The Viking's Cursed Bride

by Mairibeth Macmillan

  One man stood out from the rest due to his scars. Deep wounds covered his face and hands. She shivered when she looked at them. What pain he must have suffered. And how strong must he be to have survived?

  “Aoife?” She jumped at the sound of her name, although her husband spoke gently. “We are nearly home. I hope it will be to your liking.”

  “Would it matter if it wasn’t?” she said, regretting the comment as soon as it had passed her lips. She steeled herself for a blow or harsh words. None came.

  “I would have my wife happy,” he replied after a pause, his expression revealing nothing.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but could form no words.

  “Is that not a husband’s duty?” Tormod asked her.

  “Makes for an easier life,” the man who rode alongside them said loudly and laughed.

  “Björn!” Tormod chided him. The man just grinned.

  Aoife looked ahead, her cheeks heating.

  “And an easier life for us too, if her father keeps his word.”

  Aoife glanced sharply at him. Her father keep his word? Unlikely, especially if her stepmother wanted something different. “What did my father promise you?”

  Björn laughed loudly.

  Tormod gave her an appraising look, as if trying to judge whether it was worthwhile answering her or not. “You, for a start.”

  She stared at him for a moment. The tone of the laughter from both him and the others suggested it was simply a joke — not any kind of threat. He reached out a hand as if to cup her face but let it fall back to his side when she involuntarily recoiled.

  “We are allies and he has promised not to contest my ownership of this land,” Tormod said. “And to help us defend it if necessary. After all, what father would risk his daughter’s safety?”

  Aoife wasn’t sure she wanted to answer the question. She could only pray he was right. “So, I am a sort of hostage?”

  He shook his head. “No. Whatever else you are, you will be a jarl’s wife, with all the status and responsibilities that entails. You are still a free woman. You have choices. Even the choice of divorcing me. Although that seems a bit extreme already.”

  “Divorce?” The Church never allowed such a thing. And what did he mean about being free? Married women were the property of their husbands.

  “I think we should at least try being married first,” he said, grinning. “You may even enjoy it.”

  The warriors around them laughed.

  “But…” She couldn’t believe he was amused by the notion rather than anything else, and the knowledge she still had a choice made her feel better. Still, they were married now. Bricius had performed the ceremony, albeit the shortest version Aoife had ever witnessed. Her father had decided she was to marry this Norseman and there was no alternative. She could only pray Tormod was right about her father not wanting her dead.

  A thought occurred to her – if her father was going to help them defend their land…

  “You plan to stay here?” she asked.

  “We do. Our village is nearly complete and there are many farms in the surrounding area.”

  For a moment only the footsteps of the men and horses and the trundle of the carts broke the silence.

  “You do not intend to sail back to... the north?” She realised her ignorance about anything concerning these men. Where had they really come from?

  “Perhaps one day,” Tormod replied. “But my father has many sons, too many to share his lands in the north, so I have lands here now. And this is where I will make my home. A native wife will help.”

  “You are sure?”

  “You can teach the others your language, share what you know about foodstuffs, herbs and animal rearing. Help us to make a successful living here. As the daughter of a lord, I expect you have been trained in the running of a large household.”

  Aoife nodded, her hopes for the future leaping at his words. She could do those things. She was going to be needed here, would have a role to play, and may in time come to be accepted by his people. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so different from the life she might have led had her mother lived and arranged a marriage for her to a Briton or even a Pict. Unless... She would have to make sure they didn’t discover her presence did not assure them the safety they expected. Or maybe she should tell them now so they were better prepared. She realised Tormod was looking at her.

  “If you are worried I cannot provide for you then let me assure you I am a richer man than your father. And my men are loyal... unlike your father.”

  “What do you mean?” Shock ran through her. He thought her father disloyal?

  “Your father abandoned his king, right before we attacked. Is that not true?”

  “Yes...” Her heart raced. Her father’s misfortunes may, in fact, all stem from her if what this man said was true. “He wasn’t fleeing because of that.” She frowned, remembering the beating she’d received – even after her family knew her vision had saved their lives. Her stepmother had used it as an excuse to send her away. She’d had visions at the abbey and been beaten every time—far worse than her stepmother had done. The most recent only a few days hence. Brother Pasgen had claimed he was beating the demons from her and her penance had been long.

  How would these men, known for their violence, react to finding out what had happened, what she had seen? What she was?

  If civilised people beat her, then how much worse would the punishment be from these heathens? Except so far, their treatment of her was better than anything in her past, even if it had only been a matter of hours.

  Perhaps as a wife, she would have more status. And later as a mother. She pursed her lips. She was no naive innocent. She was aware of what happened between a man and his wife.

  Her new husband tilted his head from side to side, then pulled off his helmet. As he turned to face her, her breath caught. His appearance, the jut of his nose and chin, the expression on his face, and his eyes – it was all so familiar. She’d seen his face before. In one of her visions. She felt the rumble of the thunder from her dreams echo through her body and heard the croak of a raven.

