The Viking's Cursed Bride

by Mairibeth Macmillan

  “You do not believe?” Aoife felt for the wooden cross around her neck. She wished once more her own silver one set with amethysts had been with her things from the abbey. Her life for the past two years had centred around her faith exclusively, although much of her treatment had far from endeared her to Christian charity. Still there was a part of her which believed.

  He shrugged. “I have seen little evidence to prove their stories. And his protection seems to be worth little.”

  “But—”

  “Shh, we will speak no more of this. You may believe what you wish, worship as you wish. As long as fulfil your duties as my wife, I will not interfere. Together we will build a strong village here. For everyone.”

  “And if I cannot fulfil my duties as a wife?” She glanced away from him. What if she couldn’t have children? What if, like her own mother and stepmother, she bore only daughters?

  He smirked. “I think you will find my needs surprisingly simple.”

  “But—”

  He placed a finger on her mouth and shook his head, then reached for the ties holding her dress closed. Without taking his eyes from her face, he loosened them. He tugged on the cloth, pulling it from her shoulders, then slowly down her arms, baring her to his gaze.

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip, then realised he had stopped. Had she displeased him in some way? Did he not like what he saw?

  Fear crept into her thoughts once more, despite the warmth and comfort his touch provided. She opened her eyes and saw anger in his face.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked, his voice tight.

  “One of the brothers, at the abbey.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. What if he questioned her in more detail? Could she lie to him?

  “Why?”

  “I was… I was sick.”

  “If I see the man who did this to you, tell me, and I will kill him,” he promised.

  “They thought they were helping me, beating the demons from my body. My family requested it when they sent me to the abbey.”

  He stared at her so intently she couldn’t look away, no matter how much she wanted to. “Demons?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Why had she said that? She should have stuck to her story about being sick. Although neither was a lie, she feared what he would do to her if he discovered why her family worried about demons in her.

  “My family thought… thought that the sickness was caused by demons.”

  “The demons lie in those who would do this. This is how you treat a slave, not a free woman, the daughter of a lord. This will not be allowed to happen again — I promise you.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  After a pause, he kissed her. His mouth was gentle and moved slowly over her own. His tongue prised open her lips and swept inside. After her initial surprise faded, she began to return his movements and found every touch, every stroke, was sending delicious shivers throughout her body. This must be the start of the pleasure which he had told her about. She sighed and moved closer to him, surrendering herself to the sensations and trying to block out her fears.

  He cupped her breast. The rough skin of his fingers rubbed across her nipple and she gasped. When he pulled her dress lower, set his mouth there and suckled, her fears about their coupling began to slip away.

  Chapter Four

  Tormod woke to find a warm body beside him. His wife. He smiled at the memory of the night before. Then he saw again the reminders of her beating. His fists clenched and the dark anger that had been kindled last night as she told him her story flared back to life. If he saw any of the holy men from the abbey, they would answer for what they had done to Aoife. For whatever reason.

  Although, he had sensed that her story… There was something missing. He didn’t think she had lied—she had been too fearful for an outright lie—but like so much about the situation, he believed he was being shown only the surface. The truth would out, eventually. It always did. He only hoped it would work in his favour this time.

  He smiled grimly, then focused again on the woman in front of him. He traced the marks on her back and she muttered under her breath. He frowned when he caught the words for fire and field.

  He prayed to the gods that she was nothing like his first wife. He ran his hand through her long hair and swept it to the side of her neck, then leaned over to kiss the skin he had bared. She stirred, sinuously stretching her back, then twisting out of his grasp when she awoke. She sat up, pulling the covers up around herself, but not before he noticed a little blood beneath her. He reached for her, but she pulled away, staring straight ahead, breathing heavily.

  “What is the matter?” he asked.

  “The matter?”

  “You are upset. You were talking in your sleep about fire and fields. I can see fear on your face.”

  “I’m sorry.” As she pulled the furs more closely around her, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, but she held herself rigid. “It was only a dream.”

  “You are safe here with me,” he promised her.

  For a while they remained like that. Gradually her breathing slowed and she relaxed into his arms. When she turned her face to his, he kissed her, gratified when she returned the favour. She let the furs slip a little and he took the chance to run his hands over her bare skin until she whimpered with pleasure.

  “It is morning,” she said. “We should get up.”

  “There is no rush. I doubt anyone will dare to disturb us.”

  He kissed her again, trying to ignore the spark of emotion that flitted through him when her kisses grew as ardent as they had last night. He slid one hand down between her legs and felt how ready she was for him. Still he moved slowly, stroking her with clever fingers until the only sounds from her throat were soft cries and her body bucked towards his.

  He rolled her under him and slid inside her, watching her face as his body claimed hers. Her eyes were closed but they opened when he was fully seated. As he pulled back and thrust forward again and again, their gazes held until the moment her head arched back and she tightened rhythmically around him. Her reaction triggered his own and he pulled himself from her, spilling his seed on the covers as he had last night. With the knowledge that she was a virgin and that any child she birthed would be his, had come another fear. Ingrid had died giving birth to his son. If the same thing happened to Aoife, there would be no guarantee that Cadell would not turn on them and attack the settlement.

