by T S Florence
“I will be your guest up until the moment you hand me over to my horrible uncle for a wagon full of gold” Isla said, tears in her eyes, Ivar now seeing the betrayal that Isla thought. It’s necessary Isla, forgive me. Please, forgive me.
Isla
Isla fought and cried and fought some more, she beat on Ivar’s chest with her fists until her fists felt numb, she stomped her feet until they ached, but eventually, she was dragged out of the great hall red faced and tangled hair, to the great Viking celebration.
“You are behaving like a child” Ivar whispered to Isla, as they walked through the crowds, ignoring those who yelled his name and reached out to touch him.
“I’m behaving like your prisoner” Isla said, annoyed.
“What if I told you that you will not have to marry any man?” Ivar’s face looked vexed, as he studied her.
“What do you mean?” Isla said, her heart faltering.
“Maybe there is another way.” Ivar said.
“What possible other way is there?” Isla asked.
“I cannot tell you” Ivar said.
“Why can you not possibly tell me about my own future?” Isla asked.
“Because you are my prisoner, princess” Ivar smirked.
“I hate you” Isla said, though without conviction.
She had not had a relationship like this with a man before in her 20 years alive. Am I almost as fearful of Ivar not wanting me as I am of being given away to a man I do not know? Isla watched Ivar as he held out a seat for her at the long feasting tables. His rugged handsomeness, his passionate eyes, his strength. Is it possible he truly wants me? What does a man like Ivar want in a woman like me? Is it Ivar that my uncle wishes to marry him to?
Ivar’s men soon found him, and took seats with him at the tables, eating legs of meat and bowls of freshly roasted vegetables. Music played around them, children danced and women sang, men wrestled, and Ivar… Ivar did not take his eyes from Isla for more than a second. She felt him studying her, weighing her, as if trying to solve a riddle that only she could answer.
Magnus eventually seated himself next to Isla, his huge frame making her feel even smaller than she already did compared to the great Vikings.
“You seem to be more happy than on our travels” Magnus said to Isla.
“I am, truly” Isla said, noticing that her world suddenly did not feel so heavy as it had the past week.
“This is my wife, Elizabeth” Magnus said introducing a small dark haired woman who was sitting on the other side of Ivar. Isla attempted to put her hand out to introduce herself, only reaching half way across Magnus’ large belly, before Elizabeth crawled across him to shake her hand.
“Don’t get any ideas” Ivar said, smirking at Magnus and Isla shot him a look that prevented any more comments of such a nature.
Magnus laughed, brushing the comment aside, “please, Elizabeth keeps me already too tired, I couldn’t imagine another English woman giving me orders.” Magnus stood, and took Elizabeth in his arms, leading her to the tune of the singers. His feet were surprisingly light for such a large man, and his moves graceful. She saw love in their eyes, as the small dark haired Elizabeth looked up at his battle hardened face, softening to her touch.
Ragnar was wrestling with other men, and had not lost any of his three fights. Each opponent was getting bigger than the last, as he continued on, seemingly never slowing.
“Do you wrestle, too?” Isla looked at Ivar.
“I do not” Ivar said, causing Skald to chuckle to himself.
“What is funny?” Isla asked Skald.
“He used wrestle anybody who dared to go against him” Skald said.
“Enough” Ivar said to Skald, in an attempt to silence him.
“She knows what you are, leader, why do you try to hide this from her?” He asked.
“Hide what?” Isla asked.
“Tell her,” Skald said.
“I broke a man” Ivar said.
“What do you mean?” Isla asked.
“I was wrestling a man and when I dropped him to the floor, his legs stopped working. We do not know why. He was always broken after that. Soon after, he took his own life.” Ivar looked on at the men wrestling, there was no joy in his voice as he divulged this new information with Isla.
“But you’ve killed men before, why does this bother you?” Isla asked.
“I only kill out of necessity.” Ivar said.
“And you think Tomlin was a necessity?” Isla said.
“I believe the world is better without him alive” Ivar said.
“And so you stopped wrestling after that?” Isla asked.
“Yes.” Ivar said.
Ivar took a long drink of his ale, with a troubled look on his face, as if remembering the broken man. Isla was beginning to learn not to trust everything that rich men said in their halls, with bellies full of wine, telling stories Ivar the Cruel, killing children and taking unwilling women, if for nothing but the attention they received for spreading such stories. These words could not be said about a better man. Ivar was a goodness that the world needed. A leader that the country needed. A man that Isla broken heart needed.
After some time dancing, Elizabeth took Magnus’ spot next to Elizabeth.
“I had heard of you before Ivar took you from Prince Tomlin,” Elizabeth looked at Isla.
“Not too much of it bad, I hope,” Isla said, smiling self consciously.
