Viking (12 page)
It would be wonderful to see her father again, she thought wistfully. The poor man must be sick with worry about her. She hoped the men Thorne had left behind on Man had ruled kindly in Thorne’s absence and prayed that her people were prospering under the Vikings.
As the day wore on, Fiona began to suffer bouts of seasickness. It was a surprising turn of events, for she hadn’t been seasick on the journey from Man to Thorne’s homeland. She forced herself to swallow the bile rising in her throat and concentrate instead on her uncertain future with a man who wanted her but refused to admit that he loved her. Deep in her heart, Fiona believed Thorne loved her. She sensed it with every breath she drew, felt it each time he made love to her. She wondered if Thorne realized that she loved him.
Three days out of Kaupang, Fiona sat dozing in the late summer sunshine as the dragon ship cut smoothly through the water. Suddenly she lost all sense of time and space as a vision began forming in the dark void that opened up before her. She saw hordes of neighboring Norsemen swarming down the hillside to attack Thorne’s homestead, catching Thorolf unprepared and undermanned. It was like the previous attack, only worse. This time Thorne wasn’t nearby to come to the rescue.
Fiona’s scream brought Thorne rushing to her side as his crewmen stared at her in fear. Her eyes were glazed and she was shaking violently. He
dropped to his knees and brought her against him. “What ails you? Odin’s balls, you’re scaring the men with your odd behavior.”
Fiona regained her wits slowly. “We have to turn back.”
“What? Are you mad? We’re three days at sea, woman.”
“Thorolf needs you. Raiders from the north have returned and your homestead is under siege. Heed me, Thorne, I would not lie to you about this.”
Thorne regarded her solemnly. “Nay, you would not lie. Tell me what you saw.”
“ ’Tis as I described. I saw little else.”
“You would have me turn back even after Thorolf threatened to lop off your head?”
“Thorolf is your brother. You love him well. You must save him.”
Thorne couldn’t pull his gaze away from her as he barked out an order. The men obeyed without hesitation. The man at the rudder slowly turned the ship back toward land while the change of course was relayed to the other ships. In a short time all five ships were scudding before the wind.
Three days later they docked at Kaupang. Ulm was on hand to meet them. The warrior’s head was bandaged and he favored his right leg. He’d taken refuge in the village after the homestead had been sacked and had seen Thorne’s ships returning.
“The homestead was attacked three days ago and your brother taken prisoner. He’s being held for ransom,” Ulm told Thorne.
“Word has already been dispatched to the king,”
he added, “but ’tis doubtful he will strip his coffers to pay the ransom.”
“Where are the invaders now?” Thorne asked tersely. “Is the homestead under their control?”
“The house is gone,” Ulm said. “Burnt to the ground. The enemy is camped upon the banks of the fjord, awaiting word on the ransom. They’ve already claimed the slaves and Thorolf’s property, but ’twas not enough. They sent me to the village with their terms. The villagers have no wealth to part with and sent a messenger to the king.”
“How many strong are the invading Norsemen?”
“At least one hundred and fifty warriors,” Ulm said. “They slipped up the fjord under the cover of night and attacked at dawn while we were still abed. Rolo has already been notified. Even as we speak he is rallying friendly jarls to Thorolf’s defense. They will come. Thorolf’s land will not be enough for the invaders. They will surely want to seize and claim all the surrounding land.”
“Rolo is our ally,” Thorne allowed grudgingly. “Despite our past grievances, ’tis to our mutual advantage to join forces. He will come to our aid to save his lands.”
Ulm sent a dark look in Fiona’s direction. “How did you know to return? Did the witch warn you?”
“ ’Tis enough that I am here,” Thorne said. “Leave Fiona out of it. There’s no time to waste. I’m taking my men to Rolo’s homestead so we can plan Thorolf’s rescue together. Are you well enough to join us?”
“Aye. As long as I have one good arm to wield my
weapon and one good leg to stand upon, I can fight.”
Fiona thought she had left Rolo’s hall forever, but here she was, in the same house in which Rolo had tried without success to ravish her. Rolo had not been pleased to see her when she’d arrived with Thorne. He gave her a sour look and all but ignored her. Fiona tried to make herself inconspicuous as she moved about the hall, helping the servants prepare food for the vast number of men who were expected to arrive to defend their land against invaders.
The initial meeting between Thorne and Rolo was cool, but Thorne set his enmity aside for his brother’s sake as he and the neighboring jarls made plans for a surprise attack upon the enemy. Thorne suggested that they leave at midnight and attack before dawn. It was agreed that no ransom would be paid to the enemy. It was not their way. They would fight for Thorolf’s freedom, and succeed because Thor was on their side. The strategy meeting broke up and the jarls left to inform their warriors of their plans.
