The Quest for Gillian’s Heart

by The Quest for Gillian’s Heart (lit)

  She was with them before they could settle down. With great flourish she poured the first cup and passed it to Gillian.

  "To the honored one," she said with a smile.

  Gillian accepted and waited for the other four to receive their cups. When they had, Thora led the toast.

  "To the birth of a healthy child."

  One large drink nearly gagged Gillian. It was the most vile liquid she had ever tasted. To keep from hurting Thora’s feelings and ruin the peace between them, she set the cup on the floor and hid it from view.

  The conversation drifted to gossip - the kind of talk between women who had known each other all their lives. Gillian felt excluded, but it was just as well - listening required little effort. Thora offered the jug around a second time. Gillian feigned sleep to avoid it.

  "Oh, look," she heard Hildy whisper. "She has fallen asleep again."

  "Poor dear is exhausted," Fjola said. "Come. We will move and let her rest."

  "Her cup," Thora said.

  "Later. I will not disturb her by looking for it."

  Gillian heard them slip away, but didn’t open her eyes for fear her ploy would be detected. She was forced to play out her charade. Probably not such a bad idea. After all, she was a little tired.

  Andor paused by Gillian’s pallet. Asleep again. She probably needed it after the weeks of illness. At least this time she looked more at rest. Her features were relaxed, not furrowed with pain. He brushed her hair back and kissed her temple. Her pulse raced beneath his lips.

  "Mother, something is wrong."

  She ran to his side and peered down at the young woman.

  "Her heart beats too quickly."

  As she reached for her, Gillian’s body jerked with convulsions.

  "Hildy, the physician! Andor, her tongue!"

  But Andor had already pried open Gillian’s mouth and was forcing his belt between her teeth to keep her from swallowing her tongue. Her eyes were open, so dilated he could not see the blue. It was like staring at death. After what seemed an eternity, the convulsion passed.

  Andor loosened his hold and wiped the froth from her mouth. He heard his mother gasp and jerked his head up to see what had alarmed her. Gillian’s nightgown was saturated with blood from the waist down.

  He rested his forehead on the pallet to hide his pain. Another child lost. Another wedge between him and Gillian. This would surely give her more cause to want no children...if she should live.

  A convulsion racked her body once more. Andor jumped forward to keep the leather in place. In his haste, he knocked over the cup beneath the pallet. The physician arrived as the spasm subsided. With shaking fingers Andor wiped Gillian’s face clean.

  "Help her," he growled at the man.

  "I will if you would move aside," he replied.

  Andor flashed him a glare then moved.

  "Well, she has lost the child," the man said.

  Andor clenched his fist at his side. How could the man treat this so casually? That was his child he referred to. His wife lay at death’s door and the man hadn’t bothered to look at her.

  "What is this?" The physician stared at the puddle of wine beside his foot then picked up the cup.

  "We had a taste earlier in the day," his mother told him. "Gillian must have not finished hers."

  The physician sniffed then dipped his finger in the residue for a taste. He grimaced and spit in the cup.

  "Tansy."

  "What?" they asked in unison.

  "Oil of tansy. ‘Twas in the wine. ‘Tis used for...."

  "You do not have to tell me what it is used for," Andor snapped. "I know." He pivoted on his heel and strode to the door.

  "Andor, wait," his mother called. "Gillian needs you here."

  "She can die for all I care," he shouted over his shoulder. "And I will damn her soul to the bowels of the underworld!"

  Andor marched to his forest clearing. There he removed his cross from its niche in the bushes. He broke it over his knee until the pieces were too small to do so. Then he continued to break them until all that was left were splinters which he hurled into the air.

  "This is how you pay me for asking for her life?" He shook his fist at the heavens. "Had I known I was wed to such a vile creature I would have asked for her death. How could I have known she would take the life of my child? She calls my gods heathens - ‘tis her god which is the heathen. To torture me so when I ask for her life. Better she had died, than for me to know this."

