slid back and patted the horse’s back in front of him. “I want you here, to be able to see you, to feel you, to smell you.” He reached down and pulled her up in front of him.