Powerful Destiny

by Tricia McGill

  That seemed to be the right question for she rubbed at her damp cheeks as she gave him a small smile. “Would you do that please? I would like Margret to come.”

  Rolf turned to Ingrid and said, “Bring the Celtic woman Margret here at once. When you return you will serve both Brigid and she until I return. Is that clear?”

  Ingrid nodded before hurrying off. He took Brigid by the hand and urged her back to the seat. Going down on his knees before her, he said, “I must go now. You will be well looked after by Ingrid, I give you my word on this.” When she made to respond, he put a finger over her lips. “I know what you are about to say. You trust no one now but your own kind.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “What is done is done. We cannot change anything. I will see that the girl is given the finest burial we can arrange.” He looked behind him to where Astrid lay. “I must take her away now. And I must join my men in their search. You understand?”

  With a small nod of her head, she reached out to touch his face, the first sign of gentleness she had shown him. Rolf twisted so that he could place a kiss on her palm. As he rose, Ingrid returned, followed by the Celt woman who ran to Brigid and put her arms about her. This brought on fresh tears as both women wept.

  “Ingrid, you will serve both women and fetch anything they require, you understand me?” At her nod of agreement, he added, “I will send someone to remove the body of the girl.”

  With another quick look at Brigid, he left.

  Chapter Eight

  Brigid pulled her cloak up around her chin as the smoke from the pyre billowed up into the sky. Poor Astrid would go now to Helgafjell, as the Norse called the afterlife, where she would join her mother and father and any other kin who had gone before her. As she was merely a simple girl with little possessions, Brigid left one of her own trinkets, an amber brooch, to take along on her journey.

  A ray of weak sun brightened the dull sky as they left the scene and walked slowly back to the town. Two days had passed since the dreadful morning of Astrid’s death. Margret linked her arm in Brigid’s as they walked side by side. She whispered before they set out to walk with the other townspeople that she did not wish to attend the burial ground of heathens, but would do it for Brigid’s sake, knowing what the girl meant to her. Brigid could not have survived without the help and support of Margret, especially at night when dreams so horrid that she awoke sweating, but cold, haunted her. She had a feeling that forever she would see the body of her servant, gruesome in death. Rolf still had not returned to share their bed and plans for the wedding seemed to be forgotten. Brigid wondered now if a ceremony would ever take place.

  Helga, her daughter and the child were soon captured hiding out in a small cave. They continued, even now, to deny their part in the murder and tried their best to convince Rolf that it must surely have been some awful accident. As to the reason for fleeing, they gave differing stories. The mother saying she fled because she knew, once she learned of the unfortunate death of Astrid, that the blame would be cast upon her. Her daughter for some strange reason kept repeating that she was searching for her mother, and when she found her was intending to bring her back to the town.

  Rolf ordered them locked in a cage to await their death, and they screamed their innocence continually until they could scream no longer. The boy was given into the care of a childless woman where he cried for his mother day and night. Staying firm in his orders, Rolf refused to let him see his mother or Helga. The hope was that in time he would forget them. Brigid prayed that he was of an age when he could forget that a woman of his kin was capable of murder.

  Ingrid, who had become a devoted servant, related all this to Brigid. “What will become of them?” Brigid asked. Laws were passed, and sentences bestowed on murderers and other criminals at the Thing, a gathering held by the Norse. But the next court was many moons away, so Ingrid was of the opinion that Rolf would dole out his own form of punishment which could either be drowning or worse. Brigid could think of nothing worse so chose not to think on it.

  Later, as Brigid rested on her pallet, Rolf entered and came across to her side. Margret had gone to spend a short time with her son and Ingrid was ensuring that food was being prepared, so Brigid was alone. Taking her hand in his he pressed a kiss to her palm. “The women are to meet their execution soon. I do not wish you to attend.” He touched her belly and hesitated, then said, “But if you wish to be there I will not stop you.”

  Brigid pushed herself onto her elbows. “I will attend. If only to see Helga suffer for her sin.” She sat up and gazed down at their hands, still entwined on her lap. “I am still trying to understand why she committed this crime. Why did she wish me dead?”

  His chest rose and fell in a deep sigh. “I have learned that she was sure the child of her daughter was rightfully mine and that if I had not brought you back from my travels, then I would have taken the daughter as my wife. As I told you, neither of the children are my offspring, and I certainly would not have gone through the wedding ceremony with any of the women of my clan.”

  “But how can you be sure this child is not yours?” Brigid stood and walked away from him. “Did you share your bed with these women?”

  At this, his mouth twisted, as he seemed to give his answer some thought. “I cannot deny this. I can assure you I have never taken a woman by force, so they would have come willingly to me. And I am just a man.” At this, he lifted both hands in appeal as if this answered all questions.

  “No, you are not a simple man, Rolf, in their eyes you are their chieftain, their leader, their Jarl?” She rubbed at her head where an ache persisted. “Is this not the title you hold?” When he nodded his agreement, she said, “So any one of the women of your clan would welcome becoming the wife of such a great man.” It puzzled Brigid continually why he had not already wed. There were women in his village she was certain were more beautiful in appearance than her.

