Viking (5 page)

Thorne walked away to join his brother and father without a backward glance. It was as if he had already forgotten Fiona. But that was far from the truth. Thorne recalled everything that had taken place in the bathhouse. Never in all his years had he been so consumed with one woman, so intent upon taking everything she had to give. It had taken all the control he possessed to escape Fiona’s powerful spell.

He’d have her, aye, but on his own terms. When his obsession had dulled somewhat and he could take her objectively, without losing a part of himself in the taking. He was a strong man, capable of
standing firm against Fiona’s witchcraft. Making Fiona his thrall had been a wise decision, he decided. With Fiona in his control, her magical allure would soon lose its power and her spell would be broken.

Fiona learned a lot those first hours of her servitude. The thralls treated their master and his sons with deference. For the most part, the women slaves kept their heads lowered and their bearing humble, but that wasn’t to say that the more courageous of them didn’t eye Thorne and his brother with admiration and sexual speculation. Fiona was well aware that her arrogant Viking master was an impressive man, and vowed never to willingly place herself in a position where she would be alone with him. What had happened in the bathhouse had shown her that she had no willpower where the Viking was concerned. Not that she’d been given much choice.

Thorne was too experienced for her. She must consult with Brann at the first opportunity. If Thorne was her future, she must teach him to respect her, to treat her not as a possession but as a woman to be valued for herself. Then again, how could Thorne be her future if he was betrothed to Bretta?

From the corner of his eye Thorne watched Fiona move around the hall. Her movements were graceful and fluid despite the crude tunic she wore, and Thorne felt himself harden as he envisioned the perfection of the body beneath the coarse homespun.
He frowned when he saw Tyra prod and pinch Fiona to hurry her along. He could visualize the resulting bruises on her white skin and had to forcibly restrain himself from reprimanding Tyra. It wouldn’t do to show partiality to a thrall.

A moment later Bretta entered the hall, and by unspoken consent everyone took their places at the long table. Mutton and beef baked in hot ashes were set out on large platters, accompanied by boiled eggs, smoked fish and bread spread with fresh butter and honey.

Thorne watched as Fiona carried a large pitcher of ale to the table and began to fill the drinking horns. As she poured ale into Thorne’s horn, his hot gaze settled upon her and he saw her hand began to shake. He smiled, pleased that he could visibly affect her so.

Fearing Fiona would spill ale on him, he grasped her wrist and took the pitcher from her. “You’re exhausted, take your meal with Brann. The journey from Man has been long and arduous. We do not mistreat our slaves. You can resume your duties on the morrow.”

“Why must you coddle the woman, Thorne?” Bretta asked, glaring at Fiona. “She is but a slave and of no consequence.”

“Slaves are valuable. She is worth a fortune should I decide to sell her.”

Rolo learned across the table. “I want her, Thorne. Name your price.”

Thorolf heard and joined into the discussion.
“Sell her to Rolo, brother. Let him deal with her magic.”

“I do not believe in witchcraft,” Rolo scoffed. A lewd gleam darkened his eyes. “Besides,” he added crudely, “I could use a little magic in bed.”

His remark drew raucous laughter from those seated at the table, and more than a few coarse remarks.

“I am not yet ready to sell her,” Thorne said easily. “When I am, I will consider your offer.”

Still held captive in Thorne’s grip, Fiona had to force herself to look at Thorne. She hadn’t understood the exchange, but she could tell by the way everyone was looking at her that they were discussing her.

“What did he say?” Fiona demanded to know.

“I will tell you,” Bretta said, switching to Gaelic. “Rolo wants you, and Thorne promised to sell you to him.”

Fiona’s gaze swung to Thorne. Would he really sell her? Rolo was even more of a barbarian than Thorne. Her unspoken question remained unanswered as Thorne sent Bretta a fierce scowl and repeated his order for Fiona to take her meal and rest upon the bench. Fiona fled the moment he released her wrist.

“Why did you bring her here, Thorne?” Bretta asked. “There will be trouble, mark my words. By your own admission she is a witch. How long will it be before she works her dark magic on one of us?”

