Such a deadly little thing. Yew berries were the most potent fruit ever known to her kind. Growing up, Kiera remembered how her ancestors worshipped the yew tree, believing its powers were a bridge between life and death. Kiera knew how to harness its power, how to respect the dangerous fruit she had harvested.
“Pretty, pretty, pretty,” she giggled softly, “Too bad Ravenshield has chosen poorly. Oh Gunnar, you should have stayed with me. I’m the one who truly loves you. You are nothing without me.”
She popped one of the berries with her fingers and watched scarlet fluid ooze down her thumb. “What a shame, Gunnar. What a shame. You should not have betrayed me. I was willing to do anything for you. Anything.”
Kiera squeezed another one until it splattered in her hand. A sweet fragrance drifted up from it, teasing her senses. An evil grin curled her lips as she inhaled deeply—her plan was simple. It would take nothing to carry out. She could picture it in her mind, the scene was incredibly real.
Gunnar would come in for the feast, hungry and tired, she thought. After a long day in Glendalough, he’d be thirsty, very thirsty. Shannon would tend to him as she always has, serving him meats and cheese, bread and mead. Mead. Kiera could see her now, filling Gunnar’s goblet, unknowingly sending him to his death. He would drain it dry and then it would happen. Tremors would engulf his body and his heart would pound violently until it exploded in his chest.
“It is a perfect plan,” she whispered, harvesting a few more yew berries. Though it was a horrible death, Gunnar would pass into the Underworld and linger there until she joined him. “Wait for me, Gunnar, I will not be long without you. Before I join you in the Underworld, I have to take care of Shannon. Or I dare say that Magnus will take care of her.”
“What are ye doin’?” Shannon barked, slapping a handful of scarlet fruit out of Kiera’s hand.
“What are you talking about?” Kiera asked, snapping out of her trance.
“Don’ ye know that this is yew berry? It’s verra poisonous. Eatin’ it could kill a man.”
“I-I did not know,” Kiera lied.
Shannon shot her a look that could kill. “Really.”
Kiera stood up and looked her in the eyes. “Do you not think they are beautiful?”
“Beautiful?” Shannon’s jaw dropped. “These trees hold powers that are best left alone.”
“I understand,” Kiera smiled.
“I hope ye do,” Shannon said, narrowing her eyes, “Throw them out. Now. It’s no use in carryin’ them back to the village. We’ve harvested enough herbs for today. It’s time to go back.”
“Of course.” Kiera slithered by and noticed that Shannon looked pale and sickly. Her face looked sallow. “Are you not well?”
“I’m fine,” Shannon snapped, “I feel fine. Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
After arriving at the longhouse, Shannon and Gerta headed toward the bedchamber. Her stomach twisted and turned while her mind reeled with the possibility of carrying Ravenshield’s bairn. If she was with child, then how could she help him at Glendalough? There was a tremendous amount of work to do there, and he could not do it all by himself. Of course, he had his laborers repairing the fort, but they could not add a woman’s touch inside. She sucked in a breath and sighed—too many things were happening at once. In a perfect world, she would have conceived after moving to Glendalough when all of the long days of hard work would be over.
“We’re done, lass,” Gerta said, washing her hands in a bowl of water.
Shannon sat up and smoothed out her dress. “And?”
“Yer due around Walpurgis.”
“Walpurgis?”
“The Festival of Darkness.”
“Oh no,” Shannon cried.
“What’s the matter?” Gerta asked, “It’ll be an honor to give birth then. Walpurgis is the most important festival of the year. Odin sacrificed himself on the Tree of Life, leaving the world in total darkness until he was born again. His rebirth marks the end of the Wild Hunt and the beginning of the New Dawn.”
“It’s nae that,” she sighed, “Gunnar willnae be pleased.”
“Nonsense, lass,” Gerta went on, “He’ll see it as a good omen. A blessing.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Come now. He’ll be happy with the news. Ye should tell him at the feast tonight. Everyone will rejoice.”