Inside the crowded hall, Fiona settled down on a bench to await Thorne. She saw him enter the hall, then she saw Bretta, whom she’d managed to avoid thus far, sidle up to him and whisper something into his ear. Fiona fumed inwardly. Would the woman never give up? To his credit, Thorne brushed aside with an impatient gesture
the woman who had tried to kill him. Then he spied Fiona and headed in her direction.
“All is in readiness,” Thorne said, dropping down beside her on the bench. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you here with Bretta but I’m confident you can hold your own against her. Just remember,” he said, bringing her up against him, “you belong to me. I’ve made arrangements with Aren to take you back to Man should I perish in battle. I won’t leave you here for Rolo to enjoy.”
He searched her face. “Have your visions forecast my death, Fiona?”
Fiona shook her head. “I have seen naught save what I told you. I can’t force a vision. They come on their own and are rarely about myself.”
He grasped her hand and pulled her from the bench. “Come outside with me. I wish a private moment with you before I leave to fight the Danes.”
Fiona could feel Bretta’s eyes boring into her back as she and Thorne left the hall hand in hand. They walked past snoring men to an orchard a short distance from the house. Thorne halted, leaned against a tree and fit Fiona into his arms.
“What did you wish to talk about?” Fiona asked. Moonlight reflected in the turbulent blue pools of desire his eyes had become as she searched his face.
“Thorne, I—” Her words ended in a gurgle of surprise when his mouth claimed hers in a wild and tempestuous kiss. She felt his shaft stir and swell against her. She moaned against his lips as his
hands explored her body, moving sensuously over her breasts, hips and thighs.
He was driving her mad; her flesh burned, her heart pounded. Then his hands were cupping her bottom, lifting her against him. “Put your legs around my waist,” he urged hoarsely as he impatiently shoved her tunic up around her waist. “I want you now. Battle lust fills my veins and you are the only woman who can appease it.”
Fiona wound her arms around his neck as he lifted his own tunic and meshed their bodies together. “Are you sure, Thorne?” she asked. “Am I the only woman who can assuage your need? Did Bretta not offer herself to you tonight?”
He held her steady and thrust into her tight sheath, groaning from the pleasure she never failed to give him. “Bretta tried to kill me; I want nothing to do with her. You are my obsession, Fiona; no other woman appeals to me. When you cast your spell upon me, little did you know how effectively it would work.”
He began to move slowly, thrusting and withdrawing, shifting her body to meet his strokes, stretching and filling her with his massive erection as he seized her mouth, kissing her breathless. Then she was soaring, her body trembling as he plunged and withdrew, driving her to a frenzy of pleasure so intense she thought she would die of it. He broke off the kiss, burying his head between her breasts as she climaxed around him. Then he unleashed the fury of his own passion, pounding relentlessly
against her, stiffening and crying out her name as ecstasy claimed him.
Fiona clung to him with a desperation born of fear. What if Thorne should fall in battle? What if he should die? How would she go on without him? She searched for a vision, but it was denied her. What good was her gift if she couldn’t use it at will? She mewled in protest when Thorne set her on her feet and settled her tunic down over her hips.
“ ’Tis almost time to leave,” Thorne said, squinting up at the position of the moon in the sky.
“Be careful, Thorne, I beg you.”
Thorne gave her a mocking smile. “Do you care so much? Or have you decided I’m a better lover than Rolo?”
“The Devil take you! I don’t know why I care so much,” Fiona spat disgustedly. “You’re arrogant, pig-headed and stubborn beyond belief. Mayhap I feel pity for a man so lacking in wit and wisdom. Or perhaps ’tis merely dislike I feel.”
He grasped her shoulders and stared deeply into the violet pools of her eyes. “The truth, Fiona. Tell me the truth. Do you care what happens to me?”
She dragged in a shuddering breath. “Aye. I care. We are meant to be together whether you believe it or not. You are the only man who has ever … bedded me.” She was going to say
touched
instead of
bedded,
but technically that wouldn’t be the truth. Rolo had touched her and she’d hated it.
Thorne frowned. “I never asked for your love. I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I don’t know why, but your caring matters to me. It never mattered
before what a woman thought, but for some unexplained reason it pleases me to know that you care.”
Fiona gave him a blissful smile. “Really?”
“Truly. I’m beginning to enjoy being bewitched.”
“Does that mean you believe I was never Rolo’s mistress?”
