Viking (11 page)
“Where does that leave us, Viking?”
He searched his mind but found no answer to her question, so he adroitly changed the subject. “What
did you do to Rolo? He hinted that you practiced witchcraft on him. He appeared relieved to be rid of you.”
“I did nothing to Rolo that he didn’t deserve,” Fiona sniffed.
Thorne nodded sagely. “ ’Tis as I suspected. You
are
a witch. I am possessed. My mind and body are no longer my own. What manner of magic will you work on me next?”
“I have not yet decided,” Fiona said with a hint of devilment. She started to walk away.
Thorne grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. The broad planes of his face were set in rigid lines. “Did you enjoy Rolo? Is he a better lover than I? Does he have more stamina? Is his prowess to your liking?”
Fiona looked directly into the burning centers of his eyes and said, “I don’t know. Rolo never bedded me.”
Thorne laughed harshly. “Do you fear me so much that you would lie to me? No man in his right mind could resist you. Rolo has never denied that he wanted you in his bed.”
His words filled her with cold anger. She tried to pull away from his grasp but he held her fast.
“Answer me! Did you enjoy what Rolo did to you?”
Put that way, Fiona could not withhold the truth. She’d hated everything Rolo had done to her. He’d been unable to complete the ultimate humiliation, but just having his hands on her body had sickened her.
“Nay, I did not like what Rolo did to me!”
Thorne released her abruptly and she stepped away from the fury she saw gathering in his tormented blue eyes. “I should have killed him.”
“Do you enjoy killing so much?”
“I am a Viking,” he said proudly. “It is what we do.”
Fiona walked away while she still had the strength to do so.
The Viking warriors lay sleeping around the dying fire. Fiona wrapped herself more tightly in her cloak and tried to ignore Thorne’s big body curled around her, protecting her from the night chill. Except for his warmth, he’d offered her little else. But she wouldn’t have accepted it no matter what he offered. Her anger and his unyielding nature and lack of faith in her were like swords driving them apart. The stubborn fool would rather believe that Rolo had bedded her than accept the truth.
Fiona closed her eyes, trying to find sleep. Suddenly she tensed, her mind whirling as visions began forming behind her eyelids. The feeling was powerfully oppressive, so strong that her entire being ached from it. Succumbing to the supernatural power claiming her, she relaxed and allowed the vision to overtake her.
She saw Thorne’s homestead being besieged by fierce invaders. She sensed desperation. Thorne had taken most of the warriors with him, leaving Olaf dangerously undermanned and vulnerable to attack. Then she sensed the cold presence of death,
and the scream building in her throat burst forth.
Thorne jerked upright, reaching for his weapons. “What’s wrong? Are we under attack?”
By now the sleeping Vikings were on their feet, alert and prepared to face their enemy.
“We must leave immediately!” Fiona cried, leaping to her feet. She was trembling so violently she could scarcely speak.
“What is it?” Thorne asked after he satisfied himself that no immediate danger existed.
“Viking invaders from the north,” Fiona gasped in a rush of words. “Your homestead … We must hurry before everyone is slain.”
Thorne grasped her shoulders, giving her a little shake. “Slowly, Fiona. Tell me how you know this.”
“Sometimes I see things. Not very often, but I’ve learned to take my visions seriously. We must hurry, Thorne. I … I sensed death.”
Thorne merely stared at her, trying to decide whether to believe her or treat her vision as a bad dream. His men were looking at her as if she were possessed. A few were even backing away in fear. Yet the longer he looked at Fiona, the more he believed that she had indeed experienced some kind of supernatural revelation. His skin crawled and his heart pounded. Mayhap he was mad, or as possessed as Fiona appeared to be, but he believed her. He shouted orders and tossed Fiona astride his horse. By the time he had mounted behind her, his men were already on the move.
They reached the homestead just as the sun was peeping over the mountains. The entire place had
been turned into a battleground. The metallic clash of battleaxes and swords resounded like thunder across the land. Thorne gave Fiona a puzzled look, as if trying to understand the frightening power she possessed. Then he lifted her to the ground, told her to wait there with his horse, gave a Viking war cry and rushed to join his men, who were already hacking away at the invaders.