“I wanna tell him when the time is right, Gerta,” she said, walking toward the door. She did not want anything to overshadow the Sword Ceremony. “Announcin’ it in front of everyone isnae good.”
“Why not?”
“Because I wanna tell him when we’re alone,” she whispered. “Don’ breathe a word of this to anyone, Gerta.”
“But why?” she asked, “This is somethin’ ye cannae hide for much longer, Shannon. It willnae be long before yer belly will start to swell. The sooner ye tell Ravenshield, the better.”
“I’ll handle it, Gerta, but ye have to swear that ye willnae tell a soul.”
“Shannon...”
“Do ye swear?”
“Don’ be foolish, lass.”
“Do ye?”
“Alright,” Gerta huffed, “I swear that I willnae breathe a word of it.”
“Good.” Shannon heaved a sigh. “We’d better get to the kitchen and finish the feast. The men will be back soon.”
“We almost have everythin’ ready,” Gerta said, heading out of the door.
“I wonder where Kiera is.”
“I havenae seen her since we left the fields.”
“It’s of no matter,” Shannon grinned, “We can get it done faster without her.”
Gerta laughed and opened the kitchen door. “We’ve no time to lose, lass. They’re already comin’ in. This is the first night that yer in charge of the meal. We wanna make certain that everythin’ is perfect.”
“We’ll see how good it’ll be,” Shannon said, heading for the table, “Let’s get it done.”
Just then, Kiera barged into the room with a basket filled with bread and cheese.
“Where have ye been?” Gerta snapped.
Shannon stood between them. “We’ve no time to spare. Let’s get the table ready.”
“We should not keep them,” Kiera smiled.
“Fine,” Gerta glared.
“We must work together,” Shannon said hastily, “I’ll get the plates. Kiera can serve the meat. Gerta, serve the vegetables.”
Shannon grabbed the plates and hurried through the door, skirting toward the table. She quietly walked around to where Ravenshield sat, listening to the men discuss Glendalough.
“It will not be long before the fort is finished,” Gorm said, nodding his head as Shannon set a plate in front of him.
“There is plenty of work left to do,” Ravenshield added as his eyes followed her. The way her hips swayed back and forth struck a fire within his loins. Visions of their encounter on the beach whetted his appetite, left him wanting more. He could barely contain himself, thinking of the passion they would share later that evening.
“I see that something sparks your interest.” Gorm buried his elbow into Ravenshield’s arm. “Does she satisfy your every pleasure, my friend?”
“More than you know,” Ravenshield smiled, stabbing a forkful of meat and shoving it into his mouth.
“Is she as fiery as her hair?” Gorm asked.
“More so.” He chewed.
“I’ve heard the Irish cannot be tamed,” Gorm went on, “Their women are wild and fierce in bed.”
“That is true.”
“Are you sure you can handle her?”
“I leave her exhausted and begging for more.”
“Pardon me, brother,” Gorm went on jokingly, “but it sounds like a tall tale from one of your raids.”
The others roared as Gorm slapped him on the back playfully. He considered Ravenshield a brother and could not help but to tease him. They fought beside each other in battle and faced many a stormy sea. Nothing cou
ld ever break their bond.
“I’ve conquered many shores, brother, and this one you won’t have the pleasure of taking.”
“Why not let her decide?” he added, “She may welcome a strong warrior like me.”
Ravenshield walloped him on the back. “I’m all the warrior she will ever need.”
“But my sword is long and potent,” Gorm laughed and grabbed his crotch.
The room roared with laughter as Ravenshield shook his head and smiled. “Your dagger may not be as sharp as you think.”
The other Vikings howled with laughter.
Gorm stood up and flexed his muscles. “I have ten slaves and four of them carry my seed.”
“Luck was with you,” Ravenshield jested.
Gunnar watched her saunter in with a pitcher of mead, breezing by him, filling his goblet to the brim. There was no way he would allow any man to touch her, he thought as she gave him a sly grin. Shannon was his, and he was not going to share her with anyone. He wanted to make sure that everyone in the room knew it, so Ravenshield grabbed her and spun her around. She squealed as he sat her on his lap and kissed her neck, his lips trailed upward until he found her mouth.
