The Viking (17 page)

“Seems they left in a hurry.”

“As should we,” Kannak whispered.

But Stefan would not be persuaded and started up the second flight of stairs. When they reached the top and opened the wooden door, the back half of the roof indeed had a hole in it just as he suspected. This room had water damage and there was little left of the previous owner
’s warped and ruined furniture. Still, there was a hand mirror that was not broken and a sewing basket caked with just as much dust as the furniture below.

He had not noticed water damage on the bottom two floors and wondered why. But then he realized the window slits were level with the floor and if the structure was tilted even a little bit, the water would have escaped through the slit
s and down the outside wall. “Twas a clever builder. I should like to be a builder someday. I should like it very much.”

“Are ye certain there be no ghost?”

“Aye, are ye frightened still?” She had not let go of his hand and he turned to see the look on her face.

“Not if I believe ye.”

“And do ye believe me?”

She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes. “I will only believe ye if ye tell me what sort of spell a lass may cast to make her husband love her.”

It was more than he could resist. “I will show ye?” He moved too quickly for her to resist, took her in his arms and lightly kissed her lips. Just as quickly, he let go and walked to one of the higher vertical slits in the wall to look out.

Kannak was stunned and for a long moment she just stood there looking at the back of his head. Her heart would not be still and the fluttering did not stop. Was this what her father told her about? Had the man she would marry been beside her all these months? She hoped so. Suddenly she hoped so very much. “Some spell, a lad would have to be a simpleton to fall in love over one little kiss.”

“There be more, but I cannae show ye until…”

“Until what?”

This time he had really gone too far and was not at all certain how to get out of it. “Come look at the view, ‘twill take yer breath away.” She wanted him to take her in his arms again, but when she came closer he moved out of the way.

The light shining through the opening made the side of her hair shine and he watched her smile widen as she looked out across the loch and the land beyond.

“‘Tis beautiful.”

“Indeed it is.” He meant her and when she suspected and looked at him, he looked away. “I
cannae teach ye how to swim up here, now can I?”

She sighed and looked out the window once more. “Oh look.”

He moved to stand behind her and tried to see what she was talking about. “What?” To his surprise, she leaned against him and when she did, he put his arms around her from behind.

“We have changed.” she whispered.

“Aye, we have.”

She covered his arms with hers and closed her eyes. “Is this what love feels like?”

“I hope so, ‘tis a feeling like no other.” He tightened his arms a little and put his cheek against hers.

“Will we be very happy, do ye suppose?”

“I am not a laird, but I will do as best I can to make ye happy.”

“And will ye love me?”

“More than I do now? ‘Tis not possible.”

“How long have ye loved me?”

“All my life.”

She giggled and turned in his arms. “Say the truth o
’ it.”

“If ye must know, I was not certain until the Vikings came to get me
. I could not leave ye that day…or any other day.”

“I dinnae know I loved ye until just now. How can that be?”

He did not answer. Instead he lightly kissed her again. Then she put her arms around his neck and he kissed her the way he had wanted to for months. He felt her cling to him, tightened his arms around her a little bit more and wanted to hold her forever. But something made him glance out the window and his heart stopped. Looking at him from the other side of the loch was the black stallion.

He lightly kissed her again and then grabbed her hand. He did not want to frighten her, but his foreboding was back and it was stronger than ever. “We best go afore ye cast yer spell on me and I
cannae leave.”

She didn
’t understand what he meant, but she giggled and was happy to be leaving the dust and the spooky castle behind. Soon they were out the door and hurrying through the trees. “Is it the black stallion that makes ye run?”

He realized he was nearly dragging her and slowed down. “Aye, I want to see if he will come to us.”

They were to their horses when Stefan turned around, grabbed her waist and lifted her up. Then he rushed to the tree, untied her reins and handed them to her. “Go home Kannak, there are men in these woods and they are not Macorans.”

She gasped and wanted to wait until he was mounted, but Stefan slapped her horse hard and made the mare speed away. Almost as quickly, two men on their mounts broke through the trees and went after her. She glanced back hoping it was Stefan who was behind her, but when she saw the strangers, she kicked the side of the horse hard, leaned forward and increased her speed. “Stefan,” she moaned, tears already in her eyes.

He did not have time to mount or even draw his weapon before he was surrounded by ten men, each with his sword drawn. But instead of caring about his own safety, he watched the two men chasing Kannak around the loch. Then to his amazement, he saw the stallion position himself between Kannak and the men. They tried to go around the stallion, but he moved to block them. Finally the men realized what a fine mount the stallion was, forgot the girl and tried to catch him.

Stefan smiled. While one man relieved Stefan of his weapons, another bound his hands together in the front. It took three of them to put him on his horse and he did not resist. He had a better chance of escape on a horse, even one that was better suited for endurance than speed.

After they began to ride away, he looked back often and when he saw the other two men ride up behind them without Kannak or the stallion, he breathed easier. He then turned his attention to finding a way to escape, but with six men in front, six behind him and a path that was too narrow to get around either, the chances were nonexistent. He would have to wait.

He remembered his mother
’s gold medallion and tried to think of a way to hide it without their notice. It was all he had of her and one of them was sure to take it. Finally, when the path was more narrow still and he was certain no one could see, he brought his hands up to his neck, took hold of the thin strap and put it in his mouth. It was harder than he thought but at length he managed to bite it in half. Then he pulled the medallion out from inside his tunic, worked the strap free and tucked it in the hidden pocket of the belt Kannak made for him. He looked back several more times until he was certain none of the men were paying attention and let the medallion strap fall.