The enemy saw reinforcements pouring in to join the battle and slowly began to retreat. Thorne and his warriors had turned the tide of battle, and the Northmen were wise enough to know it. They melted away, routed but undefeated, and Thorne knew they would regroup and return another day.
Thorolf thumped Thorne’s back when they met after the battle. “You couldn’t have arrived at a better time, brother. We lacked the men to defeat the invaders without you.”
“You can thank Fiona for my timely arrival,” Thorne replied. “She had a vision and woke us from a sound sleep. Thor was with us, for we arrived in time. Where is Father?”
Thorolf glanced around the yard littered with bodies. “He was fighting at my back a moment ago. Perhaps he—”
They spotted Olaf nearly at the same time. He was lying face down in the dirt, a battleaxe imbedded in his back and blood pooling beneath him.
“Nay!” Thorolf cried, dropping to his knees beside his father. Gingerly he turned the older man over, saddened to see that his eyes were open but
glazing over fast. It wouldn’t be long before the Valkyries arrived to carry him to Valhalla.
Thorne knelt in the dirt beside Olaf. “Father, can you hear me? ’Tis Thorne. We’ve driven away the Northmen.”
“ ’Tis the witch’s doing,” Olaf gasped, convinced even at the moment of death that Fiona was to blame for every evil that had befallen them.
“Nay, Father,” Thorne said. “Fiona warned me of the attack. My men and I arrived in time to save the homestead.”
Olaf remained unmoved by Thorne’s words. “I’m dying,” he gasped with his last breath. “I name Thorolf my heir.”
“Father … I—” Thorolf began.
“Nay, do not speak. Listen, for I have little time left before I begin my journey to Valhalla. The witch … Kill the witch …”
Blood gurgled in his throat as death claimed him.
“He’s dead,” Thorolf said with cold finality.
“Thorolf is the new jarl,” Ulm said, thrusting his fist into the air to punctuate his words. He’d been standing beside Olaf when the dying man had named his heir.
“Aye,” Thorolf acknowledged, finding no joy in it.
“ ’Twas what Father wanted,” Thorne acknowledged.
Suddenly Thorolf spied Fiona standing behind Thorne and said, “I will honor Father’s last wish.” He drew his sword. “Stand aside, Thorne, I must slay the witch. Your soul will not be your own until she lies beneath the ground for your feet to tread upon.”
Fiona did not move. She was paralyzed with fear. She guessed that Thorne was too astonished to react quickly enough to save her and she prepared herself to meet her God.
Thorne was indeed stunned. He was still on his knees beside his father as Thorolf drew his sword. He saw the downward sweep of the blade before he began to move. He groaned in frustration and fear when he realized he would not reach her in time. He made a desperate lunge but fell short as the sword continued its deadly arc. Then, from the corner of his eye he saw Brann dart out from behind Ulm and throw himself in front of Fiona, shoving her out of danger’s path as he took her place.
Thorolf’s blade bit through flesh and bone, felling Brann with one mighty stroke. Fiona screamed and scrambled to Brann’s side, cradling his head in her arms.
“Do not leave me, Brann, I beg you,” she sobbed piteously.
“I knew ere I began this journey that I would never see my homeland again,” Brann whispered in a voice so thready it could scarcely be heard.
“What am I to do without you?”
“Cling to your Viking. He is your future. You may doubt that now, but it will be. Let me go in peace, child.”
“God be with you, Brann,” Fiona whispered as the last breath left his body.
Brann’s death did not appease Thorolf. He was his father’s son in more ways than one. “See what Fiona has done now, brother? Nothing good has
come of her being here. Our luck turned the day you were lured to her island and returned to us obsessed with a woman you’d seen only once. I did not want to kill the wizard, for he saved your life. Father was going to send him home to Man. The witch rewards her friends with death. Is that what you wish for yourself?”
“Had it not been for Fiona, you would have all been slain by the Northmen,” Thorne bit out. “Do not lift your sword against Fiona again.”
Thorolf sheathed his sword with a snarl of contempt. “I cannot fight witchcraft, but I can dictate who lives in my home. You are welcome, Thorne, but not your leman.”
“I would do nothing to cause dissension between us,” Thorne said. “Summer is waning but the seas are still calm. I cannot let you kill Fiona. I will take her home to Man.”
