Viking (13 page)

“You’re a vindictive bitch, Bretta. You care for no one but yourself, and when things don’t go according to your wishes, you use devious methods to get revenge. You have no conscience. You care not whether Thorne lives or dies.”

“Why should
you
care?” Bretta taunted. “Thorne made you his slave, then his whore. He cares not what happens to you. He was already becoming bored with you. Everyone knows ’tis your witchcraft that keeps him bound to you.”

Fiona’s face turned red with rage; veins bulged at her temples. She was so angry she was shaking. Suddenly the room began to spin, taking Fiona with it. Dizziness and nausea swirled around her as she made a slow spiral to the floor.

Bretta stared at Fiona’s prone form dispassionately.
Then she called Tyra to see to her mistress.

“Fiona needs rest,” Tyra declared, fanning Fiona’s face with her apron. “In a real bed. She’s exhausted herself trying to save Thorne’s life.”

“Take her to Rolo’s chamber,” Bretta said, staring at Fiona oddly. Her mind worked furiously as she considered various reasons for Fiona’s sudden weakness. If her suspicions proved correct, she had already thought of a way to use Fiona’s condition to her advantage. “I’ll send Matilda to tend her.”

“I will take care of my mistress,” Tyra said pugnaciously. She didn’t want that dirty old woman touching Fiona.

“Nay, Matilda is knowledgeable in these things. Stay with Fiona. I’ll send someone to carry her to Rolo’s chamber.”

Tyra was forced to leave the chamber while the old crone examined Fiona. Tyra knew Fiona wouldn’t allow the woman to touch her were she conscious, but Fiona was blissfully unaware of the brief but invasive examination performed by Matilda. When the old woman left, Tyra awakened Fiona by waving a burnt feather beneath her nose.

Bretta summoned Matilda to her chamber. When the old woman joined her, Bretta sent her an inquiring glance.

“She’s breeding,” Matilda said sagely.

“Are you certain?”

“Aye. Her womb is quickening with child.”

“You may go, Matilda,” Bretta said dismissively.

Once the old crone left, Bretta remained in her chamber, pondering. She wondered to whom the
babe belonged. Did Fiona even know? Bretta believed that since Fiona had been intimate with both Rolo and Thorne she couldn’t possibly know who had sired her child. Her lips parted in an ugly sneer. She’d just been given a valuable piece of information and she intended to use it wisely.

Fiona wrinkled her nose and turned her head away from the noxious scent of burnt feathers. “Wake up, Fiona,” Tyra urged anxiously.

Fiona’s eyelids fluttered. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

Fiona frowned when she realized she was in Rolo’s bed. She shuddered in revulsion. “What am I doing here?”

“Bretta had you carried to Rolo’s chamber. She ordered me away and sent Matilda to examine you.”

“Oh, God.” Fiona couldn’t suppress a groan when she thought of the old crone’s hands upon her body.

A short time later Bretta walked into the chamber, her skirts swishing around her ankles. “Leave us,” she ordered Tyra. “I wish to speak to Fiona in private.”

Tyra looked at Fiona, saw her slight nod, and reluctantly left the room.

“Do you know why you fainted?” Bretta asked harshly.

“I have a pretty fair idea,” Fiona said evenly.

“Whose child is it?”

Bretta’s brash question rendered Fiona speechless.

“You were whore to both Thorne and Rolo,”
Bretta claimed. “I know for a fact that Rolo bedded you regularly while you were here. The servants confirmed it and so has Rolo. I wonder how Thorne will take the news, should he live.”

Fiona jerked upright, then fell back against the pillow as her head spun dizzily.

“Stay in bed,” Bretta ordered imperiously. “Tyra can see to Thorne until you’re able to return to the sickroom.”

Fiona had no choice in the matter. She was too weak and exhausted to leave the bed. She lay back with a sigh and closed her eyes. After a good night’s sleep she’d be better able to cope with Bretta’s devious machinations. The woman was acting far too complacent to trust.

Thorne opened his eyes to the light of day. He was in too much pain to be in Valhalla, so he knew he still lived. His mouth was bone dry and tasted like sin. He saw Tyra dozing on a bench nearby and opened his mouth to ask for a mug of ale. All he could manage was a growl that sounded more animal than human. But it was enough to alert Tyra, who rushed to his side and held a mug to his lips while he drank thirstily.

“So, he lives after all,” Bretta said as she slipped inside the chamber and approached the bed. “I thought I heard a commotion in here. You may leave, Tyra. I can handle things now. After all,” she lied smoothly, “my expert care has brought Thorne from the brink of death.”

