by Tami Dee
"We were at war. A few weeks later Scipio and his raiding party snuck in at dawn on a low tide, but we were ready for him. He survived the counter attack, but the majority of his men did not.
"We are continuing to keep a vigilant watch on the shorelines, for we know it will only be a matter of time before he replenishes his army and returns," he continued, his words as sharp as the sword at his side. "Although we know not who they are yet, we know he has spies here amongst us. News that you are alive will reach his shores in no time at all. I am certain it will be enough to draw him back before he might otherwise be ready. He always had a particular hatred for you brother, even when we were children."
*****
The room fell silent. Behind the closed door, Kat pressed her ear against the thick wood. She was furious that Leif had locked her in the sleeping alcove. The small candle that provided the only light was close to flickering out and soon she would be left in total darkness. She had intended to start pounding on the door until someone, tired of hearing the racket, would let her out.
It was then she heard Scipio's name. And Rollo's. Now she could not believe that the legend she had been raised to believe had, all this time, been wrong, that it had not been Leif's people that had attacked her ancestors and all but obliterated the line. It had been Katla's own lover, Scipio.
Kat knew in her heart that if her namesake had known this, she would have been devastated. She wondered if Scipio had known about the child Katla carried.
The rumble of voices sounded again and Kat pressed her ear closer to the smooth oak.
It was a different voice that spoke this time, and yet no less impassioned than the first.
"He must be stopped once and for all. He means to wipe us out any way he can."
There was the sound of wood banging and Kat had no trouble imaging a fist smashing onto a table top.
"You must plot, brother. You must gather your own army and meet him on his own shores. He sits upon Iceland as a king and feels himself unbeatable. You must meet him before he returns to our shores."
"Has anyone found the infant?" Leif's familiar voice brought reassurance with it.
"What infant?" someone else demanded.
"Katla's infant," Leif replied. "She bore a son to Scipio. According to my information, Katla gave birth the day of the attack on her family. The infant would be approximately three months of age now."
Suddenly the room filled with masculine voices, all raised at once. Kat couldn't make out their words, but one thing was clear. The news that Scipio and Katla had had a child was not welcome.
"Quiet!" Leif's voice rang out and the room fell silent.
"The child presents a real danger to us," he said. "Not now, but when he reaches manhood."
Kat gasped. What was he saying? The memory of Leif, his face pensive as he sat in the large leather chair in the bank, reading the book she had handed him, flashed before her eyes. The realization that he had learned something, something regarding Katla's infant, struck her like lighting. And he had not told her of it. Why?
Footsteps sounded nearby. Kat's heart thundered in her breast as she scurried back to the edge of the bed. No sooner had she got covers over her body, hoping against all odds to hide from whatever was to come when the door crashed open and the fiercest looking man she had ever seen stood at the entrance glairing at her.
"Come," he said.
It was only one word, but Kat obeyed without question.
Leif drummed his fingers against the table and tried to ignore the pale-faced Kat as she was led from the alcove through the great hall, towed through the room by a coarse rope looped through the collar that now encircled her slim neck, the collar that all slaves wore to identify them as thralls.
Leif had given strict orders that her hair not be shorn as was that of the other female slaves, unable to stand the thought of those glossy, midnight locks falling to the ground and being tossed into a pile of refuse.
His heart twisted at her imploring look, yet he kept his face expressionless. At least she had the sense to keep on the arm band he had given her.
Knowing that his brothers watching him carefully, Leif forced his thoughts away from Kat and concentrated on the matter at hand. Things were much worse than he had feared. It was possible that Scipio knew of Katla's child and was hiding him.
Yes, he would have to raise an army to go to Iceland. But before he slew Scipio, he would interrogate him regarding the location of his infant son, whom the account had called, Arild.
Davyn spoke up, clearing his throat noisily. "Brother, how would you know of future events regarding Katla's child?"
Leif knew that it was a question that all his brothers were thinking; he also knew that they were becoming more convinced by the second that he had taken leave of his senses.
And perhaps he had.
Leif debated how much to tell them and finally, deciding on the simple truth, he took a deep breath and began. "Brothers," he said. "I beg you hear me out, and know that what I speak is the truth, not the ramblings of a dim mind..."
An hour later his brothers, none of whom had taken their eyes off him during his relating of the tale, struggled with the problem of whether to believe him or not.
Balmung shook his head. "You mean that they can make light and heat without fire?"
Leif laughed in relief. At least one brother did not think him ill. "Indeed brother," he said. "And it is everywhere."
Ofeig gave a low whistle, shaking his blond head in wonder.
Davyn met Leif's eye. "Although I was half dead the morning of your wedding, I saw the odd light the pendant gave out when it was grasped. At the time, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me. But now you tell me that it was no trickery, but a real occurrence. I admit that, at that time I felt that something greater than us was at work, but then I lost consciousness, by the time I awoke, several days later, I forgot the occurrence."