“Bretta speaks the truth, son,” Olaf agreed. “Why
do you insist upon keeping the witch? She can only bring trouble down upon us.”

“I will hear no more about Fiona!” Thorne roared, banging his fist on the table.”

“Very well,” Olaf said, sending his son a dark look. “Let us speak of your wedding. Name a date and I will send for an elder to perform the ceremony.”

The last thing Thorne wanted was to talk about his wedding. He could marry no one until he broke the spell Fiona had placed upon him. “I will think on it,” he hedged.

“Better make it soon,” Rolo urged. “I cannot stay here forever. My own homestead demands my attention.”

“The next meeting of the local
althing
takes place at the end of summer, before the first snowfall,” Olaf said. “All the elders will be present. ’Twould be a good time to wed.”

“I said I will think on it,” Thorne repeated, bringing an end to the conversation.

“Can you understand their language?” Fiona asked Brann as she listened intently to what was being said. She could tell by Bretta’s reaction to Thorne’s words that the Viking woman was not pleased by the way the conversation had gone.

“Aye,” Brann said. “I can make out some of their words. They argue about you.”

Fiona flushed and bent her head over her plate. “ ’Tis as I thought. Will Thorne sell me?”

“ ’Tis not clear,” Brann said, refusing to look at her. “There will be difficulties ahead, Fiona. You
must prepare yourself for them. Thorne does not want to sell you, but sometimes a man is forced to do something he has no heart for because there is no other option open to him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I. I but read the runes and consult with the stars. They have never failed me. Even when I do not understand them myself, what they tell me always comes to pass. The prophesy I gave you many years ago has not changed. The Viking is your future. I know not how or why, just that it is so.”

“I hate him!” Fiona said fiercely. “He tried to … He wanted to…” She hung her head, unable to continue.

“But he didn’t,” Brann reminded her.

Her face was ravaged by shame. Did Brann suspect the things that had transpired in the bathhouse? “Nay, but I wanted him to. What he did to me … I cannot explain, but it was wondrous, indeed. I wish I had a mother to advise me. Or a confessor. Aye, a confessor,” she repeated, “to shrive me of my sins.”

“Fiona, Fiona,” Brann crooned, patting her shoulder with a gnarled hand. “Do not despair. I cannot tell you what lies between, but I do know the ending, and it is a happy one. In his own good time the Viking will come to value you, aye, even to love you. But you must be patient. Teach him by example that you are a woman like no other. Now eat your supper and lie down on the bench. These past weeks have not been easy for you. And they
will grow more difficult before they get better,” he added cryptically.

Fiona couldn’t imagine an arrogant barbarian like the Viking loving any woman, let alone her. Could she learn to love him? she asked herself. He’d made her feel things she was sure were sinful. She had never pictured herself as a wanton, but she could find no other description for her behavior. Thorne had manipulated her body with an expertise that had left her needful and wanting. With her woman’s heart she knew there was more than what she’d been given in the bathhouse. There was pleasure, certainly, but there was also a meeting of souls, something she doubted Thorne would ever give her. God forgive her, she wanted everything.

Thorne finished his meal and lingered behind with his father, his brother and Rolo after Bretta retired to her small quarters and the karls and thralls stretched out to sleep on the benches and shelves in the hall. He had seen Fiona and Brann speaking in hushed tones earlier and then watched avidly as she lay down on the bench and fell asleep with Brann watching over her.

“You cannot take your eyes off Fiona,” Olaf charged. “I watched you during the meal and you had eyes for no one else.”

“Bretta is a jealous woman,” Rolo contended. “I do not envy you should you decide to keep Fiona. I’m inclined to believe you truly are bewitched. Perhaps you should listen to your father and kill Fiona.”

“Killing Fiona will not end her spell,” Thorne pointed out. “I must convince her to remove it of her own free will. I grow weary; sleep well,” he said, rising. Then he strode from the hall, averting his eyes from Fiona when he passed the bench where she lay sleeping.

