Viking (8 page)

“There is no time now,” he said, releasing her with marked reluctance. “We must return to the homestead before Father sends out a search party for us.”

“What will you tell him?” Fiona asked as she returned to the cottage for her tunic.

Thorne followed her inside. “The truth. That I have no idea what possessed me to wed you. ’Twas rash and irresponsible. I can only surmise that your magic spell drove me to madness.” He shook his head. “ ’Twas madness.”

She donned her tunic and turned to face him. “Nevertheless, I
am
your wife. Properly wedded and bedded.”

“Aye. ’Twould seem so.”

“Then remove this chain from my neck. I am no longer your captive. As your wife I have certain rights.”

“I will think on it,” Thorne said evasively.

Fiona stiffened. She was determined not to be presented as Thorne’s wife wearing the offensive chain. “Take it off now, lord Viking.”

One blond brow shot upward. “Or what, wife? What will you do? Place another spell upon me? I doubt one more spell will make my life more difficult than it is now.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Fiona chided. “You will remove the chain because it is the right thing to do. Do all Vikings place chains of ownership around their wives’ necks?”

“Viking wives would not allow it.”

“Nor will I. Remove it, Viking.”

Fiona held her breath. She had no idea whether Thorne would do as she asked. She prayed that he would, for it would mean he was beginning to realize he could fight neither Fate, God’s will, nor Brann’s prophesy.

Thorne remained perfectly still, poised on the horns of a dilemma. To do as Fiona asked would be the same as admitting that he had wed her with the full knowledge and intention of treating her as a wife instead of a captive. Supreme folly or not, he had wed her. He couldn’t explain why he had
sought the services of a priest. Had he done it to please her or simply because he wanted her willing and hot beneath him? As hot as he was for her. The fear of her black magic had driven him to do something he’d never consider were he in his right mind. Loki take him, ’twas pure madness!

Fiona recoiled in panic when Thorne placed his hands around her slim neck. Had she gone too far? She closed her eyes and waited for his fingers to tighten, for him to squeeze the breath from her throat. Her eyes flew open when he grasped the fragile chain in his huge hands and snapped it apart as if the links were made of braided grass.

“ ’Tis done,” he said, sending her a look of wounded outrage as he stomped away. She found him waiting for her beside his horse when she was ready to leave.

Fiona didn’t dare let him know how pleased she was with him. Perhaps being the wife of this fierce Viking wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

The household was in a turmoil when Fiona and Thorne arrived. Olaf had already organized a search party and was giving instructions when they rode up. He took one look at his son, saw Fiona with him and flew into a rage.

“Loki take you, Thorne! Where have you been all night? We thought you had been taken by the enemy. Eric the Red has been raiding our lands and we feared you had fallen into his hands.” His eyes narrowed upon Fiona. “Was the witch with you? Your betrothed is beside herself with worry.”

Thorne dismounted, then lifted Fiona to the ground. “Send the men away, Father. I would speak privately with you, Thorolf and Rolo.”

“Go,” Olaf ordered, scattering his clan with a single word.

Fiona melted away with them.

They walked a short distance from the house and stopped beneath a shady tree. Olaf turned bright blue eyes on his son. “What is it you wish to tell us that the others can’t hear?”

Thorne began to pace. His agitation was evidenced by the bunching of the muscles in his neck and shoulders. “In a moment of madness I did something I will probably live to regret.” He lifted his massive shoulders and faced his father squarely. “ ’Tis done,” he said with finality. “Last night I sought out a foreign priest and wed Fiona.”

Olaf’s roar of outrage shook the tree beneath which they stood. “Tell me I did not hear you right! Tell me you are but jesting! Tell me anything but what I fear I heard. You wed the witch? ’Tis madness! Her spell is more powerful than I suspected. I swear I will free you, Thorne. I will slay her with my own sword.”

“Nay, let me slay her,” Thorolf declared, drawing his weapon. “Where is she?”

Thorne’s startling revelation had rendered Rolo mute. When he finally regained his wits, he began to smile. “Hold, Thorolf,” he said, restraining the fiery young Viking’s enthusiasm with a hand on his arm. “Did Thorne not say he was wed by a Christian priest? We are not Christians. The marriage means
less than naught to us. There is no need to destroy a ripe beauty like Fiona. I will take her as my mistress. When I tire of her I will sell her to a slaver. You need never see her again. But I strongly suggest we do not mention Thorne’s indiscretion to Bretta.”

“Take her!” Olaf roared. “And good riddance.”

“Nay! No one touches Fiona. She’s mine. I will keep her until she no longer pleases me.”