"Then the woman you have claimed as your wife and your slave is in fact Katla's ancestor?" Ofeig said slowly.
"Aye, she is," Leif assured him. And Kat is none too happy with her new lot in life. In truth she never had an easy time of it, even in her time. It was only her Amma that kept her going. But as their world is so different than ours, all this may be too much for her to endure."
"Why is it that her Amma wanted her to return to you?" Davyn asked.
"There lies another knot in this sad tale," Leif told him. "She has been sent here in order to find Katla's infant, whom I have learned has been named Arild, and save him. If she does not accomplish her task, she and all her ancestors back to Arild will very likely cease to exist. I tell you true, I know not whether the full import of her mission has occurred to her yet.
"I for one, do understand the importance to our own family line. If I do not find the infant and kill him before he raises his army, he will wipe out our entire line in one fateful battle."
The brothers each shook their heads. It was clear that none of them wished to be in Leif's place right now.
"So how will you keep this Katla from finding the child? Or worse, learning of your plan to slay him and trying to stop you?" Balmung asked, his brow drawn.
"Kat must never know what I learned about the infant. As for her finding the child, the chances of her doing so are all but none. She is unfamiliar with our land, our time. She has no idea how to survive in this world.
"Furthermore, Cavan will not let her out of his sight long enough for her to do any searching. And even if she did search, the child is likely still in Iceland, perhaps even set up in Scipio's household. Kat could never get from Denmark to Iceland. But we must, and soon."
"How do you feel, about slaying an infant that could cause the woman you have claimed as wife to no longer exist?" Ofeig, being the most intuitive of the brothers, quietly asked.
Leif gave him a long look. "It matters not how I feel," he answered slowly, hoping it was true. "My responsibility is to my family, my clan. For if the infant lives, we all wi
ll die."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Irritated, Kat brushed her hair from her face for what had to be the hundredth time. The rubber band that had traveled with her from her time had broken, and although she asked Mary, the woman silently stirring the big iron cooking pot beside her for something to tie her hair back with several times, the only response she received was a narrow-eyed glare and tight-lips turned at a disapproving angle. It didn't take a genius to realize that she was the only female slave without her hair crudely cut to just above her ears. The woman was jealous and Kat guessed if in her place, she would be, too.
Kat tugged at the collar she was forced to wear, the humiliating wretched sign of slavery that she -- and as far as she could tell -- all the other slaves wore. Each time she swallowed, the tender skin of her neck rubbed against the stiff band.
Perspiration dripped from her forehead despite the frigid temperature outdoors. When Cavan had led her to the cooking hut, she had almost wept with relief, it being the only chore that she could see being accomplished indoors and including a nice big fire. Now, endless hours later, the muscles of her arms and shoulders screamed from the constant stirring. She was sure the paddle she used doubled as an oar when not cooking. At first the smell of who knew what boiling in the pot made her sick to her stomach. But the fear of freezing to death away from the fire was enough to seal her lips and keep her stirring.
Most of the slaves she'd seen today looked to be of Irish descent, Mary included, with her dull red hair and the sprinkling of freckles across her slightly upturned nose. If she remembered her history lessons correctly, there would also be Swedes, Egyptians and even Norwegians pressed into slavery. Pretty much any nationality that the Vikings conquered ended up as slaves if they lived through the attacks of their lands.
She was still disturbed by the conversation she had overheard between Leif and she supposed his brothers, feeling more than a little betrayed by Leif for mentioning the infant to them. Although she hadn't had a chance to hear the rest of their conversation, she had a gut feeling that Leif himself would prove to be the one she was to protect Katla's infant from.
Kat rested her head against the handle of the paddle and sighed. Things were so complicated. She had an overwhelming urge to crawl back under the animal skins of Leif's straw bed and hide her head, but she doubted that Cavan would allow it.
You must make amends, both to his people and your own. "Well, Amma, I'm slaving for them. Does that count?" she said aloud.
Mary turned her head sharply. Kat flushed and gave her a weak smile. The stone-faced woman, who might even be pretty if she could manage to make herself smile, glared back at her. Apparently people in this century didn't talk to themselves. Kat would have to keep that in mind. Her feet and back hurt from standing in one place so long and she had to pee so badly she thought her bladder would burst, yet she didn't dare step away from her cooking pot for fear Cavan might find something else for her to do, maybe even something outside. In an effort to distract herself from her full bladder, she switched on the radio in her head and started to hum. If I Were A Rich Girl.
Kat's eyes watered. That was her and Rosie's favorite songs. Poor Rosie must be out of her mind by now with worry. And Singlee and McCarty. She wondered how long the Coast Guard would look for her and Leif before giving up.
Or would Rosie figure out what had happened? She hoped so.
So lost in her thoughts she didn't notice Cavan looming over her until he said "Come."
Kat jumped and her stirrer clamored against the side of the pot, earning her another glare from Mary.