“Quite the opposite, my lady, I heard only good things about you. People were always willing to talk of your generosity and kindness, a rare trait from people in your position, please excuse my presumptuousness,” Elizabeth said.
“You need not call me lady; Isla is fine. I’m just a prisoner now, my status has been stripped,” Isla said.
“If it’s all the same, my lady, I would prefer to call you by your title that is your birth right,” Elizabeth said, putting her hand on Isla’s.
“Would you come for a walk with me?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course,” Isla said, happy for the female companionship.
Isla looked at Ivar before she stood, his gaze intense, but his lips showing a slight smile. Isla liked that. She liked that he always had his eyes on her. She liked the feeling of being Ivar’s, even if it was just as his captive. His possessiveness and protective nature made her feel warm.
“You are beginning to trust Ivar, are you not?” Elizabeth asked.
“I am,” Isla said, they walked together arm in arm, through the festival. Watching children play and women talk and men drink ale and wrestle, and musicians sing and play strange instruments and people dance. It was a celebration like Isla had never seen before in her life, and it evoked joy.
“You can trust him,” Elizabeth said, pausing for a moment as if considering her next words carefully. “I know that they are not like Englishmen, they are a little more rough around the edges, and they are quicker to anger and to fight, they take life more readily, but they have good hearts all the same, Ivar and Magnus,” she said.
Isla found it interesting that she referred to the two men, as if stating that Ivar was Isla’s man, similarly to Magnus being Elizabeth’s man.
“And you clearly trust Magnus,” Isla said to Elizabeth.
“I do, with my life,” Elizabeth said. “If something were to happen to him, I do not know what I would do. I hated him in the beginning, I tried to kill him, but he waited for my pain to go away. He showed patience and kindness. As funny as it may seem, Magnus is one of the most kind, gentle people I have ever known, despite how he looks to strangers,” Elizabeth said, laughing.
“And what of Ivar?” Isla asked, curious.
“Ivar is a good man. He cannot show his kindness so readily, for men who want his position may mistake it for weakness, but his heart is true. It is unfortunate for Ivar to be in the position that he has, for Magnus has told me that what Ivar truly wants is a family to call his own. He has not had that before, besides his father, who was more of a le
ader than a father to him.” Elizabeth said.
This new information came as a surprise to Isla. She had not seen nor thought of Ivar in this way before, that his hard exterior may be merely an armour that he war, similar to that he wears to battle. His dominance that he exerts, similar to that of the great white bear fur that he uses, to let others know that what he is capable of should he be pushed to a point of exerting his power. She felt warm and protected, knowing that, at least until the time came to part ways, there was a man, still alive and on this earth, that would protect her.
Ivar
Men who doubt themselves are weak, and weak men die. But who else might die if I continue to doubt myself? Ivar lay on his bed, watching Isla try on the great white bear fur, from the great ice bear he killed. No other person had ever worn that bear fur besides Ivar. To try on another man’s kill, that he made to become a man, was a great insult to his manhood. But Ivar enjoyed watching Isla wearing the great white fur, her small body enveloped by it, making her look like a bear cub.
“It smells like old sweat” Isla said, sniffing, “you should wash it”.
“I would tell you to wash it if you were my wife” Ivar looked at her, smirking.
“And I would tell you to wash yourself, if I was your wife” Isla said back, pausing for a moment, “but we would never marry. I am promised to another man.” she continued, broaching the subject again.
“What if I told you that you would not have to marry another man?” Ivar said.
“But you still intend to trade with my uncle,” Isla said.
“I will meet with him, with you, yes” Ivar said.
“And I will be a part of a trade you make with him,” Isla said.
“Yes,” Ivar said.
“Just tell me what your plan is, Ivar Bjornson! I am tired of not knowing.” She said.
This was the first time Isla had used his father’s name in conversation. “You might not like the answer” Ivar said, wishing he could tell her the truth, but knowing it could ruin everything. Keep your plans to yourself, they have not failed you yet. But this time, the stakes were higher. Higher than Ivar would have liked.
“Well I can tell you that I certainly do not like to be kept in the dark,” She said, putting the bear fur down, and crawling into bed.
Ivar wrapped his massive arms around her, feeling her soft body mould to his. Her beauty still caused him to look twice, as if hardly believing that such a girl is willingly in his bed, lying with him. Her chest pushed up against his, causing him to harden at the contact.
Isla placed a hand on his cheek, smelling his skin. “Are you going to protect me from my uncle?” Isla asked.
“I need his gold,” Ivar responded, knowing that his answer was not a lie.
He watched her face drop, burying it in his chest, her breath against his skin causing a shock to travel down his spine. He felt bursts of emotion explode in his head from the contact, wanting to tell her Of course, Isla, I will protect you with my life, if not for love, but because I made a blood oath to your father.