“Madness,” Olaf repeated grimly. “You know not what you do, son. The woman has bewitched you. Were you in your right mind, you would have slain her long ago.”

“Perhaps I am bewitched, and perhaps there is another explanation. Until I learn the answer myself, Fiona remains my wife.”

“What about Bretta?” Olaf demanded to know.

“Wed her to Thorolf.”

Rolo frowned. “Bretta is set on wedding Olaf’s heir, not a second son.”

“Have you considered the consequences of your rash act?” Olaf asked Thorne. “Your own kinsmen fear the woman. Are you prepared to protect her from your own kind?”

“Do I need to protect her from you, Father? Or from you, Thorolf? Will Fiona be safe when I am not around to protect her?”

“I do not like this, Thorne,” Olaf said sourly. “I do not know if Thorolf is willing to wed Bretta.”

“Or if Bretta will wed Thorolf,” Rolo ventured.

“You will change your mind about Fiona when you come to your senses,” Thorolf said with conviction.

“Perhaps,” Thorne muttered. “I am sure of nothing anymore, except that Fiona is mine and will remain mine until I decide otherwise.”

“Then I will wed Bretta,” Thorolf said. “If she will have me, of course.”

“If it makes a difference to Bretta, Thorolf can inherit in my place,” Thorne said, surprising everyone, even himself.

“Nay, you are my heir,” Olaf argued. “Thorolf will have his share, but you are my firstborn. Speak to Bretta, Rolo. I will understand if she refuses.”

“The match is a good one whether ’tis Thorne or Thorolf whom Bretta weds,” Rolo declared. “Our lands march together and can easily be defended against invaders. I will speak to Bretta. She will obey me.”

“I will never reconcile myself to this outrageous marriage, Thorne,” Olaf said. “Tell your whore to keep away from me. I refuse to acknowledge her as your wife, or to honor your Christian marriage.”

The stark planes of Thorne’s face turned grim. “We will remove ourselves from your hall after I have built a new home for myself and Fiona.” With heavy heart he strode away. It was the first time in his memory that he and his father had exchanged angry words or disagreed so vehemently.

“He’s mad,” Thorolf said as he stared at Thorne’s departing back.

“Or bewitched,” Olaf contended.

“Or neither,” Rolo intoned dryly. “I will go now and speak with Bretta.”

“What in Odin’s name did Rolo mean?” Thorolf
asked after Rolo had departed. “If Thorne is neither mad nor bewitched, what else could he be?”

Olaf did not reply. He sent Thorolf a fierce scowl and strode away.

Fiona watched Thorne stalk through the hall. His steps were hard and angry. She wondered what words had passed between Thorne and his father and decided she didn’t want to know. They couldn’t have been pleasant, knowing how Thorne’s family and friends felt about her. A moment later Rolo entered the hall. He gave her a hard stare, then went to join his sister. Fiona watched in trepidation as Rolo and Bretta spoke in hushed tones, then left the hall together. Fiona had no idea what the future held for her and Thorne and wondered if Thorne would give in to family pressure and divorce her. She wouldn’t blame him if he did. He had arranged their marriage on the spur of the moment without a thought to the possible repercussions.

“What is this all about?” Bretta asked as she followed Rolo from the hall.

“Not yet,” Rolo said as he led her to a place where they couldn’t be overheard.

“Something has happened,” Bretta said, digging in her heels. “If this concerns me, I demand to know now.”

Rolo ground to a halt and swung around to confront his sister. There was no easy way to tell her what had taken place, so he decided not to mince words.

“Thorne and Fiona were wed last eve. By a Christian priest.”

Bretta let out a loud screech. “Nay! I will not have it! He cannot do that to me!”

“ ’Tis done. He proposes that you wed Thorolf. I want this alliance, Bretta. Elder or younger, it matters not.”

“It matters to me! Thorne stands to inherit the lands and title from his father. Thorolf is a second son.”

“Olaf says he will provide handsomely for Thorolf. Your own dowry is substantial; you won’t go begging.”

“ ’Tis not the same. Nor is it enough. I want Thorne. Fiona has bewitched him; he isn’t in his right mind. He wouldn’t have wed her if she hadn’t cast a spell upon him.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Nevertheless, Thorne stubbornly refuses to divorce Fiona, or to send her away.”

“They were married by a Christian priest,” Bretta said with a hint of malice. “Their marriage is not valid in our country. Is Olaf willing to accept Fiona as Thorne’s wife?”

“Nay, Olaf likes it not. But Thorne is a grown man and does as he pleases.”

“I will wait for Thorne to regain his senses,” Bretta declared.

