The Blue Viking

by Sandra Hill

  "What is it with you and Tykir and your insinuations that I must love Maire?"

  'Tykir told you that you are in love?" Her red eyebrows arched in astonishment. Then she smiled widely. "Well, that settles it then. You must be in love."

  "On, nay, that is not what I said… what he said… what it meant. Oh, Good Lord, where are you going now?"

  "Eadyth! Rain! Come quickly!" Alinor was shouting as she waddled down the corridor. "I just found out. Rurik is in love. We have a wedding to plan. Tell Cook to whip up a haggis. Tell the men to go shoot a boar. Tell Bolthor to prepare a nuptial saga. Tell that witch, Cailleach, to cast a spell on that bloody bedchamber door and make it melt away."

  Rurik pressed his forehead against the door and pleaded, "Maire, you have to come out. Things are getting really, really bad."

  It was midafternoon, and the pounding started again.

  Maire glanced up from the tapestry, which she'd been working at diligently all day, and wondered what outlandish idea Rurik would come up with this time to convince her that she should let him in.

  But it wasn't Rurik this time.

  "Maire, let us in, please. It's Alinor."

  "And Eadyth."

  "And Rain."

  Did she really want to be badgered by more people who thought they knew what was best for her? On the other hand, did she want to offend her guests?

  "Come in," she called out.

  The three ladies swept into her bedchamber with eyebrows rifted… no doubt because the door hadn't been locked.

  "I unlocked it this morning when I went to visit the garderobe and filch some food from the scullery."

  Alinor grinned. "You didn't inform Rurik of that fact?"

  "Of course not."

  "Ooooh! I think I am going to like her," Alinor told the other ladies. "She is going to be soooo good for Rurik."

  Eadyth and Rain nodded, also grinning.

  "I must tell you, right off, if you are here to plead Rurik's case, forget it."

  "Would we do that?" The three put palms to their chests to indicate their innocence. "The dolt does not deserve you," their spokesperson, Alinor, said.

  Well, that was correct. Rurik didn't deserve her, but she wasn't sure she liked Alinor stating that fact… or calling him a dolt. "I want naught to do with the man."

  "I can understand that," Eadyth said. "How could he be so insensitive?"

  "Or cruel?" Rain added.

  "Or thickheaded?" Alinor further added.

  The ladies circled behind her to examine her tapestry.

  "Oh, Maire, it is exquisite!" Rain declared and touched the cloth lovingly.

  "I wish I had such a skill with needles," Eadyth agreed on a sigh. "Alas, my talents lie more with bees… not so fine or feminine a talent."

  Maire started to protest because she had heard of the marvelous honey and mead Eadyth produced and sold, not to mention her unusual timekeeping candles, but before the words could leave her tongue, Rain was speaking. "I am a good doctor… there is no denying that… but so much of my life is involved with sadness and death. I have always wished I could create beauty." She inhaled and exhaled loudly with regret, then asked, "Is that you and Jamie and Rurik? What a lovely family you will make!"

  Maire was almost done with the tapestry, and it was true… there was no hiding the fact that the male figure was Rurik. She couldn't have done it any other way. But a family? Nay, that would never be. For some reason, she had felt a need to complete the work, though, like a rite she must perform to put an end to her fantasy. Thereafter, it would be a reminder to her of foolish woman notions that could never be.

  "You must come to Dragonstead sometime… in the spring or summer when it is loveliest… and make a tapestry for me of Tykir's beloved home," Alinor urged.

  "Oh, really, I cannot foresee any time when I—"

  "Alinor! Must you always think so fast? My brain cannot react so quickly. I would like Maire to do a tapestry of Eirik and me at Ravenshire with our entire family. Would that be too many figures for you, Maire?" Without waiting for Maire to answer, Eadyth tapped her chin pensively. "Mayhap she could go to Dragonstead in the springtime, then come to Ravenshire in the fall." She turned to Maire, who was dumbfounded by these requests. Did they not understand that once they left Scotland, she would have no connection with them, because Rurik would have no connection to her… other than through Jamie?

