by Delle Jacobs
"Since then, she has bullied us to do what we must to survive. And when we would not, she did what needed to be done for us. She has plowed the fields, hunted down bees for their honey, trapped hares, whatever she must do, she has done. She was always the last into the cavern, always the one who saw those she loved fall to the Viking axe. It is a wonder she has not been killed." The sheen of tears danced in Birgit's eyes.
"We can take care of her now."
Birgit smiled, a sadly wise smile. "But that is my point. What I have lost is easy for others to understand, but Arienh has lost far more. I do not think even Arienh understands this. Wonderful though she is, she should never have had this burden. She should have had the life of a normal woman. But she has not. She accepted her task willingly, but in time, the task itself became who she is. And now you have come, and you take that from her. She fears her people no longer need her. We do, of course, but in different ways."
"But it is no longer necessary. I can take care of her now."
Birgit shook her head. "You do not hear me. I know you can take care of her. But necessity has made her who she is, and I do not think she knows how to be anything else. If you do not accept this, you cannot accept her."
"Do you suggest I submit to her will, then? Where we come from, men make the decisions."
"A Viking submit to a woman? I could not imagine it, even though you are not where you came from anymore. But you have come here with your minds set on what we need. You did not ask us. Just as you did not ask Arienh's consent to wed her."
Ronan frowned. "It was she who made the offer."
"But she had no other choice, for you held Elli's life in your hand. She could no more let her die than she could you, on the day you came here, and you know that. Nay, you forced her consent, no matter how you say it. And among Celts, only willingness makes a marriage valid."
There had been nothing forced about the passion between them. Yet had that alone made it a marriage? He glanced through the open door, yearning to take Arienh in his arms and hold her, tenderly soothing her pain, patiently loving her as she recovered. Keeping her safe from all the horrors, wiping away the pain of the past.
But what if she really did not want him at all, what if she never had? Had he let his dream so encompass him that he had blotted out all her wishes? Believed hers to be the same as his merely because he wanted it that way?
"I have been fooling myself, then," he said. "She has made it clear all along she does not find me good enough for her."
Birgit almost smiled. "Ah, Viking, you only hear her words. Listen to her heart instead."
She raised her clasped hands to her lips and continued. "It is true, we learned you are not like those monstrous marauders. It was hard for us to accept, but we learned you are men, worthy men, men to be admired. But then there was Liam. Arienh would have never let you take him from me, no matter what it cost her. But I am resigned to that now. You are right, he needs a man, not his mother. It is best for him, so I will let him go."
"Let him go?" Ronan and Egil echoed each other. Their eyes met, exchanging confusion.
Birgit focused her pale, determined gaze on Ronan, almost as if she did not know Egil stood there. "Aye. I know I can trust Egil to foster him well. Arienh will not understand, but it is Liam's need that must be met. Nothing else matters. I want most of all that my son will become a worthy man."
Angry frustration boiled up in Egil's face, and he grabbed Birgit by her arms. "You expect me to take your child and not you? Nay, I will have you as well."
Even face to face with him, Birgit would not meet Egil's eyes. Her lids closed, fluttering. "I will be no man's wife."
"Why?"
"I have nothing to give." Birgit chewed at her lip and turned away. She stepped over the threshold and quietly shut the door behind her.
Through a horrible, strained moment, Egil watched the old oak door as if he expected it to open again and Birgit burst out of it, into his arms. Anguish deepened in his eyes.
Ronan touched Egil's arm, feeling his brother’s devastation. Now that Birgit's secret was out, Arienh might come around. But Birgit? What could anyone do about her eyes?
Birgit was right. From the beginning, Egil had pursued his love with the greatest gentleness, but he'd had no idea just how badly Birgit had been damaged. How could she live the life of a normal wife? What if she had more children? How would she manage them?
And if Egil did not marry her, then Arienh would never leave her sister.
They walked in silence, alone, following the path that led through the ash grove and the oak tree where Birgit had collided with the low-hanging branch.