  He sank to a fallen tree trunk and buried his head in his hands. Saying the words out loud hurt. It made this nightmare too real.

  He’d heard of women ridding themselves of unwanted pregnancies by ingesting tansy, but he never believed Gillian was so adamant about no children that she would do such a thing. She obviously misjudged the dosage too, unless it was her intent to die also.

  "And well rid of her I will be," Andor said. "Murderer. No better than Leif."

  And if she lived? Andor shook his head. He would beat her, strangle her until she was dead. He could divorce her and cast her out on her own. Or force her to remain his wife and bear child after child to make up for the unnecessary death she had just caused. She would pay. Slave girls would have better lives than she...if she lived.

  Andor sat there planning his revenge until the woods grew dark. In the distance he thought he heard a pack of wolves howling. He drew his sword and started for home. Halfway there he stopped. Not home. Not now. Not when Gillian fought for her life.

  He turned up the road. It was so familiar a path he could have closed his eyes and still found his way. Only a half an hour’s walk would take him to a comforting shoulder. Someone who had always understood what he felt.

  As he neared the small farm, he saw a lantern glowing by the door. Almost as if she expected him. It beckoned him onward. He prayed it would not be taken away until he arrived.

  He quickened his step, running now. His footsteps echoed on the dirt path. The door opened, bathing a feminine silhouette in yellow light. Her slender arm reached for the lantern, and she held it high to see who her visitor was. Andor heard her gasp then whisper his name as if she could not believe he was there.

  "Tove, my friend. I need you. I need to understand. Help me."

  Arms opened to him, and Andor stepped into that secure embrace.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 14

  Tove gently pushed Andor back. "Strange behavior for a man so newly wed. Come inside and we can talk about what troubles you."

  She led him into the house by the hand, like a mother would a child.

  "I would offer you some tea, but you look like ale would suit you better," she said. "Sit while I get some."

  Andor watched her move about. She was still as young and beautiful as the day he first came to work on her farm. Her long, black hair reflected no silver nor was her creamy complexion marred by wrinkles. Andor could not be sure of her true age, but rumor said she would be near forty.

  As lovely and capable as she was, Andor had often wondered why no man had sought her hand. The answer was simple enough. Tove had no wish to give up her widowed independence. All the property her late husband had left to her, she intended to keep as her own. She was too busy to be lonely. And when she had needs to be fulfilled, she did as she had done with Andor. She took a young man into her home and initiated him in the rites of love.

  "I should not have intruded," Andor said.

  "There is no one here. You know I would not mind if there was...Here is your ale."

  Tove set the mug before him then sat by his side. Andor stared at the ale, not knowing whether to drink or spill his woes. Things that had been clear in the forest now seemed a muddle.

  "I was sorry to hear of Astrid," Tove said. "She was a good woman. I understand your new wife is very beautiful."

  "Aye. That she is," he muttered. "Word gets to you quickly."

  "It always does in a small settlement. And Hildy is a daily visitor."

  Andor gav
e a humorless chuckle. "Hildy...I should have known."

  "And now you are to have a child."

  Andor shook his head, and took a drink. "No more. She killed it."

  Tove gasped and grabbed his arm. "No."

  "Yes. She slipped oil of tansy in her drink earlier today. We did not know of it until it...it was too late."

  "But...why? Why would she do such a thing?"

  "She wanted no children." He sucked down another gulp.

  "Why?"

  "The first child...our daughter...was killed. You have heard?"

  "Yes," she softly replied.

  "Gillian was afraid to birth another child because she said she could not bear the loss if it should die."

  "And so she killed it now?" Tove asked, as if the concept was beyond her.

  Andor nodded.

  "That makes no sense," she told him. "If you are afraid of losing a child, you do not kill it. You protect it with your life. You must be mistaken."

  Andor shook his head. "The Gaedhil have strange ways about them. The physician found tansy in her drink. She did so now...before the child could become real to her."

  He drained his mug, and she refilled it.

  "And how is Gillian now?"

  "She took too much. She may not live."