  Blessed Mary, she was getting a pain in the head. "Oh, I couldn't," Maire said. "I have too much work to do here at Beinne Breagha. And, besides, the tapestry is just idle work. I have more important things to engage in than such frivolity."

  "Frivolity!" the three ladies exclaimed as one.

  Rain patted her on the shoulder. "There is naught frivolous about creating beauty."

  "That's what Rurik said."

  "He did?" Alinor cocked her head as if pondering a great puzzle. "Perchance the dolt has promise, after all… deep down."

  "I have the perfect answer," Rain announced.

  Maire hadn't realized there was a question to be answered.

  "Rurik and Maire will want to winter together alone, here in the Highlands, after their wedding—"

  Maire gasped. "There is not going to be a wedding… leastways not betwixt me and Rurik."

  "—but come spring, they can take a wedding trip to the Northlands, and—"

  "There is not going to be a wedding."

  "—come summer, they will arrive at Ravenshire, still on the wedding journey, and then—"

  "There is not going to be a wedding."

  "—in the autumn, she will be in Jorvik to do my tapestry, before taking the tail end of her wedding trip back to Scotland."

  "There is not going to be a wedding."

  All three ladies clapped their hands together, as if they'd just settled Maire's fate. She couldn't allow that. Standing abruptly, she almost toppled her stool. Folding her arms over her chest, she asserted in as firm a voice as she could muster, "There is not going to be a wedding. I would not marry the loathsome lout now if he were the last man on earth. And that is final!"

  "Really?" Eadyth inquired. "Well, I can understand that. He is a loathsome lout."

  "But then, all men are loathsome louts at one time or another," Rain pointed out.

  " 'Tis true. 'Tis true," Alinor concurred. "I recall the time Tykir thought he could win me over with feathers."

  "Feathers?" Maire choked out.

  Alinor rolled her eyes. "Yea. In the bed furs."

  Maire almost swallowed her tongue at that mind picture.

  "Of course, that was after the lackwit kidnapped me and delivered me to the king of Norway, just because he thought I was a witch and had put a curse on the king's manpart, causing it to take a right turn." She grinned after delivering that long-winded description of one of her husband's doltish acts.

  Aye, Maire was going to swallow her tongue, for sure.

  Eadyth laughed in a way that implied she knew more of these stories and they were mirthsome, indeed. " 'Tis no worse than my Eirik. He would not bed me the first few weeks we were wed because he mistakenly thought I was an aged crone. Talk about doltish! Can you imagine that?"

  Maire could not.

  A wistful expression came over Rain's face, as if she were lost in memory. "I am not so old that I cannot recall the time Selik established an orphanage for me to win me back. The dolt! Did he ever ask if I wanted to adopt dozens of homeless children? Nay. He just blundered ahead."

  Maire narrowed her eyes, suddenly realizing that these three ladies… these three devious ladies… were attempting to manipulate her.

  "I am not going to marry Rurik," she asserted.

  "Absolutely not," the three ladies said. Meanwhile, each pulled out lengths of yarn and began to measure her shoulders and bodice and waist and hips and shanks and arms.

  "Wh-what are you doing?"

  Each glanced at the other, guilty as sin, and said, "Nothing." But she heard Alinor whisper to the others, "Same s
ize as me, except for a little more in the bodice."

  Then, they all gazed at her with complete innocence.

  "There is not going to be a wedding," she repeated again.

  Alinor waved a hand airily.

  They all sailed away then, leaving Maire with much to think on, after she locked the door behind them. Did she really hate Rurik? Did she consider his crimes unforgiveable? Hadn't she sinned against him, as well, by keeping Jamie's birth a secret for so long? Had Rurik forgiven her for that crime? Was she any less forgiving?

  She straightened with resignation. All these questions were wasted exercises because, after all, the man was betrothed to another woman.

  "I have a deal for you. Heh, heh, heh." Rurik had been sipping at the same cup of uisge-beatha for the past hour and was in no mood for more abuse from the old witch, Cailleach, but since she was the only one in the whole bloody keep willing to speak with him, he said, "What the hell!" Then he motioned for her to sit down on the bench opposite him at the table.