"She never even saw it," Egil said, testing the sturdiness of the limb. "How did she manage to fool us for so long?"
"Because we did not expect it. Because she does not put herself in places where her secret would be betrayed. Because she weaves. Who would have thought anyone could weave so wonderfully if she could not see?"
Egil gave a mirthless laugh and nodded, as they turned back to the path toward the Bride's Well, their pace brutally slow.
"Or to hit the center of a target on her first shot? It must truly have been luck. But now I understand the look I saw on her face. She was afraid her shot was wild and her secret was about to be revealed." The slow shake of his head seemed laced with pain. "But Ronan, I still cannot imagine that they thought we might actually hurt her."
Ronan knew. "But how could they know that is not our way? They have never been anywhere but here. Every Northman they have ever seen has been a murderer, men like Hrolgar. What will you do now, brother?"
"I don't know. I just don't know. I cannot give her up."
Ronan understood. They were very much alike, he and Egil, brothers in many ways, even if they did not share the same blood.
And Egil would find a solution, just as he would.
With a clap to his brother's back, he encouraged Egil back to their tasks, and as they turned in the path, they heard the little brass bell Wynne used to announce supper.
The Northmen filled the cottage, murmuring quietly, eating in silence, and hanging about as if they expected something but had no notion what it might be. The gloom in the cottage hovered like a starving kestrel over an empty field.
Egil sat at the slab table, silently quaffing ale.
Wynne placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Mildread said it was an injury to her head, caused by the man who raped her. Her sight has faded slowly, but no one knows if she will go completely blind."
Ronan had already heard that. It didn't make the problem any simpler.
"You could find another woman, Egil," Tanni suggested. "There are plenty of others."
"No, there aren't." Egil's retort was as near to a snarl as Ronan had ever heard from his usually mellow brother.
From the corner where his bed was built into the wall, Gunnar rose slowly, edging his thinning legs over the side and forcing himself to his feet. He had been weak for several days, and the trip to the cavern earlier in the day had exhausted him. But Ronan knew his second father could not let his sons suffer without trying to comfort them. He shuffled painful steps through the throng of men, resting here or there with a hand to someone's shoulder, and finally reaching Egil at the table.
"Son, you are right, there is no other woman. Else you would not have chosen her in the first place."
Egil found a smile for his father. "Aye, father. I just do not know how to persuade her. You should rest."
"Time enough to rest in eternity. We cannot solve our problems by resting. We will solve it by working together, the way we always have. Have you noticed, that is the way these Celtic women do it, too?" With a slowness that betrayed the intense pain in his body, Gunnar eased himself down on the bench beside his son.
Ronan remembered the time when Gunnar had been as tall as Egil, and his bones bulky and strong. One of the many things he loved about Egil was his close resemblance to Gunnar. He had wished many times that he also shared i
t. But they shared so much else, it was of little real importance.
"We will find a way," Gunnar said. "You cannot doubt, any of you, that you have won their hearts. But there is something else that bothers me. The girl, Elli."
Ronan knew where Gunnar was leading. "Aye, I agree. Vengeance or no, she is not the kind to risk her own folk without reason."
All eyes turned on Bjorn, who had tucked himself into a corner, nursing a horn of ale that he had already refilled several times. The blacksmith was not just feeling the effects of saltwater.
Ronan strode across the hard-packed dirt floor and stood over the man, his arms folded. He folded his arms. "All right, Bjorn, out with it."
"Out-" Bjorn stared, bleary-eyed, confused. But he had not had enough time to get that drunk.
"You know what I mean. The truth."
Bjorn swiped his hand across his mouth, and the foam along his bright red moustache disappeared. "That's the trouble."
Ronan let out an exasperated growl. "What?" he demanded.
"She's telling the truth," Bjorn said.
"She's what?"
"She's telling the truth. I think."
"By Odin's ugly face," grumbled Egil. "Don't you think you could've told us sooner?"
