The Viking's Cursed Bride

by Mairibeth Macmillan

  She pushed him away playfully, grinning. “That is not what I said at all.” He didn’t seem perturbed, which was good.

  Just then, Björn spoke from his other side and Tormod turned to answer him.

  Aoife slumped in her chair, trying to gather her thoughts. Had Dun Cadell been attacked already, or was what she had seen the result of Tormod’s planned visit? It was frustrating to not see enough in her vision to know. Whatever it was, she suspected Ula was behind it and that death lay ahead. She could only pray it wasn’t her own. Or her husband’s.

  At that moment she knew she had no choice than to agree to visit with Tormod. While it may reveal the truth about her curse, she couldn’t continue to live in such a state of uncertainty. She returned her attention to her food and found she had more appetite than she had thought. When she finished, the thrall hurried over and took the plate from in front of her and scurried back a few minutes later with a plateful of berries in a sweet, syrupy mead.

  Tentatively she tasted the first bite, then ate the rest as quickly as she deemed ladylike. Once she was done, she stared at the syrup left in the bowl. Tormod leaned in front of her and picked up the bowl, then held it to her lips for her to drink every last drop. Their eyes met and he smiled, not taking his eyes from hers as she swallowed. He pulled the bowl away and immediately his thumb caught a drip at the edge of her mouth, which he then sucked off. She stared at him, mesmerised by the simple movement. Maybe the mead in the syrup was stronger than she’d realised.

  “I can see it will not be long before you are greeting another son, Tormod,” Björn said.

  Aoife pursed her lips and dropped her gaze. yet her hand moved involuntarily to run over her stomach.

  When she met her husband’s gaze again, his expression was stony. “I am in no hurry.” He turned to Björn, put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side. “There is plenty to amuse ourselves with before we need to think about children.” Tormod laughed, although it didn’t sound happy.

  She didn’t resist his touch, but her stomach turned to lead. What was he waiting for?

  Björn leaned around Tormod to talk to her. “You mustn’t let him exhaust you. What with you walking to the farm every day to teach Magda Brythonic and taking over so many of my mother’s tasks with running the village. She is grateful, you know. I have seen her smile more in the past few days than in the past year. Tormod works everyone to the bone. Thinks there are unlimited hours in every day. And night.” He laughed and slapped Tormod on the back.

  “I hardly think I need your advice on how to keep my wife happy,” Tormod said. “Perhaps you should consider your own future instead of worrying about mine.”

  “You’re right,” Björn said. “But for me it’s all about the chase. Not marriage and children. With that in mind, I will leave the two of you and go in search of some amusement and a willing woman to share my bed tonight.” He drained his horn of mead and thumped it down on the table. He stood and, a trifle unsteadily, made his way off the dais and into the main area of the hall where a game of chance was being set up.

  Tormod sat back in his chair and followed Björn’s progress towards a woman. He put his arms around her, kissed her neck, and then the woman twisted in his grasp to kiss him back.

  Aoife watched Tormod stare at the couple and felt a sudden twinge of jealousy. Was there a woman here with whom Tormod had spent time? How did she feel about Aoife’s presence? Aoife turned her attention to Björn and the woman. The large man had his arms around her and together they were watching the game unfold. He leaned in and nuzzled the woman’s neck.

  Tormod suddenly shot to his feet and strode from the hall. Frowning, she looked back at Björn’s woman. Was she someone who had been special to Tormod? Or…

  “Where is he off to now?”

  Aoife jumped at the voice behind her. She really should pay more attention to her surroundings. She’d been so lost in thought the past few days that it seemed to have become easy to sneak up on her - even within a crowded room. She turned to smile at Ragna and found that she just couldn’t make herself smile.

  “What is the matter?” Ragna asked. Aoife shook her head, unable to speak for fear she would cry instead. “Whatever did those boys argue about now?”

  Aoife shrugged, then frowned. “Björn was talking about us having children. I think Tormod took it badly.” Something Björn said came back to her. Another son. Tormod would be welcoming another son. “Does Tormod already have children?”

  Ragna pursed her lips and glanced away. “You will need to ask your husband about this, but yes, there is a child.”

  “A boy?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he has no need of an heir?”

  Ragna laughed. “No man needs only one heir, my dear. And it’s not just the heirs but the getting of them that most men enjoy.” She smiled. “Was that worrying you, that he would need no other child? Children die. Young men die in battle. And sometimes there are other things to consider.”

  “Like what?” Aoife asked, frowning.

  Ragna glanced towards the door of the hall and froze. Aoife followed her gaze and saw Tormod standing in the open doorway, watching them.

  “You must ask your husband that yourself. If not now, then wait until he is in a good mood. And if he will not tell you, don’t take it to heart. Some things a man finds hard to admit. It may be wise not to push him.”

  Aoife stared at Ragna, even more confused than she had been earlier. She blinked, then looked towards the door that led outside. Tormod stood in the shadows, waiting for her. She swallowed. “All right. I will speak to my husband and hope for the best.”

  At least she wasn’t the only one keeping a secret.

