by Fiona Faris
“Ye are so kind. On yer way.” He chuckled and waved her away with his hand, thinking on her words as she left.
He watched her dance with Iomhar for many minutes, observing their smiles, so great their cheeks must have ached. The way Kenna had described seeing Iomhar for the first time stuck with Gavin.
Havenae ye ever seen anyone who took yer breath away?
He had. As of that day. Yet he could not allow himself to be attracted to a captive. The warrior woman was to be a slave. What would people say if the heir to the Lairdship courted a slave?
He looked away from Kenna and Iomhar, replaying in his mind the way the warrior woman had fought on the beach and their own tussle. How he had brought them standing so close together - their swords and his helmet parting their faces. The way her blue-green eyes stared up at him, bewildered he was not harming her.
His memory shifted to another thought; her wit and vivacity as they walked up the hill. She had challenged him, proving his arguments against the Norse were perhaps a little ignorant. When she had blacked out, he had leapt to catch her – preventing her from falling with an arm around her waist.
He had carried her the rest of the way up the hill, surprised despite her muscle how light she was to hold. Her blonde braid trailed down from his arms, brushing his skin with a light caress. Her lack of consciousness had allowed his addled brain to admire her freely. He had carefully analyzed every curve of her face – her prominent features, the large eyes, and the full pink lips. There were scratches on her cheeks from the battle and a purple bruise across her neck.
Warrior woman. She could be a goddess born of Lugos, the brave warrior god.
He hoped Kenna was wrong, that one look could not bind you to someone forever. Little good could come from him being attached to the warrior woman.
Idunn woke to what she thought was a dungeon. The grey walls were damp, and there were small gated windows, so high in the wall that she would not be able to reach them if she could stand. As fast as she woke, she felt the depths of unconsciousness trying to claw her back, but not before she gathered something from her surroundings.
An old man was stood by her leg, bent over in the amber candlelight and attending to her wound. She could smell egg. The whites of an egg had often been used by her own people to help bandage wounds, and she assumed the Scots did the same – she was aware of something brushing the gash on her leg, perhaps it was a bandage.
Then her eyes closed again, and she was drawn back into sleep, yet her mind stayed active, pulling her into wild imaginings.
She was fighting again on the beach, wading through the wet sand and the green depths of the sea. Signý was by her side this time, as she should have been. Together they were unstoppable, undefeatable. They played off against each other, taking down every opponent they faced.
Idunn heard the flap of wings and tilted her gaze up to the sky – she could not see beyond the nose guard of the helmet, so she removed it, tossing it into the waves. Blinking through the patter of gentle rain, she sought the source of the flapping wings. It was a bird, and it cawed loudly, screeching so close to her head that she covered her ears to prevent it from harming her. She saw a flash of black feathers and whipped her head around to follow it.
It was the raven. He had followed her all the way from Oslo to the shores of Scotland. It sat upon the helmet of a dead Norse warrior, cawing at her, tormenting her. She backed away from the sight, further into the sea.
More Highlanders approached to fight, dragging her gaze away from the bird, but Signý was no longer by her side – she had vanished. Idunn fought with all the might she could muster, but her eyes kept going back to the raven on the beach, cawing at her, shrieking for her attention.
One by one, she took down the Highlanders. Beyond them, she saw the outline of someone she knew well.
Einarr…
She tried to call his name, but no sound came. He turned to face her, wading through the shallows towards her. She reached out to touch him, and he took her hand, but the skin was cold, almost icy to the touch.
Einarr would not smile at her. He turned his gaze back out to sea, where one of the ships waited for him. He released her hand and walked into the water, heading for the boat.
She tried to call after him, but her lips would not move. For some reason, her legs would not follow him either. She fought with her body, then tumbled down into the depths, opening her eyes to see nothing but waves of the green ocean above her head.
A hand thrust into the depths; it was Einarr’s hand. She clasped it tightly, waiting for him to pull her free of the sea’s clutch, but when her head broke the surface, it was not Einarr.
It was a Highlander. The one with the green eyes that matched the depths of the Scottish ocean. She jumped away from his grasp, trying to get as far from him as possible, but he merely watched her move with raised eyebrows and a smirk curling his lips.
“Laoch?”
The word broke through her haze. He was speaking to her in the dream.
“Laoch?”
No, not in the dream.
She opened her eyes, blinking away the throes of sleep. The Highlander was staring down at her with those green eyes. They disappeared. She was lost to darkness again, as quickly as she had escaped it.
“Laoch!?” The voice was harsher this time, urging her to wake. She forced her eyelids open, wincing at the pain.
There was someone else staring down at her now, someone she did not know. They had auburn hair too. It was slightly darker, longer than the handsome Highlander. This person’s eyes were neither so inviting nor so warm. They were the color of almonds and were narrowed on her with such a coldness that fear coiled in her stomach. She grasped at the bed and tried to scramble away.