  Yes, this was indeed her fate, for better or for worse.

  * * *

  Tormod was convinced there was something Aoife wasn’t telling him. However, he was pleased with the arrangement in other ways. She was pretty. Perhaps a little too delicate, and he suspected childbearing might be hard on her, however, given the imaginings he’d had the past two days she was, indeed, a very pleasant alternative to those. Plus, until he could be assured any child she birthed was indeed his, he would be very controlled about any physical relationship.

  “So,” he said, pushing aside the lustful thoughts that crowded into his mind with her proximity. “You were to be a holy woman?”

  “That was what my father had decided, yes.” She smoothed her hands down the fabric of her robes. Everything she wore was white, bar her cloak, and most of her hair was veiled. He smiled at the thought of running his hands through it later.

  “Sometimes your people send girls to the Church when they have... been indiscreet.” She gasped and glared at him. His grin widened. “No indiscretions. Then why?”

  She turned away from him again and reached for the small cross hanging around her neck, then let her hands fall into her lap. “Does it matter?”

  He nearly didn’t hear her, the words were whispered so quietly. However, he picked up the tremor in her voice and saw that her hands, now clasped in her lap, shook with more than just the motion of the cart. He looked around at the men he had brought with him. All armed with swords and axes, their shields carried beside them or hung from their saddles, helmets covering most of their faces, and leather armour making their already broad chests look even larger. In contrast she was only a girl, alone. Her family had not even had the grace to send a maid with her, although Tormod had seen the simple lives the holy men and women led and realised she had probably been without that luxury for however long she’d been at the abb
ey.

  “Björn!” he called and indicated he should give them more space. His cousin grinned at him then shouted the order and all the men distanced themselves from the cart.

  He placed his hand over her clasped ones. She tensed and started to pull away.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, closing his hand around both of hers. They were still cold, almost icy, and so much smaller and softer than his own battle-hardened ones. After a moment she seemed to accept his touch and relaxed. She turned her head slowly to look at him. He took in the paleness of her skin, the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, the intense blue of her eyes and then his gaze centred on her lips. They were pale pink, thin like the rest of her and when he jerked his hand she gasped and her lips parted.

  He meant only to comfort her but instead his lips touched hers gently before he lifted his head. She said nothing; just watched him. She was his wife—he had all the time in the world to spend teaching her how to please him and accept the pleasure he could give her. Tonight there would be no rushed coupling, but he would not be fool enough to lose his heart to this woman. That would not stop them from enjoying meeting their physical needs together.

  Her throat moved as she swallowed, and he admired the fact she didn’t pull away from him. She was afraid, this daughter of a lord, but she knew her duty. She would submit to him as the Christians taught their wives should, however, that was not what he wanted. That was not enough. Nor was this about love, not at all. It was simply the desire to have her submit to him through choice — how much of a victory would it be to have Cadell’s daughter willingly sharing his bed and not forced there by either her father or her husband? He smiled at the thought.

  “May I kiss you again?” he asked, pleased when she nodded. This time he lingered, running his tongue along the join of her lips. When she opened her mouth, he touched his tongue to hers. She made a tiny sound deep in her throat. He ran a hand down the back of her head, pulled her in towards him and kissed her deeply. Then, deciding to retreat while he was ahead, he set her back from him and cupped her cheek. She stared at him, a look of wonder on her face. Then her eyes clouded and she lowered her head.

  He turned to see Björn watching them, a grin on his face. Tormod pulled Aoife close and frowned at Björn over her head. Let Björn grin. Tormod was not displeased with his new wife and was sure with some patience, she would become a willing bedmate. He was not without some skill in that area.

  But then doubts came crowding back and he wondered if her demureness was an act. She had responded eagerly for a few moments. Was it simply a case of her forgetting herself and enjoying his touch, or was it more sinister than that? Was she already planning how to betray him?

  They reached the end of a forested part of the path and came out into a clearer area close to the water. The path would be downhill for a while and then flatten out on this eastern coast until they reached the site of the village on the western shore of the peninsula. From here they could see all the way down the Clyde to Arran, and even beyond to Kintyre on a very clear day. They had a view up and down Loch Long also until the point at Finnart blocked it further up. A friend had the lands to the north, where there was a place for portaging into the freshwater loch upon which Dun Cadell stood. With friends to the north and his new father-in-law owning all the land to the east, he felt confident he could keep his people safe here for now.

  As they crossed the open fields by the shore, Aoife began looking around. Was she expecting an attack? Had this whole thing been a ruse? Did her father plan to rescue her at the water’s edge? After all, his lands lay only a short distance across the sea-loch at this point.

  “What is it you seek?”

  She jumped when he spoke, a guilty expression on her face. “Nothing... my lord.” Her eyes moved rapidly. She was lying.