“Leave well enough alone, Fiona. Don’t ask questions to which you’ll not like the answers. I still want you; let that be sufficient. I don’t care if you’re a witch. When I’m inside you, nothing matters but loving you and making you mine. The thought of another man having you brings on a violence I can’t control.”
“You love me, Thorne,” Fiona said complacently. “One day, I vow, you’ll admit it. Brann said that day would come, and I suppose I’ll just have to be a little more patient. Come back to me soon, Viking.”
Rising to her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his lips. Then she spun on her heel and fled back to the hall.
Thorne didn’t try to stop her. He touched his lips with the callused pad of his thumb and smiled.
“I suppose you’re feeling quite smug right now.”
Fiona started violently. She should have expected Bretta to be waiting for her to return to the hall.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fiona retorted.
“If not for your interference I’d still be Thorne’s betrothed. Our marriage would be taking place very soon.”
“You tried to kill Thorne,” Fiona spat.
“ ’Twas a mistake,” Bretta argued. “I never intended to kill Thorne. I was angry at him for caring so little for me, and for giving me to his brother. I meant only to make him mildly ill.”
Fiona knew better, but decided to hold her tongue as long as she was a guest in Bretta’s home, vowing to eat and drink nothing that she hadn’t prepared
or served herself. And to remain vigilant. She hated being here but had to make the best of it until Thorne returned for her.
Fiona was grateful for Tyra’s presence. Bretta had put the slave to work immediately, but it was still comforting to see a friendly face in the crowd. Fiona recalled with a shudder how she’d been subjected to Rolo’s crude pawing in this very house. But God had been kind. Thorne had lived, and Rolo had been rendered impotent by her herbal concoctions. She shook her head as if to rid it of unpleasant thoughts and turned her mind to prayer.
Thorne and the combined Viking forces crept through the forest toward the enemy camp. Thus far they had encountered four sentries, and all were dispatched with speed and finesse. The invaders were sleeping. Thorne could see them stretched out on the ground, wrapped in their fur pelts, their weapons lying within reach. Their numbers were daunting, but Thorne had great faith in the strength of his Viking warriors.
“Do you see Thorolf?” Rolo whispered as he knelt beside Thorne on the mossy ground.
Thorne’s gaze made a thorough sweep of the campsite. He spotted two guards walking along the perimeter of the camp but he failed to locate his brother.
“Nay. ’Tis too dark to see beyond the small campfire.”
“Perhaps they took him aboard one of their long-ships,” Rolo offered.
“Aye,” Thorne agreed. “I’ll take ten men and circle around to the fjord. If Thorolf is on one of their ships, I’ll find him. Can you and the others handle things here?”
Beneath his droopy mustache, Rolo’s lips flattened in a parody of a smile. “The invaders will rue the day they set foot upon our land. Find your brother, Thorne. I’ll take care of things here.”
Thorne nodded and silently disappeared into the darkness to select the men who would accompany him. He chose Ulm and Aren and several others from among his own warriors. They circled around the sleeping Norsemen and were headed toward the fjord when sounds of a fierce battle broke out behind them. Thorne spared but a glance back at the ensuing battle, concentrating instead on finding and freeing Thorolf.
Thorne saw four dragon ships bobbing in the surf and counted about twenty men left behind to protect the ships. Thorne considered his own ten warriors an even match for the twenty invaders.
Hoisting Blood-drinker in one hand and his battleaxe in the other, Thorne bellowed a Viking war cry and advanced toward the enemy, wielding his weapons with equal dexterity. The Norse raiders heard the cry and advanced to meet the Viking savages. The battle was fierce and bloody. Skulls were split and flesh skewered. Arms and legs were severed with a single stroke of a sword.
Aren fought at Thorne’s back; Ulm was at his side. Aren sustained a minor head wound but kept on slashing, ignoring the blood dripping from his
wound. Ulm deflected a lethal blow and dealt a killing thrust of his own. Thorne fought like a berserker, as relentless as his name implied. Aren dashed blood from his eyes, momentarily blinded to the danger threatening Thorne’s back. With a triumphant cry, the man thrust his sword past Aren’s guard and into Thorne’s unprotected back.
Pain and surprise registered on Thorne’s blood-splattered features as he swung his sword around and neatly gutted his attacker. It was his last act before he slid to his knees and fell flat on his face.
Ulm saw Thorne fall and gave a bellow of rage as he rallied the surviving men to even greater effort. The raiders retreated beneath the renewed onslaught but were given no quarter as they were slain to the last man by the fierce Viking warriors. Thorne saw nothing of the enemy’s defeat as he lay on the ground, his lifeblood draining from his body.
