Viking Fire

by Andrea R. Cooper

  Rhiannon smacked Kaireen with the back of her hand. In her mouth, she tasted her own blood. She spit the blood upon Rhiannon, and again she was slapped.

  “You have the manners of swine.” The older woman swept her hands across the velvet fabric of her stolen dress. “Now, I am the late laird’s wife. Not that I expect you to understand. Feoras is my son and rightful heir.”

  Kaireen twisted around to see her family’s reaction, but the guard held her in place by her arm, which throbbed like hooks jabbed into her.

  “Once my mother is returned to her clan,” Feoras gleamed, “and rulership established, we will deal with you.” His leather boots slapped across the stone floor to her. With a fist full of her auburn hair, he jerked her head back. “You and your Lochlann killed our laird with his own sword. I pity not the death our clansmen will give you.”

  The sword? Aye, she had been so busy she forgot. The sword was in her room, last she knew.

  Feoras forced her head in a bow to his mother. Then he swaggered away. The guard dragged her forward, after Feoras and his mother.

  At swordpoint, the other guard led the rest of her family from the tower.

  As Kaireen descended the steps, she wanted to kick the guard beside her who would not let go of her arm.

  But the sword Feoras spoke about itched beneath her skin like a rash that would soon show upon her flesh. Why did his words sting her so?

  What happened with the sword? She searched her memory. When Elva braided her hair before her punishment, the sword was safe in her— Wait. Then Rhiannon came to escort her to her parents for their judgment.

  Rhiannon. She must have seen the sword and taken it.

  Fear plummeted into her stomach. This was why the O’Neill’s attacked. They believed she used the sword to kill their laird. Rhiannon had framed her, but only she knew the truth. Now every man, woman, and child of the O’Neill clan would want her dead.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Bram groaned as cold breath filled his lungs. Ribs bruised and broken screamed with each movement.

  The sun hid behind white clouds, rays reaching through. He smelled grass, blood, and lilac.

  A shadow blocked his view of the sun and he flinched. Searing pain gripped his breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the moment to pass. He could not defend himself. This enemy would run him through and not give a second glance.

  The pain eased and he was able to open his eyes.

  An angel appeared before him. Her white hair flowed to her waist. Her face ancient, yet youthful, gazed at him. She was dressed in a grey livery.

  “Elva?” he choked.

  “Shh.” She brushed his hair from his brow. A medallion hung from a silver chain round her neck. Orange amber filled the stone, and silver carvings encircled the gem. Carvings like writing or symbols he had never seen before. “Everything is fine.”

  “Where is Kaireen?” He struggled to lift his head, but could not because a force held him.

  He realized Elva’s hand rested on his forehead. “Is she safe? Has the battle ended?” As if in answer, swords scraped against swords and shields, resonating through the air.

  A shout drew silence from the courtyard. He lifted his head and saw Rhiannon and Feoras in the distance. Men held Kaireen, her father, mother, and sister.

  Feoras waved his sword in the air. “Men, we bring vengeance for our laird.” The crowd cheered. “We have released our Lady Mistress from their prison, and she is returned to us now.”

  Again the crowd cheered, but Bram heard grumbling among the applause.

  “Our Lady Mistress!” Feoras swept into a bow as Rhiannon inched forward.

  “My clansmen.” She waited until the angry shouts died from both clans. “These monsters sought to destroy us. Our laird trusted me as a spy in their midst. They killed our laird, my beloved husband. Now I beseech you, take your sword and kill all of them. Leave no babe alive. We take these lands and rule them for the O’Neill’s.”

  A deafening roar rose. Their applause died away at Feoras’ waved hands for silence. “The murderous witch stands among you now.” Feoras hauled Kaireen forward and Bram gritted his teeth from pain as he tried to move.

  “They lie.” Elva spoke.

  Everyone inhaled as though waiting her permission to breathe. Bram wondered how anyone heard her when her voice had sounded like the wind to him. But the others reacted as if thunder had spoken.

  Elva stood near him, although he blinked and had not seen her rise. A yew staff was in her hand.