He glanced at the circle of faces surrounding them, men he’d known since boyhood. “Many of you are landless,” he continued. “Those who choose to fill my five dragon ships will find rich new lands to settle and comely women to bed. From Man you can sail to all the ports of the world and gain riches aplenty. Who is with me?”
Most of Thorne’s crewmen from previous voyages were eager to sign on for this new venture. Replacements were quickly found for those who declined because of family obligations or other reasons. Aren, Thorne’s cousin, volunteered, but Ulm elected to remain as Thorolf’s lieutenant.
Thorne was pleased with the results. “We will begin
preparations after my father is sent to Valhalla in a manner befitting his rank.” He turned to Thorolf. “Does that meet with your approval, brother?”
“Aye. Just keep your whore confined in your chamber until you leave. ’Tis not too late to change your mind if you have second thoughts about this journey.”
Thorne said nothing as he pulled Fiona away from Brann’s body and dragged her into the house. He didn’t stop until they reached his chamber.
“Thank you for taking me home,” Fiona said once the door closed behind them.
“I am mad, or possessed, or both,” Thorne muttered darkly.
“I’m sorry about your father.”
“He died as he would have wished. A Viking could ask for no better death. You must not mourn Brann; he was an old man who had lived beyond his allotted time.”
“I will miss him, but I am glad I’m going home. How long will you remain on Man?”
Thorne shrugged. “At least through the winter. Perhaps by then I will tire of you and be eager to go a-Viking again. Or mayhap you’ll see fit to release me from your spell.”
“How can you still accuse me of being a witch?” Fiona asked, furious at him for being so stubborn.
“How can I not? You see things others do not. You have knowledge of medicines and potions. You have done things to Rolo that make him fear you. And yet I still want you. My father lies dead and I can think of naught but tossing you down upon the
bed, shoving your legs apart and sheathing myself in your heated center.”
Without warning he grasped her shoulders and dragged her up against him. He was still wearing his mail, and she felt the pressure of every polished link digging into her tender flesh. But that slight pain disappeared as he lifted her chin and pressed his mouth against hers. She whimpered in protest as the hard stab of his tongue parted her lips and thrust past her teeth to explore her mouth. He kissed her until she grew dizzy, until breathing became a distant memory, until she went limp in his arms.
His hand went to the back of her neck in a caress so subtle, so tantalizingly tender, that Fiona feared her lack of breath was making her imagine tenderness where none really existed. Vikings were barbarians; they knew nothing of gentleness. Then she recalled that Thorne had never been rough with her, which was a contradiction of everything she had learned or ever been told about Vikings.
“Fiona, sweet Fiona, bewitching Fiona,” he murmured against her lips. “I am obsessed with you. You own my soul. Even though I’ll doubtlessly suffer a life of torment, I cannot let you go. I care not that you were Rolo’s whore, for I will make you mine again.”
His words were like a dash of cold water to Fiona. As he bore her down to his bed of furs, she rolled from beneath him in one agile motion. He sat up, bewildered, as she leaped to her feet and glared at him.
“We are no longer wed,” she stated, waiting for him to confirm it.
“ ’Tis true. It matters not. Our Christian marriage was never binding.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We are no longer husband and wife, is that correct?” she repeated.
“We never really were.”
“What am I to you? Your thrall? Your whore?”
Thorne frowned. “I have seen nothing to deny that you’re a witch. Even Rolo has come to believe you have magical powers. I have seen proof of it myself. I do not want a witch for a wife.”
Anger exploded inside Fiona. No matter what Thorne believed, she was still his wife in the eyes of her Christian God. Nevertheless, she did not want a man who considered her a witch, or one who would make her his whore. Deliberately she gave him her back.
“I am no man’s whore,” she declared. “Our Christian marriage is still valid.”
Thorne’s expression turned mutinous. Was she deliberately goading him? Did she think he feared her witchcraft? Nay, he feared no man or woman. To prove it, he said, “I am going to keep you. If you believe we are still wed, so be it.” He knew the words had come from his mouth but couldn’t believe he’d said them.
Madness!
Fiona was confined within Thorne’s chamber when Brann was buried later that day. Because Thorolf wanted her nowhere near him, she was forced to mourn her friend and mentor in private. At eventide Tyra crept into the chamber with a tray of food. She kept her head turned away and would have left without uttering a word, had Fiona not addressed her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to speak with Thorne about what we discussed before I was sent away.”