“ ’Tis done, Thorne,” Ulm said as he knelt in the soft dirt beside Thorne. “They are all dead.”
“Thorolf?” Thorne gasped.
“Aren is searching the ships. If he’s there, we’ll find him.”
Aren found Thorolf bound and gagged, lying in the stern of the flagship. He was weak from being starved and beaten, but except for a wound on his thigh that was already crusted over, he appeared unhurt.
“How can you be here? I thought you went with Thorne,” Thorolf said when Aren removed his gag.
“We were three days at sea when we turned back,” Aren said, helping Thorolf to his feet.
“What made you return?”
“Fiona warned us. She saw Norse invaders attacking the homestead and urged Thorne to turn back. Ulm met us in the village and told us what had happened.”
“There are Norsemen camped nearby,” Thorolf warned. “It will take a Viking army to defeat them. Where’s Thorne?”
“Rolo and neighboring jarls joined forces with Thorne. They’re waging a battle against the raiders even as we speak. Thorne is gravely wounded and is in danger of dying if we don’t get him help. Can you walk?”
“Aye. My wound isn’t serious. What about you? There’s blood all over your face.”
“ ’Tis nothing. It’s Thorne I’m worried about.”
Thorolf spotted Thorne immediately. He was lying on the ground, surrounded by Ulm and those of his men who had survived the battle. Thorolf pushed his way through to his brother’s side. He dropped to one knee, wincing when he saw the enormous amount of blood pooled beneath Thorne’s body. Moments later, Rolo and the rest of the Vikings came crashing through the forest, their jubilant cries attesting to their victory.
Thorne was still conscious, though fading fast. He saw Thorolf bending over him and forced a grin, which quickly turned into a grimace of pain. “I’m glad we arrived in time,” he gasped from between gritted teeth. “Rolo and the others are—”
Rolo appeared at Thorolf’s side. “The surviving raiders have been driven away.”
“Hang on,” Thorolf said. “We’ll find a healer to treat you.”
“Fiona,” Thorne whispered with his remaining breath. Fiona was the only person with the knowledge to save him.
“Make a litter,” Thorolf ordered. “We’ll take my brother home.”
“Your homestead is gone,” Rolo reminded him. “Take him to my hall. Fiona and Bretta can tend him.”
Thorolf spit out an oath. “I like not the idea of entrusting my brother’s life to a witch and a murderess.”
“You have no choice,” Rolo said, annoyed. “Fiona is a healer. She has knowledge of herbs and medicines that can save Thorne’s life. And Bretta regrets her rash act. She never intended to kill Thorne.”
“Very well,” Thorolf allowed grudgingly.
“Cast aside your doubts. Your brother is welcome to Fiona. I’m inclined to concur with your estimation of her. She is a witch.”
A litter was made and the Vikings began the slow journey to Rolo’s hall. Thorne’s wound was packed and bound to prevent further bleeding, but he was so deathly pale few believed he would survive the journey.
Fiona knew the exact moment Thorne was struck down. She felt an excruciating pain pierce her back and cried out, falling to her knees and wailing in despair as she hugged her arms about her body and rocked to and fro.
Tyra saw her and came running to her aid. “Fiona, what happened? Are you ill?” She attempted to help Fiona to her feet.
Fiona brushed Tyra’s hands aside as she wove back and forth, her pain fierce and overwhelming. “Thorne. Something has happened to Thorne. Oh God, he’s dead.” She lifted her tear-stained face. “Nay, not dead, but close. Too close.”
“You don’t know that,” Tyra said. “Sit down. I’ll fetch you some ale. You’re so pale it frightens me.”
Fiona allowed Tyra to help her to her feet and settle her on a nearby bench. Then the slave hurried off to fetch ale.
“What did you see this time, witch?” Bretta asked with scathing disdain.
“There are many wounded,” Fiona said, ignoring Bretta’s sarcasm. She searched beneath the bench for her medicine chest, which she had carried with her from Thorne’s dragon ship, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it with ease. “Thorne will need a chamber to himself. I can treat the others in the hall.”
“What in Odin’s name are you talking about?” Bretta asked. “Old Matilda has always treated our wounded; you needn’t trouble yourself.”
“I will treat Thorne myself,” Fiona insisted.
Bretta frowned. “What makes you think Thorne is among the wounded?”
Fiona shuddered and closed her eyes. “I know.”
Bretta slowly backed away, her face tense with fear. Then she turned and ran.