“But—” Tyra protested.

“Go,” Bretta ordered, pushing Tyra from the room.

Once Tyra left, Bretta approached Thorne with an ingratiating smile on her face. “Praise Odin you’ve awakened,” she said, smoothing a lock of hair from Thorne’s forehead. “I’ve been terribly worried.”

“You took care of me?” Thorne croaked. His mind was still fuzzy from his illness, otherwise he would have known Bretta possessed no healing skills.

“Aye,” Bretta said. “I was the only one who believed you would live. Thorolf had already planned your entrance into Valhalla. What can I get for you, Thorne? I want to make amends for all the grief I’ve caused you. Can you ever forgive me?”

Thorne frowned. He couldn’t think straight, nor could he believe Bretta had nursed him during his darkest hours. Where was Fiona? Had she refused to use her skills on him? He wished his memory was not so vague.

“Fiona,” he finally managed to gasp out.

Bretta’s smile became brittle. “Fiona is ill.”

“Ill? How … ? Why … ?”

“She’s expecting Rolo’s child,” Bretta said in a gloating voice.

Thorne thought he’d heard wrong. Had Bretta said that Fiona carried Rolo’s child? “Nay …” His eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep.

“Oh, aye, Thorne the Relentless,” Bretta said with slow relish. “I know you. You are too proud to accept another man’s child. What will you do now,
my arrogant Viking?” Her laughter drifted over the sleeping man like a noxious cloud.

Fiona rushed into Thorne’s chamber minutes after Bretta’s departure. Tyra had informed her that Thorne had awakened, and she pushed her exhausted body out of bed to see for herself. Unfortunately, he had fallen back to sleep by the time she’d arrived. But Fiona wasn’t about to leave his side this time. While she waited for him to awaken again, she fetched hot water and washed and shaved him. When she finished, she sank down on the bench to rest. Thorne opened his eyes a short time later, his gaze finding her immediately.

“What are you doing here?” he gasped in a voice rusty with disuse.

His accusatory tone startled her. “You’re welcome,” she said sweetly. “If not for my healing skills, you’d be feasting in your Valhalla now.”

Thorne looked thoroughly confused. “Bretta said you were too ill to care for me. She led me to believe that her skills saved my life.”

“You’re addled if you believed her,” Fiona scoffed. “Does Bretta look like a healer? She didn’t even come into the sickroom to inquire about your health until yesterday.”

The truth of Fiona’s words hit him forcefully. He had indeed been addled to think that Bretta possessed healing skills. That he lived now was due entirely to Fiona and her vast knowledge of healing. What else had Bretta lied about?

“Do you think you could eat something?” Fiona asked, her gaze roaming over his gaunt frame. “I’ve
been spooning liquids down your throat, but little food has passed your lips.”

“I could eat a horse,” Thorne said, meaning it.

“We’ll start with broth and bread and see how well you keep that down.” She turned to leave.

“Fiona, wait.”

She turned back expectantly. “Aye?”

He searched her face, noting her paleness and pinched features. “Bretta said you were ill.”

Fiona flushed and looked away. “ ’Tis naught.” She intended to tell him about the babe, but not until he was in full control of his senses.

Thorne’s gaze slid down her body, lingering on her flat stomach. “Are you carrying a babe?”

Fiona went still. What had Bretta told him? No one but Bretta could have known such a thing. Her chin tilted defiantly. “Aye.”

“Am I right in assuming the child belongs to Rolo?”

Fiona sucked in a startled gasp. Bretta had already spread her poison, she reflected bitterly. How could Thorne believe Bretta’s lies? Thorne didn’t deserve an answer and she wasn’t about to give him one. Perhaps if she ignored him, he’d realize how foolishly he was behaving.

“I’ll return shortly with your broth,” she said curtly.

“Aren’t you going to answer my question? Whose child are you carrying?”

“Yours.”

“She lies!” Bretta entered the chamber in time to hear Fiona’s answer to Thorne’s question. “Fiona
was Rolo’s whore. The child belongs to my brother. Rolo told me himself that he bedded Fiona, and he wouldn’t lie to me.”

Thorne closed his eyes to escape the pain of Bretta’s words. He was fair-minded enough to realize that Fiona had had no choice in the matter, but still it hurt. She’d been given to Rolo against her will to serve him in bed. What really hurt were Fiona’s lies. Why did she continue to deny she’d been Rolo’s leman? Despite the knowledge that she’d taken Rolo inside her body, he still wanted her. Neither pride, nor disgust, nor anger had changed his need for her. He’d been truly bewitched. It was going to take magic even stronger than Fiona’s to break the spell she’d woven around his heart.

