VIKING'S CURSED BRIDE, THE

by MACMILLAN, MAIRIBETH

  As her heart stopped pounding in her ears, she heard Tormod and the others shouting. In Norse, so she could only understand odd words here and there. She closed her eyes and wished none of this had ever happened. Wished she were back in the abbey…

  No, whether she lived or died here, it was better than being in the abbey. These last few weeks, she had had more freedom and affection than ever before. It was hard not to feel grateful.

  The voices quieted and she sensed the group had fallen back into their usual harmony. Perhaps a quick decision had been made about her and her future.

  The door to the hall banged open and the four of them strode out towards the barn. She shrank back into the shadows so they didn’t see her. She wasn’t ready to face her future quite yet.

  She made her way back to their room and sat on the edge of the bed. Exhaustion swept through her. She ran her hand over her still flat stomach. What if she was with child after last night? How would that change her life? Would Tormod be angry? He did not want her to have a child yet, he’d made that clear. So what would he do if she became pregnant?

  She would lie down for a minute. Just until she was feeling better. By then she would be ready to face whatever decision had been made about her. She closed her eyes and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  Once again she dreamed. In those dreams she saw the bear and the wolf and the hawk, heard the rumble of thunder and felt its presence within her. A queasy sensation indicated she was on a boat. She tasted the spray on her tongue. Fresh water, not salt. And yet she was on a longship, could see the proud head of the dragon in front of her and feel the flapping of the sail behind her. She turned and saw many men hunched over their oars, fighting against a storm. There were other boats on the water.

  A cry made her turn. In front of her she saw her father’s fort, in total darkness.

  Then she was at the gates, then running into the courtyard. An unearthly silence blanketed the place. Death hung in the air. She looked around. There were bodies everywhere. She ran and ran, but couldn’t reach the end of the staircase. Lightning flashed, blinding her.

  She woke with a start.

  Tormod stood beside her, axe in hand. They had decided to kill her, after all. She screamed and pushed herself back on the bed, curling up as far from him as possible. She closed her eyes against the blow, then heard the axe clatter on the floor. She felt his arms go around her, his body cover hers, strong and solid.

  He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “More than nothing,” he said, pulling away from her. He placed a finger on her chin and tilted her face to make her look up at him. “You were screaming. I thought someone had come to kill you.”

  So he had come to save her, not kill her. “I-it was… It was just a dream.”

  She swallowed, fearful he would press her for more details.

  “They will not take you from me,” he growled.

  She clung to him, grateful for the support, but unsure how or why he had become so protective. “What… what did you decide?”

  “About your father?”

  “Yes, and about me and the prisoner.”

  “There is nothing to decide about you. You are my wife.”

  “But Ulf is right. This marriage was supposed to protect you, protect the village. And now you know my father is willing to have me killed, I am no help in protecting anyone.”

  She felt Tormod laugh before she heard him. “It was supposed to be a marriage which cemented an alliance, yes, but I do not need you to protect me. I would never rely on only one thing for safety. Particularly if that was a woman. That is not what the problem is.”

  “Then what is the problem?” She pushed at him and sat up. “Ulf thinks I am a traitor.”

  “No, he does not. He thinks you are a victim.”

  “But he said—”

  “He often speaks in anger before he has time to catch up with his own thoughts. That is why he is not jarl.”

  “I see.” Aoife took some time to digest this. Tormod’s arms around her were a comfort. “But the other villagers…”

  “The whole situation is uneasy. We knew it would be before we came here. We must deal with it and learn to live here, whether that is in peace or not.” Tormod let go of her, kissed her lightly on the head and then stood. “We will visit your father next month.”

  She gulped.

  “Why not sooner?”

  “We are waiting for another group of settlers to arrive. As there is always safety in numbers, we will wait until they have arrived to give us a stronger force to take with us and a stronger force to leave here. Then we will sail to Dun Cadell.”

  “Do you plan to confront my father directly about these attacks?” Aoife asked. “Or bluff and pretend that you assume the alliance still holds?”

  “Directly,” Tormod said. “And we must assume that there will be other attempts on us before then. But he is going to see that his plan has failed. That you are very much alive and the village is not theirs for the taking. We will leave as soon as we are ready to face him and take the prisoner with us. If he refuses to tell the truth about the attack in front of your father then he will be executed.”

  “What will you say about our marriage, about the alliance?”

  “There is nothing to say. I have a wife who understands these lands better than we do and who I am willing to fight to the death for.”

  Aoife’s heart lifted when she heard his words.

  “It may take a week or two before we are ready,” said Tormod

  She saw the earnestness in his face and knew he spoke the truth. “And what about the others?”

  “The others?”

  “Björn and Ulf and Arne.”

  “Any of them will fight for you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Tormod grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “Even if they will not do it for you, they will do it for me. Your father may think he has tricked me into this marriage, but even if the alliance is worthless, I still have you.”