9
Ivar
A scream came from erupted from down in the stables, startling Ivar, as he sat on the steps of the great hall, watching the sun rise. He jumped to his feet, running down to see the commotion. A young boy of only 7 or 8 years old was lying in the hay, clutching at his leg, with a startled horse standing at the other end of the stable. As Ivar got closer, he realized that it was Elizabeth’s boy, Magnus’ step son. The boy was not making any noise, putting on a brave face for the leader of the Vikings, Ivar.
“Wait here boy, I will get you some help.” Ivar turned, striding to the healer’s house.
“Come out, healer!” Ivar yelled into the small hut, to no answer. He pushed the door open. Empty.
“Where have the gods taken my damned healer” Ivar fumed, striding back out of the hut. Isla. Isla can heal.
Broken legs leave a man different in this world, he will never walk right or fight to his full potential. Broken men are weak men, and weak men die. I have seen this myself.
“Isla” Ivar walked into the great hall, calling her name.
Isla was still lying asleep as he walked into their room, her peaceful face animated by the flickering flames in the hearth.
“Isla” Ivar touched her face gently, rousing her from her sleep.
“It’s bright already? I have slept late” Isla said, opening her eyes.
“Do not worry about the time, I need your healing skills” Ivar said, with urgency. The boy’s bone had pierced the skin, which meant he might only have so long before blood loss caused his death.
“What happened?” Isla sat upright, concern on her face. These people are not her people, yet she cares for them like her own. She is a strong woman.
“A boy has broken his leg. It is Magnus’ son. I went to the healer’s hut but he was not there. You are the only healer here. You must help him,” Ivar said.
Isla jumped out of bed, still in her night dress. She pulled it off, standing naked before Ivar, to change into her clothes. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but stand there, rooted to his position, taking in her beauty. Her full breasts, topped with pink nipples seemed to invite him to fill his hands, his mouth with them. Her behind, so round and perfect, just the right size to be held by him, to fit in against his groin when they lay in bed. He wanted to drop to his knees before her, tasting between her legs, letting all her juice flow over his face.
She turned, seeing him watch her, “don’t just stand there”, she said, pulling a new dress over her head, “go and fetch me my healing herbs,” she rushed around the room, grabbing different things, that Ivar knew not what they were for.
Isla
I have never worked on such an injury. Sure, I have seen healers with great experience attempt to mend such injuries, but never myself.
“I will see what I can do” Isla fought to keep her hands steady as she worked through her back, looking for materials that would stem the bleeding once she had re-set the bone.
By this time, a crowd had gathered around the three of them, the mother silent, and Magnus, with tears streaming down his broad face.
“Please save my boy” Magnus said, observing the pool of blood beneath the boy. This boy was not Magnus’ by blood, but clearly he had taken him as his own. This great warrior, who struck fear in enemies was here crying for a boy he had taken in as his own. Isla looked up at Magnus, giving him a brave smile, not conveying the inner turmoil and anxiety that she felt. Magnus put a hand on her shoulder, with a teary smile.
“This is going to hurt a little” Isla said to the boy, who nodded with a pale, brave face.
Isla had two men hold the boy down, while she put her weight on the bone protruding from his skin, until it went back in, and she felt it click into place, where it should be. The boy screamed as it went back in, before his head fell back into the hay, the pain too much, causing him to lose consciousness. This was not necessarily bad, as Isla could now work on his leg without the bout jerking his body at the pain she caused when dealing with his leg.
“Pass me my herbs” Isla said Ivar, who was standing behind her.
She made a paste of that would stem the bleeding, before wrapping lengths of wood along his leg, tied tight with pieces of linen.
“The boy cannot walk on his leg until winter comes” Isla said, feeling dizzy from the excitement, wiping perspiration from her brow.
Isla withdrew black seeds from her bag. “These are seeds of the poppy, your boy can use them for the next week or so, they will take away his pain and allow him to sleep more easily,” she said, handing the bag to Elizabeth.
“Thank you,” Magnus boomed, picking Isla up into a bear hug that almost took the breath from her lungs. She had healed many people and animals before, but she had never received such gratitude, ever, from anyone. She began to cry herself, because of Magnus, but it was a laugh-cry, as they held each other. Elizabeth came around, and embraced Isla, too.
&nbs
p; “We owe you a great deal for what you’ve done,” Elizabeth said, her calm face showing Isla that she had faced many hardships in her life, and had learned to accept life’s difficulties with resilience. Isla was glad that Magnus had found such a strong woman for a wife.
The next night, Elizabeth and Magnus approached Isla in the great hall. “He is as healthy as he was before the break” they said with gratitude. “He is still in great pain, but the wound does not look infected and he is enjoying the sympathy from all of his friends.” Elizabeth smiled.
“I am just glad I could help” Isla felt relief, and pride in undertaking such a difficult task which she had never done before.