“Bretta’s lies are dipped in poison,” Fiona charged. “Believe her if you want, Viking, I no longer care. Just grant me one boon. Take me home to bear my child.”

“I’m in no condition to take you anywhere,” Thorne said sourly. “I know you saved my life. For that I thank you.”

Fiona shrugged. “ ’Tis what I do best.”

Thorne searched her face, recognizing her exhaustion and feeling guilt for being the cause of it. “Let someone else get my food. Go to bed. You look ready to drop and I need to think. My mind’s been inactive too long.”

“Very well,” Fiona said, heaving a sigh. “Brann said it wouldn’t be easy, but I never realized how difficult it would actually be.”

“What is difficult?” Bretta demanded to know.

“Making Thorne realize he loves me,” Fiona said as she flounced from the chamber.

“ ’Tis witchcraft!” Bretta accused, drawing her skirts away as Fiona strode past her. “She has cast a love spell upon you.”

“Aye,” Thorne mumbled with weary resignation. “ ’Tis exactly what she has done.”

Chapter Thirteen

Thorne’s recovery began the day he awakened from his stupor. Each day was an improvement over the last. Fiona continued to treat his injury despite his sullen and uncommunicative mood. Fiona knew Thorne’s dark temperment was due to his belief that she had lied about sharing Rolo’s bed. Unfortunately, her refusal to discuss it with him hadn’t improved his disposition. She’d already said all she was going to say on the subject. The stubborn man was going to have to work it out for himself.

Meanwhile, Fiona wallowed in misery. The father of her child was acting like a jealous fool, and his former betrothed was trying to undermine her at every turn. Not a day went by without Bretta reminding Thorne that Fiona had been Rolo’s mistress and claiming that Fiona couldn’t possibly
know which man had sired her child. Complicating matters was the morning sickness plaguing Fiona. Her stomach simply refused to accept food.

Fiona was surprised one morning when she went into Thorne’s chamber to change his bandage and found him standing beside the bed, testing his legs.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” she admonished.

Thorne sent her a fulminating look. “I’m not a weakling. It won’t be long before I’ll be practicing with battleaxe and sword.”

“Men,” Fiona said, exasperated. “Do they think of naught but fighting?”

“We think of other things,” Thorne said, sending her a guarded look. “You should be well acquainted with men’s needs and desires by now.”

“Aye,” Fiona agreed evenly, “you taught me well, Viking.”

His gaze lingered on her lips, then lowered to settle on her flat stomach. “How fares the babe?”

“Do you care?”

“He could be mine, you know.”

“Aye, he certainly could be yours,” Fiona agreed cheerfully.

“You look pale. Are you eating well? Is Bretta plaguing you? You’re much too thin for a woman breeding a babe.”

Fiona stifled a smile. Thorne could pretend all he wanted. He
did
care about her. He was just too obstinate to admit it and too pig-headed to believe that Rolo hadn’t bedded her.

“I’m well, except for nearly constant nausea. As
for Bretta, I try not to let her upset me.”

“Unfortunately, we’re stuck here for a while. I won’t be able to attempt a long sea voyage yet, and with winter coming on ’twould be unwise to begin one. We’ve nowhere to go right now. Thorolf will probably rebuild the homestead, but he won’t have you in his hall.”

“Are you certain we cannot travel before winter? I want to have my babe at home.”

“ ’Twould be difficult to find men willing to undertake a long voyage this time of year,” Thorne informed her. “We could be blown off course. Any manner of things could go awry.” His mouth flattened. “Perhaps you should ask Rolo if he wants to risk his child’s life on an ocean voyage.”

Fiona paled. Thorne’s words were like a blow to the gut. She clasped her hand over her mouth and ran from the chamber. She just made it through the hall and into the lavatory, where she spewed out her breakfast. When she turned to leave, she found Thorne standing behind her, offering her a cup of water. She took it gratefully and rinsed out her mouth several times.

“How long will this continue?” Thorne demanded to know.

“Not long,” Fiona said. “ ’Twill pass eventually.” She tried to move past him but he planted himself solidly in front of her.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere you’re not.”

“Come back to my chamber.” He seemed to stagger a bit, and Fiona realized he wasn’t as strong as
he would like everyone to believe. “I want to speak to you.”

“You’ve already said more than I wish to hear, but I will help you back to your chamber. You’ve been active enough for your first day out of bed. Lean on me.”

Thorne stifled a grin. “You can’t begin to hold my weight upon your shoulders. I can make it on my own.”

To demonstrate his returning strength, he grasped her arm and literally dragged her into his chamber.