  And besides, while he may know for sure that any child Aoife birthed was his own, he knew that there were many who would wonder about a honeymoon baby. After the last time he owed it to his people for there to be no doubt at all. Selfishly he also wanted some time for them to be alone together, to get to know one another, before their family grew. If he had taken more time to get to know Ingrid, he would not have put his whole village in danger nor risked Arne’s life as he had done.

  Tormod looked into her eyes and saw confusion etched in them, so he turned her away from him and settled against her back. As they spooned together, he closed his eyes. It had been hard these past years—surely even as jarl, he deserved this honeymoon as time just for himself and his new wife?

  He must have dozed because he was woken by the sound of loud knocking on the door. Aoife pulled the furs around herself and pushed to the top of the bed, while he padded naked to the door and yanked it open, ready to yell at whoever dared disturb them.

  Before he could draw breath, Ragna pushed past him with a tray full of food, leaving him facing Björn at the door. Tormod moved to block Björn’s view of the room and his friend grinned at him.

  “What is so important you risk my wrath the morning after my wedding, Björn?”

  “Morning? Why, cousin, it is already mid-afternoon, and it is only after great debate we dared to interrupt your… celebrations.” Björn raised his eyebrows. “I trust the night went well and you are not disappointed in your new bride?”

  Even though he knew Aoife could not understand all Björn
was saying, Tormod pushed his cousin away from the doorway. He thrust his legs into his breeks, then grabbed his kirtle and pulled it on as he followed Björn through to the main hall. The day was dull and overcast with a hint of rain in the air, and as Tormod took a deep breath, he detected the acrid smell of smoke. He frowned at Björn.

  “Something has happened,” Björn stated. “One of the fields burned last night.”

  “Where?”

  “The north-east. They most likely came by boat across the sea-loch.”

  Tormod remembered Aoife muttering the words fire and field. Had she known this would happen? He looked back towards the door to his room and his heart hardened. Björn wasn’t stating the obvious, and Tormod understood the implication. The land across the sea-loch there belonged to Lord Cadell. If the fireraisers had come by sea, then they had not necessarily sailed straight across the sea-loch, however, it was the most likely. They had guards stationed around the coast at all times but a small craft, sailing in the dark, could perhaps have slipped past their watch in the darkest hours of the night. Not to mention drink had been flowing freely last night in celebration of his wedding and the guards may have been joining in the celebrations. Even so, to cross the sea-loch unseen during such short hours of darkness implied a certain familiarity with the territory. Lord Cadell’s people without doubt.

  “How much of the field did we lose?” Tormod asked, and was relieved when Björn smiled in response.

  “Remarkably little,” he said. “It began to rain and Håkon returned from the celebrations in time to see it and raise the alarm. It only took a few men to beat out what the rain didn’t quench. We were lucky this time and we shall keep a better watch in the future.”

  “I trust you will ensure that.”

  “I will,” answered Björn, then frowned. It seemed as if he were about to say something, then stopped.

  “What?”

  Björn stared at him, clearly uncomfortable. “Should we challenge Lord Cadell?”

  “No,” Tormod said after some thought. “For now, let us pretend these actions have had little effect upon us. I will speak to my wife, see if she has any knowledge of these attacks. Our marriage was hasty—perhaps Cadell has merely not had time to inform all his men of our alliance.”

  “Or he is choosing to dishonour it already,” Björn retorted. “There were no attacks of this type before.”

  Tormod placed a hand on Björn’s shoulder. “Go and search the area. Mount a better watch. Let us give Cadell some time. However, if I find out he was behind this…”

  Björn nodded. Tormod knew that while he was a good friend, he was an even more formidable enemy. “And your wife?”

  Tormod stiffened, then relaxed, slapping Björn’s shoulder before he chuckled. “One thing I know for sure is she was not the who was out there setting the fire. I know exactly where she was. All night. And it is where she will stay.” He met his friend’s gaze straight on and held it. “Aoife is my wife now.”

  “But she is still Cadell’s daughter.”

  “Then we must make sure she feels this is her home,” Tormod said frostily. “She is one of us now.”

  Björn glanced away, then met Tormod’s gaze. “And if she acts otherwise? Arne… Ulf—”

  “Ulf is suspicious of everyone and everything. He may be right in this case, although he may not. If he is, then I will deal with her the way I would deal with any traitor.” Tormod found it easier to say than he’d expected. The sight of the marks on her body flickered through his memory. Surely they proved Aoife owed little loyalty to her father’s family, so he hoped it was a promise he would never have to keep.

  “I thought you might have reason to confront her father now anyway,” Björn said. “Once you had seen…”

  “Did you know she had been beaten?”

  “Yes, my mother told me. It reassures me she may well have no great loyalty to her father. No matter what Ulf says.”

  “You seem to underestimate my own charms,” Tormod said.

  Björn shook his head and laughed.