  “Servants who speak without permission will be flogged.” Rhiannon cleared her throat. “Speak again and the flogging will last until you have no skin left.”

  “This be like your laird’s?” Elva smiled and tapped a medallion hung around her neck with her free hand.

  Whispers rang through the crowd.

  “Stolen, no doubt from this witch by her devil laying there.” Feoras pointed to Bram.

  “No,” Elva said, and the pressing crowd drew back. “Bearach wears his father’s medallion.”

  Then in answer, Bearach strode forward. Blood gushed down his left arm. But he held his medallion in his right hand for everyone to see. He gazed back at Elva in wonder.

  Rhiannon stuttered when Elva raised her hand in silence.

  “Kings and queens must seek approval when in the presence of a Buhn-Druid to speak.” She struck her yew staff on the ground and people jumped.

  “You are a druid?” Kaireen frowned. “How is that possible? You are my handmaid.” Surely she jested; a druid of that stature was the highest ranking of that religion. Protected and secreted even among their own kind. And a Buhn-Druid was rumored to control the hearts of kings because of their gift of prophecy and ability to turn a battle in their favor.

  “And what does Druid mean in the Celtic language, but the hidden ones?”

  At the handmaid’s words, Rhiannon’s eyes bulged. Feoras gripped his sword, but Bearach shook his head and moved to block his brother’s path.

  “Long ago I foresaw the injustice and calamity that would fall upon our clan.” Elva stepped forward. “Although I could not change this future, I knew worse would come if I did nothing. Forty years ago, I kissed my brother goodbye and came as a servant to the Liannon clan. Not as a spy, but as a protector of both the Liannon and the O’Neill clans. They gave me work, food, and clothing.”

  Mumbles rose among the O’Neill and Liannon men.

  “Kaireen, nor any other Liannon, or the Lochlann Bram, harmed our laird. My brother was killed by his son.”

  Angry shouts drowned the sounds of robins flying overhead. Kaireen stood red faced.

  Elva pointed with her staff. “Feoras and his mother are the guilty ones. He has the blood of Bearach’s son upon him. And even now he seeks to kill his other rival.”

  Everyone gasped, seeing Feoras’ sword facing his brother’s back. The tip pushed through the chain mail. Bearach twisted away and raised his sword to his brother’s.

  Bram struggled to move, to reach his sword that lay at his feet. But as he lifted his head, he saw his leg twisted at an angle. He wriggled, groping for the hilt. His muscles convulsed from the burning pain ripping through his leg. He clenched his jaw, fearing to breathe until the pain subsided. He heard someone shouting.

  “Do not move!” Feoras jerked his arm toward Elva. “Witch. She blinds you to the truth. Poisons your thoughts against us.”

  Kaireen took a step forward, but Rhiannon grasped her arm.

  “Feoras,” Rhiannon clamored as though ensuring everyone heard her. “This one holds your sword by her witchcraft to kill my son, Bearach.” She jerked Kaireen toward him.

  As if planned, Feoras’s wild eyes darted to her. His sword shook. He eased back, lowering the sword. “Aye, Mother.” He stalked to Kaireen, and yanked her forward by her hair.

  She cried out, raking her fingernails across his hand. But he dragged her forward to Elva and Bram.

  Bram roared. She was in danger.
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  The throng pressed in closer. But Bram could not move. He could not help her. While he lay helpless, she may die before his eyes.

  Feoras smiled down at him. The smile elongated his nose, causing his face to resemble a gargoyle’s.

  Elva stood at Bram’s feet. She sidestepped and then brought her staff down on Feoras’ head.

  He stumbled back, releasing Kaireen. Needing no encouragement, she rushed to Bram’s side as he laid on the ground, unable to console her.

  Tears fell on his face as she kissed him. Elva kicked his sword and the hilt rested next to his side. His fingers dug in the dirt, but his fingertips brushed Kaireen’s robes. Where was his blasted sword?

  She sobbed her words. He could make no sense of them. “Kaireen, hand me my sword.”

  “No, Bram,” Elva seethed. “This is not for you to do.”

