The Viking's Cursed Bride

by Mairibeth Macmillan

  “Did you ever see them together?”

  “Ula and Bricius? Yes, but he was her priest, her confessor.”

  “And your confessor, too?”

  “Yes.” She gulped. She had been such a fool. She had told Bricius everything she feared and… Now lots of small memories flowed through her mind.

  A sense of dread began to steal over her. She closed her eyes. Fragments of overheard conversations, the way they had been so close sometimes when Aoife and the girls had entered the room, the way Father Bricius had looked at Ula. Perhaps Tormod was right. Except that would mean… She opened her eyes and looked at Tormod.

  “Father Bricius came to Dun Cadell with Ula,” she said. “You think they have been working together?”

  He was silent for a long moment. “It’s a possibility. It’s always a possibility. I am sure she betrayed you, and the timing…” His gaze shifted off hers. “You said it is Lady Ula’s brother who owns the land to the south? The one whose ships attacked us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible he was also responsible for this? That he wants this place for himself? And our village?”

  “Lord Marcant is a greedy man,” Aoife said. “It would not surprise me if he was behind this.” Aoife looked around her and shuddered. “Who would want this place now? It’s cursed. The unconsecrated dead have lain here for days.”

  Then she shuddered again, a sudden sensation of excruciating pain in every limb, her eyes, her ears. She must have screamed, although she didn’t remember doing so, as when she came back to her senses, Tormod had a hand over her mouth. One or two of the warriors had stopped to watch them, but at a signal from Tormod they resumed their clearing-up duties.

  “Shh, you are safe,” he said. “My men will think I am murdering you. Or worse, that someone else is.”

  “I’m sorry. I felt them being tortured.” Aoife took a deep breath and pushed away from the comfort of her husband. There was no reason to stand here. She sensed Tormod behind her and knew she was safe with him defending her. She walked into the courtyard and then kept on walking towards the gates. Away from the past, away from all the pain, fear and death.

  She made it all the way to the lochside before she had to stop and be sick. She knelt down and retched more than once and was grateful when she felt Tormod’s arm around her and a cool cloth wipe her forehead and her mouth. And then she felt it. A small flutter in her belly. She ran her hands across her stomach and looked up at Tormod.

  “The child,” she said, smiling at him. “I felt it move.”

  “Even in this place of death, hope for the future is with us,” Tormod said, leaning close to her and kissing her forehead. “Come, I will take you to see your father’s body, see if Rhiannon is amongst the dead and then we will leave this place. Forever. There is nothing for you here now.”

  “No, there is not.” She put her hand out and cupped his face. “But there is everything for me with you.”

  “Come, let us do that and leave.”

  After taking one last look over the loch and a deep breath to clear her mind and settle her stomach, she turned and walked hand in hand with Tormod towards the fort.

  “They have laid your father out on the table,” Arne said as they reached the doorway to the great hall again.

  Tormod’s hand tightened on her own and she steeled herself to see her father for the last time. She took another breath of fresh, clean air and stepped through the doorway.

  The hall should have felt familiar—she had lived for almost twenty years going in and out of it on a daily basis—and yet it felt like a foreign place. She breathed through her mouth, although nothing could stop the stench of death from reaching her. Her attention was drawn immediately to the top table where a body lay, covered in a cloth. The closer she got, the more her steps slowed. But she didn’t stop. She needed to do this. She needed to see with her own eyes and know for sure.

  Blood pools, dark and sticky on the floor, indicated where bodies had already been taken away from around the table.

  “Where was my father found?” she asked.

  Tormod looked at Arne, who indicated a spot close by.

  Aoife nodded. That was where he had fallen in her vision. She gripped the edges of the cloth covering her father’s face. She was prepared for what she would see beneath it, and for the first time she prayed the sight would trigger a vision. Something to tell her how and why this had happened. A vision that would settle the future for her.