  “But what am I worth?”

  “You are still his daughter, and he will still have to see you in the arms of the enemy.”

  She pulled her hand from his, uncomfortable with what he was saying. She had thought perhaps he cared for her, but now it seemed she was merely a way for him to win against her father. “So, because you have me in your bed, that is punishment enough for him? My stepmother will be happy to see I am being bedded by a barbarian.” Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Is that what I am?” His measured tone gave away little of his feelings, but she had felt him tense.

  “It is how my stepmother sees you, yes.” She couldn’t make herself look at him. What had possessed her to say such a thing? She didn’t think of him that way at all, but she knew her kinsfolk did.

  “And is it how you see me?”

  She shook her head, but closed her eyes and turned away from him.

  He sat down beside her and she turned back to him. He took her into his arms. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she managed to breathe out before his mouth closed over hers. The kiss was not at all gentle. There was a dark, possessive power underneath it which made her want to cling to him forever.

  All too soon he broke the kiss, but stayed close to her and whispered in her ear. “Then how do you see me?”

  “As my husband,” she whispered. “You have never hurt me, not the way I was hurt or punished before—and even though you know you have been wronged, you are still not punishing me for it. My father would not be so forgiving.”

  Tormod’s hand slid beneath her skirts and she shuddered as his fingers ran along her bare skin. When he touched her like this it was easy to think he wanted her, needed her. Abruptly he lay down, taking her with him. He kissed her again, then kissed around the edge of her face, her neck, while his fingers sought to loosen all the fastenings on her clothes he could reach. He soon gave up and pushed her ski
rts up, loosened his own breeks and, after testing her readiness, slid inside her. He pulled one knee up and used it to angle himself inside her, his eyes on hers as he sought to maintain a steady rhythm.

  Aoife raised her head and kissed him, pleased when he responded. Somehow it seemed so much more intimate than their other connections. His arms slid around her back, hauling her up against him and changing his angle of entry. Soon, his steady thrusting was hitting just the right parts of her. She gasped and shuddered through an intense climax but, as usual, when he threw his own head back and reached a peak, he slipped from her body and spent himself on the smooth skin of her thigh. Then he abruptly stood and fastened his breeks.

  Aoife hastily pulled her own skirts back down and sat up, frustrated by his changes of mood and her inability to understand him. “Last night. What did I do wrong?”

  “Nothing. You did nothing wrong. It is I who made a mistake. I told you on our wedding night I do not want children yet. Lust clouded my mind. It will not happen again.”

  “What other purpose do I have here? I don’t understand.”

  “There is nothing to understand.”

  She found that hard to believe.

  For a moment she thought Tormod would leave, but then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You asked me last night whether there was a child. There is. My first wife’s son. He will be sent over. Probably he is with the settlers we are expecting. Now that I am married, my father will have sent him.”

  “And I will care for him? We will be a family?”

  Tormod did not answer right away. “Perhaps. It depends. But this can be decided when he arrives. For now, let us just be together as man and wife. Am I not enough for you?”

  “Yes, of course. I just thought that… Nothing.” After all, what else could she say? At least she no longer worried that she had displeased him. And then the impact of his words hit her. “Your wife’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not... not yours.”

  “No. To admit that would be to admit that I had made a terrible mistake,” Tormod said.

  She smiled cautiously at him. “You would not be the first man to marry a woman who already carried another man’s child. Could you not have divorced her? Your people do not seem averse to divorce.”

  “It was not only the child. It is more complicated than just that,” Tormod hung his head. “By the time I knew, she had nowhere to go back to and we came to an arrangement.”

  “You didn’t confront her father?”

  “No, by this time he was dead.” He sighed. “Maybe if I tell you what happened you will understand.” Tormod sat for a long moment before he spoke again. “I thought we had met by chance in the woods one day when I was out hunting. For a few weeks we met in secret at an old house deep in the woods. At that point I thought she loved me and that we would wed eventually.”

  “You did not go to her father to ask?”

  “No, my father and hers did not get along. They often fought over land, accused each other of stealing cattle.” He shrugged. “I thought I was being so clever stealing his daughter away from him without his knowledge.”

  “You married her, though?”

  “After a month or so, she told me she was pregnant.” He stared at his hands, purposefully not looking at Aoife. “When I told my cousins, I thought they would be pleased, but they were not.”

  “They did not believe her?”

  “No,” he said, then made a wry face. “Ulf was especially outspoken.”

  Aoife smiled. “It is nice to know it is not just Britons he is suspicious of. But there must be more to it.”

  “They kept an eye on her, the three of them, after we married and she came to live with me.”

  Aoife tilted her head to one side, considering his words. “Why?”

  “Ulf had seen her leaving the village more than once. She was going back to the hut we had met in. When I confronted her she said it was because it reminded her of when we had first met.”

  “But it wasn’t?”