Fiona awoke with a start. She had no idea what had awakened her. She listened to the various night sounds of men snoring and muttering in their sleep and decided nothing was amiss. The bench was uncomfortable and she was cold. The fire in the hearth had burned down to coals and she hadn’t been given a blanket. She looked for Brann and saw that he was sleeping soundly a short distance away, apparently oblivious to the cold. Suddenly a hand clamped over her mouth, frightening her out of her wits.

“Do not be afraid,” a voice whispered into her ear. “Come outside with me, I wish to speak with you.”

Fiona shook her head and tried to bite the hand stifling her cries. She recognized Rolo’s voice and wanted to go nowhere with him.

Rolo ignored her wishes as he scooped her up from the bench and carried her past the sleeping thralls and karls and out the door. He didn’t set her down or remove his hand from her mouth until they were safely away from the house.

“What do you want?” Fiona sputtered angrily. “You have no right to take me from my bed.”

“Why aren’t you in Thorne’s bed?”

“Why? Why would I be in his bed?”

“If you were my thrall you’d be in mine. I couldn’t sleep for thinking of you. You but lay across the room and I could hear the whisper of your gown across your limbs as you turned in your sleep. I knew I would not rest until I had you.”

He dragged her against him. She was like a toy in his massive arms, powerless against his immense strength. Fiona fought and lost. Black despair settled over her as he bore her to the ground. She prayed for deliverance but feared none would be forthcoming. She was alone in this foreign world of giants and barbarians.

Thorne couldn’t sleep. His mind kept straying to Fiona, asleep in the hall with the thralls and karls … and Rolo. He remembered that she hadn’t been given a cloak or robe to keep her warm and sought to remedy the lack. Throwing his own fur cloak over his nakedness, Thorne found a spare in his chest and left the small cubicle that served as his chamber. He made his way through the hall to where Fiona had been sleeping and was perplexed to find her missing. He shook Brann awake.

“Where is Fiona, old man?”

Brann glanced at the empty bench, then back to Thorne. Worry furrowed his wrinkled brow. “I do not know, Lord Viking.”

“I thought you were a wizard. Wizards know everything.” He grasped the front of Brann’s tunic in his huge hands, shaking him like a bundle of rags. “Where is she?”

Brann’s eyes clouded as he looked past Thorne
toward the door. “Go, Viking, she needs you. Quickly.”

Thorne stared at Brann, trying to make sense out of his words. A moment later his eyes kindled with understanding. He flung Brann away and hastened out the door. It was dark outside. He saw nothing at first. Then he noticed movement next to a building where tools were stored and swerved in that direction. Seconds later he broke into a run.

Fiona went limp in Rolo’s arms, pretending submission. Once he let his guard down she intended to kick him in the groin and escape. She gagged when he gave a triumphant cry and clamped his mouth over hers. His kiss sickened her. She prayed for the strength to do him permanent injury and drew her knee back to strike.

Thorne, in the guise of her savior, appeared out of nowhere. “What in Loki’s name is going on?”

Rolo released her so suddenly, she fell to the ground.

“You are a guest in my home, Rolo. One does not abuse the hospitality of one’s host. I thought I made it clear that Fiona was off limits to everyone but myself.”

Rolo shrugged. “I have no excuse, Thorne. I don’t know what came over me. I beg your pardon.”

Thorne appeared unappeased. Fiona picked herself up off the ground, backing away from Thorne’s fury, which for some reason seemed to be directed at her as well as Rolo.

His potent gaze rendered her immobile. His
words stunned her. “I should have known you’d try to bewitch the brother of my betrothed, Fiona. Are my father and brother next? How many men do you want panting after you?”

Chapter Five

The ability to speak left Fiona. Thorne’s accusation was so utterly ridiculous, her first inclination was to laugh. Then mirth was replaced by anger. Finally she found her tongue and decided to answer his ludicrous question with the kind of absurdity it deserved.

“What an interesting thought, Viking. I doubt I could have every man panting after me, but it would certainly test my powers to find out, wouldn’t it?” she said sweetly, deliberately aiming her gaze above his waist.

Thorne went still. Nothing moved but for a muscle that twitched along his jaw. That should have warned Fiona, but she was too angry to notice.