  She pulled back the cloth, a loud sob escaping her throat as her father was revealed. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. His face almost looked peaceful. She went to pull the cloth further down, but Tormod stepped forward and stopped her. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she allowed them to fall.

  A second later, her prayers were answered. She leaned against her husband, closed her eyes and let the vision slide over her.

  Dun Cadell. Twilight. Four nights previously. Her father sat at the top table, Lady Ula beside him and her brother on his other side. Father Bricius was also present. A messenger arrived.

  “My lords, there are sightings of the Norsemen. The guard towers in the north have seen them. You must send a war party to stop them,” the messenger reported in great, gulping breaths.

  “You heard the man,” Cadell yelled at Rhydderch. “Send a war party. Our fastest riders. Take them by surprise. I knew they could not be trusted.”

  Rhydderch stood and bowed to Cadell. Aoife saw the glance he exchanged with Lord Marcant and her fists clenched. Her father had been betrayed not just by his wife, but by his priest and his steward. What chance did he have against all of them?

  Then she was aloft, a bird flying over Dun Cadell. The war party was about to ride out. On the other side of the wall a large group of soldiers lay in wait. And the gate didn’t close behind the war party.

  Back inside the hall, Ula and her daughters were walking out of the room as the guests attacked their hosts. Father Bricius moved towards her father.

  Her eyes flew open. There was no need to see any more. She could fill in any remaining gaps. But the vision would not let her go.

  She closed her eyes again, gripping tightly to Tormod as she tried to push the vision away, to no avail. Slowly, she realised the details were different.

  Once more she flew high above Dun Cadell. This time there were soldiers still outside the fort walls. Not Norse warriors. Britons, moving in from the south. Already she could see the aftermath of battle, the bloodstains in the courtyard, just as it had looked a short while ago. With a sickening realisation she spotted the longships pulled up on the shore just to the north and there… there were Ulf and his men on the shore.

  Her heart pounded. It was daylight in this vision. This was not four nights ago. This was now. Her eyes shot open. “It’s a trap! They’re here!”

  Aoife wasn’t sure what she expected her husband’s reaction to be, but a small grin was not it. She looked around. There were a few men in the great hall.

  “Come,” he said, taking her hand. “We have a family matter to clear up.”

  They stepped out into the courtyard. From there they faced the gateway. A small group of soldiers, Britons, approached. Aoife recognised one or two as her father’s men and clenched her fists at the thought of their treachery.

  “Don’t worry. We are ready to fight,” Tormod whispered to her, then kissed her. “Come.”

  They watched the soldiers enter. The men split into two groups as they entered, each moving to one side of the courtyard. Four riders came in and paused side by side, facing them.

  Aoife stared at them, anger soon replacing surprise.

  “Lady Ula, my condolences on your recent loss. I hope those responsible will be punished appropriately,” Tormod said. Ula glared at him and said nothing. Beside her Father Bricius and Steward Rhydderch shifted nervously in their saddles. Tormod turned his attention to the fourth rider. “Lord Marcant, I presume. I am acquainted with some of your men, I believe. N
ot, however, with yourself. What a shame you did not arrive in time to prevent this slaughter.”

  * * *

  Tormod was ready for them. His warriors were ready for them. The Britons just didn’t realise it yet. They had obviously thought to surprise them and perhaps besiege them in the fort, but if there was one thing Tormod had learned to expect in his life, it was deceit.

  “Lady Aoife!” Lord Marcant shouted. “I am delighted to see you. I had been informed there were none of Cadell’s people left alive within these walls after a terrible slaughter wrought by your Norsemen. How fortunate to discover you are still alive. Although, I am not sure you truly count as one of Cadell’s people anymore, do you? Especially if you and your husband are the ones to have betrayed him.”

  “I have betrayed no one,” retorted Aoife.

  Tormod took her hand. “There is no need for you to speak to him. You do not need his approval. It would be worth nothing to you.”

