Viking Fire

by Andrea R. Cooper

  He jumped into the Lochlanns’ boat and sliced at men holding their hands in surrender. Kaireen turned her head; it was shameful, what Feoras and the others did.

  The waves lapped at the dead’s blood.

  Bearach raced to stop his brother’s madness, but the last dying Lochlann capsized the dragon ship. Against the waves, Feoras and the others were left to struggle for air.

  Once he reached the water, Bearach waded in. Kaireen bit her lip. If he stepped too deep, then he may lose his footing and drown if he wasn’t a strong enough swimmer against the undertow.

  Red waves fanned around the boat. Bearach stretched out his arms, hauling Feoras and three others back to the side of the cliff.

  Seeing the struggling Lochlann, Bearach waded deeper into the ocean. Bearach went under a few times, but he could not reach the distant Lochlann.

  He fought the waves on his way back to the beach. Two of his fellow O’Neills had drowned.

  On the wet sand, Bearach drew ragged breaths with the others he rescued. Feoras lay, sprawled out, but breathed.

  “Do idiocy like that again,” Bearach stood and then shook water like a wolfhound. “And I will leave you to your grave.” Bearach returned to the others.

  Then he helped Bram to his feet. Kaireen’s hands searched for the damage on Bram’s chest. His tunic was soaked with blood. She could not tell how much blood was his or the enemy’s.

  Bram pushed her hands away. The corners of his mouth turned into a frown, but his blue eyes twinkled. “I told you to go to your father.” He continued to lean on Bearach for support.

  “You are not my lord husband.” Her face heated and she strained to hide her smile. “Nor would I obey such a foolish command even if you were.”

  “We will discuss your disobedience later.” Bram shifted his weight and grimaced.

  “If not for me, you would be dead.” She huffed crossing her arms. “Why are men so thick skulled?”

  “No, women are…” Bram started to argue. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he collapsed.

  Bearach ordered a travois made. The men scrambled into the forest to obey.

  When the men returned, they dragged tree limbs with them. Bearach worked with the others, cutting pieces of the dead Lochlanns’ tunics to tie the limbs together. He gave his cloak to spread across the limbs for Bram.

  After the cloak secured the travois, Bearach heaved her father’s guards’ dead bodies onto their horses. Kaireen tied the horses’ reins in a line ending with her horse as the lead.

  “Ride slow with him.” Bearach carried Bram to Kaireen’s horse and placed him on the travois.

  She nodded and then mounted her horse.

  “A little rest and sewing is all he needs.” Bearach turned back to the other travois they had crafted to carry their injured. The dead were draped on their horses; it would be a slow journey back for the O’Neills.

  Chapter Five

  Dusk colored the sky in purples and reds when Kaireen returned to her father’s keep. With another glance back at Bram, she sighed.

  He had not stirred since he collapsed earlier. It worried her more than facing her father.

  Smoke from the chimney drew ringlets against sky.

  Kaireen smelled the roasting pig. Her empty stomach rumbled. With a tug of the reins, the horse sauntered to a stop. She dismounted and then checked on Bram. His blond hair was matted to his head with sweat.

  To her touch, his skin burned her fingers. Her father’s guards gathered around her. “Take him to his quarters.”

  Two guards bent to obey her command. Another guard untied the travois, and then led her horse to the stable. Kaireen gathered her skirts and chased after the guards carrying Bram.

  Past the bailey she spotted Elva. “Come with me.” She dragged Elva with her. “Hurry, he is hurt badly.” She thought she heard her handmaid chuckle, but the footfalls down the corridor muffled the sound. Noises from the banquet hall filtered through the walls.

  They reached Bram’s room and the guards eased Bram onto the bed.

  His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Kaireen thankful for the movement, though his face was pale and dark circles lined his eyes.

  Elva shooed the guards and they halted outside the doorway.

  “Close the door behind them,” Elva directed her.

  She raised an eyebrow at the audacity of her handmaid ordering her, but she complied. The wooden door clicked closed.

  “Let them guard the door if they must.” Elva untied a leather purse from underneath her outer tunic.