  "And is that what you wish?"

  "Yes...no," he added softly.

  "You love her?"

  "Aye, but I hate her, too," he replied.

  "Sometimes the emotions are intertwined. If she dies, she will take with her the answers to all the questions you have. If she lives, what then?"

  "A good switching is what she has coming," he growled.

  "You are her husband. ‘Tis your right...If you feel it necessary."

  "She would think twice about doing this again."

  "No doubt she would," Tove said. "But your doing so cannot possibly help matters between you...unless you wish her to fear you as Thora feared Leif."

  Andor thumped his chest. "She should fear me for what she has done."

  Tove shook her head and made a slight tsking sound.

  "Have a bit more." She topped off the mug. "You might as well stay the night, too. No sense losing your way home. That would be a fine way to ruin a good night of drinking."

  "You are a good woman, Tove. Never understand why you never wed, but I am glad you did not."

  She patted his arm and smiled. "Drink up, old friend. Drink up."

  Andor raised a brow. "If I did not know you better, I would swear you were trying to get me addle-headed."

  "Perhaps you do not know me as well as you thought."

  "And what would be your intent?"

  She leaned close and whispered. "Drink up and you will discover it."

  "I just might do that."

  Gillian’s first conscious thought was the ache in her muscles. She grunted a complaint when she tried to move and found she could not. Her arms and legs were bound to her bed. She eased open her eyes for a better look, but had to blink several times before her vision cleared enough to see. As the blurring lessened, Fjola’s smiling face came into focus.

  "Thank the gods you came through." She yanked at the strips of cloth which held her.

  Gillian rubbed her wrists.

  "I am sorry," Fjola told her. "‘Twas necessary to keep you from hurting yourself."

  A frown creased Gillian’s forehead. She sat up and froze at the sight of her blood-soaked gown. As if mesmerized by the stain, she touched it with her index finger.

  "Oh...no."

  Fjola folded her arms around her. "Yes. I am afraid the babe is gone."

  Gillian wanted to say it did not matter. That the child had never been a real thing to her. That she had only realized its existence that morning, so how could she mourn its loss? The trouble was, none of that was true. As she cried in Fjola’s arms, she vented her heartbreak over the life that would never be. Not real? It had been as real as Gwynneth, and losing it was nearly as painful as losing her.

  "I suppose I should have expected as much after the long illness," she said as she flicked away falling tears.

  "‘Twas not the illness," Fjola said. "‘Twas the tansy."

  Gillian jerked back. "Tansy?"

  "‘Twas in your wine."

  Gillian’s eyes darted to where she had stashed her cup. Tansy. That was the cause of that horrid taste.

  She glanced around. Hildy and Asa sat nearby, anxious for her recovery. If no one else suffered from the drink, then it had to have been a deliberate attempt to poison her. Since only one other person had touched the cup before her, Gillian had no trouble picking a suspect.

  Her gaze returned to that of Fjola’s. So much like Freyda, yet how much? Enough to trust her accusation? They had known Thora all her life. Gillian might be Andor’s wife, but she was a stranger to them, even for all the care they’d given her. And she was Gaedhil at that. They would never believe sweet, thoughtful, caring Thora was ready to replace her at Andor’s side in a heartbeat...literally.

  "Here." Asa thrust a cup in her face, "I made a fresh batch of tea. Have some. ‘Twill make you feel better."

  Gillian stared at the liquid. Maybe they were the ones trying to poison her. They had seemed rather eager for a break when Thora stopped by with her wine. With her gone, Thora could be the addition they had always wanted.

  "I cannot say that I blame you for being suspicious," Asa said, "but you need not fear us. We would not harm you." To prove her point, she sipped the tea and handed the cup Gillian’s way once more.

  She wrapped shaking fingers around it and drank.

  "Hildy, fetch a basin of water so that Gillian may wash a bit." Fjola turned back to her patient. "I have a fresh gown you may use. That and clean bedding will set you off just fine so you can finally relax."

