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

voice was filled with resignation. He had come to the same conclusion many times. “You may go now. Get some rest. And there’s no need to send out more scouts in the morning. I’ve seen enough.”

Thankful that Jarl had finally come to his senses, Tryggr breathed a sigh of relief. He drained the last of the wine from his cup and waved Altene off from refilling it, as all of the other men, except for Gunnar, stood and filed away. Leaning back, he waited for Jarl’s next words, fully expecting for them to be instructions to break camp in the morning and return to the ships.

Jarl picked up his own cup and took his first drink of the night, then looked up at the three of them.

“Tomorrow morning, I go in alone,” he said.

ALTENE GASPED.

Tryggr and Gunnar both stared at Jarl dumbfounded for many seconds before Tryggr exploded. “Are you out of your fucking mind? That’s madness! These Teclan are not to be trifled with, Jarl.”

Gunnar nodded in agreement.

“I know,” Jarl said.

“You know? You know?” Tryggr spluttered. “That’s all you can say? You would risk your life for this woman? Hell—not risk, there would be no risk. You would throw away your life for her? It’s suicide, Jarl. Do I need to remind you, you didn’t fall for some peaceful river tribe lass—one that we could go take back without receiving so much as a scratch. These are Teclan—the most brutal fighters in the land. What is your plan? You’ll just go in and ask them to hand her over?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have it all figured out yet, but I’ll let you know when I get back.” Jarl smiled a small smile.

“You won’t get back,” Tryggr countered. “And if you did, it would likely be without a tongue, so I’d still never hear your tale.”

“She’s carrying my child.” Jarl attempted to justify his rash decision.

“Oh, fuck that. You don’t even know that for sure. And even if it were true, do you have any idea how many red-haired bastards I’ve left in our camp’s wake? You don’t see me chasing after their mother’s skirts, do you? If you want a child so badly, live and make another. And if it must be a part Dor child—make one with her,” he thumbed his hand at Altene. “She pleased you for a long time.”

“She doesn’t please me now,” Jarl said.

“Fuck that,” Tryggr repeated, grumbling under his breath.

“If I don’t make it back, you’ll have the helm of The Huntress,” Jarl said to Tryggr.

“I don’t want the fucking helm, Jarl. I’ve actually been thinking for some time now, it may be time to retire—to enjoy my golden years. A man can only fight, fuck and loot for so long and I think I’ve finally reached that point—well, at least for the fighting and looting,” he corrected himself. “I used to laugh at those old bastards we left at pretty places along the way, but now I see their point. It might not be so bad to settle down in one place, drink pints of mead and have a woman look after me.” He darted a quick glance at Altene. “No more saddle sores. No more wounds to heal. The only reason I’ve kept at it this long is to keep your bloody ass safe, and now you want to piss it away?”

“What do you think, Gunnar?” Jarl asked.

“I don’t like it, but I don’t have a better plan.”

“I thought you liked the bull rush plan?” Tryggr turned his attack on Gunnar. “I had my own doubts about it, but it beats the hell out of this.”

“The bull rush is still the best plan to get the army, or as much of it as possible, through their defenses, but that does not achieve Jarl’s goal.” Gunnar had come to Jarl’s earlier conclusion. “In accomplishing that and taking their village, we might very well kill her in the process, or at the very least, kill those she knows and loves. Either way, Jarl loses.”

“And what exactly do you think he’ll win when he’s dead?” Tryggr demanded, hurling his empty cup into the fire, sending up a spray of sparks.

“Peace,” Gunnar said. The word hung on the air for several seconds before Gunnar continued. “Jarl will either succeed and have his woman back, or be in Valhalla. One way or the other, he will have peace.”

“Don’t do this,” Altene whispered feverishly to Jarl after Gunnar and Tryggr had left. She clutched his arm. “Nena was not pregnant. I only said that because I thought you would not follow her. I lied to you.”

“Or are you lying now?” Jarl asked quietly. “Can you swear to me with certainty she is not carrying my child?” It was still the only thing that made sense to him. The only thing that could have spooked her and made her change so suddenly. His heart could not accept anything else. Tryggr was wrong about it being false. He had felt it. He had felt their bond.

Altene paused while she recounted her last conversation with Nena, how she had withheld the herb, and her flippant words about Nena’s last night with Jarl being unprotected.

“I thought not,” Jarl answered for her.

“Then take me with you,” Altene said.

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“You will need a translator.”

“No,” Jarl repeated. “Besides you already told me they understand my language, and you were right.”

“That is true, but you will not understand theirs, and you might need someone to explain their beliefs and laws. That is why you brought me along, isn’t it?” she asked.

“That all sounds good, but I’m not anticipating this being a civilized affair where they allow me to represent myself and consult my counsel. I think it’s going to be pretty straightforward. Besides, if they killed me, they would kill you, too. Would they not?”

“Yes, but…”

“The answer is no. You have helped enough.”

The next morning Gunnar and Tryggr watched Jarl strip off his armor and