* * *
The wounded arrived the next morning. Fiona was shaken but in control of herself when she ran out to greet them. She took one look at Thorne’s white face and knew there was no time to lose.
“A chamber has been prepared for Thorne,” she said, directing the litter bearers to an empty bedchamber. “Handle him gently.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him,” Thorolf said harshly. “Thorne has neither moved nor spoken since we began our journey back.”
“How could this have happened?” Fiona rounded on him. “Thorne is a magnificent fighter. He’s too canny to be struck down by his enemy.”
“No man is immortal,” Thorolf responded. “Thorne will die a warrior’s death, just as he would want it. Cut down in battle, a sword in one hand and a battleaxe in the other. ’Tis a valiant way to die.”
Fiona raised herself on her tiptoes and faced Thorolf squarely. “Do not speak as if Thorne is already dead. I will not allow him to die, do you hear me? See to your other wounded; I will take care of Thorne.” Whirling on her heel, she followed the litter-bearers into Thorne’s chamber.
Thorne made no sound as he was placed on the bed on his stomach. Fiona borrowed a knife and skillfully cut his blood-soaked clothing from his body. Tyra appeared with a basin of hot water and clean rags. Fiona rummaged in her medicine chest, found the packet of herbs she sought and sprinkled them in the water. She waited a few minutes for the
herbs to steep, then used the mixture to clean and disinfect Thorne’s wound.
“You’re not going to die, Viking,” she whispered in his ear as she washed away blood and grime. She shuddered in dismay when she pressed lightly on his torn flesh and saw pus seeping from the ugly wound.
Fiona worked feverishly, pressing out all the pus and using various herbs to disinfect and cleanse. Then she sprinkled the open wound with dill seeds to hasten the healing process. In a day or two, God willing, after all the infection was gone, she’d sew the torn edges of flesh together. Meanwhile, she covered it with a clean cloth slathered with marigold salve and prayed for Thorne’s recovery.
The following day produced little improvement in Thorne’s condition. He had lost a great deal of blood, and Fiona decided he needed something to replenish the loss. She sent Tyra out to find yarrow and brewed a tea known to revive the spirit. She fed Thorne small doses until he’d swallowed enough to satisfy her.
When fever raged through his body, she demanded that leaves and bark from the willow tree be brought to her so she could extract the juice and give it to Thorne to ease his fever and the aches accompanying it.
Two days later the dill seeds and marigold salve had worked their magic upon Thorne. Miraculously, the infection was gone and the wound was pink and clean. With meticulous care Fiona sewed together the gaping edges. Thorne would now have
another scar to add to his vast collection. But even though she had used all the skill and knowledge available to her, Thorne remained unconscious.
When Fiona had done all she could, she left Tyra to watch over Thorne and went to the hall to treat the other wounded. Most had already been tended by Matilda, an old crone with limited skills in healing who probably did more harm than good. Fiona did what she could to undo the harm Matilda had done, then returned to Thorne’s side, so exhausted that she fell asleep sitting on a bench beside his pallet.
Fiona awoke with a start when Thorolf entered the chamber. “I’m leaving with Rolo to attend the
althing
,” he told Fiona as he regarded Thorne’s still features with sadness.
“You should at least wait until Thorne awakens,” Fiona said with a hint of censure.
“ ’Tis unlikely he’ll awaken,” Thorolf said, “but I’ll return after the
althing
to give Thorne a proper sendoff to Valhalla. He was a dead man before we left the battlefield. You are but prolonging his journey to Valhalla with your witchcraft.” He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “Leave me alone with my brother. I wish to bid him good-bye in private.”
Fiona waited outside the door while Thorolf spoke in his own language to Thorne. He didn’t stay long. Moments later he departed without a word or a glance at Fiona.
A short time later Bretta entered the sickroom, wrinkling her nose in distaste at the sight of the
bloody bandages that Fiona had just changed.
“Will he live?” Fiona asked. “Thorolf doesn’t seem to think so. Even Rolo expects Thorne to die. My brother left with Thorolf to attend the
althing.
If not for you, I’d be marrying Thorne at the
althing.
Instead, Rolo must now find a new husband for me.”
Fiona opened her mouth to make a scathing reply but was distracted by Thorne’s moan. She hurried to his side, her brow furrowed with concern. The single moan had been the first sound to escape Thorne’s lips since he’d arrived.
“Can you hear me, Thorne? ’Tis time to wake up.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Bretta said as she moved regally toward the door.
Exhausted, worried, and angry at Bretta’s flippant manner, Fiona lost control of her temper.