Tyra lifted her head and Fiona dragged in a ragged breath. The left side of Tyra’s face was bruised and her upper lip swollen, as if it had been bitten.
“Dear God, what happened to you?”
Tyra lowered her gaze. “ ’Tis naught.”
Suddenly the answer dawned on Fiona. “ ’Twas
Ulm, wasn’t it? Only an animal would treat a woman so.”
Tyra shrugged. “Aye. I made the mistake of resisting. I won’t do it again.”
“Oh, Tyra, I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to Thorne. I’ll tell him I want to take you to Man with me.”
Tyra’s eyes brightened. “You would do that? I wouldn’t ask it of you. I feared for you after you left. I know you suffered the same abuse as I as Rolo’s leman. Bedding him couldn’t have been pleasant for you, not after Thorne.”
“Rolo didn’t bed me,” Fiona said, summoning a grin.
Tyra’s eyes grew round. “But how—” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “You cast a spell on him! Would that I could do the same to Ulm.”
“Not a spell, Tyra. My knowledge of herbs saved me. Rolo believes I stole his manhood, and in a way I did. He was much relieved when Thorne came for me.”
“I must go before I’m missed,” Tyra said, casting a furtive glance toward the door.
“Try to avoid Ulm tonight. I’ll do what I can to help you.”
“Thank you, Fiona. The Isle of Man is close to my own home; I know I could be happy there.”
She slipped out the door, leaving Fiona to wonder how in God’s name she was going to help Tyra when Thorne was being so hardheaded and contrary.
* * *
Fiona fell asleep beside Thorne’s cold hearth. She had pulled one of the fur pelts from his bed and curled up on the floor. She was sleeping soundly when Thorne entered his chamber. The candle had burned down to a stub and he lit another, holding it aloft as his gaze wandered around the small chamber, looking for Fiona. He saw her huddled in the fur pelt and the tension left his body. He knelt beside her and brushed her pale cheek with his knuckles. Had Fiona been awake, she would have been surprised by his gentle gesture. His lips grazed the soft ebony hair at her temple. The tenderness he was displaying puzzled him and he sat back on his heels to delve deeply into his heart for the reason behind his tender feelings.
Fiona didn’t even have to be awake to bewitch him, he reflected. He’d been captivated, beguiled and lured by powers beyond his understanding. He feared he was already beyond help, but he didn’t really care as he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed. Moments later he was naked and lying beside her, working feverishly to remove her tunic and shift.
Fiona awoke with a start, holding back a shiver when she realized Thorne was undressing her. Her sensitive nipples tightened and contracted with a will of their own as he bared them to his hungry gaze. Then he bent his head and gently suckled her until her hands caught in his hair. He lifted his shaggy head and gazed into her violet eyes.
“Are you going to stop me?” he asked. “I’ve been
deprived of your sweet body too long.” His gaze returned to her nipples, frosted by candlelight and the wetness of his tongue.
“I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to. You’re twice my size. You could easily snap my neck with your hands.”
“I can think of more pleasant things to do with my hands.”
She caught her breath as his callused fingers slid between her legs to caress and stroke. Thorne watched her face, captivated by the fleeting glimpses of pleasure she could not withhold. Her body stiffened and she cried out as he dipped one finger into her tight sheath. Then his hand left her as he bent his head and placed his mouth where his hand had been.
Fiona nearly flew off the bed. “Thorne, nay! You can’t. You don’t mean to—”
“I want to taste you, Fiona. Don’t deny me.”
She could deny him nothing as his mouth created a clamoring in her body that was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The maddening rhythm of his tongue delving into her intimate flesh and lapping against the sensitive nub nestled between her thighs caused her to shudder and arch beneath him. Her lashes fluttered against her flushed cheeks. Her head rolled from side to side as her mouth crooned a silent tune.
Thorne felt her muscles convulse and he lifted his head to observe her. The stark planes of his face were cast in ruthless lines by the flickering candlelight. “I want to watch your face when I bring you
pleasure. I want you to know ’tis me and not Rolo making your body sing.” Then he thrust his finger deep into her one last time, smiling with satisfaction when she screamed and jerked violently. Before the last shudder left her body, he nudged her knees apart and thrust upward inside her.