  Kaireen rushed forward and stood next to the bed. The dark room smelled of burnt hazel and honeyed mead.

  “Light all the candles you can find,” Elva ordered her.

  Kaireen’s heart raced with panic. Bram’s condition must be serious for her handmaid to instruct her as if she were a commoner.

  Kaireen used the flint stone and lit five candles. She gasped when she saw Elva with her dagger in her hand. Why did she have Kaireen’s dagger with her?

  Her handmaid cut away his blood-crusted tunic. “Bring the candles closer so I can see the damage.”

  Kaireen rushed to do so. Her face flushed at seeing his naked chest. No, she was not in love with him. Lust, though was another matter entirely. She would never give in to lust or allow herself to be ruled by it, ever.

  After dragging a wooden stool next to the bed, she set the candle down. She gathered the other candles and then placed them on the stool as well.

  On his side were two jagged gashes.

  “Will he d—” She choked. If he died, she knew her father would blame her.

  Elva glanced at her. An eternity past until her servant spoke. “No, he will live.” She smiled at her mistress’s relief. “I have not forgotten the old ways.” Elva opened the leather purse, revealing pockets of separated dried herbs. “Bring me the water basin.”

  Without thought Kaireen obeyed. Elva pinched fragments of brown and yellow herbs into the basin. She swirled the herbs around and whispered words Kaireen did not understand.

  A fragrant mixture of hyssop, myrrh, and pine emerged. Still she added more.

  Then she lifted her underskirt, revealing a secret holding bag, and removed three vials the size of her palm.

  She poured the first two into the bowl, then stirred the ingredients, complaining about consistency.

  The third vial she opened with caution. An acrid stench arose.

  “Take your dagger and cut strips from his bed linens not covered in blood.”

  Her dagger fell on the bed next to Bram’s right leg.

  Kaireen grasped the blade. She wrinkled her nose. But she could not find a spot next to him without blood. She swept to the other side of the bed.

  Holding the dagger she cut four strips from the bed linens. Her hands shook. Finished, she brought the strips to Elva.

  “Careful.” Elva handed her the third vial.

  And Kaireen jumped at her handmaid’s snap. But she steadied the vial in one hand and the strips and dagger in the other. Holding the vial this close made her eyes water from the pungent smell.

  “Douse the wound with this liquid on the cloth. Clean the wound until no blood comes.” Elva threaded a needle. “On with it, child.”

  Kaireen squatted beside Bram. After this Elva would require a thrashing for her behavior. As though unconcerned, Elva threaded a needle.

  She poured the liquid onto one of the strips and then wiped his wound. The first two strips were quickly soaked with blood.

  If Elva did not heal him, she would have her head. She let her shoulders relax, relieved that blood did not cover the fourth cloth. She sheathed her dagger attaching it to her belt.

  “’Tis clean.” She turned back to Elva.

  Elva nodded, bringing the threaded needle.

  “What do you need it for? His wound does not bleed anymore.”

  “Any movement and his wound will reopen. The liquid is for cleaning, to stop the fever and infection.
Also it works well to staunch the bleeding.”

  Kaireen watched as Elva sewed Bram’s wound closed. She cringed each time the needle passed through his flesh. She wondered if it would leave a scar like the others that randomly lined his chest and shoulders in fading lines.

  Elva finished. She tied a knot to secure her mending, then bit the extra thread with her teeth.

  Elva tested the solution she had made in the water basin. Then she smeared the foul smelling remedy across his stitched wound.

  “Cut long strips from his bed linens. Long enough to wrap around his chest.”

  Kaireen followed her instructions.

  Then Elva emptied the water basin into the chamber pot. Yellowish-brown paste covered Bram’s wound. Then her handmaid used a little of the salve on Kaireen’s cheek where the willow tree had slashed her. The cut burned and she reached her hand up to scratch it when Elva slapped her hand away.

  “Leave it be. Call the two guards in,” Elva ordered her as she cleaned her hands using the water from a pitcher.