"Well, I can't remember. I've been trying to, but I just can't. So I think it must be true."
Ronan balled his fists, silently wishing he held Bjorn's neck between them. "You told me you never left the Green Isle."
"I didn't think it would matter. But I wasn't even from there. You remember Ivar the Bald?"
"Ivar the Berserker, you mean?" Ronan had heard of him. And this was sounding worse by the moment. Every man in the cottage jumped to his feet, surrounding Ronan.
"Well, aye, and it fits better. I was just an itinerant smith when I met him, and he took me on."
"Wait a moment," Olav insisted. "You must remember what you did, though."
Bjorn shook his head, and his rounded shoulders hunched like a beaten slave's. "I don't remember much of anything. We used to drink this brew when we went raiding, something added to the ale, I think aconite and nightshade and some other things. It made me feel like I was bigger than a house, like nothing could conquer me. But I don't remember anything I did very clearly, for that whole time. We raided and killed, and I don't even know what else. But this place-from the beginning, I've had the feeling I'd been here before. But that's all I knew."
"Hel's tits!" Egil's voice was as fierce as a growl. "Just what we needed. No wonder they hate our kind so much. They must have known all along who we had with us."
Wynne shook her head. "Nay, 'tis your black mood speaking, son. The others didn't know what Elli intended. Nor do they hate you. But you have stirred frightening things in them that they do not know how to handle."
Ronan could see that more easily than Egil. Not even Arienh in all her rage had ever really hated them. Something in his heart had known that all along.
But they needed to focus on the problem of Bjorn.
"Ivar's dead," he said to the blacksmith. "Is that when you quit raiding?"
Bjorn nodded, miserably swirling his horn for the last dregs of ale. "I killed him. Found my woman with him. That was enough for me. I had to get out of that life, and I left and went to the Green Isle, where I took up smithing again. I never told anybody where I'd been. Thought maybe if I came with you, the ghosts would leave me alone. But they don't."
"Ghosts?"
"They come at night, unless I'm drunk enough. That's why I sleep in the forge. Alone. Scares people sometimes."
Ronan let out a disgusted snort. "The least you're going to do is apologize to Elli."
"Can't. Don't deserve her forgiveness."
"Maybe not. I didn't say you did. But there'll be at least a confession. We can't change what you did, but we'll do what's right, anyway. She has the right to choose what is to be done."
Egil rubbed a fist over his chin. "She can't hate him too much, Ronan. She pulled him out of the sea."
"Aye," said Olav. "I agree with Wynne. This thing hasn't gone beyond Elli, I'm sure. It's not too late tonight. Let's seek out the women and settle this now."
It was not like Olav to be so impatient. But Olav had secured his love with Mildread, and all that stood between them was Mildread's loyalty to the other women, whose fates were unresolved. Perhaps Mildread waited even now in some secluded glen, some secret bower for her lover.
Perhaps that was all any of them still wanted. Ronan studied the blacksmith, red-nosed and bleary-eyed in his cup, in the misery of the most painful part of love. Why Elli had bothered to save him, he could hardly imagine, if it wasn't love.
All around him, men hovered expectantly, ready to dash out the door at his command. He hesitated.
Ah, Viking you only hear her words. Listen to her heart.
What had Birgit meant?
I do not think she knows how to be anything else. If you do not accept this, you cannot accept her.
He had come looking for a docile, submissive, sweet-natured girl, and found instead a Celtic warrior woman, ferocious in her protectiveness of those she loved. Yet he had expected she would become the girl of his dreams simply because he dreamed it. Perhaps it was not just Celts who had trouble accepting Northmen. Perhaps Northmen, and one in particular, needed to accept Celts for who, what, they were.
Ronan almost laughed aloud. All these years, he'd had the wrong dream. It was the fierce warrior woman who excited him.
"Nay," he responded at last, feeling the slyness of a plan come upon him. "There's a better way."
A disconcerted grumble spread through the men.
Egil cocked his head in curiosity. "A better way?"