  He came to stand before her and pressed his hands on her shoulders. “Have I not told you, that our meeting was meant to be? The Norns decreed it—it is that simple. One day you will come to believe this.”

  Brigid sighed. If only she could believe it. Too much had happened, and her head was spinning with the thoughts inside it. “What of the child? How does he fare?”

  Rolf walked away from her a few steps and when he faced her again, said, “Come with me.”

  Picking up her lighter cape, she followed him out and across the village. As they passed by some of the Norse stopped in their tasks and watched them with curiosity. Brigit wondered what their thoughts were on the happenings. She knew by what Ingrid passed on to her that most were distressed by the news of Astrid’s death and even more concerned that one of their own clan thought to try and murder the woman their chief had taken for his own.

  The Celtic women sent her a wave. Before the terrible events of the past few days, they were proceeding well with the Norse language Brigid was doing her best to pass on to them. Still, one or two sometimes grumbled about their misfortune, until Margret quietened them with a dire warning of how life would change not only for them, but for Brigid, if they did not obey the Norse rules.

  Rolf led her to a humble house on the far side of the village. He tapped on the boards at the side of the doorway and called out. A woman lifted the covering and peered out, surprise on her face. When her gaze crossed from Rolf to Brigid, it changed to one of sympathy.

  “Fetch the boy,” Rolf ordered, and she stared at him a moment before turning to go back inside.

  Unable to find words, Brigid stood in silence.

  When the woman returned, a child clinging to her skirt, a thumb stuck firmly in his small mouth, she said, “He was sleeping,” her wariness obvious as she looked straight at Brigid.

  At first glance, Brigid thought the boy filthy, his skin the colour of dark sand, but when she looked at him fully, she saw that, although handsome, his face had a foreign air about it, and his hair, black as night, was curly as that of any Celtic girl.
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  “You see,” Rolf said. Oh yes, she saw full well. This was no child from the loins of Rolf.

  Brigid nodded. “Has the child settled?” Brigid asked the woman, who now smiled, satisfied they had not come to take the boy from her.

  She patted his curly head. “Yes. He still cries for her.” She nodded into the distance as if his mother was over yonder. “But he will forget.”

  It was hoped he would. Tales were often spread in her homeland about bad blood being passed down through generations of family members. Perhaps sometime in the future the evil would out.

  They left soon after. As she walked side by side with Rolf, Brigid asked, “Does she not care that the child is from evil blood?”

  He shook his head. “As you know some women do not find it easy to carry a child as you have. She was pleased to have one to care for.” He took her by the arm. “Are you now satisfied that he is no child of mine?”

  “Of course. But Rolf, you said that two women believed their offspring were of your blood. What of the other one?”

  Instead of answering her question he said, “We will visit the shaman again soon, and he will settle it. If he is sure the threat is past, then you need not fear.”

  As they walked on in silence, many thoughts whirled inside Brigid’s head. She could well understand how the boy’s mother might pine after Rolf, and not only the man, but his position as leader. There were women, and men, everywhere who could be so filled with envy that it drove them to commit strange acts, often she had seen it among her own people. However, for this woman and her mother to go as far as plotting murder to meet their own foolish ends—well that was beyond her comprehension.

  As they neared their home, Rolf suddenly changed direction, saying, “Come, I will show you our new dwelling.”

  * * *

  Unable to sleep Brigid twisted the unfamiliar ring around her finger. The man at her side stirred, and with a soft grunt moved closer, his large hands pulling her nearer to his warm body. To her great surprise, Rolf and she were now bound to each other through marriage. Regardless of tradition, he ignored the rules passed down through generations of his people, and they went through a shorter wedding ceremony than Brigid was led to believe would take place.

  Instead of visiting their new home, Rolf left her with Ingrid who took her to the hall of her family, where Margret waited, smiling her pleasure. A great deal of attention was then bestowed on Brigid’s hair, before the ceremonial crown decorated with silver and gold, was placed on her head.

  After the feast following the ceremony they left the rest of the villagers, by now enjoying the festivities with a great deal of noise and ribald behaviour and were escorted to their new home by torch bearing Norsemen and women, where Rolf carried her through the doorway.

  When Brigid stood before him as his wife, she asked, “How is it we did not go through the ceremony I was given to expect to last many moons. Why did you not abide by the traditions of your ancestors?”

  “I am their Jarl, their chieftain, I do as I please,” was his answer. “If I wish to be wed to you so that I can spend this night and every other night in your arms, it is for me to decide. They also know that for your safety it is best for me to be with you. For this reason, the ceremony was arranged in haste.”

  It would take her a long time to forget the fear that engulfed her when she came to realise that someone in his village wished her harm. She knew without a doubt that some women held strong feelings for their leader for these made no secret of their desires by the scowls and jeers they sent her way as she passed. Brigid guessed this to be simply the jealousy of scorned women. Such existed even in her homeland. “Is there any other person you do not trust?”