Dread churned in her stomach as she followed Cavan away from the fire and out the door.
A sharp breeze blew her woolen shift about her ankles and within minutes, she was chilled to the bone. By the time he led her to the alcove where she'd slept, Kat's teeth were chattering and her feet were numb despite the rough wool stockings and sewn fish-skin shoes she had been given this morning to wear. Without saying a word, Cavan pulled open the wooden door and shoved her inside.
Unable to stand erect without hitting her head on the stone roof Kat thrust out her hand just in time to stop the door from slamming closed on her.
"Hey, wait," she cried. "Don't I get anything to eat? I'm starving."
Cavan glared in at her. He made an intimidating sight with his feet braced apart and his massive arms folded across his chest.
Irritation marred his otherwise handsome features. "You did not eat?" he said accusingly.
"No, of course not," Kat told him. "And when would I have had a chance? I was working all day long."
"You eat while you work," he said, and slammed the door in her face.
"Thanks for nothing, Dude," Kat muttered under her breath.
"You really should cease having speech with yourself, already my thralls think you touched in the head."
Kat spun around, her eyes blindly searched the darkness. She was so relieved to see, or rather hear, Leif that she almost forgot his earlier disturbing conversation with his brothers. Of course she couldn't ask him to re-hash the part she missed, for that would let him know that she was listening when she shouldn't have been.
Irritation quickly followed her relief and she blurted. "No one told me that I was supposed to eat while I work and I am famished. What do you intend to do about it?"
His deep chuckle filled the stone alcove and did strange things to her nerve endings.
His lazy response shouldn't have surprised her.
"I could bring you something to eat, if I were not vexed with your lack of respect."
He made a tsking noise that set her eyes rolling. Her stomach rumbled again, the sound amplified in the inky darkness.
The chamber filled with the soft glow of a candle Leif had secured in a wide-rimmed brass holder. Carefully he set the holder on a small bracket fastened into the rock that seemed to be specially made for the task.
"Do you have any idea what a fire hazard that candle is with all these animal skins and hay?" Kat asked incredulously even though she was more relieved than she cared to admit to have some light to see by.
He considered her for a moment. "This is the second time you have expressed concern regarding fire. Is there a reason it frightens you so?"
With the speed of light, Kat's mind traveled back to that fateful day five years ago.
She and Amma had just turned up the street, hand in hand, discussing Kat's day in school when they heard the shrill screech of sirens and saw smoke billowing from the sixth floor of their beautiful building where they had lived together all Kat's life. Their flat had been a total loss, including everything they owned, except the book of legends that her Amma always carried with her.
Then, two days later, she had learned of her Amma's condition and was informed that she was to be taken away to be cared for. Remembered desolation washed over Kat.
Alone in the world at fifteen, and now at twenty, she was again alone. Only this time she was alone in another world, another time.
"As this is your first day in my time," Leif said, apparently not noticing her pensive silence. "At least awake that is, I will humble myself to get you some food. After all, you went to great lengths to feed me in your time."
"And don't you forget it, buster," she mumbled as he maneuvered past her, his massive chest pressed, for a moment, against her breast.
Kat sucked in a startled breath.
"Be nice, Kat," he said, a devilish glint in his eye. "At least until I bring you your meal."
The whispered advice sent darts of anticipation racing across her nerve endings, but it would never do for him to know it.
"Then perhaps you had better get to it," she said sweetly, almost laughing at the shocked expression that crossed his face, followed by an amused grin.
Leif shot her one last smile then closed the door behind him. Did she hear a lock click?
Suddenly the bed she sat on felt threatening. Did Leif intend to make good his boast to his men and force himse
lf on her? Would he really impregnate her and then kick her out of his chambers and into the thrall's quarters?
In her heart she knew he would never do that, but what if the Leif she thought him to be in her time was, in reality, different in his own? What if he did have every intention of doing what he had said?
She had had a glimpse this morning of the rectangular hut which was the slave's quarters, a wattle and daub affair with a dirt floor as primitive as the cooking quarters, and she knew she did not want to be housed there.
Kat put her head in her hands and groaned. This was crazy. She had to find the infant, save him, and get the heck out of here.
Leif would have to help her. He just had to.
When the door opened the candle flickered. Leif brought with him a steaming bowl and two odd looking cups. He kicked the door closed behind him then placed the food in front of her.
"These alcoves are not designed to eat in, only sleep, but we can make do," he said.
As she reached for the hollowed out horn that served as a cup, Leif's hand curled around hers and he frowned to see it blistered and red.
The way he stared at her would have touched her heart if it were not he himself that put her in this unconscionable position in the first place.
"You're hurt," he murmured. For a moment she was reminded of the Leif she had known back in San Francisco. But this time -- his time -- had reclaimed him. She could have wept.
As though he guessed what she was thinking, he abruptly left the alcove again.