  The witch, who was looking especially old and haggard today—she must have been imbibing one of her own ghastly brews—waved aside his offer of a drink. Instead, she sank down on the bench and got right to the point.

  "I have cast the rune stones and come to the conclusion that you are no good for Maire."

  "Hah! You and every other person in creation! What else is new?"

  "Your sarcasm will gain you naught, boy." She studied him in the most disarming way, causing Rurik to shift uneasily. "If it's a new bairn taking seed that has ye worried, forget about that. Don' let another child be a reason fer stickin' aroun'."

  "Wh-what?"

  "The seed ye spilled inside Maire when makin' love in the loch… it did not take. Ye are free of that burden."

  So, Maire was not pregnant. He didn't even bother to ask how Cailleach would know such a thing and so soon. Lackwit that he was becoming, though, he accepted that the old witch had such talents. Rurik should have been relieved that Maire was not increasing, but, oddly, he was not.

  "Go away, Cailleach. I am not in the mood for your witchly games."

  "Are you in the mood for having the blue mark removed?"

  That got his attention. He sat up straighter. "Can you remove the mark?"

  "I can… if I want to."

  "And what would make you want to?" Rurik suspected that he was not going to like the answer.

  "A deal. You agree to leave Scotland, alone, and I will remove the blue mark."

  He'd been right. He didn't like the answer. "You dislike me that much?"

  "I do not dislike you at all. In truth, I rather like you. But you would not be a good man for Maire."

  Rurik was insulted. He wasn't so sure he would make a good mate, either, but it was not for an old hag to tell him so.

  "Oh, do not be gettin' yer bowels in an uproar," Cailleach advised. "Maire needs a stable person in her life. Someone who will stay put… be there for her and the boy, not only in a crisis, but for the everyday. Not a very exciting life, is it? Not like a-Viking, leastways."

  Rurik wasn't so sure about that. Adventuring did not hold the great appeal it once had. And he had enjoyed the everyday humdrum of living at Beinne Breagha the short time he'd been here. Would it wax dull after a while? But, nay, thinking back on Maire's tapestry and how he'd felt viewing the scene, he suspected that boredom would not be a problem.

  "And a man who is incapable of love… well, what kind of relationship would that be for Maire?"

  "Love, love, love! I am sick to my gizzard of folks telling me that I must be in love with Maire."

  Cailleach's grizzled gray eyebrows went up at his vehement response. "Who has been telling you that?"

  'Tykir… Alinor… Eirik… Selik… Jamie… everyone!"

  Cailleach smiled widely at him then, as if he'd given the right answer, and Rurik didn't even know what the question was.

  "Down to the bone here, laddie," Cailleach said then, reaching out to shake his hand in their potential agreement. "How much do ye hate the blue mark?"

  "Immensely."

  "Will ye be leaving Scotland… in return for removal of the blue mark?"

  He didn't even hesitate before pulling his hand from her bony grip. "Nay!"

  "Nay?"

  "Nay!" Rurik had no idea what his answer meant. He just knew that he was not trading Maire for a perfect face, and that was what Cailleach's offer meant. He didn't think he would actually stay at Beinne Breagha, but in the future he wanted no one to say he'd sold his integrity for the price of vanity.

  The witch rose from her seat then with a secretive smile, not as unhappy as Rurik would have expected. "I hope you know what this all means. You've just given yourself the key to unlock your dilemma."

  Huh? What key? What dilemma? He mulled over in his mind what the witch had been hinting at, and then he brightened with understanding. How could he have overlooked such a simple fact?

  He gazed at Cailleach, who nodded at him, and murmured as she walked out, "Not as dumb as I thought he was… fer a Viking, that is."

  In the end, Rurik decided to resolve the impasse in the way of all Viking men. By brute force.

  Maire had implied at one time that she'd like a knight in shining armor. Well, she was bloody well going to get one. The only difficulty was, the plated suit of armor he'd found in the castle guard room was not all that shiny; in fact, it was a mite rusty in spots.

  But, damn, he felt good for the first time in what seemed an eternity… though it had only been less than a day. As a soldier, he was accustomed to aggressive action, not sitting back waiting for something to happen. Furthermore, he did not much like the mewling, pleading creature he'd become.