  “No, she told me that she was worried no one in the village trusted her.” He stopped and put his head in his hands. Then he shook his head and sat up. “She said everyone was trying to poison me against her. Later, I learned she was meeting her lover there. But I believed her and did not listen to my cousins as I should have. What sort of a jarl does that make me if I cannot see through the lies of my own wife?”

  “But you were not jarl then?”

  Aoife swallowed when he shook his head. She was not being entirely honest with him either, and struggled to work out what to say to him that would not reinforce his negative view. “She, too, paid a high price.”

  Tormod frowned. “She did. It was a terrible way to die.”

  Abruptly, he left the room, leaving her with more of an understanding of his reluctance to have a child. The knowledge was a relief in so many ways.

  Chapter Nine

  More than a month passed with no further attacks on the village. Then one morning they were woken by a guard riding into the village. “They are coming!”

  The shout made Tormod hurry from his bed into the hall where he met the guard. He had brought his axe, but the man shook his head and grabbed his shoulders, his expression joyful.

  “No, not the Britons. Our own people. My wife may be amongst them. We saw them from the pass. The winds are strong so they should be here soon.”

  Tormod acknowledged his words, then let him go to spread the news to the others. He returned to his room to find Aoife almost dressed. The uncertainty on her face made his heart twist. It seemed like every time their life together settled, something happened to disrupt it. Although at least in this case it was a positive rather than a negative event.

  “What is it?” She put her hands over her mouth, then took a deep breath and clenched her fists at her side. “Is it my father?”

  “No.” Tormod smiled. He was indeed pleased more of his people were arriving. He should have asked how many boats, but had been too relieved that they were not under attack to ask. He should be paying more attention. He watched as Aoife swept her hair to the side and began to braid it. “You must have been used to having someone do that for you.”

  “At one time. But not for a while. In the abbey…” She swallowed. “It is strange also to have my head covered only by a scarf, but Ragna has been teaching me ways to plait my hair and…” She turned away from him. “I am sure you do not need to hear about such things. How many people are arriving? Are there homes for them all?”

  “I must go and find out,” he replied. He moved close behind her, put his arms around her and drew her back against him. He laid his chin on her shoulder and sighed. She twisted her head around and kissed him. Soon he turned her to face him, his body pressing into hers, their kisses warming him and making him want more from her.

  Shouts from the beach reminded him that he had boats to greet and, despite the news from the guard, he must ensure that they were ready for foe as well as friend.

  He set Aoife away from him. “Later,” he whispered, and smiled when she blushed.

  “What will they think of me?” she asked just as he reached the door.

  “They will think you are their jarl’s wife.”

  She studied his face and pursed her lips. “I hope so.” She returned to plaiting her hair. “I will join you when I am ready.”

  He paused. The two of them should present a united front if he wished for her to be accepted. “I will wait for you.”

  “Then do not distract me.”

  His heart lifted when she laughed.

  Ten minutes later Tormod counted seven boats moving up the river and into the sea-loch. The shield designs on the foremost boat he recognised as friends from his father’s lands, but still the warriors led by Björn, Ulf and Arne were ready in case the visit was not a friendly one. Everyone who waited was armed and, although there was excitement in the air, there was also a ripple of tension. At a far-flung outpost such as this
one, news of changes of power back home was often slow to reach them, so even folk they had left as friends could have changed allegiances.

  Tormod shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. Living amongst a foreign enemy was affecting him and he saw intrigue everywhere. The boats were likely little more than settlers arriving as he had expected. As they waited, people from the farms on the other side of the peninsula joined them.

  When it drew close enough to shore, Tormod took one look at the man at the prow of the foremost boat and started running. He tugged Aoife along behind him.

  “Who is it?” she asked him.

  “My brother, Anders,” he replied, not looking at her. He waved at his brother then stopped when he saw the small figure beside him and dropped his hand.

  “Is that your son with him?” Aoife asked.

  “Yes.” Tormod stood stock still, staring. For the first time he admitted to himself that while he had been expecting the boy in one way, in another he had hoped his father would keep him, perhaps forever. But why should he? The boy was no more his grandson than he was Tormod’s son.

  “Tormod?” Aoife said. He looked at her. She closed her eyes and swayed a little. “I don’t feel well.”

  He helped her sit on the rocks. She put her head down and he touched her hair gently with his fingertips.

  “Better?” he asked when she looked up at him a few minutes later. Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks.

  She smiled wanly at him. “Yes, thank you. Go, greet your son. Do you think he will like me?”

  Tormod stared down at her. “Does it matter?”

  She looked at the boy on the boat, then at Tormod. “I don’t… I thought if I am to look after him that it would be better if we were friends.”

  Tormod said nothing for a moment. “So long as he obeys you, there is no need for him to like you.”

  “I thought you would prefer it if...” She frowned and looked towards the shore. “The boats are nearly in. You should go—they are waiting for you.”