"Aye, and much depends on you. You mean to win Birgit over, don't you?"
"Aye." Curiosity doubled to anticipation.
The grin stretched broadly over Ronan's face as the idea expanded in his mind. "Loki's Daughters have met their match. They think we're Vikings. We'll give them Vikings."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Birgit didn’t know much about Arienh's herbs, but she knew which ones would keep her sister quiet, and quiet was what Arienh needed to recover from the torn shoulder. Through the long night she had sat beside Arienh’s bed to keep her from rolling, and her effort had not been wasted. Arienh had been a fidget, despite the wild lettuce.
But now her sister slept soundly. Leaving Elli to watch, Birgit left the cottage and the stale, somber air. Feeling the warmth of the bright sun on her head, she ambled down the path through the green as if she had no particular purpose. The Northmen did not seem to be about. But then, how would she know?
Birgit smiled and spoke of Arienh to all who asked, and told them she just needed to stroll alone in the sunlight for a while before going back to her vigil in the cottage. No one objected. They were used to her occasional rambling, they way she used to do before the Vikings came. She followed the path into the ash grove, up the valley, and turned off at the narrow trail to the Bride's Well. She knew it so well, she had no need to see it.
Her Saint's place, named for her patron saint, special to Birgit as long as she could remember. She found her peace there in the same way Arienh found hers in the stone circle.
She reached the crystal pool, a dark, cool blur before her, and dredged up memories from her childhood of the sparkle of warm sun upon its waters. The frolic of the Northmen played in her memory, more for what she heard of their merriment than the little she had been able to see. Once she had played like that with Arienh and their brothers. So long ago. Now only Beltane, when the Old Ones came back to dance, brought Trevor back.
She wasn't sure about Niall, if he was alive or dead. If he was dead, had he come back to the land of his birth and the spirits of his ancestors, from that faraway place where he had been taken? No one had ever explained that to her.
The path forked to circle the pool, and she chose the one that ascended over rising dark rock toward the cascading falls, to the high bluff tha
t overlooked the pool and forested valley. From memory, she found her footing and climbed, heading toward the top. Halfway up, she paused, not from weariness but to reflect, and sat near the edge of the bluff, looking out, remembering the magnificent view.
Like Arienh, she wanted desperately for her people to live here forever. She wanted to come back and dance within the circle and know Celts still walked this land. Without the Northmen, this would not happen, for there would be no Celts, save those who were dead.
They were wonderful, these Northmen. Not just Egil. Ronan's tenderness tore at Birgit's heart, even more than Arienh's yearning for him. He was an unusual man, even for a Viking.
Northman. What sort of boy had he been ten years before, that he had risked his life for a girl he did not know? Not the same as those who had come to thieve and kill. And he had come back, not merely to pick out a valley and take it over. He had searched for Arienh, and found her. And wanted her to care about him as he cared about her.
Ten years. A long time for a young man. They needed each other, deserved each other. How good it would be for Arienh to have such a man.
And Birgit stood between them.
She wished she could have the same sort of love from Egil, but that was really too much to ask. But for Liam...
From the day Liam was born, she had despaired of how to provide for him, a child lost between two worlds, perhaps hated in both. The Celts had comforted and sheltered the child, but he had always known he was different. But now his heritage had come to him, and Egil was showing him the way to be a good man in a harsh world. Liam must have Egil.
She stood between them as well. She alone stood between her people and their happiness, their very survival.
Was there an answer in the Viking way? Might the unforgivable sin be one God could at least understand? But what if He did not? Perhaps she would even be forbidden to come back to the circle to dance. She could not bear to face eternity without that.
She sighed and renewed her climb. The rock face steepened, becoming nearly vertical, but she knew the way. Many times, even since losing most of her sight, she had come here. Soon, at the very top, the plateau was as level as the ground near the sea shore. She picked her way to the edge of the bluff, easily negotiating its deep cracks, and stopped at its edge, overlooking the stream that fed the falls, and the deep, clear pool it made.