  Kaireen almost curtsied, but caught herself and frowned. She stalked to the door and then flung it open. “Come inside,” she barked.

  They stumbled in.

  On her grey livery, Elva dried her hands, the vials of liquids and pouches of herbs hidden. “Lift him so I can bind his wound.”

  They gaped at Kaireen and she nodded.

  Elva wrapped the cloths around Bram and then fastened them closed with a knot.

  Kaireen thanked the guards and they left. She waited for hours and no change in Bram’s fever or consciousness. Elva disappeared leaving her alone with him. On her handmaid’s orders, she smoothed droplets of water on his lips every so often. He did not gain consciousness, but would swallow when she drizzled the water into his mouth.

  “Drink.” Elva returned and handed her a goblet filled with honey-mead. “You need to rest. It would not do to lose either of you to battle nor blight.”

  Kaireen wondered where Elva had gotten mead; it was probably Bram’s. But her throat was parched and her stomach rumbled. She was in need of peaceful rest, not wanting the demons of the battle to trouble her dreams.

  She downed the liquor, but a bitter taste lingered on her tongue as she set the goblet back in Elva’s outstretched hand.

  Bram moaned.

  Concerned, her fingers touched his cheek. Relief—his skin was clammy, but not burning as before. She brushed back his golden hair and flushed, recalling his kiss. The kiss she wanted to slash him for.

  But she must not fall in love with this man. He was a Lochlann.

  She paced around the room while Elva tidied it up. Once he was healed, she would insist he leave and never return. Her handmaid drew the shutters closed and latched them in place.

  Flickering candles provided light in the darkened chambers. Kaireen stared at the flames. They danced with orange and yellow costumes. Dizzy, she swayed on her feet as Elva tossed blankets over Bram.

  Then her handmaid stood at her arm pulling her toward the door. “Away with you now.” She said. “He needs rest. And you need to eat.” Kaireen opened her mouth to protest, but her handmaid interrupted. “I will get soup in him, do not worry. Go to the kitchens and eat the leftover lamb. Cook has some heated. Then you will go straight to bed yourself. You can deal with your parents and husband on the morrow.”

  Kaireen shook her head, the room spinning. “He is not my husband.” Her voice sounded soft to her ears.

  “Of course, dear.” Elva pushed her out.

  Kaireen shuffled into the kitchens, but could not recall her steps there. The cook, a wide woman with spindle legs, carved slices of a leg of lamb, explained Kaireen’s good timing as she now had time to re-heat tonight’s meal for her supper.

  After swallowing a few bites of lamb and stewed carrots, Kaireen staggered to her room.

  She kicked the door closed behind her, stumbled and fell across her bed. She strained to keep her eyes open, but sleep won. “I will not fall in love with him.” Surely he will be glad to be on his way when he recovers for he must value his life more than a hard-hearted woman.

  Chapter Six

  Kaireen woke with her auburn hair tickling her nose. Sunlight filtered through the half closed shutters. She groaned. Running a hand through her hair, her fingers caught on tangles. She was dressed in her green tunic with tattered gashes from her ride last night.

  Her tongue tasted bitter as she clambered out from bed. Where was Elva?

  She glared at the closed shutters. Yanking one side open she squinted from the sunlight, shading her eyes with a hand and gaped. The sun burned high in the sky. It must be past noon.

  She snatched a clean shift and gown. She left her room, and stamped down the hallway to the bathing chamber. As she grumbled, her green riding skirts flared around her legs.

  On the way she spotted a servant girl. “Ready a bath for me.”

  The girl curtsied.

  “Make the water warm enough. I do not want gooseflesh.”

  The girl giggled, staring at Kaireen’s disheveled hair.

  Inside, Kaireen set her clothing on the bench. Muttering she must look a mess, she grabbed a silver comb left for guests and raked it through her hair.

  “With your hair tangled, you look a worse sight then me.” A male voice sounded to her right.

  She whirled around recognizing Bram’s voice.