“You will take Thorolf,” Rolo advised with quiet emphasis. “Consider my words carefully, Bretta. Thorne is fearless. A berserker. He always places himself in the thick of battle. Men die in battle. Men
die at sea. Thorne will not be happy on dry land for long. He’ll soon go a-Viking again and may not return.

“Thorolf is a farmer at heart. He is brave but has not Thorne’s fighting soul.” He paused dramatically. “Many things can happen. Thorne could sicken and die. Men do, you know. Should something
unforeseen
happen to Thorne, Thorolf stands to inherit everything. Then you will be mistress here.”

Bretta’s eyes narrowed as she considered Rolo’s words and all they implied. “I begin to understand, brother. Our minds indeed work the same. ’Tis no secret you want Fiona. Without Thorne’s protection she would have no place in this household. Olaf would gladly give her to you.”

Rolo gave her a devious smile. “You were ever quick to grasp my meaning. Shall I inform Olaf that you will wed Thorolf?”

“Aye. I will wed Thorolf at the end of summer. Who knows what the future will bring? Should Thorne meet with an unfortunate accident, Thorolf will become Olaf’s heir.”

Chapter Eight

“ ’Tis done, then?” Brann asked as Fiona joined him in the hall. His keen, penetrating gaze seemed to pierce through her. “Did your husband take your maidenhead?”

Embarrassed, Fiona lowered her gaze. “Aye. ’Tis done.”

“Did he hurt you? Was he brutal?”

“Nay, he did not. He was quite gentle, considering.”

“Does Bretta know?”

“Rolo is telling his sister even as we speak,” Fiona said. “I saw them leave the hall together. I cannot believe Bretta will like this.”

“If Thorne refuses to divorce you, she will make trouble. Beware, child.” He saw Thorne approaching and moved away before Fiona could stop him.

Thorne spotted her and swerved in her direction. “Gossip already is circulating about our marriage,” he said. He held out his hand to her. “Come, you will sit beside me at the table and share my meal.”

Fiona shrank away from him. “Is that wise? Let your kin grow accustomed to our marriage before I sit down to a meal with them.”

Suddenly Brann was beside them. “Join your husband, Fiona,” he advised. “The Viking will protect you.”

Thorne turned his fierce regard on Brann. “Are you pleased, wizard? I could not help myself. My wits were dulled and my judgment impaired by a pair of sorcerers. Fiona is my wife now, and despite my Father’s wishes, I find I cannot set her aside. I hope you are satisfied.”

Brann gave Thorne a complacent smile. “Aye, lord Viking, ’tis most satisfying. If you’d but look into your heart, you’d be surprised to learn ’twas not my doing, nor was it Fiona’s. Man fulfills what God wills.”

“Pah!” Thorne scoffed. “I do not believe in your Christian God. As for my heart, ’tis hardened against witches. You may cast your spells upon my mind, but my heart remains my own.”

“Stubbornness is not a virtue, lord Viking. Listen to me and listen well. Danger exists. I cannot tell yet whether ’tis directed at you or Fiona.”

“You speak in riddles, old man. Explain yourself.”

“Would that I could. I sense danger, but neither its source nor to whom ’tis directed.”

“You see naught, charlatan,” Thorne bit out. He
grasped Fiona’s arm. “Come away from the madman.”

He drew Fiona toward the long table set up in the hall and found a place for them on the bench. Immediately those on either side of them left and found other seats.

“They do not like me,” Fiona said.

“Can you blame them? They see what your black magic has done to me and fear you will turn your evil eye upon them.”

“I have done nothing to you, my lord. Your blame is misplaced. I have no special powers.”

“Do not your countrymen call you Fiona the Learned?”

“Aye, but—”

“Do you not have special powers that enable you to perceive things yet to happen?”

“Sometimes, but—”

“Then you are a witch.”

“I am a healer.”

While Thorne and Fiona bickered back and forth, Olaf walked into the hall, saw Thorne sitting beside Fiona and marched up to them. His fists were clenched in anger, his stance belligerent.

“What is
she
doing at my table? You insult your family and Bretta by parading your whore before us. Send her away to eat with the dogs.”

Fiona felt her temper rising but held it under strict control. She wanted to see how Thorne would react to his father’s harsh words.

Thorne turned and faced Olaf squarely. “First of all, Father, Fiona is my wife.” Thorne’s bold confirmation
of the gossip circulating in the hall brought a collective gasp from those assembled at the table. “She will remain my wife until it no longer pleases me to keep her. Second, Bretta is now Thorolf’s betrothed. What I do should not matter to her. Third, you will never call Fiona a whore again.”