His fingers laced into hers, pinning her hands on either side of her head as his mouth closed on hers. She moaned, tasting the musky, sweet flavor of herself on his lips. Then he began to move inside her, long, steady strokes that pierced her very soul.
When she thought she would perish from lack of breath, he finally broke off the kiss. She buried her face in his throat as he filled her so deeply she didn’t know where her body ended and his began. She heard his breathing quicken as he rocked between her thighs. A guttural groan left his throat as he brought her to climax again.
“Come with me, love. Follow me to Valhalla.”
Fiona arched against him as he poured his seed into her, impaling her against the bed with the force of his driving need.
The candle had burnt down to a tiny stub when Fiona awoke. She lay warmly clasped in Thorne’s arms, her face nestled against his throat, his hand cupping her breast. He stirred and opened his eyes. She wondered if he’d been sleeping, so quickly did he waken. His hand tightened on her breast, then moved down to toy with the downy nest between her legs.
She tensed, then relaxed, letting him have his
way as her body warmed to his touch. How could a man as big and fierce as her Viking husband be so gentle? she wondered. Then suddenly she remembered his last words to her. He’d called her his love. A small sigh left her lips.
Thorne heard Fiona’s breathy gasp and his hand froze on her thigh. “What is it?”
“Do you realize what you said?”
“When?”
“When we were … coupling.”
“I probably said many things, most of which I don’t remember.”
Fiona frowned. Why must men be so unfeeling? “You called me your ‘love.’ Do you love me, Thorne? Was it love for me that sent you to Rolo’s homestead to claim me?”
“Love? The word is foreign to me. Vikings have no time for sentimental gibberish. Viking warriors marry to beget children, to have someone to run their homes, and for political and material gain. We respect our wives, but rarely do we love them. Sometimes Viking women fight beside their men, wielding swords and battleaxes with dexterity and purpose.
“Divorce is a simple matter for Viking couples should they not suit. They have merely to announce their intention before witnesses. Most men take mistresses, and few wives complain.”
“Christians marry for life,” Fiona claimed. “Sometimes they do not love one another at first, but love comes with time. Viking women might allow
their men to dally with their mistresses, but
I
will not.”
“You will learn to accept the Viking way.”
Fiona heaved a sigh. “You’re making this difficult for me, Viking.”
“How so?”
“How can I love you when you are too stubborn to accept my love? Or return it?”
Her question so unsettled him that he was rendered speechless. When he finally found his voice, he asked, “Who said I had to love you? I never asked for your love. Nor did I ask to be bewitched. Your siren’s song lured me to your island, then you stole my soul.”
“You’re a fool if you believe that. I knew about you from the time I was old enough to understand. I knew not your name, but the knowledge that a Viking would come to Man and claim me has always been a part of my life. I didn’t want to believe Brann’s prophesy until the day you carried me away.”
“How do you explain it?” Thorne asked as he began to stroke her body. “Was it the wizard who lured me to Man? I think not,” he said, answering his own question. “Nay, ’twas no man’s voice I heard summoning me over the sound of the waves and splash of the oars. Why do you believe we are fated to be together?”
“Because God has willed it. God and Brann’s Celtic deity. Brann said we would love one another unto eternity, Thorne, but you are proving exceedingly difficult to love.”
“I asked you to marry me, didn’t I?”
“Then you divorced me.”
“You said your God didn’t recognize our divorce.”
“True. But I will only be your wife if you love me.”
This talk of love was making Thorne nervous. “I will never let you go; isn’t that enough for you?”
“Nay.”
“If I am willing to keep you as my wife instead of my whore, why must you ask more of me? If I admitted I loved you, I’d never know if ’twas my heart speaking or the result of witchcraft.”
“Do you have a heart, Viking?” Fiona challenged.
“I believe I have exposed my heart to you.”
“You have shown me your lust. ’Tis not enough, Thorne.”
“ ’Tis enough,” Thorne said, pulling her beneath him. “I have given you more of myself than I’ve given any other woman. I’ve been obsessed with you so long I don’t even recall when I was not. Now I’m going to possess you.”