  At her words, confusion rang through his mind. Damn her, while she played, Feoras stood, his sword in hand.

  “You will die for that witch,” Feoras snarled. “I will kill your apprentice first.” His wild eyes watched as Kaireen paid him no heed, but stared at Bram.

  Bram knew the look. It was the look of a madman with murder caressing his mind.

  “I cannot move.” He swallowed. “Take my sword,” he said to Kaireen.

  “I-I cannot.” She looked to Elva.

  “I am forbidden to draw blood.” Elva took a step back.

  Feoras hit Elva with his sword hilt across the face. She fell back, her head struck Bram’s twisted leg and he cried out.

  “You see?” Feoras waved his arm to the throng. “He is her familiar, I saw him dead. Now he lives.”

  The crowd yelled in agreement.

  “I must slice off his head and maim her power.” He raised his sword back with both hands. The blade came swiftly.

  Bram saw Kaireen move from the corner of his eye.

  His mouth screamed no, but he knew she could not hear him. She must not sacrifice her life for his. He wanted to knock her off balance and save her.

  But the unseen force he touched earlier rushed him again, pressing his body to the ground. He could not lift his head. Wind whistled in his ears.

  He saw Kaireen’s face, her chin set in a stubborn lift. Her green eyes narrowed.

  Feoras brought the sword down. Blood splattered across his face.

  No, dear Odin, not my sweet Kaireen! Bram thought. She was part of his soul.

  Suddenly, the force left him. The pressing on his chest eased. He lifted himself on his elbows, grunted from the soreness.

  At his side Kaireen kneeled, his sword in her hand and her dagger plunged into Feoras’ stomach.

  Rhiannon shrieked, running toward Kaireen. Her hands held her purple skirts. Wisps of her grey hair loosened from her bun.

  Instead of softening her gaunt face, the strands gave the impression of Caoranch, the mother of demons. “I will kill you!”

  Kaireen pulled the sword back and Feoras slumped to the ground. She pointed the blade at Rhiannon using both hands.

  “Stop. Or you meet Feoras in death.”

  Bram grinned, noticing she wore a friar’s brown robes cinched at the waist with a piece of rope. He wondered how long her penitence would last for these sins.

  Damn his broken body. He should have protected her, not the other way around.

  “You cannot harm me.” Rhiannon stared at Kaireen.

  “All the Liannon and I imagine the O’Neill’s who remember you will attest to your bullying. I believe what Elva, sister of Laird O’Neill, has spoken to be true.” She kept her eyes on Rhiannon, but addressed the crowd. “I follow the will of you, our clansmen. What say you?”

  “They need a leader to tell them what to do, not a simple girl,” Rhiannon smirked.

  “I agree, as leader,” Bearach stepped forward, “with Kaireen. I see my father’s eyes in Elva, speaks the truth. Enough blood has been shed today. We all paid dearly, I—my son.” His voice cracked, but he continued. “What shall be done with this traitor?”

  Shouts rang through the crowd. “Burn her. Kill her. Throw her in the pit.”

  “To kill her will lessen her deeds.” Bearach nodded. “Tie her. We take her back home.”

  Angry murmurs rose from the O’Neill clan. Bearach folded his arms. “I am laird now. We throw her in the pit for her memory to keep her company. I want her to suffer every day until she dies for what she has done.” He shook his head as she cursed, passing him. “Perhaps God will give her mercy, for I cannot.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Kaireen trembled with memories from the battle. It had taken all of her strength to lift Bram’s sword. She had hoped to deflect the blow.

  Thoughts of Feoras harming Bram made the sword feel light in her hands. Somehow she knew she must keep the sword up, blocking his. Then she saw her dagger glint in the sun beside Bram. Not thinking, she let one hand off the sword, snatched her dagger and thrust it into his stomach. Relieved, and the sword heavy once more, she dropped it. Feoras stood in shock for a moment, his sword arm still raised as he gazed down at the dagger sticking out of him.

  After the O’Neill’s had taken Rhiannon, she bent over Bram. He was alive. And she cared not how.