  He gripped her wrist tightly and wouldn’t let her pull away from him. He scanned their surroundings and could see nothing out of place, nothing to draw his suspicions. Maybe she didn’t know when help would arrive. Maybe she was waiting for a sign. Maybe...

  “Tormod,” he said, letting go. “My wife is allowed to call me by my given name.”

  A small, dark shape flew overhead and landed on the back of the cart. Tormod turned to stare at it, then faced forward again. He sensed Aoife was stopping herself from looking. Was it just the bird she had been watching?

  “It’s just a raven,” he said.

  Her eyes met his and widened. “I know.” She twisted around to look at it, then watched as it flew away again before landing in a tree a distance in front of them.

  “Is that what you were watching?”

  “Yes, the ravens. Both of them. I have seen them many times since…” She didn’t finish the sentence and he assumed she had perhaps seen many ravens on her journey from the abbey. Perhaps this was a good sign.

  “When we are at sea, we use ravens to tell us if we are far from shore,” he said. A second raven flew overhead, then landed near the first. “And Lord Odin is said to travel with two ravens.”

  “Odin is the leader of your gods?” she asked.

  He wondered who had been teaching her the Norse sagas. “The most important of our gods,” Tormod said after some thought. “He often travels the earth as an old man with only one eye, accompanied by his two ravens, Huginn and Muninn.”

  “An old man with one eye?” She frowned in confusion when he agreed. There was a long pause before she continued, “With ravens?”

  “The ravens fly all around the whole world, every day, then return and whisper in their master’s ear everything they have seen. Odin seeks knowledge, and knowledge is power. He sacrificed one of his human eyes for the gift of knowledge. Some even say that he can change the path of destiny.”

  “And can he?”

  Tormod laughed. He had seen the priests of her religion praying to their god for things to change. He’d never seen it work. The holy men and women seemed to believe they were invulnerable, that their god, rather than strong weapons, would save them, and so they knelt and prayed —and more often than not, they died. His own gods took a more active role — as did his men.

  “It is not enough to simply wish for things to change or even to pray for them. Our destinies are already carved in the Well of Urd. Odin learned to read runes,” he explained. “And when he could read the runes, he could read from Yggdrasil, the tree of life, to find out what destiny awaited. Then he was able to change destiny, although...”

  “What?”

  “Seidr – using the runes to change destinies – is a pastime usually for women. It is an odd choice for a man, even a powerful god. Seeing the future is not always something to be wished for.”

  * * *

  Aoife could not get the image of the one-eyed old man she had seen as she travelled home from Alt Clut out of her head. It couldn’t have been Odin, and yet the thought would not leave her. There was also Tormod’s comment about seeing the future to ponder. Her visions did not always show the future – more often than not they showed the immediate past, although on occasion they showed the immediate future. Rarely in time for any changes to be made to it. He did not sound horrified by the prospect. Was there a chance that they would not regard her as being cursed? She daren’t ask, at least not yet.

  “You have people amongst you who can see the future?” she asked after a while.

  “Those who claim to at any rate,” Tormod replied. “I always consult a seer if I can before I make a decision or leave on a raid. There was to be one in the village. Sadly he did not survive the journey here. That was not something he foretold, of course.”

  “Oh.” Aoife swallowed. Would a seer know the truth about her? Would a seer know she was cursed and that her family had sent her away because of this? She was relieved that she would not have to deal with the prospect immediately. Although… If they truly were gifted then proximity was not a prerequisite for knowledge, as she well knew.

  She shifted her attention back to Tormod as he
reached out and touched her white veil. “Why were you at the abbey? What made your mother and father send you there? Were you there to pray for a different future? Your family has had problems these last two years.”

  Aoife said nothing. Should she trust him with the truth? Would her curse make him hate her or afraid of her? Not that she thought this man was afraid of very much. Perhaps she should tell Tormod now and throw herself on his mercy. But what could she say to him? Had the old man she’d seen been Odin? She shook her head. Those gods were not real. The church teachings were clear.

  “Why were you at the abbey?” he asked again.

  “It was… My father thought he’d never find a suitable husband for me.”

  Tormod put his fingers on her chin and turned her to face him. “Why not?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. He raked his gaze up and down her body. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything wrong with you. And you’re pretty.”

  She gaped at him. He thought she was pretty? That shouldn’t have concerned her, although somehow it did. She felt a tiny spark of hope deep inside that perhaps with this man as her husband she would finally have a place she belonged. Someone who might come to care about her and see her as more than just a burden. She smiled. He thought she was pretty.

  “So, what is wrong with you?” And with that, her dreams crashed around her once more. “Your mother seemed almost anxious to be rid of you. In fact, from her reaction, I had expected some kind of troll. You are indeed a pleasant surprise.”

  Aoife pulled away from his touch and gazed out over the side of the cart. He didn’t really think she was pretty — it was just that he had been expecting something worse. Ula had probably made sure to give as bad an impression of her beforehand as possible. “She’s not my mother. She’s my stepmother.”