He spread her legs and thrust himself into her. She fit him like a glove, a very tight glove, and he groaned with pleasure.
“Why must you be so obstinate?” Fiona gasped as she moved in rhythm to his long, hard strokes.
“Why must you demand love when you already own me?” Thorne shot back as his mind shut down and his body began to take over.
“Because without love, what we’re doing now has no meaning,” Fiona whispered as Thorne stoked her passion into searing flame.
Thorne did not hear her. His body had stiffened
in anticipation of his climax, and moments later he spewed forth his seed. His last stroke sent Fiona over the edge.
Thorne rose from bed with the dawn. Fiona awoke when she felt him stirring. She hadn’t had time to talk to Thorne about Tyra and intended to do so now, before Ulm hurt Tyra again.
“Thorne, I must speak to you about Tyra.”
Thorne lit a fresh candle and hunkered down beside the bed. “I thought you’d sleep longer. Can’t this discussion wait? Has Tyra done something to anger you? There is nothing between us. She was my mistress long before I brought you here.”
“Tyra has not angered me. I want to take her to Man with us. She is your thrall, is she not? ’Tis for you to decide what becomes of her.”
Thorne’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why this concern for Tyra?”
“She is being mistreated by Ulm. Without your protection she has become prey to men who would abuse her.”
Thorne shrugged. “ ’Tis the Viking way. Some men are rough lovers. Tyra will learn how to please him soon enough.”
Fiona flew into a rage. “Tyra is a defenseless woman! Why would you leave her here for Ulm to mistreat? You have never mistreated me. Not all men are alike, not even Vikings. She belongs to you. Are you going to leave your property behind for others to enjoy?”
“You are my property and I’m taking you,” Thorne retorted.
Foolish man, Fiona thought. In the eyes of God they were man and wife, not man and slave. “How can I remain with a man who doesn’t love me?”
“The same way I can wed a witch who stole my soul.” He gave her a sly smile. “How badly do you want to bring Tyra with us to Man?”
“Very badly. She and your cousin Aren are smitten with one another.”
“So that’s the way of it. Very well, she can come with us.”
Fiona’s face lit up. “Oh, Thorne, thank you!”
“There is a provision, of course.”
“Of course,” Fiona said warily.
“I will do this for you only if you willingly remain with me.”
“As your wife?”
Thorne was silent so long Fiona feared he wouldn’t answer. At length he said, “Aye, if that is your wish. We will remarry. You’re mine, Fiona. No other man shall have you. When I think of Rolo possessing you, I want to kill him.”
“Men are strange creatures,” Fiona mused. “I doubt I will ever understand their perverse natures. I suppose there is naught I can say to convince you that Rolo never bedded me, so I won’t bother. There is no need for us to remarry, for I’ve never stopped being your wife. My Christian religion doesn’t believe in divorce and makes no provisions for it.”
Thorne tilted his head back and laughed. “Then we are in agreement. You will remain in my bed
and I will try to forget that you were Rolo’s whore.”
Fiona sputtered in frustration as he rose abruptly, forestalling her angry retort. “I must go. Today we are sending Father to Valhalla. All is in readiness. We have but to set a torch to his bier and cast his dragon ship adrift. He will be carried to Valhalla with all his possessions. The next day we will set sail for the Isle of Man. All my property and wealth has been stored in the holds of my five ships in preparation for our journey. If we don’t leave now we will be stranded here until next summer, and I don’t suppose you’d care to spend the winter months confined to my chamber.”
“I’ll be ready,” Fiona said. “Will you tell Tyra?”
“Aye, on my way through the hall.” He strode away.
“Thorne.”
He paused, then turned to face her. “Aye?”
“If you ever mention Rolo to me again I will do to you what I did to him.”
“What is that?” he asked curiously.
She gave him a sweet smile. “Why, steal your manhood, of course.”
Thick mist hung over the harbor as five dragon ships carrying 150 men and all of Thorne’s worldly goods slipped their moorings and moved with the tide and winds out into the fjord. Fiona sat huddled beneath a canvas tent erected for her privacy aboard Thorne’s ship,
Odin’s Raven.
The air was damp and cool, and she pulled a fur pelt around her to ward off the chill. She was feeling unwell this
morning and blamed it on the excitement of returning to her homeland.
