I pinched my eyes shut, disappointed in myself for hurting Frans.
“I don’t need anyone to help me.” Frans heaved a deep breath, one shuddering with emotion.
“I’m sorry, Frans,” I whispered, opening my eyes only to find him looking off into the distance. “I do care about you—”
“Don’t,” he whispered harshly.
I swallowed the rest of my words of admiration. They were flimsy and couldn’t take the place of what he’d wanted to hear.
What was wrong with me that I was so callous? Why couldn’t I conjure up love for this dear man?
“I know what I need to do to get the money.” He backed up several paces. His attention shifted to the north, and a strange determination settled into the crevices of his face.
My heart stuttered its protest at what I guessed he was about to tell me. “No.”
He nodded. “I’m taking up the earl’s challenge.”
The protest took on a life of its own, hacking like an axe at my chest. “You can’t.”
Without replying, he spun and stalked down the trail in the direction of the castle. He wouldn’t dare accept the earl’s challenge, would he?
Each of his steps echoed with resolve.
“No, Frans.”
His stride didn’t falter, but my heartbeat did.
I raced after him, not caring that I was leaving Gunnar behind. Suddenly all that mattered was stopping Frans. I grabbed his arm. “Please stop.”
In spite of my efforts to bring him to a halt, he kept going, dragging me along.
“Let’s forget all about Gunnar’s offer.” My panic was mounting. “What’s important is that we get to have a future together at some point, and that won’t be possible if you go into the forest.”
Everyone knew the earl’s challenge was a death sentence. The three men who’d already gone in had died—or at least that’s what we believed, because none of them had come out of Hardanger Forest.
“What makes you think you can succeed when the others have failed?” I didn’t care that my tone had grown sharp.
We broke into the clearing on the open plateau. The castle stood a short distance away with Hardanger Forest not far beyond, a mass of tangled limbs and thorny shrubs. The new foliage on the hardwoods should have made the forest greener and brighter, but the growth only seemed to add to the darkness and shadows, hiding the madman who lived in the depths.
The jotunn had existed in the woods for as long as people could remember. Most believed he was a troll. Others claimed he was a deformed and deranged man who had been cast out of society.
Whatever the case, the forest wasn’t safe. Every time someone ventured inside to hunt, they never came back. Tales abounded of dangerous traps and torturous snares. But no one knew for certain what haunted the woodland.
With only the few fields and hills left around Romsdal for hunting, the earl had laid claim to those for his personal hunting grounds, leaving none for anyone else. In the absence of being able to hunt, the villeins had petitioned for fishing rights. But the earl had staunchly refused, claiming that additional fishing by the tenant farmers would drain the fjord and harm the fishing industry. As a result, the villeins had nowhere to go for food when their stores ran low.
Apparently, the earl had decided he was finished living in fear of the madman and was ready to gain control of the forest, because upon the spring thaw last month, he’d made the proclamation that the man who could bring him the jotunn’s head would be rewarded with freedom or a bag of silver.
“I’m strong,” Frans said as we headed up the short incline toward the castle gatehouse. “The muscles I’ve gained from working the forge will finally be put to good use.”
Still scrambling to keep up with him, I released a scoffing laugh. “Your muscles won’t be a match for the madman, and you’re a fool if you think so.”
Frans shook his head. “He’s likely old by now. And weak.”
“And I suppose that’s what the other three said before losing their lives.” In the early weeks of the earl’s challenge, many had clamored for the opportunity to try. But with each subsequent disappearance, the enthusiasm had faded. It had been over a sennight since anyone had offered to venture into the forest. Rumors were circulating that the earl was growing restless in waiting for volunteers, that he might soon begin forcing men to go in and hunt the madman.
“I’m also smart and quick.” Frans slowed his pace as we passed into the outer bailey. “And I’m good with a slingshot, am I not?”
Because the earl didn’t allow any of his subjects—whether paid domestics or bondmen and villeins—to carry swords or knives, some created makeshift weapons out of their tools. Others, like Frans, learned to use a slingshot so that they might have a means of defending themselves against foes.
“You know as well as I do that a slingshot will be worthless in the forest.”
Frans glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I won’t be unarmed.” Frans had crafted a dagger of his own in secret. But even with a knife, the danger was too great.
“You can’t take this responsibility upon yourself. It’s too risky.”
“If it frees the land of the menace and gives the populace back the forest, it will be worth the risk.”
“You are letting everything that happened with Gunnar goad you into it.”
Halfway across the bailey within sight of the forge, Frans halted. “Since losing my savings, I have already been contemplating doing it. Gunnar’s return is the nudge I needed.”
“You have no need. I shall wait for you to save again.”
As Gunnar strolled through the gatehouse, oozing his usual confidence and charm, Frans reached for my hand, lifted it to his lips, and placed a kiss upon my knuckles. “Perhaps I no longer wish to wait.”
With Frans’s kiss upon my skin, I should have experienced tingles, warmth, a fluttering, something. But I could conjure up nothing.
Frans was making a bold move to initiate physical contact so publicly, since he’d remained chaste thus far.
When he slid a sideways glance in Gunnar’s direction, I understood what he was doing. He was staking his claim upon me, letting Gunnar know he needed to stay away from now on.
“I beg you not to go into the forest, Frans.” I tightened my grip on him as he released the kiss and lowered our hands.
Underneath the mop of bushy brows, his serious eyes met mine.
“I haven’t begged you for many things,” I whispered. “But I beg you not to do this.”
He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated.
I stuck my hand in my pocket and touched the shell I kept there at all times, the shell my twin sister Maiken had given me the last day I’d seen her alive. The purple fragments had chipped away over the years, reminding me of the tenuous nature of life, how fragile it was, and how easily I could lose someone I cared about. “Please. I can’t lose you.”
He seemed to test the sincerity of my words before responding. “Very well.”
I expelled a tremulous breath.
“But I cannot guarantee that I won’t consider it in the future.”
I wanted to protest again, but I held it in and released him. Dusk was fast approaching, and I needed to return to the nursery with all haste. Nanna would get into trouble if I was late, and I couldn’t let that happen.