  Aoife turned to him, her face clearly troubled. “You are right. Although perhaps they are right also. Perhaps I am a traitor, for I no longer see myself as one of them.”

  Tormod gave her a tight smile. “It is possible to stand in two worlds. You do not have to choose one over the other.”

  Aoife put her head on one side, considering his words, then turned back to Lord Marcant. “But I am not as much a traitor to my people as the ones who murdered my father. Or the ones who plotted against him. Against their lord. Against their husbands. That is a far, far worse betrayal.”

  “None of that matters,” Marcant said, waving his hand as if the whole idea was inconsequential. “No one else will ever know. Within the hour you will be the only one of the Norse warband that invaded left alive. The poor, unfortunate daughter your somewhat misguided father married off to thieving Norse scum in exchange for the illusion of safety. However, I will rescue you from his evil clutches, from the clutches of the man who had your father murdered in an attempt to gain all his land, not just the small area on which your pathetic excuse for a village stands.”

  Tormod noticed Rhydderch and Father Bricius exchange puzzled glances. Now, that was interesting. Perhaps the Britons were not united in their plan. Perhaps Lady Ula and her loyal followers were about to be betrayed as they had betrayed Cadell. Tormod stifled a grin at the thought.

  “Marcant—” Ula began.

  Marcant gestured for her to be quiet and she obeyed, confusion etched on her face.

  “Now, Lady Aoife, if you come towards me now, I will take you from this place. You and I will go to the king and claim all of these lands to hold in trust for our sons,” Marcant said.

  Ula stared at her brother while Rhydderch and Father Bricius tried to argue with him but he did not even seem to be listening.

  “Your plan had its merits, sister,” Marcant said. “But this is far easier. And arguably legal. She is, after all, the eldest of Cadell’s daughters, and with a strong husband to take control I am sure Rhun will be happy to grant us these lands to rule together.”

  “I will never marry the man who murdered my father,” Aoife retorted.

  “Ah,” replied Marcant. “That particular honour fell to Father Bricius, so you have no worries there. And soon, Lady Aoife, I will take revenge on your behalf on the man who not only stole your virtue but will bear the blame for the murder of your father and most of his household.”

  “How can you do this?”

  “The only weapons we will find here will be Norse swords and axes. They came by ship in the night and hacked to pieces all they found within the fort. My sister and her priest were visiting me at the time and, of course, I had to come and seek justice. You witnessed the carnage and it confused you, left you accusing your own stepmother of treachery and it was just as well that I arrived to save you all. You will marry me, and all these lands as well as my own south of the river will be ours. We will become the most powerful family in Strathclyde.”

  “That was not part of the deal,” Ula shrieked. “I was to rule here, with Bricius. We would marry my daughters to your allies and their sons would inherit one day, far in the future. You cannot marry her, she is part Pict and has been defiled by this, this… Look at her. She is no longer even modest and—”

  “Lady Ula… sister,” Marcant began. “You seem to forget I am in control here. Not you. The Lady Aoife provides me with a link to the Pictish kingdom, not to mention as Cadell’s oldest child, she has the right to petition the king for these lands on behalf of any sons she bears.”

  “No!” Ula shouted.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Father Bricius.

  “Very serious.” Marcant laughed. “I’m sorry, sister. Did you really think I did all of this for you? No, I will destroy the Norsemen and go to the king at Doomster Hill with the sad news all of Cadell’s family and household are dead, apart from you and your daughters, murdered by the Norsemen. I will marry his daughter and destroy his murderers and will, therefore, have won the right to rule these lands as well as my own. And now I have located Lady Aoife, it’s time to move things along.”

  “I carry the Norseman’s child already,” Aoife said.

  “Then it will be stillborn,” promised Lord Marcant. “A minor inconvenience. Just like the two of you.” The comment was aimed at Father Bricius and Rhydderch.

