The Viking's Cursed Bride
Page 22
Aoife had been unable to watch the fight. The Norsemen had fought well, as had the Britons. There had been losses on both sides and at times she had been unsure who would be victorious. She hadn’t seen Rhydderch or Father Bricius anywhere, but when the fighting was over she had seen Lord Marcant and Ula captured.
It was a great relief when she finally saw Tormod join his cousin. The fighting seemed to be over at that point. She watched as Tormod faced Marcant and her stepmother. Ula shouted at him, and Aoife saw her struggle in Ulf’s grip, but there was no way she would escape from the much stronger man. She didn’t know whether she could stand to watch what happened next, then she saw Ula and Marcant being chained, and felt some sense of relief that Tormod hadn’t had her killed. There had been enough death already.
Aoife sank down onto the deck in relief, until the sound of someone splashing through the water to reach the boat reached her ears. Before she managed to push herself to her feet, Tormod hauled himself on board.
“What will happen now?” she asked him, standing and staring at the sight of Ula and Marcant being led in chains towards one of the other boats.
“I am merely going to deliver them to King Rhun. He can pass judgment for the murder of your father and his household.”
“She… she had my father killed.”
Tormod said nothing.
“How could she?”
“Greed, ambition, who knows?”
“Where is Bricius?”
Tormod’s gaze shifted uneasily towards Dun Cadell and then back to her. “I’m sorry. Rhydderch and Bricius escaped. The warriors I sent after them returned empty-handed. They did, however, kill the soldiers Marcant sent after them.”
“How is that possible?”
Tormod shook his head and shrugged. “I fear there may have been some sorcery at work.”
“Bricius is a priest!”
“They have vanished.” Tormod took her hands. “I am sorry. Bricius deserved to die for killing your father and for the way he treated you.” His grip tightened on her hands, and he pulled her closer to him. “Nothing would make me turn against you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, her emotions a conflicted mixture of grief and anger, but also of gratitude and love for her husband. Her father had made his choice, choosing Ula over her. That did not mean that he deserved this, however.
“Come, we will go to Doomster Hill and ask King Rhun to call a Thing.”
“They don’t call it a Thing.”
Tormod shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what they call it. They have built a place of judgment upriver in Govan and we will take Ula and Marcant there.”
“You think Rhun will listen to you?”
“Yes.”
He sounded so sure that she almost believed he would be successful.
“After all,” he said. “I am married to Cadell’s daughter. It is my right to ask for his death to be avenged.”
“I don’t think that really means much to them. To any of them.”
“It does to me. And besides, your king needs to maintain a relationship with my people. After what happened to his father… However, that is not our fight.” Tormod ran his hands up and down her back, then set his mouth to hers. After only a moment’s hesitation, she kissed him back. It wasn’t the kiss that made her happy, it was the knowledge behind it that he saw them as being together. A single unit. She broke off the kiss.
“You are mine, as I am yours. We are family.” He placed a hand carefully on her stomach. “All of us.”
She smiled at him. A hope that she’d hardly dared to feel blossomed in her chest. She laughed, then stopped and looked back at her father’s fort. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t?”
“King Rhun’s justice. I know the truth. I know that I did nothing wrong, nothing to deserve this.”
“And your father?”
“My father made his own decisions and died because of them. He fell in love with the wrong person. It’s tragic, although he’s hardly the first man to do so.”
“Or the last.” Tormod grinned wryly. “It is a fate that can befall any man. Even when he is determined not to.”
He fell silent, staring at her. Then he kissed her again, smiled and ran his hand down the side of her face.
“Determined not to what?” she asked.
“Love you. I couldn’t help it. Told myself that you were trying to make a fool of me as Ingrid had. That I might miss your true intentions if I allowed myself to love you.”
She smiled at that, then her hand flew to her mouth. “Rhiannon! How could I forget? Have you found her?”
Tormod frowned. “I do not know what she looks like. All we can do is check the bodies.”
They returned to the fort and checked every woman’s body that they found. Aoife wept for the loss of those familiar to her, but when there was no sign of Rhiannon she held onto a small flicker of hope that she might still be alive.
“Perhaps they have taken her to Lord Marcant’s household. I presume that’s where your sisters are.”
“I hope so,” she said, and whispered a silent prayer for her friend.
“I will leave Björn and some warriors here to look after the fort. And after we have seen the king, we will return home, together.”
She smiled. Home. One in which she was both accepted and loved. “Thank you. For giving me a home.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “For giving me one, and for being a wife that I can love.”
“Even one who is cursed?”
“Your curse has saved our lives more than once. I am grateful for it.”
Epilogue
A month later and Aoife was standing on the shore, staring across the water in the last of the evening’s light. She heard her husband behind her. Delicious shivers flitted down her spine as he kissed her neck and ran his hands over her swelling belly.
She leaned against him, content. The king had pronounced a harsh judgment on Ula just the week before and she was now a prisoner of the king. It seemed that Tormod had been correct. The system of justice adopted by King Rhun did indeed resemble the Norse system and judgment had taken place at Doomster Hill, a large mound of earth on the south side of the river within sight of the palace which was being constructed at Partaig.
Tormod was content with King Rhun’s ruling of Cadell’s nephew inheriting the land, which was better than any other alternative. He was due to arrive soon.
Aoife worried about seeing her cousin again—it had been many years since they had met. She hoped that that distance was at least in part due to Ula’s presence and that they may yet find common ground.
“This is for you,” Tormod said as he moved her hair away from her neck. She realised he was putting a necklace on her and when she touched it, she smiled. A quick look affirmed her hope.
“Ula gave it back,” she said as she stared down at her amethyst cross.
“Not willingly,” Tormod said. “But I told Rhun that it did not belong to her and so he made sure that she surrendered it.”
“Thank you.” She turned and kissed him. With their arms around each other, they looked down the river.
Above their heads in the deepening darkness, two ravens flew, watching, waiting.
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ABOUT MAIRBETH MACMILLAN
Mairibeth MacMillan lives on the shores of Loch Long on the edge of Argyll and Bute. While very picturesque, living there seems to involve endless driving and family life currently involves running a taxi service. She was a drama teacher for many years until, during a career break, she studied for a Creative Writing degree through the Open University followed by a Masters degree in Playwriting and Dramaturgy. Over the ye
ars she has had some success with short stories and flash fictions in various competitions, magazines and anthologies. In 2014 she was shortlisted for the New Writer’s Award at the Festival of Romance. Inspired by the discovery of a Viking fort marked on the Ordnance Survey map in a friend’s garden she started working on a series of Viking Romances set in the Kingdom of Strathclyde at the end of the Ninth century. The Viking’s Cursed Bride is the first in a series of books about four Norse cousins as they build new lives far from home.
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