“Watch it, brother,” Gorm grinned as the pitcher fell to the floor, “I see a lady in peril.”
Shannon pulled away briefly and turned to face him. “Don’ worry, Gorm. I can take care of myself.”
Gorm and the others cheered them on as they deepened the kiss. It was about time Ravenshield settled down, he thought, reaching for his goblet. It was empty. Without a second thought, he snatched Ravenshield’s and held it high in the air.
“It is time for a toast!”
“Huzzah!” The crowd raised their goblets in the air.
“To Ravenshield,” Gorm began, “a fair and just ruler. May your days be long and full of plenty. And may your children favor your lovely bride instead of you!”
Laughter rocked the room as Gorm turned the goblet up, draining it dry. After swallowing the last drop, he sat the cup down and stared into the crowd. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. The mead was sweeter than usual, he thought, running a tongue across his lips. It did not taste like mead at all. Suddenly, the sweetness had turned bitter and hot—it burned his throat, igniting a trail of fire that scorched his stomach.
Gorm knocked over the goblet and grabbed his throat, gasping for air. He wanted to scream but could not catch his breath. His throat swelled. His heart raced furiously. Heat exploded within his chest. Pain ripped at his gullet, stabbing him from inside, torturing him with each slicing jolt.
He fell to the floor and saw Ravenshield standing over him. Suddenly a wave of tremors washed over his body, sending his arms and legs flailing. He heard screams, felt hands on his chest.
“Gorm!”
Gorm heard Ravenshield yell his name but was unable to speak. He could hear others screaming but was powerless to stop it. The noise echoed throughout his head, droning on and on until it slowly died away. All fell silent. A deathly chill crept over him, paralyzing his limbs. He was frozen. His sight dimmed. The noise started to fade, fade into nothing. Darkness descended upon him as shadows claimed his soul.
“What is happening?” Ravenshield shouted, shaking his friend’s shoulders, “Gorm! Gorm!”
“He’s gone.” Shannon’s lips barely moved. Her eyes stared blankly at Gorm’s body. Wake up, she said to herself. This had to be a dream. A nightmare.
“How could this happen?” Magnus asked, watching Ravenshield rise from the floor.
Ravenshield reached over and scooped up his goblet—the same goblet that Gorm drank from. He brought it to his nose and sniffed. “Poison.”
“Poison?” Gerta gasped, clutching her chest.
“Gorm drank out of my goblet,” Ravenshield growled, throwing it with all of his might, watching it crash against the wall. Shards of pottery flew through the air. “Someone tried to poison me.”
Magnus pointed a gnarled finger at Shannon, “She poured the mead.”
“Shannon,” he whispered as his heart sank.
“Yes,” Magnus hissed, “She is the one who wants you dead. Your Chosen has killed a Viking. Now she must pay!”
“I didnae do it!” Shannon’s voice started to tremble. Heat rush to her face. “Gunnar, you have to believe me. Oh God, no. Please, you know I had no part in this!”
“Seize her!” Magnus commanded, unsheathing his knife.
Shannon’s heart raced wildly as two warriors grabbed her. “Gunnar!”
“Shackle her,” Magnus ordered.
“No,” she cried, “Please, no.”
Ravenshield looked on as they slapped a pair of irons around her wrists. The clang of metal sent a chill down his spine, made his hair stand on end. This could not be real, he thought. She could not be responsible for killing Gorm.
Gunnar watched one of the men turn and spit on her as she slumped to the ground. Anger flowed through his veins. He was not going to stand there and allow her to be mistreated. Let them take out their anger on the guilty one, not Shannon. He tightened his fists and took a step forward ready to fight.
“Wait!” Kiera ran in the room clutching a leather pouch. “I found this in her things.”
Ravenshield snatched it from her and examined the celtic markings that decorated the leather. It belonged to Shannon. He remembered it hanging from her belt the day he took her from Bennetraige. Unlacing the strap, he opened it carefully and turned it upside down. Scarlet berries rolled out into his hand.