Olaf turned red with rage. Never had his son spoken to him with such disrespect. He directed his animosity at Fiona. It was his belief that she had stolen his son’s mind. “Heed me well, witch. Bring harm to my son and you will rue the day you were born.”

Fiona swallowed convulsively. Olaf’s threats were not made lightly, nor did she take them lightly. As long as Thorne kept her as his wife, she would have an enemy. Suddenly Fiona sensed another potential enemy. She shifted her gaze to Bretta, who was glaring at her with such hatred that Fiona could not suppress a shudder. Fiona knew exactly where she stood with Thorne’s father, but Bretta’s hidden threat was far more dangerous.

“I mean no harm to Thorne,” she insisted.

Olaf turned away without uttering another word. She glanced at Bretta and saw her exchange a secret communication with her brother. Fiona tasted little of what she ate after that and tried to ignore the buzz of conversation around her. She wasn’t successful.

After the meal Fiona rose to help the women clear the table and put the food away. Tyra sidled up beside her. “I’m happy for you, Fiona. Thorne is a wonderful lover. He’ll make you happy if his father
and Bretta let him. Did you truly bewitch him?”

Fiona was momentarily taken aback. She’d suspected Thorne had bedded Tyra, but hearing it put into words unsettled her. She wondered how many other slaves and servants he had bedded. Would he continue to bed them? That thought made her physically ill.

“These Vikings will believe what they will, Tyra, no matter how often I deny being a witch. I can heal their illnesses and treat their wounds, but I have not the power to cast spells. Thorne wed me simply because he wanted to bed me, and I told him he’d either have to wed me or rape me if he wanted me. I’m surprised he chose to wed me.”

“ ’Tis said he sought a Christian priest to please you,” Tyra reminded her. “I think he cares for you.” She sighed dreamily. “You are fortunate, Fiona. Now that Thorne has cast me aside, I will become fair game for anyone who wants to bed me. I am a thrall and not allowed to say them nay.”

“Is there naught you can do?” Fiona asked, feeling sympathy for the slave. “No one you can turn to for help?”

“No one but you. Ulm has been eyeing me with desire. I fear him. He is not a gentle man. I have known no man but Thorne. Oh, do not think he loved me, never that. But he is not a rough lover and I did not mind so much.”

“I will do what I can for you,” Fiona promised, though she knew she held little sway over her husband. “Is there a man you favor among these Vikings?”

Fiona glanced across the hall at Thorne. He must have sensed her eyes upon him for he looked up, meeting her gaze with the burning intensity of his. She looked away. “Besides Thorne,” she added quickly. “Give me his name and I will speak to my husband.”

Tyra blushed. “The young Viking called Aren seems kinder than the others. He is Thorne’s cousin. I think he is smitten with me. He would never approach me while Thorne still wanted me, but I’ve caught him watching me of late. I would not mind a man like Aren.”

“I will …” Her words trailed off when she saw Thorne heading her way. “We’ll speak of this later.”

“Come with me,” Thorne said without preliminary. He turned away without bothering to see if Fiona followed. He went directly to his chamber, waited for Fiona to enter, then closed the door.

“What is it? Has something happened?” Fiona asked worriedly.

“Take off your tunic,” Thorne said harshly.

Fiona’s violet eyes widened. “Now? You want to bed me now?”

“Are you refusing?” He sounded almost as if he wanted her to refuse.

“Nay.”

He bit back a ragged sound as desire rocked him. Then he grabbed her and literally ripped the coarse homespun from her body. Seconds later his own clothing lay in a pile on the floor.

“You have only yourself to blame for this,” he charged. “One minute I was speaking with my kinsmen
and the next I felt your gaze upon me. You beckoned me without uttering a single word. Yet I felt the summons, just as I did that long-ago day on Man. Your power is more potent than I feared.”

“I did nothing,” Fiona denied. “You have a vivid imagination. I was speaking with Tyra.”

He shrugged her words aside. “I know what I saw. What I felt. You wanted me, Fiona, and I am but granting your wish.” He took her down to the bed with him.

His kiss was not gentle as his mouth took hers and his tongue thrust past her teeth. His heat scorched her, his hard body was heavy with desire. She groaned into his mouth as heat coursed through her in heavy, liquid waves.

With a hoarse curse, he nudged the wet cleft of her womanhood with his shaft. Fiona dug her fingers into his back. And then his hard, straining length opened her, filled her. She arched upward, against the hardness of his chest, against the rigid line of his body. She cried out his name as he began to thrust and withdraw, taking her with him to that place where pleasure awaited.

She hovered on the edge of forever, spinning out of control as Thorne gripped her hips and thrust into her. Then she toppled into a dark void as bursts of light exploded inside her head and ecstasy filled her. Thorne joined her moments later, pouring himself inside her, his release hot, potent, violent.