Chapter Eight
“All is well, laoch.” A familiar voice urged Idunn to be calm. When a hand touched her arm, she recoiled away from that too, clambering back on the straw bed as far as she could until her head collided with the stone wall. She winced at the sudden pain and cowered against the stone, lifting her head to see her surroundings now she was properly awake.
Beside her was the handsome Highlander. He was the one who had touched her arm. He now had both hands raised in a surrendering gesture, to show he would not touch her again.
“Ye are safe.” He was still trying to calm her.
Idunn was breathing heavily through her nose. She lowered her gaze from the Highlander that had haunted her dream to her leg. The leather trousers had been cut, just a small circle, revealing bare skin around her wound. In its place was a thick bandage.
“Safe? That is a debatable term.” An unknown voice forced her to look behind the Highlander. It was the man whose eyes had frightened her, the one with darker auburn hair and hazel eyes. The two men had to be related from their likeness, although the other did not bear the other’s good looks. The stranger’s sharp features were not so pleasant, though he was not exactly ugly in appearance.
“How is yer leg?” The handsome Highlander ignored the stranger and kept his eyes on her, gesturing down to her bandaged wound.
She merely nodded in reply, trying to ignore the pain in her thigh as she cast her eyes around the room to see what else she had missed. The old man who had tended her wound was stood by a table at the side of the room. There was a variety of glass bottles holding mystery medicines and herbs. He had to be a physician.
“I am glad to see ye are awake.” The physician looked towards her with a genuine smile. “Ye had delirium for a bit. Ye spoke in yer dreams.”
She wanted to ask what she had said but bit her lip, not wanting to create any familiarity with her captors.
“Ye are recoverin’ well, though.” The physician moved towards her with a small bottle in his hands. “Here, drink this. It will help ye.”
She warily took the bottle, concerned that her fingers were trembling as she held it.
“What is it?” she asked, unwilling to drink.
“Warm mead,”
he nodded with a smile, “It will help to revive ye.”
Her favourite drink, she gulped it thirstily, only to gag in response. She had to force herself to swallow as she lowered the bottle. They had added a lot more spices than she was used to tasting.
“Aye, I will have some food delivered to ye too.” The physician took the bottle and turned his head to the other two men. “She is out of the woods now. Tomorrow, ye can question her.”
“Good, it has been long enough.” The stranger appeared angry, throwing a look of disdain at the physician.
She looked away from his sharp eyes back to the handsome Highlander who was also watching her.
“What is yer name?” he asked, almost whispering the words.
“Idunn.” She had considered giving a false name but realized it would serve little purpose. Her prospects of ever returning home were minuscule; therefore, it did no harm to reveal her identity. “What is yours?”
“Gavin.” The Highlander allowed himself a small smile. It lit up his handsome features. Idunn reprimanded herself the moment she acknowledged it. The man was her captor, her jailor. She should not be admiring him.
“Well, isnae this civilized? Hmm?” The stranger behind him scoffed again with angry eyes. “She is awake, talkin’. Why can we nae ask her our questions now?”
The physician bristled where he stood.
“I understand ye intend to harm her while ye talk to her?”
“Aye, it is necessary, that is all, and?”
“I dislike yer methods.” The physician dropped one of the bottles onto the table with a loud thud. At the mention of harm, she watched Gavin. He had turned his eyes from her and scratched his jaw, apparently uncomfortable. “But, as ye insist. Ye need to allow her strength if she is to survive yer torture.”
“I dinnae ask for yer opinion,” the stranger reprimanded the physician, “If she talks, she willnae be harmed.”
Idunn looked away from them and buried back into the blankets, pretending to sleep. They were going to force her to make a choice, reveal her kin’s secrets, or suffer. At least their torture would solve one of her problems; she would stop thinking of Gavin as the handsome Highlander if he harmed her.
Gavin’s feet moved of their own accord as they wandered through the castle down towards the dungeons. At his side, Tadhg was talking happily, excited with the prospect of garnering more information from the Viking woman.
The thought of torturing Idunn turned Gavin’s stomach – no matter how many times he reprimanded himself for it, there was a part of him that did not want to harm her. He admired her too much for that. A warrior woman who could fight as well as she did not deserve to be tortured like an animal.
Tadhg had no such worries.
“I am nae sure about this, Tadhg,” Gavin murmured, as they descended the last of the spiral staircases.
“Daenae concern yerself. We will find out what we need.”
“That is nae what concerns me,” Gavin whispered so quietly that his brother could not hear him. They approached the door to the cell where Idunn was being held, but Gavin blocked the door with his arm before they entered.
“All well, brother?” Tadhg asked with surprise.
“I willnae have a dead Vikin’ warrior. Ye understand?”