“If you value your life, I suggest you limit your magic spells to one man. Luring Rolo out here
wasn’t a good idea. You’re my property, Fiona. Until I release you from captivity, or you free me from your spell, do not set your sights upon another.”

“Your arrogance is disgusting,” Fiona said with considerable heat. “
If
I were able to work spells, I would change you and Rolo into toads. All Vikings are barbarians. Rolo carried me out here against my will. ’Twas only by the grace of God that I escaped his lecherous attack.”

Thorne swung around to confront Rolo. “Is that true? Did you take Fiona against her will?”

“Nay. Fiona lured me out here, just as she lured you to her island. I awoke from a sound sleep and felt her gaze upon me. ’Twas as if I had no will of my own. I heard her siren’s song and responded instinctively.”

“He lies!” Fiona spat.

“Leave us, Rolo,” Thorne said. “I will deal with my thrall.”

Rolo made a hasty retreat, happy to escape Thorne’s retribution.

“Come with me,” Thorne said, grasping Fiona’s wrist.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You can’t be trusted to sleep in the hall with the other thralls. You would soon have my warriors fighting among themselves for your favors.”

He dragged her into the house and through the hall to his bedchamber at the far end of the long building. Fiona hadn’t been to the family section of the house yet and was surprised to see several
doors, which she supposed led to separate bedchambers. Separate bedchambers were a luxury her own home on Man did not have. She and her father slept in tiny curtained alcoves off the hall and everyone else slept on benches or on the floor.

Thorne opened a door and pulled her inside the chamber. The windowless room was not large, but it was private and it did have a small hearth. A chest for clothing sat against one wall and a bed of furs rested on the bare floor. A tapestry hanging on one wall added a rich splash of color to the otherwise drab decor.

“You are fortunate to have a home with a bedchamber all your own,” Fiona said to allay her nervousness. Why had Thorne brought her here? What did he intend to do to her?

“Father is a rich man and I have amassed a considerable fortune of my own. Father built this house to his own specifications. There are four bedchambers, one for each family member. Bretta has the fourth, until we marry, of course. Then she will share mine.”

“Why am I here?” Fiona asked. “I wish to return to the hall. It will be time to rise and begin my duties soon.”

“Your duty is to obey your master,” Thorne said. “Father was right, you are proving to be more trouble than you’re worth. The only reason you’re alive is because your wizard convinced me that killing you would bring all manner of disaster to my family. But mark my words, Fiona, I will free myself
from your spell. Now lie down on the bed and go to sleep.”

Fiona glared at him. “I prefer to sleep in the hall.”

“Nay. I cannot trust you around men.”

“I won’t be your whore.”

“I did not ask it of you. I’ve already decided that bedding you is not a good idea. I would be playing right into your hands. You want to steal my soul, Fiona, and possibly my heart, which no woman shall ever own. Women bear children, keep a home, and often bring a rich dowry and land to a marriage, but a Viking’s heart belongs to the gods that rule his life. There is no place in Valhalla for a woman.”

“There is a place for everyone in Heaven,” Fiona pointed out.

“I am not a Christian, nor do I intend to become one. Lie down, I need to sleep. I’m going hunting at first light with Rolo and Thorolf.”

Fiona sat gingerly on the fur pallet, waiting to see what Thorne would do. She turned her head away from the daunting sight of his nudity, refusing to acknowledge it. He did not seem at all embarrassed as he stretched, yawned and lay down beside her. He pulled a fur blanket over them and turned away from her. Minutes later he was asleep, snoring softly. Inching away from the heat of his body, Fiona finally relaxed enough to embrace slumber.

Thorne awakened at first light with a painful erection. Fiona was flush up against his body. His arms were curled around her, one of his hands cupping a firm breast. The other hand rested on the
curve of her hip. He released her as if she were a flaming brand and scooted away from her. He cursed beneath his breath. Even in sleep she had the power to seduce him. He should send her back to the hall to sleep upon a hard bench with the other thralls, but he enjoyed waking up with her in his arms too much. Odin help him, her spell was getting stronger. Or was he becoming weaker?