CHAPTER XIV

They rode until the darkness made it too difficult to see, then stopped for the night in a small clearing, built a campfire and untied him just long enough to let him eat. Two of the men went off by themselves and were arguing, but the only words he heard clearly were “Laird Brodie” and “lass.” Then he spotted something very odd. One of the men sitting not far from him wore a kilt of Macoran colors. He thought he recognized him, but could not remember his name.

Stefan
’s hands were tied again, although not as tightly as before and he thought he had a good chance of escaping once his captors went to sleep. But wolves howled, kept spooking the horses and few got any sleep at all. When the chances of escape looked bleak, he thought about the feel of having Kannak in his arms. He slowly relived every second of their brief but precious love and committed it to memory.

*

From the crest of a hill the next afternoon, it was obvious this hold was twice if not three times the size of the Macoran village. Dozens of horses grazed in a meadow behind the village. Beyond that were cattle and farther still, a large herd of sheep; a sure sign of a prosperous clan. Stefan looked for an avenue of escape and decided to run east – If he managed to get away.

They at last walked their horses into the Brodie courtyard and the men pulled him down off of his. The large, square, three story keep cast a long shadow over most of the courtyard, already a crowd was gathering and the old man standing in the doorway of the keep was obviously not pleased. He set his glare on one of the men, who quickly climbed the steps and disappeared inside.

“Ye dare disobey me?” said the old man before he closed the door.

It was not hard to guess who the elder was for his hooked nose reminded Stefan of Agnes Macoran. The rest of his captors and the other clansmen who gathered stared at the door, paid little attention to Stefan and just let him stand there. But some of the women couldn
’t seem to take their eyes off him. If he’d thought of it, he might have flirted with one or two hoping they would help him escape, but he didn’t think of it. Instead, he was trying to guess why his captors were accused of disobeying.

The voices inside the keep got louder and then the door burst open and the warrior marched back out. He pointed at Stefan, ordered him taken away and then demanded the other Macoran be brought inside.

Instead of leaving Stefan tied up somewhere outside, they put him in an empty cottage, unbound his hands and put guards outside his door. The window was small, too small for him to crawl through, there was no furniture and he could do nothing but sit down on the floor. Exhausted after little sleep the night before, Stefan soon lay down and went to asleep.

For four days Stefan watched what little he could see through the small window. Twice a day he was given a scant meal and he asked questions each time, but all he learned was the name of the clan
– they were indeed the dreaded Brodies whom Jirvel said surrounded the Macorans on what should have been her wedding day.

The Brodies, he decided on the first day, were preparing for war. Their horses were made ready, the men sharpened their swords, and new arrows were quickly crafted. But war did not come. There did, however, come a great shout from the courtyard on the third day. He doubted he would ever learn what that was about.

Day and night he worried. Did Kannak make it home safely, what would they do without him to work the land and did they think him dead? He took to trying to send a mental message to Kannak each night before he went to sleep. “I am alive, Kannak.” He had no idea if such a thing was possible, but it was all he could do. He wondered what had become of his horse. The large brown spot on its rump made it distinctive and surely if the Macoran’s saw it they would know it was his.

Sometimes he tried to understand why the black stallion seemed to appear just when they needed it most. Was the stallion truly a gift from God as Jirvel said? He found some measure of comfort in the thought that God, by virtue of the black stallion, was watching over the woman he loved and her mother.

On the fifth day, the door opened and instead of bringing him a meal, two men bound his hands again and took him out into the bright sunlight. He was put on an unfamiliar horse, joined with six other bound men and a guard of twenty took them out of the Brodie village. This time, the Macoran he spotted the night of his capture was also bound. He looked hard at the herd of horses as they passed by, but his was not among them and he suspected the mare had already been bartered away.

They did not have to travel but half a day to reach a wide glen and when the Brodie guards handed their charges over to guards from yet another clan, a pouch of money was also exchanged. It did not take long for Stef
an to realize he had been sold.

The irony was not lost on Stefan. For generations the Vikings captured many Scots, both men and women, carried them away and sold them as thralls to other nations. So by that right it was only fair Stefan would find himself sold into slavery. Nevertheless, the knowledge did not lessen his panic. Where were they taki
ng him?

Guards pulled him down off the horse and he watched the Brodies take it back across the glen in the direction of their village. Stefan soon found himself walking, which was not easy with his hands bound together. To his great disappointment, the prisoners were marched west, farther away from the ocean and away from the Macorans.

The new captors were harsh men with whips who said little, fed them little, did not unbind their hands to let them eat and bound their feet as well at night. They forced the prisoners to walk up hills and down again, sometimes on paths and sometimes tramping through the woods. The guards stopped to water their prisoners occasionally, but only because their horses needed water and rest.

Stefan kept an eye out for the stallion but it did not come to help him. When they were on the paths, he watched for other men, even men of yet another unfamiliar clan he could cry out to. But he saw no one. It appeared his captors were intentionally keeping them off the
well-traveled paths.

Furthermore, the prisoners were not allowed to talk. If they needed relief, they were told to raise their hands. The guards watched them constantly and more than one man was lashed
for not walking quickly enough.