  “But Marcant,” Ula began as the priest stared at Marcant and then at Ula. Marcant smiled at them, then nodded to one of his soldiers. As the soldier drew his sword, Rhydderch turned his horse and with a swift kick of his legs was through the gates. Bricius opened his mouth as if to speak to Ula then he too rode out through the gates. Ula covered her face with her hands as the sound of fighting outside the palisade could be heard. Then Marcant shouted an order and the noise was drowned out by the fighting in the courtyard.

  All was chaos.

  Tormod thrust Aoife behind him and fought off a soldier who had headed straight for him. Then Arne came from the hall behind them and Tormod pushed her into his arms. “Get her out of here! Take her to the longship and out onto the loch.”

  Aoife waited only for a moment, then allowed herself to be hurried by Arne towards the rear of the great hall. She knew where he was taking her, and was surprised only at the fact the Norsemen had found the secret passage so quickly. She should have realised—her vision had shown Arne and his men at the lochside end of the passage. Down through the wine cellar they headed and then along the dank, narrow passage though the rocks.

  “Elisedd mentioned it,” Arne offered by way of explanation. “And when we saw the Britons approach we looked for it in earnest. It is a sensible precaution. And we would have never found the exit from the outside. We must hurry so I can return to the fight.”

  “But what if there are soldiers coming from the lochside?” asked Aoife.

  “There is someone guarding the other end, don’t worry,” Arne assured her.

  * * *

  Tormod’s men fought well. They pushed the Britons out of the courtyard and as they passed through the gates of the palisade it was easier to separate them out and pick them off. The archers’ vantage point in the fort was another key to their success and soon the Britons were on the run.

  Occasionally he caught a glimpse of Arne fighting and knew that meant Aoife had taken refuge in the boat now a distance from shore. He hoped the Britons had not noticed it and she was safe on board.

  Finally he reached Ulf outside the gates. He had Lord Marcant at the end of his sword, Ula beside him.

  “Chain them!” ordered Tormod.

  Ulf and some of his men set to work and when they were finished, he asked, “What will you to with them?”

  Tormod shrugged. “Take them to their king for judgment. As an act of faith in the alliance he has with the Norse.” He signalled for the longship to come in to shore.

  “You will regret this,” Marcant shouted.

  “Not as much as you will, I suspect,” retorted Tormod. “And at least I will live.”

  “Aoife is n
ot worth this,” said Ula. “Not worth any of this.”

  “She is.”

  “These lands are ours!”

  “These lands belong to whoever can keep them,” said Tormod. “And my children will be part Briton. However, I think, given the situation, it is important you are made to answer for your crimes against Lord Cadell. Your own household, Lady Ula. Your own husband. Your own people. And you had them killed.”

  “Cadell was a traitor. I should have seen it before I married him. His first wife… and then to be willing to honour an alliance with Norsemen.” She spat on the ground.

  The longship was now close enough to shore for him to see Aoife, apparently unharmed, standing on the deck.

  He turned back to Ula. “You have let your own husband be murdered, and for what?”

  “For this land. Land that belongs to my people. As does the land that you claim is yours.”

  “Not anymore,” Tormod replied, shaking his head. “The lands belong to me and mine. One day they will belong to my child. By blood through his mother. And by might through me.”

  “Any child of hers will be the devil’s spawn.” Ula laughed cruelly.

  “Aoife has a gift. Not a curse. Her sons will be mighty warriors. Destined to dine in the halls of Valhalla with heroes. While you… you are a traitor and a coward.” Tormod signalled to Ulf. “We will take her to Doomster Hill for judgment.”

  Björn and his men appeared from outside the palisade. “There is no sign of the priest or the steward,” said Björn.

  “Where would they go? Where is the man whom you had kill your husband?” Tormod asked Ula, who merely laughed.

  “You will not find him, and besides, who do you think King Rhun will believe?”

  “We will see,” said Tormod. “Prepare to transport them upriver to their king.”

  Ulf did as he was bid.

  Tormod waited while they were led away and then started to wade though the water towards Aoife’s longship.

  Chapter Fourteen