  Gillian wasn’t about to argue - her gown was stuck to her skin. As soon as Hildy brought the hot water, she dipped into it. It was only then, when the men discreetly turned their backs that Gillian realized Andor was not there. It was not his absence which drew this fact to her attention - it was the ruckus of his arrival.

  The first pound against the door brought Sven and Björn to their feet.

  "Who would be here this time of night?" Sven snatched up his sword and strode to the door. He paused to look through a spy-hole.

  "Who is it?" Björn asked.

  "Is it raiders, Father?" Hildy asked.

  "A raider? You can be sure of that, but none that would cause harm to us."

  He whipped open the door, and Andor stumbled inside. Only the guardians by his side kept him from falling. He teetered for a second or two until his gaze focused on Gillian. Using that link to steady him, Andor tottered toward her.

  Gillian had seen babies walk their first step with more precision than he. The urge to reach out and grab him before he could fall was a hard one to resist. His face was caught between a grimace and a smile. There was no way she could guess at what he was thinking. Finally, he reached her, stopping five feet from his objective. He swayed as if he were on board his ship.

  "So...you lived."

  Gillian held her breath. Her experience with Evan showed her there wasn’t much you could say to a drunken man. Judging from Andor’s condition, he wouldn’t be standing much longer. All she had to do was wait him out.

  She looked over his shoulder to the gray-cloaked woman behind him. She had a serene beauty about her. The raven hair, the ivory skin, those dark eyes. Gillian felt a catch in her heart. It was Tove. Andor had gone to Tove.

  "How can you stand there so calmly with the blood of my child drenched in your gown?" he shouted.

  Gillian jumped at the fury in his voice then looked into his narrowing eyes.

  "My, but you are a cold-blooded wench. I should have saved myself the trouble of defending you at the Thing."

  "Enough," Sven told his son. "Your drunken rages can wait ‘til morning."

  Andor jerked a wobbly head his father’s way. "Aye, that they can. Better to make h
er suffer for the murder of my child than to kill her now...Tove," he bowed low to pay her a mocking homage, "I thank you for a most hospitable evening."

  Jealousy overcame Gillian. She grabbed the basin of water and dumped the contents over his back. Andor whirled around to face her.

  "How dare you flaunt this before me," Gillian yelled. "‘Tis bad enough to watch Thora moon over you like a besotted cow, but to have you run to the arms of an old lover is too much. I am done with you! I will thank you to return me to my home. I would rather be living with the shame of divorce than with a man who has no use for me."

  The hot water had a sobering effect, but it also brought Andor’s anger to a head. He grabbed her shoulders, squeezing so hard she yipped from the pain.

  "Hurts, does it? Good! I hope I break your bones! How can a man have a use for a woman who cries and draws away whenever she is touched? I would get more enjoyment out of plugging a sheep!"

  "Then do so and leave me be." Gillian struggled against the steel grip which trapped her.

  "Over my grave will I leave you be and set you free. You are my wife and you will play the part as intended...Starting now."

  He snapped his hand around her wrist and tried to pull her to their bed closet. Gillian stumbled and fell. Andor yanked her back to her feet.

  "Here or there. I care not which. But I will have you tonight!"

  Gillian started to cry. "I have no strength to fight you. You do what you will. But if you ever had any care at all for me or Gwynneth, I beg you not to do this."

  It was like another douse with water - this time cold. He muttered a curse and shoved her away. Gillian crumbled to the floor. When he tried to go to his bed, Björn blocked the way.

  "Tonight you sleep where all the other animals sleep, little brother."

  Again Andor cursed. He glanced at Gillian, crying in Asa’s arms and cursed a third time. Then he snatched up a fur from Gillian’s pallet and stormed to the animal house.

  Asa rocked Gillian as if she were a small child. "There, there, now. He is gone and Björn will see to it that he stays away for tonight."

  "He can stay away forever for all I care," she cried. "Why? Why does he treat me so? I have done naught to him. How could he believe I would rid myself of any child? How could I have thought I loved the man?"