  Leaning on a wooden staff, he grinned. His side was bound with fresh linens round his chest. Ends of his golden hair lay damp and brushed against his collarbone. He shifted and then grimaced, as if standing was painful.

  She forced her body to stay still. She would not rush into his arms like some milksop girl wanting to kiss his face for living. Instead, she tugged the comb through her tangled mane.

  “Careful.” He winked. “Else you will have no hair left on your beautiful head.”

  She winced, jerking out a handful of hair. Did he know about Rebecca, then? She frowned at his smile.

  Against the wall he slouched, watching her.

  “Are you going to stand there all day?” she asked.

  “Until I have strength to make the journey back to my room.”

  Was he so weak he had to rest?

  Where was Elva? Oh, she would skin the woman alive if he fell to sickness from strain after all she went through to save his Lochlann hide.

  “Perhaps after you bathed and dressed…” He flashed a smile making warmth spread through her body. “Then my strength may return…for I am enjoying the view.”

  She gasped and then threw the comb at him.

  With a laugh, and a groan he dodged her throw. He hobbled away. His wooden support thudded against the stone floor and then faded into the distance.

  Kaireen flushed from the roots of her hair to her chest. She felt moisture between her legs. What was wrong with her? How could she hate someone so and then feel this way against her will. And she wanted her own bath, not leftover water that caressed him and still carried his scent of sea, mead, and musk.

  The servant girl wobbled in, carrying a bucket of steaming water in each hand. At this rate it would be dark before the barrel was full enough for her to bathe.

  Kaireen shook her head. Curse her for a fool. She would not love him. She would not.

  Then Elva strode in carrying another two full buckets.

  “Where have you been?” she screeched. “That heathen bathed before me again. And he had the impudence to suggest watching me as I bathed.”

  Elva ordered the servant girl to wait. Instead of apologizing, she folded her hands and then glanced back at her mistress. Nonchalant, as though to bait Kaireen’s anger. “Last night you were intent on him living. Do you now wish me to have him die?”

  “No.” Kaireen flinched. “But he should stay in bed. Not wait around to catch glimpses of women trying to bathe.”

  “I had to clean and then rebind his wound with fresh linens.”

  “Why?” Kaireen flipped her hair back. “He could wash
, and the linens be reused.”

  Six servants rushed forward, each carrying two buckets of steaming water. Then they emptied them into the empty bathing barrel. The steam played across the water like wispy fog.

  “Silly girl.” Elva ignored Kaireen’s heated stare. “Clean linens will keep the fever away. Or as I asked afore, do you wish him ill now?”

  It was easier to bide his presence when he was asleep. He looked more like a harmless boy than a Lochlann sea raider when he was unable to speak or hunt her down for kissing. Kaireen stuttered, but glanced away to compose her words. “No. But have a servant sent to my chambers if you are unable to meet your duties to me.”

  “Your water is ready. Did I forsake my duties?”

  “I do not approve of your tardiness.”

  “Tardy or no,” Elva sniffed. “I have your bath ready before this weed of a girl warmed two buckets.” She nodded her head toward the servant girl. “Or does speed entice you so you wish to wash from a mere pail?”

  “You take too many freedoms. See this does not happen again.” She took the hazel twig the handmaiden offered, grateful that the flavor covered the tart hint from the drink Elva gave her last night.

  After undressing, she climbed the wooden ladder into the bathing barrel. Along the edge lay a wool washcloth and a jar of soap. She scrubbed clean and washed her hair. Leaves, twigs, and dirt from her journey floated along the surface of the water.

  Lately, Elva was too forthright. She would set her handmaid straight. Ensure Elva knew her place as servant, and she the mistress.

  Kaireen scrambled from the bath with her mind set. Her body dripped water across the stone floor. She dried and then yanked on her leine. The material clung to her and her wet hair drenched her back.

  She squeezed the excess water from her hair. Then she donned her gown. Panels of red left in the dye longer alternated with lighter shades.

  Crossing the bathing area, Kaireen found the young servant girl in the corridor. She leaned against a wooden beam picking her nails.

  Kaireen recalled not this servant’s name; Marian or Leah?