  * * *

  Tormod watched Aoife approach. The smoke and heat in the hall contrasted with the fresh chill of the night air behind him. It was very late; it must be after midnight as there were only a few hours of night at this time of year. The outline of the Midsommerstång could only just be seen against the darkness of the sky and the moonlight illuminating a trail over the water.

  As she grew closer, he searched her face for any sign of censure or deception, but saw none.

  In front of him now, she asked, “Was what Björn said true?”

  He knew he should simply tell her the story, however, then she would know he was not the great leader she thought he was. He realised he wanted her to trust and respect him more than he had thought.

  “Do you have a son already?” she asked.

  “What did Ragna tell you?”

  “That I needed to speak to you.”

  Before he could begin to respond, one of the villagers staggered towards them, a horn of mead clutched in his hand, his red cheeks revealing how much he had already imbibed. “Jarl Tormod, the very man. As it is now midsummer, perhaps you will grant me a gift? The lands to the north. The lands I have petitioned for more than once and have not yet been allocated. They go to wrack and ruin, herre.”

  Tormod gritted his teeth and stepped between the man and Aoife. “You know the reasons why that land has not already been allocated, do you not?”

  “Yes, although—”

  “Then you know I am not going to simply allocate ownership of it without first discussing it at the Thing.”

  “Yes, Jarl Tormod.” The man pulled at his collar, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “But I merely hoped that in the meantime…”

  Tormod nearly laughed. “No, Erik, ‘in the meantime’ will simply become your claim for ownership and I am not ready to hand that land to you and yours. Not without a proper discussion. Not after what happened to your farm back home. Now…”

  “Herre, that was a misunderstanding—”

  For a moment Tormod thought Erik wasn’t going to let the matter drop, then his wife appeared in the doorway with a horn of mead and ushered her husband back indoors, apologising to Tormod as she did so.

  Shaking his head, Tormod turned to speak to Aoife, but she was gone
from his side. He wondered if she had returned to their room but sensed that she had not. He started towards the shore and stopped short when he saw her. A pale figure crossing the shingle. He watched and listened, hearing more than seeing each step she took on the beach before she sat on a large rock by the water’s edge. The way she was looking out across the water, she could have been waiting for someone or pining for her past life. Was she happy here? Did it matter to him? He stopped the train of thought, suddenly aware it mattered to him more than he wanted to admit.

  Silently he crossed the green, grateful the sheep were too lazy to make a noise and announce his presence.

  “Are you waiting for someone?”

  She jumped and turned to face him.

  Was she startled at his presence, or had she really been expecting someone else? He glanced around to see if there was anyone else there.

  “I was just… watching the moonrise,” she said.

  “It’s beautiful,” he replied, looking at the silvery trail shining across the water, then following it up to the bright circle high in the night sky.

  She shivered, although he didn’t think it was all that cold. “Perhaps we should go in.”

  “We can warm each other up,” he said, smiling.

  “I…” She stared at him. Again, he couldn’t read her expression. She glanced behind her, out across the rocks, and his suspicions returned.

  “Is there someone else here?”

  “Shh.” She reached out and pulled him close to her. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. To distract him, perhaps? Instead, she whispered close to his ear, “I think there’s someone on the water.”

  He took her hand and led her swiftly into a gap in the rocks which offered them some protection. He held still for a minute or two but neither heard nor saw anything. “Are you expecting someone?” he asked, attempting to pull away from her.

  She held him tight and frowned. “Who would I be expecting? I don’t know anyone.”

  “Elisedd?”

  She laughed. “He will surely be in his bed. Most of the young children had already gone home before the feast began, had they not?”

  Tormod acknowledged that with a curt nod. “Someone else then.”

  “No, there is no one else.” Her gaze had been drifting across the water, but now she turned sharply to him, as if she had just caught his implication. “Why do you think that? It was you who wanted me to leave the hall. How would anyone have known to meet me? I left the hall with you, then you stopped to speak. I am here for you and no one else. Although we are not the only ones who are out here. Björn and— Shh, there is something else. Listen.” There was fear on her face.

  At first the only sound he heard was another couple somewhere further along the beach where there were a few crannies a couple could meet and have some privacy. It was clear what they were up to and they were no threat to the settlement.

  But then he heard it. Another sound. The regular splash and dip of oars and low voices out on the water.

  Aoife must have had better hearing than he did because she jerked in his arms, trying to push away. “Can’t you hear them? Can’t you hear what they are saying? Why do they come?” The fear on her face was obvious. Enough to jolt him from his suspicions and consider that maybe she did speak the truth.

  He strained to listen.

  “… Cadell… field… missing…” Only a few individuals’ words carried well enough to make out. One thing was clear, though—they were speaking Brythonic, not Norse.

  “Do you know who they are?”

  “No, I was waiting for you and then I heard the sound of the oars. Please, you must believe me.”

  The assurances would, only a few years ago, have convinced him, but he’d learned since then that he was not a good judge of women.

  He wondered where the watchman was. There should have been one at the far side of the rocks and one on the other side of the small bay, both tasked with ensuring the village remained safe from attacks by sea.