He rose and dressed quickly, then shook Fiona awake. Fiona groaned and opened her eyes. “Get up. ’Tis time to begin the day. Tyra will tell you what to do.”

Fiona scrambled to her feet and made a hasty exit. The other thralls were already busy preparing the morning meal and setting out the tables, which had been taken up and stored after supper the night before. Tyra took her to a room built at a right angle to the house that served as a lavatory, and then showed her where she could wash her hands and face. When she returned she was put to work stirring oats while other thralls placed large pitchers of both fresh and sour milk and food on the tables. Rounding out the meal of cooked oats were smoked fish, hard-boiled eggs, bread, butter and honey.

Sleeping warriors and karls were awakening and moving to the table to eat. Soon Thorne and his father and brother arrived. Bretta was the last to be seated. She asked for soft-cooked eggs, toasted bread and buttermilk, and the thralls moved quickly to obey. Fiona bent to pour buttermilk into Bretta’s pewter mug. As she leaned toward Bretta, the Viking woman hissed a warning into her ear.

“I know where you spent the night. When I am Thorne’s wife you will not be so bold.”

“Speak to your betrothed,” Fiona returned. “I but obey his orders.”

“Did he please you in bed?” Bretta asked crudely. “A man his size must surely possess a mighty weapon.”

Fiona had readied a scathing retort, but then she saw Brann shaking his head in warning. So she swallowed her biting reply and hurried away. Did everyone in the hall either hate or fear her?

Suddenly Bretta spat out a mouthful of buttermilk, startling her table companions. “The witch is trying to poison me! The milk is tainted.”

Fiona heard Bretta’s cry of distress and whirled. She hadn’t understood what Bretta said but she knew it must be bad, for everyone in the hall was staring at her in fear and outrage. Some were even clutching their stomachs and turning green.

“What nonsense is this?” Thorne roared, glaring at Fiona. “Have you poisoned the milk, wench?”

“Is that what Bretta said? I refuse to answer so ridiculous a charge,” Fiona declared.

“You
will
answer,” Thorne returned. “Did you poison the milk?”

“Nay! Had I thought of it, I might have,” she added injudiciously. “Your betrothed has a fertile imagination, Lord Viking.”

“ ’Tis poisoned, I tell you,” Bretta insisted.

To settle the matter, Thorne seized the mug and drank the contents down without stopping. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and calmly returned
to his meal. Truth to tell, Thorne didn’t know if the milk was tainted or not, but he was willing to take the chance to stop the speculation about Fiona’s powers. He was convinced that she had the power to bewitch a man, but he didn’t believe she would use her powers to kill a man … or woman. When everyone saw that Thorne seemed to have no ill effects from the milk, talk resumed and the meal commenced.

Olaf was far from reassured. “Are you well, son?” he asked Thorne in a hushed voice.

“I am well, Father. I doubt that Fiona would harm a fellow human. She is a healer. She uses her powers for good.”

“Do you consider being bewitched a good thing?” Olaf argued. “Have you convinced Fiona to remove her spell?”

“Nay, Father. Fiona continues to insist that she placed no spell upon me. But the fact remains that I am no less captivated now than I was the first moment I set eyes on her. I have to believe that in time she will free me.”

Olaf muttered to himself but said nothing more. He’d wait to pass judgment.

Fiona went about her serving chores as if nothing had happened. But she knew in her heart that Bretta’s accusation had planted seeds of doubt in the minds of these barbarians. She was surprised at Thorne’s reaction, however. Was he finally ready to believe that she was not a witch? It was brave of him to drink the buttermilk if he still thought she had dark powers.

“Come sit with me a moment,” Brann said after everyone had been served.

Fiona followed him to the bench where his own meal awaited him. He had filled a plate for her and placed it in her hands when she settled down beside him.

“The Viking is coming around,” he said, nodding with satisfaction. “He alone believed you hadn’t poisoned the milk. ’Tis a beginning. The stars did not lie, child. When I met the Viking I feared I had read the signs wrong, but now I know I did not. Everything I predicted will come to pass.”