“I may as well change your bandage and remove the stitches while I’m here,” Fiona said crisply. “Take off your tunic.”

Thorne stripped off his tunic. He wore nothing underneath, neither a cloth wound around his loins nor braies. And he was magnificent. Her gaze slid the length of his body, still powerful despite his injury and lack of exercise. His waist was narrow for such a big man, and his muscular thighs and calves bulged with corded tendons. Her eyes settled on his fully distended manhood and her gaze flew upward.

“What did you expect when you look at me like that?” Thorne asked when he noted her flaming cheeks.

“How is it possible? Just days ago you lay near death.”

“I have amazing recuperative powers. Either that or your magic has empowered me.” He reached for her.

Fiona backed away. “Nay. You’re not well enough. Your back—”

“I don’t make love with my back. I want you, Fiona. Nothing has changed. Not the fact that Rolo may be the father of your child nor the knowledge that you lied to me about sharing Rolo’s bed. I had you first; nothing will change that.”

“I don’t want
you,
Viking,” Fiona insisted. “I have never lied in my life. Turn around so I can get to your wound.”

Thorne spit out a curse and presented his back. He didn’t flinch once while Fiona meticulously removed the stitches and covered the wound with a clean bandage.

“You can put on your tunic now,” she ordered crisply.

He spun about and reached for her. Fiona neatly slipped from his grasp. “You are my wife,” he reminded her. “ ’Twas you who insisted we were still wed according to Christian law.”

“Why would you still want me when you believe I’m carrying another man’s child?”

Thorne’s expression grew fierce, as if he was displeased with his answer. “ ’Tis insanity. I can’t help myself. Wanting you is akin to breathing, I can’t seem to do without either.”

Fiona exhaled sharply. The Viking never ceased to amaze her. With one breath he all but admitted his love for her, and with another he accused her of lying. She’d been infinitely patient with him, but if he didn’t change his ways soon, she was going to
challenge Fate and try to forget that Thorne the Relentless was her soul mate.

“I have duties,” Fiona said, ducking out the door before he could make another grab for her. “I’ll accept your apology when you come to your senses.”

“For what do I need to apologize?” Thorne called after her.

“For being your usual intractable self,” she returned as she closed the door behind her.

Thorne pulled on his tunic and sank down onto his bed. He had used the last of his reserves but hadn’t wanted to admit it to Fiona. It was difficult to acknowledge weakness when he’d been a strong man all his life. He smiled to himself. Somehow he would have dredged up the energy to bed Fiona had she allowed it. Odin’s balls, but she was beautiful, Thorne thought. The shadows beneath her eyes and hollows in her cheeks enhanced rather than detracted from her fragile beauty. Her violet eyes would haunt him into eternity. Everything about Fiona was pure enchantment.

Thorne wondered how she would look with her belly round with child. Doubtless her cheeks would fill out as well and her face would glow with the special beauty granted to expectant mothers. That thought gave him pause. Would the child look like Rolo? he wondered. If Fiona would but admit she had been Rolo’s mistress, he could forgive her. And should the babe look like Rolo or Bretta, he could always give it to Rolo to raise.

He almost laughed aloud at such a ludicrous idea. Fiona would never give up any child of hers
no matter who the father. He pictured Fiona holding the babe to her breast and was shocked at the jolt of longing he felt. Then the image faded, replaced by a vision of Rolo suckling at Fiona’s ample breast, making her cry out in ecstasy. Rage festered within him and there was nothing he could do to ease it. He still wanted Fiona. Witch. Enchantress. Rolo’s leman. It mattered not. Fiona was his. The old wizard Brann had told him so.

Fiona wanted him to love her.

Could he? Did he have the ability to love a woman who might or might not carry another man’s child? He truly didn’t know. But he would have no problem bedding the bewitching wench.

Thorne continued to gain strength. He saw little of Fiona except when they met in passing, or when she came to his chamber to change his bandage. One morning he was still abed when Bretta slipped into his chamber.

“Are you awake, Thorne?”

“Aye.”

“We really haven’t had a chance to talk in private since you’ve regained much of your strength. That witch is always about, listening to every word we say.”

“I didn’t know we had anything to discuss,” Thorne said. “I’m grateful to you and Rolo for the roof over my head, but I can’t forget that you once tried to kill me and almost succeeded.”

Bretta fell on her knees beside the bed. “I was out of my mind with jealousy. I wanted
you
for a husband,
not Thorolf. Then you brought that witch home and cast me aside. I swear I never wanted you dead.”

“You fed me poison,” Thorne said harshly.