  Tormod grinned and put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “If the opportunity arises, I will punish him for allowing someone to hurt her. And if we ever pass by the abbey…”

  Björn slapped him on the back, then strode outside.

  Tormod returned to his room to find the half-barrel had been filled and Ragna was helping Aoife to wash. His wife squealed and covered herself when he let the door bang shut behind him. Ragna looked at him as if expecting him to take the hint and leave, but he wanted to be in his own room just now to give himself time to think. He shook his head at his aunt and sat down on the far side of the bed. She knew better than to argue with him.

  Fresh clothing for both himself and Aoife was laid out. As soon as his wife got out of the bath, he’d wash and dress. He grinned, thinking that the amount of time he would stay dressed would depend only on how fast he was able to persuade his wife back into bed. The words she had uttered when asleep still niggled at him. Although, no matter what, she had not set the fire. Someone else was to blame for that.

  * * *

  Aoife was relieved Ragna was in the room when Tormod returned. She’d never been so intimate with anyone before and her stomach was in knots wondering how she was now expected to behave towards him. The warm water she stood in had soothed most of the aches from the night before, however a deeper ache made her keenly aware she had changed, had been changed, by what they had done together.

  She glanced towards the bed, only to find Tormod staring at her. His gaze was intense, and for a fleeting instant she fancied that she could see deep into his very soul. Last night she had felt such a strong physical connection between them — a connection that left her hoping for more. She realised now how lonely she had been, both in her father’s house and at the abbey. She yearned for something more from her life here. Her husband would not have changed physically the way she had, although still she searched his face for some evidence of a deeper connection between them, but there was nothing.

  She was fooling herself. The only connection between them was physical. They barely knew each other, and he had made it clear last night he did not want to give her a child. She bit her lip. What did that mean? Perhaps he did not want to sully his bloodline with foreign blood. So, why had he married her? If she wasn’t to fulfil such an important role for a wife, then what did he want from her? Maybe she was destined to never truly belong anywhere and her curse would always set her apart.

  Ragna picked that moment to tip a bucket full of water over her head and begin to rub her hair with soap. Gratefully Aoife closed her eyes, forcing herself to keep breathing in and out, in and out. Hands scrubbed her hair and then more water was poured over her.

  “Out you get now,” said Ragna.

  Aoife waited, her eyes still closed. A large cloth was wrapped around her, then two things happened. She heard the door click shut and she was lifted off her feet into a pair of strong arms. She opened her eyes to find Tormod looking down at her as they moved towards the bed. He set her down on its edge and she pulled the cloth around herself more tightly. He stared at her for a moment and then took a comb from his belt and began to comb out her long hair.

  “I...I can do that myself.”

  “I know,” was all he said as he continued.

  Gradually she relaxed and her eyes drifted shut as he combed through the long, wet lengths. For now she could pretend that he might care for her — if not now, then perhaps in the future. A future she could only pray they would have. His other hand caressed her head and then stroked the back of her neck and around her shoulders. His lips touched her own just an instant after he stopped combing her hair. She opened her eyes, looking at this man who she barely knew and yet who knew her more intimately than any other person had ever known her.

  He brushed her hair away from her neck and dropped a kiss at the spot where her jaw ended. A delicious shiver raced through her and she reached for him, uncaring that the cloth fel
l open.

  A knock on the door made her pull back from him and gather the cloth tightly around herself once more. Tormod cursed, then marched to the door. He flung it open and stepped into the doorway. Aoife twisted her head to see who was there. Björn. Again. He made no attempt to come into the room, but she could hear every word.

  “We caught the culprit,” she heard Björn say. “A boy. A Briton.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Håkon found him hiding in his byre,” Björn said, then added, “He’s asking for your wife.”

  “Håkon?”

  “The boy.”

  The two men turned to stare at her. She realised they’d been talking in Brythonic. They looked at each other and then back at her.

  “For me? Why? Who is he?” Aoife frowned. Why would a child be asking for her? Especially one who had done such a thing as set a field on fire.

  Her breath caught as she remembered her dream.

  “Well?” Tormod asked Björn.

  “Well?” Björn frowned.

  “Who is the boy?”

  “Why does your wife not come and see for herself?”

  “You didn’t ask him his name?”

  There was silence. Björn waited.

  Aoife’s heart sank. “You didn’t… You haven’t… Is he dead?” She stood and backed against the wall, pressing herself farther and farther into the corner. If they had killed a child… She felt sick.

  “No,” Björn said. “He is not dead. He will say nothing except ‘Lady Aoife’ over and over again.”

  “We will come and see him,” said Tormod. “Go and make sure nothing happens to him in the meantime.”

  “It won’t. Arne is making sure of that. What do you think we are?” Björn sounded angry, although she could see guilt etched on his features. Killing the child for his crime was a thought that had occurred to them. “I’ll wait for you outside.” Tormod pulled the door closed, leaving Björn in the corridor. After a short pause he heard his cousin leave.

  Tormod turned to stare at her. She couldn’t read his expression. “Will you come and see the boy?”