The low, hoarse words he uttered were spoken in his own language, words she did not understand.

Much later Thorne stirred and raised himself up on his elbows so he could look into her face. His expression was fiercely condemning; his eyes held a note of puzzlement. “How did you do it? How did you manage to steal my mind and control my body? I shouldn’t want you like this. You used your magic to make me marry you, and I like it not.”

With a sigh, Fiona tried to control her temper. “I don’t recall forcing you to bed me in the middle of the day. Or to rip my tunic from my body.”

Thorne rose abruptly and started dressing. Fiona would have done the same but her tunic lay in shreds on the floor. “What am I supposed to wear?”

Thorne eyed the homespun with disdain. “Not that. You’ll wear something befitting your new station in life. I’ll send Tyra with an assortment of materials from the storeroom. She will help you fashion something appropriate for the wife of a future jarl.” He turned and strode from the chamber before Fiona could form a reply.

Fiona appeared in her newly fashioned tunic and undertunic for the evening meal. She had chosen a deep purple silk from the three bolts of cloth Thorne had sent for her use. She and Tyra had worked all day to finish the sleeveless tunic and the linen undertunic fashioned with long, tight sleeves that ended at her slender wrists. From somewhere Tyra had produced a belt of hammered silver and a brooch to match.

When she walked into the hall that evening, conversation came to an abrupt halt. With her dark
hair spilling down her back, Fiona was a vision of loveliness, far outshining the fair-haired Bretta. Thorne was struck speechless, but quickly recovered when he saw the way Rolo was looking at his wife. He realized immediately that he had made a grave error by allowing Fiona to dress in clothing that enhanced her beauty. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

The only way he could escape Fiona’s drugging spell was to withdraw from her both emotionally and physically.

If he allowed his lust to continue unabated, he feared he would fall deeper and deeper under her spell, becoming irretrievably lost. His soul would no longer be his own to claim. Even now, going a-Viking no longer held the same appeal or excitement it once had. He had lost his zest for everything except Fiona. His life was falling apart, and he had to take steps now to stop the downward spiral.

Fiona was alarmingly aware of the way Thorne was staring at her. Had she done something wrong? Was he angry with her? After he’d made love to her earlier he had seemed withdrawn and remote. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to believe that this man, of all the men in the world, was fated to be her mate for life. Sometimes she wondered if the stars hadn’t lied. Or if Brann had read them wrong. Turning Thorne into a man she could love was going to take longer than she’d thought. Maybe a lifetime.

After the lengthy meal of fish, fowl, mutton, cheese and bread, Fiona joined Brann while the Vikings
continued to drink copious amounts of ale and listened to the skald begin another saga of Viking adventure. She had barely settled down beside Brann when Thorne rose abruptly and strode in her direction. Fiona watched in wary silence as he stopped before her, his expression fierce. She couldn’t imagine what had triggered his temper this time.

“Tonight and every night hereafter, you will sleep in the hall,” Thorne said tersely. He gave her a hard stare, then rejoined the merrymaking.

Fiona was quick to note that Bretta sidled up to him the moment he returned to the table. Though Thorne appeared to pay her scant heed, Bretta continued to lavish attention upon him, ignoring Thorolf, who appeared to neither notice nor mind. When the men began drifting off toward their benches to bed down, Thorne headed to his chamber. Bretta remained seated for the better part of an hour before she followed Thorne. From her vantage point, Fiona saw Bretta bypass her own chamber and enter Thorne’s.

“Trust Thorne,” Brann advised when he saw the direction of Fiona’s gaze.

“I’m not sure I can,” Fiona replied. “He’s as stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery. One minute he’s acting as if he’s beginning to care for me, and the next he’s ordering me out of his chamber. He’s arrogant, possessive and jealous. He married me merely to satisfy his lust, then he accused me of bewitching him. I’ll not live long enough to turn him into the kind of man I can love.”

“Have faith, child,” Brann said complacently. “The Viking married you, didn’t he?”

“Aye,” Fiona admitted grudgingly. “But he doesn’t intend to honor his vows. I just saw Bretta enter his chamber.”

Brann stared at something unseen beyond Fiona’s shoulder and smiled. “ ’Tis but a test of your husband’s character. I have great confidence in his strength.”

“Aye, his strength is formidable,” Fiona agreed sourly. “I’m sure Bretta will appreciate his endurance and prowess in bed.”

Thorne paced his small chamber like a caged lion, already regretting his decision to banish Fiona from his bed. Despite having bedded her once today, his body wanted her again. Was there no respite for him? Would his torment never end?