  Yea, brute force was the best strategy. Actually, men throughout time had been resolving their dilemmas with women in much the same way. Hell, Adam had probably had to take Eve in hand a time or two also, before she got them kicked out of the Garden of Eden. Wasn't that just like a woman, by the by?

  Rurik was striding from the courtyard, through the great hall, with Stigand's battle-ax over his shoulder. Who knew the damn thing was so heavy! Best he be careful of slipping or he might very well be minus a limb.

  Hot springs of hell! but he was in a fine mood now that he'd resolved to settle this silly squabble with Maire. He didn't even mind that people were stopping right and left to gape at him as he clanked and creaked on his way.

  Jamie halted him in his path, however, looking weepy-eyed and little boyish.

  He hunkered down to the boy's level, almost whacking himself aside the head with the flat blade of the ax. Hunkering in a suit of armor was not very easy, he discovered, and he almost fell over. Adjusting the weapon to stand like a brace on the floor, he put one hand to Jamie's drooping chin and lifted it. "What is it, son?"

  "Are ye… are ye gonna chop off me mother's head?"

  Rurik almost laughed aloud at that, except that he could tell that the boy was serious. "Of course not. I would ne'er harm yer mother… I told you that afore."

  "Yer not?" Jamie blinked at him hopefully.

  "Nay," Rurik said, straightening and patting the boy, "I'm just going to chop down her door."

  Maire had just completed the tapestry and was putting away the needles and spare threads when she heard a loud—very loud—cracking noise at her locked door, followed immediately by another. In her surprise, she almost knocked over the entire tapestry frame.

  There was a third cracking noise, which caused the door to shake on its hinges. She glanced over and saw the tip of a metal blade sticking through the wood, which immediately disappeared… on the backswing, she presumed.

  Rurik is chopping down my door, was her first thought.

  Her second was, The man is losing his mind.

  "Rurik, are you losing your mind?" she screamed over the racket.

  There was blessed silence for a moment.

  "Are you talking to me, Maire?" Rurik asked, followed by a muttered "Praise be to the gods!"
>
  "Aye, I'm talking to you, dunderhead," she said, unlocking and flinging open the door before he had a chance to swing the ax again. And it was a mighty big battle-ax, she noted.

  But that wasn't the most astonishing thing.

  Rurik was standing before her in an old suit of armor that must have belonged to her father or one of her grandsires… booty stolen from some raid on Saxon or Norman lands, because Scots soldiers did not wear metal armor. He smiled at her tentatively, as if testing the waters. The visor on his metal helmet kept slipping down, though. Finally, he flipped the helmet off with exasperation and tossed it out into the corridor, where she heard it roll, then bang down the stone stairway.

  She returned his smile with a frown.

  Which immediately caused his smile to turn to a frown, too. "What? You don't like knights in shining armor now? Well, how was I to know that? I'm coming in."

  "You'd better, unless you want an audience for your stupidity." She pointed to the corridor and stairwell, where dozens of people were crammed, trying to get a firsthand glimpse of the Viking idiot in action.

  He tossed the battle-ax in their direction and everyone scampered out of the way. Then he stepped through the broken door and locked it behind him. He didn't just walk in, though. He lumbered in… creakily.

  "There is no need to lock the door," she said.

  "Yea, there is," he said, advancing on her. He stopped when he was a hairbreadth away. To her dismay… or perhaps not to her dismay… she noted the sensual flicker in his stormy blue eyes. " 'Tis past time for us to end this silly squabble." He was already beginning to peel off the armor, starting with the arm pieces.

  "Silly squabble? Silly squabble?" she squeaked out, shoving his immovable metal chest. He didn't budge one speck. 'This 'silly squabble' involves your betrothal to another woman… and your giving me the bride gift that was intended for her."

  "I already told you that the amber necklet must have been intended for you. It would not have suited Theta, at all. Her eyes are brown, not green, and she much prefers crystal stones, as I recall." He stopped talking when he realized he was not helping his cause. So, he began to remove more of his armor.