  He held her to his chest and she heard his heartbeat. Such a wondrous sound, and she wished to lay there, listening to the rhythm forever.

  Tears flooded through her, soaking through his chain mail to his saffron tunic.

  “Weep not.” His hand stroked her back. “Our wedding is tomorrow.”

  Laughter blurted with her sobs. “No, I will not marry you still.”

  His frown tore into her laughter and she ceased. “I am sorry you feel that way, I will leave at dawn.”

  “No.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile. “We will not marry until you are healed. You promised me a glorious wedding night. And I will not have my husband lazy, and slumbering all the time from his wounds.”

  “Truly?” he asked and her heart soared. “You will be my wife?” She heard the hope in his voice.

  She looked into his blue eyes. Clear like the autumn sky above them. His face darkened in the sun and splattered with blood.

  “Aye,” she answered. “I love you forever and even that will not be long enough.”

  His hug knocked the air from her, but she wrapped her arms carefully around his chest, and then planted kisses on his face and lips.

  “Wait.” He held her hands. “I have, as your faith says, a confession.”

  Fear tried to choke her, but she swallowed it back down. Whatever he said, it would not change her love for him, not after all they had been through.

  “I made your mother a promise.” He touched her lips when she opened her mouth to protest. “Let me finish. I came to the keep weeks before you saw me. I was to be arranged in marriage to Rebecca, daughter of one of your father’s noblemen for my alliance. I had tasted a glimmer of love before and prayed to the gods to find it again. So I dressed as a peasant and observed her and others. However, it was you that crept under my skin. I saw not only your feisty temper, but your compassion. I knew there was no other for me. I bargained with your father for you, and had to promise more men to come with me to protect your family and lands.” He caressed her cheek. “And I would have paid anything.”

  She leaned into his hand. “But what of my mother? What promise do you speak of?”

  He ran a hand through his golden hair. “After our agreement, I told your mother I loved you. She made me vow not to tell you unless you spoke the words first. It tore me up every time I saw you. It would have been easier to have promised to bring back a tooth from Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent instead.”

  “I would not have believed you if you told me sooner. My mother was right.” She kissed him until she heard a shuffling behind her.

  “Good to see you again.” The red giant shifted his feet. “Found this one in the stables underneath the hay.”

  Bram translated what the giant said so Kaireen would
understand his words as well.

  Megan sucked her thumb, her other hand around his neck as she stared at him.

  “How did you get here so soon?” Bram squinted at him. “You must have arrived yestereve at the holding?”

  His cheeks colored. “We arrived this morn’ ready to work until your lass came calling.”

  “They helped sway the battle.”

  “Aye,” the giant said. “Get well, brother. Your men will not be happy with cleaning for long.” He winked.

  “Brother?” Kaireen glanced back at Bram.

  “Younger brother,” Bram grunted. “And late as always for the surprise.”

  “Surprise?” She frowned. What mysteries did Bram hold?

  His finger stroked her cheek and she longed to lean into his gesture. He loved her. And she, God help her, loved him.

  “I arranged for them to sail along the coast and ready our keep for the wedding night. Lochlanns,” he said the name with a peculiar lilt as though tasting the word and finding it foul, “would be too noticeable racing across the countryside. So I asked them to stay at the holding until the wedding.”

  “What will you pay me to keep our mouths shut from our brothers?” The giant loomed above them.

  “How many brothers do you have?”

  Bram smiled tapping his chin with a finger. “Well, our oldest brother lives in Norway, he inherited all the land from our father. Erick still raids…”

  “How many?” She poked his shoulder.

  He chuckled, pulling her into his embrace. “I hope us to have as many sons.”

  She struggled against him. Until he answered her, she would not cease. Did the man think her daft to forget the question while he held her?

  Well, she was in love, but she was not daft yet.

  “Nine.”

  She gasped and he kissed her. Nine sons? She doubted she would live long enough to birth so many children.

  Especially if they grew as large as Bram’s brother.

  As if hearing her thoughts, the giant laughed and sauntered away. Megan giggled with him.