“Aye.”
“Nay, brother. Listen to me.” Gavin stepped forward, keen for Tadhg to understand. “I want her to be treated as I would hope the Vikin’s would treat our men if they were captured.”
Tadhg looked discomforted by this but nodded eventually.
“As ye wish.”
Gavin stepped away from the door, allowing Tadhg to enter first. They found the physician by Idunn’s side, dressing her wound with fresh honey and egg whites before applying a new bandage. She did not even raise her eyes to look as they entered. She kept her blue eyes on the healer.
“Time to talk,” Tadhg’s voice broke the anxious silence and moved to her side, placing a hand under her arm to urge her to stand. She pushed him away instantly, with surprising force – Tadhg stumbled on his feet, turning back with wide eyes of surprise. Gavin covered his temptation to laugh by coughing.
“Nei. I will walk.” She stood relatively easily by herself. After a moment’s glare between her and Tadhg, he walked out of the room.
“Follow me.”
She did as she was ordered, followed him out of the cell with a limp in her step, still struggling a little with her recovery. Gavin trailed at the back, his eyes admiring her figure in what remained of the cattle-hide armour and tight trousers as she walked.
They were not going far, only two doors down to a room that held torture instruments. As they came to a stop, waiting by the door to unlock the chamber, Idunn turned her eyes to Gavin. He lifted his gaze away, fearful of being caught staring at her.
As they walked inside, the damp walls of the cellar room cast the air with a coldness. A smell hung in the space as well, foul with mold. Idunn limped forward, her struggling gait only serving to constrict Gavin’s chest - unhappy with the situation. Part of him wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her away from what was about to happen. Yet, he had no choice. As the son of the Laird, he had a duty to discover what the warrior woman knew for the safety of his own clan.
Idunn fell still in the middle of the room, her blue eyes darting between the instruments.
“Have ye seen these things before?” Tadhg walked before her, gesturing to the horrible devices. The sight of them made Gavin feel sick – he coughed again, hoping to remove the gagging sensation from his throat.
“Nei,” she said firmly, raising her chin a little higher. Gavin moved to her side, watching her closely. She was stubborn in her refusal to appear weak, despite the blatant pain she was coping with.
“Well, this here is the rack,” Tadhg continued, pointing to a wooden board with metal cranks that pulled on ropes, “Would ye like to ken what it does?”
“It is plain to see. I do not need an explanation.” Idunn shifted her weight to her good leg, propping the injured one up slightly.
“How about the thumbscrew?”
“The indication is in its title, I believe.”
“How about this one?” Tadhg moved to a wall where many instruments hung. Amongst the various whips, he gestured to a flay – a bound handle bearing multiple strips of leather. Idunn did not reply. She tilted her head to the side, examining it with a furrowed brow. Tadhg lifted the flay from the wall and walked towards her, holding it aloft to see closer.
Gavin looked away and ran a hand over his mouth, unable to watch. The thought of Idunn being whipped by such an item made him nauseous. His mind was cursed by notions of seeing her back torn and bloodied by the instrument.
“Would ye like to see what it does?” Tadhg was goading her.
“Do what you will,” she replied, her tone almost indifferent. Her voice surprised Gavin enough to look back at her. Her head was high, the chin tilted, and eyes wide; she would not be intimidated.
Tadhg looked at Gavin and gave the smallest of shrugs, betraying his surprise. The two brothers had seen enough people crack under the mere threat of torture. Gavin had hoped the threat would be enough.
“We will move on then,” Tadhg turned away and returned the flay to the wall.
Idunn struggled to balance on her one good leg, and it urged Gavin forward. Before she could object, he had taken hold of her by the waist and lifted her from the floor. She looked up at him in surprise, her hands bundled in front of her as he walked her back. A couple of steps away, there was a table. He placed her on the surface, releasing her waist a second later.
Gavin walked back again, desperate to put distance between him and the woman. By touching her, he had lit a fire in his chest. His mind was running wild with thoughts of touching her in other ways, and could not permit himself to imagine such things. He rubbed his eyes as though he could scratch away her vision from his mind. He looked back a moment later to see Idunn’s eyes had followed him. She tu
rned as if being caught staring had burned her.
Tadhg had apparently not noticed the strange encounter. He collected a knife from the walls, tossed it between his hands, and walked towards Idunn, his face stern.
“Let us begin with an easy question,” he stopped in front of her, “Ye are a Norse Vikin’. Where exactly are ye from? Any village names ye can give us?”
Idunn did not reply. She merely returned his hard stare. The menace in her blue eyes matched the coldness in his.
“Tell me the name of yer leader.”
“Jarl.” Her word was firm.
“Jarl?” Tadhg repeated the word with a wince, as though it tasted strange on his tongue to pronounce such a name.