He stared at her intently, his eyes glowing. “Nevertheless, I fear for you, child. It will not be easy. Difficult times are ahead. Dark forces are at work. You must use your wits to survive. Danger lurks in unlikely places.”

“Are you referring to Thorne?”

“The only danger Thorne presents is to your heart.”

“Then who?”

“ ’Tis not yet clear to me. I can but tell you to beware of Bretta and her brother.”

“Will Thorne marry Bretta?”

“A match between them is not in the stars.”

Suddenly a scream brought everyone to their feet. Men reached for their weapons. Fiona spotted the problem immediately. Tyra had gotten too close to the hearth and set herself afire. She ran around in circles, trying to escape the flames licking at her skirts. Fiona acted instinctively. Her gaze lit on a cloak one of the men had left lying on the bench.
While everyone stood by helplessly, Fiona grasped the cloak, sprinted toward Tyra, threw her to the ground and smothered her in the cloak. Then she rolled her over and over on the floor until the flames were doused.

A moment later Thorne was beside her, helping to stomp out the remaining embers from Tyra’s clothing. Tyra was sobbing with pain when she was finally released from the cloak. A quick examination by Fiona showed that Tyra had suffered burns to both legs from ankle to knee. Though the burns were not severe, the skin was blistered and painful. Without a thought to her slave status, Fiona issued crisp orders to those milling about. She called for lard. No one moved until Thorne translated and nodded approval. Lard was quickly produced. Fiona mixed it with herbs she carried in a bag attached to her belt and applied the mixture to Tyra’s burns. Then she asked for strips of clean linen for wrappings, and Thorne repeated her request in his own language.

“There will be no scarring,” Fiona assured Tyra when she helped the thrall to sit up. “But you should stay off your feet for a few days.”

Tyra looked at Thorne for confirmation. “Aye,” he concurred. “Rest until you feel able to continue your duties, Tyra.” He summoned a male thrall to carry Tyra to a bench where she could rest.

“You saved my life,” Tyra said, touching Fiona’s hand in gratitude. “It feels better already. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll brew something to ease your pain and help
you rest,” Fiona said, embarrassed by Tyra’s gratitude.

Thorne stared at Fiona, stunned at the way she had taken control of the situation. If he had doubted Fiona’s healing skills before, he no longer did. Unfortunately the knowledge did nothing to allay his other doubts about Fiona’s powers. Bretta didn’t help matters any when she sidled up to him and whispered, “Fiona is a witch, I tell you. Her healing powers are tainted with black magic.”

“Nay, that is not true,” Brann said. He was standing nearby and heard what Bretta said. “A healer cannot be a witch. ’Tis the difference between good and evil. Think on it, Lord Viking,” Brann advised as he turned away.

“Why is that man here?” Bretta asked, turning on Thorne. “Have he and Fiona stolen your mind? Really, Thorne, weakness does not become you. I want them both gone before we marry.” Head held high, she walked away.

“Bretta is right,” Olaf said, nodding sagely. “She will be your wife; there should be harmony in your household. There can never be peace as long as Fiona is around. Everyone knows you took Fiona to your bed last eve. ’Twas a grave insult to Bretta. I do not blame her for being bitter. I want this marriage, Thorne; ’tis a good political move. Do not disappoint me.”

“I won’t disappoint you, Father,” Thorne said before he turned and strode away.

*       *       *

After the accident Tyra shyly offered Fiona her friendship, an offer Fiona readily accepted. When Tyra whispered that she forgave Fiona for bewitching Thorne, no amount of denial on Fiona’s part could convince Tyra that she wasn’t a witch and had no special powers. Everyone in the household knew that Thorne was obsessed with Fiona, and witchcraft was the only logical explanation.

One day Thorne entered the hall and searched for Fiona with his eyes. When he found her he beckoned for her to follow him to his chamber. His stern visage should have warned her that something was amiss. She blanched and wanted to flee when she saw him take a length of silver chain from his pouch.

“Come here.” His voice brooked no argument and she offered none. The Viking was her future and she must try to get along with him until she could convince him of her worth.