“I know nothing of drugs. It was a mistake. I had no idea so small a dosage could kill a man. You insulted me as a woman when you gave me to Thorolf. I merely wanted to punish you, to make you sick, but never to kill you. You’re a strong man, Thorne, I never expected you to be so ill. Can you ever forgive me?”

Thorne sighed wearily. “Forget it, Bretta. I’m alive. You have generously offered your hospitality, and for that reason I forgive you, but I will never trust you again.”

“I swear I would do nothing to harm you ever again,” Bretta said heatedly. “Can we not return to where we were before Fiona? I want to be your wife, Thorne.”

“I already have a wife.”

Bretta gave a snort of laughter. “ ’Tis not like you to take another man’s leavings. Will you feel the same when you see Fiona swollen with Rolo’s child?”

“The babe could be mine.”

“True,” Bretta agreed, “but I doubt it. Fiona didn’t quicken with child until after Rolo finished with her. Did you ever wonder why Rolo gave her up so easily?”

“Rolo didn’t want to fight me,” Thorne guessed.

“Rolo not want to fight?” Bretta hooted in derision. “Rolo never turns down a good battle. Nay,
Thorne, Rolo tired of Fiona. The servants said he bedded her whenever the urge came upon him, night or day. Rolo’s previous whores told me he is not a gentle lover. But none heard Fiona complain. Fiona liked Rolo’s roughness, that’s why she didn’t protest when he bedded her. If you do not believe me, ask the servants. Rolo hinted that Fiona tried to practice black magic on him. I believe he wanted to be rid of her because he feared her spells.”

“What did Fiona do?” Thorne questioned. “Did she bewitch him? Enchant him?”

Bretta shrugged. “Rolo did not say. Sell her to a slave trader now, Thorne, before bad things happen again. Your father is dead and your homestead destroyed, all because of Fiona. She brings naught but disaster and death.”

Bretta’s words made too much sense. Almost everything she said was the truth, or close to it. “I cannot sell the woman who may be carrying my child.”

“You will never know for sure,” Bretta said with sly innuendo. “You don’t need Fiona.” She leaned down, touching his mouth with hers, running the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips in a teasing manner.

Thorne went still as she slid her body atop his. He didn’t want Bretta but he was willing to find out if she could arouse him to the same fever pitch he attained with Fiona. When Bretta’s tongue demanded entrance, his lips parted to accept her offering. His hands began to roam her body, mutely comparing it with Fiona’s gentle curves.

Bretta was a tall, raw-boned woman, full-busted and generously endowed. She was a robust blonde beauty, the kind of woman every Viking warrior admired. She would bear children with ease and be willing to fight at his side should the need arise. But she was not a raven-haired, violet-eyed witch named Fiona.

Bretta reached down between their bodies to grasp his staff. Thorne moaned as he thickened and filled her hand. He might not want Bretta but he was a man. A man who hadn’t had a woman in a very long time. His body reacted without volition, and Bretta was smart enough to take advantage of his forced arousal.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispered into his ear. “Let me do it for you.” She lifted the hem of her tunic and pressed herself against his loins.

Thorne felt the heat and wetness of her but could summon none of the excitement or enthusiasm he experienced with Fiona. It was as if Fiona had bound him to her with a magic thread of enchantment, one that would endure forever.

“Help me raise your tunic,” Bretta panted into his ear. “I want to present you with my virginity.”

Before Thorne could reply that he didn’t want her virginity, didn’t want her at all, he saw Fiona standing in the doorway, her eyes round and despairing.

Thorne bellowed a curse as he lifted Bretta off of him, but it was too late. Fiona had already fled. “Don’t ever try that again,” he roared as he shoved Bretta away. “I don’t want you.”

“Why would you prefer my brother’s whore to me?” Bretta screeched, venting her spleen. “You wanted me, I felt you stir against me. I held you in my hand. I know what it means when a man swells and hardens.”

Thorne leaped from the bed, forgetting his wound until he felt something pull and tear. He ignored the pain as he took off after Fiona. The hall was empty save for servants. He spied Tyra and asked if she’d seen Fiona.

“Nay. I was in the storeroom. Has something happened to her?”

Thorne didn’t bother to answer as he rushed out into the brisk September air. He found Fiona leaning against an animal pen, vomiting into the grass. He fetched her some water from the well, remaining watchful as she rinsed out her mouth and spat. When his arms came around her to steady her, she slapped them away.

“Don’t touch me! Let me go!” She sounded almost frantic. “I can’t remain in the same house with your mistress.” She began to shiver, and not just from the cold.

“You’re cold. Come inside.”