“Yew berries,” he whispered, crushing them in his fist. The juice bled through his fingers and dripped on the floor.
“Gunnar!” Shannon cried, “I swear I didnae do this! I swear!”
The crowd rumbled, demanding justice. The noise grew louder. Tensions mounted.
“Silence!” King Olaf growled, parting the crowd. He walked toward Ravenshield wielding a broadsword. “There will be justice.”
“My lord,” Gunnar breathed.
“Ravenshield,” King Olaf went on, “A brave man has fallen this night.”
“Gorm was a fearless warrior.”
“His death must not be ignored.”
“I will find out who did this.”
“Your woman killed him.”
“No!” she cried as tears streamed down her face.
“Silence!” Olaf ordered, handing Ravenshield the broadsword.
“My king,” Ravenshield said, hands trembling.
“Do what you must do,” Olaf said.
Ravenshield turned to Shannon, watching her cower on the floor. His heart shattered into pieces. Fear swept over him knowing what the others expected him to do, but he was not sure if he could follow through. Everything pointed to her guilt—the yew berries, the mead—after all, she was in charge of the feast. Gorm’s death must be avenged, but how could he smite the woman he loved?
“On your knees,” he hissed, grasping the hilt firmly.
“Gunnar,” she wept, “I didnae do it.”
“Kill her!” The masses jeered. “She must pay!”
Driven by the crowd, Ravenshield raised his sword above his head and prepared to strike. He wanted this to end. He could take no more. His hands trembled, his brow moistened with sweat. Blood raced through his veins.
“Kill! Kill! Kill!” they chanted.
The words ricocheted in his head like drumbeats, pounding louder and louder. His palms, slick with tension, gripped the broadsword rigidly. Blood for blood, he knew what had to be done. Justice had to be delivered. Swiftly.
“Kill her!” a voice rang out of the mob.
Ravenshield sucked in a deep breath, his knees buckled under the strain. Everything pointed to her, there was no denying it. He swallowed hard and looked down at Shannon. She turned and met his glance. Eyes glistening with tears, lips quivering with fear. She mouthed the words I love you and closed her eyes.
I love you—
Ravenshield turned the blade and aimed for her neck. The buzzing in his ear
s roared as beads of sweat trickled down his temples. He had no other choice. With one final breath, he bellowed out a battle cry and plunged his sword downward—
The sound of splintering wood filled the room as he buried the blade deeper into the floorboards. The planks cracked and popped as the groove grew longer. Silence. Time stood still, suspended.
“No,” Ravenshield whispered, heaving each breath.
“There must be justice!” someone called out.
“There will be!” Ravenshield turned and glared at the crowd. “But it will be on my terms. This is my house.”
“It may be your house, Ravenshield, but I am your king,” Olaf declared.
“My lord,” Ravenshield started, “You are my king, and I will fight for you. There will be justice. Whomever did this will be punished. I swear it.”
“She is the one who must be punished!” a Viking boomed.
Ravenshield bowed before King Olaf and asked, “My king, you were gracious enough to grant me a request, remember?”
“Yes,” he replied, “Do not ask me to pardon her, Ravenshield. I will not do that.”
“I am not asking for a pardon,” he went on, “I am requesting that Shannon be brought before the Althing. Let the elders decide what do to if she is found guilty.”
“If?” Kiera asked.
“Yes,” Ravenshield said, glaring at her, “I believe there are others working against me.”
“Agreed,” King Olaf went on, “But on one condition.”
“Yes, my king.”
Olaf turned and looked him in the eyes. “You must sell Shannon to someone else. She may not have the protection of your household.”
“No!” Shannon screamed.
“I will take her,” Magnus said, stepping forward.
“No! Please, no!” she begged.
Magnus removed two silver armbands that cuffed around his bicep and tossed them over to Ravenshield. “That should be more than enough payment for her.”
“Wait,” Ravenshield said, knowing what Magnus had planned for Shannon once he declared ownership. He had to think fast before it was too late. Shannon had to be protected from Magnus, or she would not survive the night.
Conquered Shores Page 14