  Unless these men out on the water had already disposed of the watchmen. There were many places a small boat could land around the coast—too many to be easily defended. It would have been more of a problem if the Britons’ sea-skills were better than they were. The watchman to the north would not be able to see the boat yet, though Tormod had given specific orders for everyone to watch for attacks coming from the sea after the attack on Håkon’s field.

  Then the words “ready” and “attack” carried across the water and there was a clink of metal. A sword, most likely.

  Tormod enclosed Aoife in his arms and held her tightly so that he could whisper in her ear. “Go to the hall. Raise the alarm, but tell the men to approach quietly and not be seen. Find Ulf or Arne. Björn is otherwise engaged – ask one of them to alert him – and then go to our room. Bar the door.”

  “But—”

  “If you want to show your loyalty to me then go, do this.”

  She looked straight into his eyes, kissed him quickly, then turned and swiftly made her way, keeping to the shadows of the rocks, back to the edge of the village. He watched as she reached the hall door and slipped inside.

  Then he turned back to the water. The boat was closer now and definitely not of Norse design.

  Only the dip and swish of the oars could be heard as Tormod waited, his hand clasped around the pommel of his sword. He regretted that he did not have the comforting weight of his axe on his back, but he had not come out here with the intention of fighting. At least not with weapons. He listened for the sound of his men approaching, but heard nothing. A feeling of dread grew in his belly.

  Where were his men? They should have been here by now. Had he been right to trust Aoife? Perhaps she had not done as he asked, but intended to simply escape and ensure her own safety. Had she betrayed him just as Ingrid had? He shook off the thought. No, that made no real sense. She had been beaten at the abbey and her family had been only too happy to be rid of her. Where would she go?

  He closed his eyes, trying for a moment to clear his mind and try to work out all the layers of betrayal. Why could life not be simple? His people had a lot to offer these Britons. They could give them access to markets far in the east that they did not even know existed, bring fine goods from there in return. Not to mention more and more of this large island was under Norse control. Soon even Paris would be theirs and all the riches that great city had to offer.

  He heard a tiny sound behind him. He opened his eyes and turned, sword drawn.

  Aoife gasped and dropped his shield, which thudded on the pebbles. Her eyes were wide and she stared not at him, but at his sword, which was pointed directly at her throat. She gulped. Neither dared to breathe.

  The sound of the oars paused.

  He lowered the sword and Aoife sank down, huddling into the rocks, then she picked up his shield and handed it to him. Tormod hefted it, ready to fight.

  When he turned back to look out across the water, a small boat had rounded the rocky headland and was only a stone’s throw from the beach. He could hear low voices and catch most of what they were saying. One man wanted to go back, but the rest thought they should press on.

  “The others are at the edge of the beach,” Aoife whispered. “Björn is by the rocks at the other side. Ylva has gone back to the hall.”

  “Go,” he murmured. “As quickly as you can. Go back to our room and bar the door. Arm yourself with a weapon and wait for me.”

  Aoife did not leave.

  “Go.” He gritted his teeth. “I do not wish to lose you so soon. And I cannot fight if I am thinking only of keeping you safe.”

  Another splash indicated just how close the boat was getting to their hiding place. Tormod tried to push Aoife into leaving, but she seemed frozen in place. He realised she was listening.

  “So we’re clear.” The voice was low but carried across the dark water. “Destroy the livestock and anyone who tries to stand against us.”

  “What of Lady Aoife?�
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  “Cadell’s orders were clear. No one is to be spared.”

  “But…”

  “The Norsemen believe we will not attack for fear of harming her, but our orders were clear. She matters less than this land. Our land.”

  “But…”

  It was the same voice again. Tormod smiled grimly. At least one of Cadell’s men thought their behaviour wasn’t right. He wasn’t exactly surprised, just disappointed. And then a sense of rage began to build in him. He understood these men would not hesitate to kill him or any of his kin, but the fact they would also be willing to kill Aoife, one of their own, disgusted him.

  “Lady Aoife is a traitor. She has proven it before. You know her father escaped from Alt Clut only because she was in league with the Norsemen and warned them away.”

  “That is ridiculous, Siward. If she were truly in league with the Norsemen then why did she save her family? You know there have always been rumours that she was… touched.”

  There was a silence and then laughter. “Well, she’s certainly been touched now — by that Norse scum. Now, once we round these rocks there is a beach where they have built their settlement. Set fire to what you can, kill anyone who stands in your way - even the Lady Aoife herself, Godwin. She is as good as dead to her father. Now we must go the rest of the way in silence.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tears sprang to Aoife’s eyes, but she would not let them fall. So, it was true. Her father really did not care whether she lived or died. She straightened and pushed against Tormod but he held onto her.

  “Where are you going?”

  She frowned. “Back to the hall, like you said.”

  “Go to our room and bar the door,” he said. “I will fight for you. I will keep you safe.”

  She stared at him for a second, then shook her head. “No, I will go to the main hall. Find Ragna and do what she tells me. Fight if I have to.”

  Tormod opened his mouth as if about to speak, then closed it.

  She started to leave, but he pulled her back again.

  “Did you know of this?” he asked. “Did you know that he would have you killed even as I thought your presence made us safe?”