  “How can we ever be sure? It is the nature of some to hold grudges. At daybreak on the morrow, Helga and her daughter are to be slain before all my kinfolk. Therefore, if any other wishes you harm they will surely see that they will meet the same end. I have no mercy for them in my heart.”

  Now, as he faced her he asked softly, “You cannot sleep?” He regarded her in the dimness. “Is it because you have grown used to sleeping alone?”

  Brigid shook her head. How could she tell him that in fact she was happy to have him back beside her, and until their bodies came together this night she did not realise how much she did miss him and the pleasure he gave her. “I was thinking how much I like our new dwelling and how much more room we now have,” she lied. Of course, this new house made her happier than she had been since arriving in this strange land, but there were many more things to keep her awake.

  “Then what is it?” He stroked the frown from her brow. “You must tell me all your fears now that I am yours completely, as I will tell you mine.”

  How could she? Would he ever understand the horror she went through, not only with knowing that one of his Norse women wanted her dead, but worse, that the servant girl who wished no one any harm, a girl Brigid had come to love as one of her own kind and kin, took the poison meant for her.

  “Come, let me help you forget all these problems.” His lips covered hers, and Brigid was soon lost in the world of pleasure he alone could create.

  * * *

  Rolf placed a cape across Brigid’s shoulders and fastened it with a brooch at the front. “You will need the warmth it provides,” he said, asking, “Are you certain you wish to be a part of this? No one will dare venture to criticise if you decide not to watch.”

  Brigid shook her head. “I am quite sure. I wish to see that both women who planned my death, and so killed my servant in error, get the punishment they deserve.”

  The explanation Helga provided when she knew what her fate was to be was simple. Her daughter was sure she would be the wife of Rolf if she vowed her child was his. Her foolish heart was filled with such jealousy and rage when Rolf returned from battle with Brigid and the other Celts, that without thought of the consequences they hatched the plan. A plan that went so wrong.

  Deep inside Brigid felt Helga confessed because she harboured a small portion of guilt when she heard that the girl Astrid perished by her hand. Now that Brigid had seen the child, she considered the pair stupid to consider Rolf would ever accept the foreign child as his own. Also, if it had been Brigid who died, surely, she should have guessed Rolf would cast the blame on her, so she would have met the same fate as was to now befall her. There would have been no escape no matter how far she ran.

  “Then come, we must go.” Rolf opened the door and as soon as he passed through, a loud and shrill whining came from the throng lining the route to the cliff top where the execution was to take place.

  The Norse villagers began to follow them, and Brigid shivered even though she was not cold. It seemed that all work was put aside until the punishment was carried out. The Celtic women were not among the crowd, and Brigid knew they would stay away until the execution was over. By now most of them had gained a small knowledge of the Norse tongue and reported back to Brigid that most considered Helga deserved to die for the sin she committed. A few thought her daughter should be spared if only for the sake of her son, but Brigid knew that the child was better off by far with the new mother who provided him with a good home. The evil his real mother possessed would always remain in her heart. Rolf was determined that both should die this day, so their fate was set.

  As they neared the clifftop, a wind blew inland, and even though the sea pounding against the rocks was far below, spray dampened Brigid’s cheeks. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Helga and her daughter were tied to upright posts, their arms outstretched, their heads bent to their chests. Their thin covering was already damp with either sea spray or the rain that fell at daybreak.

  Without words, Rolf took up a long-bladed knife, lifted the head of the younger woman and sliced the blade across her throat. As her blood gushed out and over her breast, her mother began to moan. Rolf repeated the action on her and all went quiet as her blood, and all life left her body.

  “It is done.” Rolf
lay the bloody blade aside and gestured for Brigid to go before him.

  “What will happen to them?” she asked, as they retraced their steps, some of the Norse behind them. The feeling of elation she expected was not present, in fact she felt numb, and nauseous. But that could be the child she carried.

  “They will be left where they hang. If wild creatures do not take them then their remains will be tossed into the sea on the morrow.”

  Something stirred inside Brigid and she trembled. Could it be fear? Seeing Rolf wield his weapon and kill so easily brought back memories she hoped were beginning to recede. This man might be an expert lover and thrill her when he was beside her in bed, but truth was, he was a ruthless Norseman who invaded her homeland and slaughtered her father and his men.

  But then, could not the same be said for her dear father. It was as Rolf said, men had always fought battles and always would—it was their way.

  Chapter Nine

  Circa 860 AD

  Brigid yawned and stretched. Before opening her eyes, she reached out, knowing the man at her side still slept. His soft snores told her so. The moment those snores ceased, she knew he was wide-awake. Her husband had the knack of waking and being alert in an instant. She ran a hand across his belly as she snuggled into his hard, naked back.

  “Did I not satisfy my wife sufficiently last night?” he asked on a soft chuckle.

  “You know you did.” He turned, and their lips met. How Brigid cherished these early morning kisses—before the children awoke and disturbed the peace and tranquillity.

  A few kisses later, she was beneath him and he had entered her body. Brigid wrapped her legs about him, drawing him into her. A soft moan left her lips as he began to move. “Rolf, my love,” she whispered, as her hands roved over his muscled back.