Powerful Destiny

by Tricia McGill

  Only the past night he paid a visit to the oracle in the hope that the wise one who saw all, and knew the future, could tell him. His wildest hope was that she would share at least some of this compelling feeling. The oracle offered no shred of hope, ensuring Rolf that the woman would likely bring disaster upon his head. For the first time ever, Rolf came away from the seer’s cave with a feeling the wise man was wrong. It was likely his hatred of the Celts from over the sea overpowered his visions. Determined to prove the seer wrong Rolf intended to show him and the world that this woman, Brigid, would one day share these rare feelings.

  Like a goddess, she stood there, back straight, a look of defiance lighting her eyes. The shift fell softly about her slender body, and beneath the fine cloth he could clearly see each breath she took as her breasts rose and fell. A desire to see her unclothed filled him, but good wisdom ensured he take it slowly. The future he hoped they would share together depended on how he acted now.

  Rolf walked slowly towards her, discarding his cape as he did so. He tossed it onto the chest at the end of his sleeping pallet, and when in front of her, lifted a strand of her magnificent hair and ran it between his fingers. Her lips parted, whether in shock or delight he could not guess.

  “You find all to your satisfaction?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Glancing about, he noticed the garments that she wore earlier were nowhere to be seen. This pleased him, for while in the great hall drinking ale and discussing the last raid with his best fighting men, his thoughts dwelt with this woman as he wondered what he would do if he returned to find her still clothed, as when he left. Had she changed into the gown to please him, or out of fear of what he might do to her if she disobeyed? “The girl has seen to all your needs?”

  Her small tongue shot out and ran across her lips, sending his heart beating faster, as she nodded. Running a finger down her soft face, he stared at her mouth, ripe for his kisses. This close he could see fear in her eyes, a fear he wanted to banish. “You are not afraid of me, are you Brigid?”

  Her back seemed to stiffen even more as she said clearly, “Why would I be afraid of you? A man who has taken me away from all that I know and love and dragged me here to a life that is hell on earth.” For a moment, she seemed to ponder her words and then asked, “But you know nothing of hell, do you? Tell me, where do your gods dwell?”

  Rolf considered this question, before answering, “Our gods dwell in Asgard, where do your gods live? And you are right—I know not where this hell is that you speak of.”

  “We worship a God who I fear has forsaken me, else why would I be here, right now.” She cast her eyes about before adding, with a lift of her shoulders, “At the mercy of a barbarian.”

  Rolf shook his head. It was clear that she would find it hard to see him as anything other than the worst kind of savage. Had not she seen her father and kinfolk lying dead by his weapon or those of his fellow Norsemen? A Celtic female would not understand that a man must fight to attain his place in life. Must win or perish. Some Norse females chose to become shield maidens and were prepared to fight beside the men, and even those who did not go to battle knew that it was a necessary part of life, and death was to be expected.

  Now was not the time to discuss this. He tired of arguing with her. Carefully, he took her hand, feeling the trembling that shook her entire body. “Let me prove to you that I am only a barbarian when in battle. Come, let us sit.” With a gentle pull, he led her to his bed. It seemed that she made a decision, for she put up little fight, letting him push her down. Sitting beside her, he turned her head with a palm on her soft cheek. Although her eyes still showed her apprehension, she held her head proudly.

  “I have found that it is best to accept what cannot be changed in this life. If I could wish time returned to where it was when my men and I beached our vessel on the shores of your homeland, and the need to fight with your father and his good men had not been necessary, then perhaps I would.” He paused as he stared into her eyes.

  “Then why did you do this?” she asked, so low he barely heard the words.

  Rolf shrugged. “It is as I explained, we men fight our battles. Often, we win and sometimes we lose. It has always been so and always will, I think. But then we would never have met, and it was the fates that brought us together.” She seemed surprised by his words, and truth was he had surprised himself, for never in his life had he spoken so to a woman. Certainly, never to a woman he desired such as he desired her.

  As gently as his passion allowed, he pushed the shift aside to reveal the pure skin of her shoulder. Skin he burned to touch. If she fought him now, he would surely die. To his astonishment, instead of pulling away, she reached out and lay her small hand on his chest. Was she giving him a sign that she wished him to continue. Being so unused to an unwilling female coming to his bed, Rolf felt much as he had when his father, in his wisdom, first brought a woman to him many years ago. That female had been many moons older than he, and very experienced in the ways of pleasing a man, especially a boy, untutored as he was then.

  He knew that how he behaved towards her at this moment would set how she would react to him in the future, and if she rejected his touch now, or was repulsed by him, then he would have lost her forever. That thought brought terror—and surprised him so utterly that for a moment he simply stared at her in confusion. Any other female would be beneath him now and he would be taking what was rightfully his. This Celtic woman was making him behave in a manner that was so unusual for him the thought hit him that perhaps she was a shaman or witch.

  Many tales were told around the fire by the old men of his village—sagas about the women who practiced their witchcraft and the wiles they possessed to force men to act strangely. He certainly was acting as never before. Rolf shook his head and stood. Without his gaze leaving hers, he began to cast his clothing aside. When down to his breeches he noticed her eyes seemed to focus on his chest where the mat of hair was now damp with his sweat. The tremor in her hands was plain for him to see, but now was not the time to falter. His fingers moved to the band around his breeches and slowly he pushed them down and kicked them away.

  * * *

  Brigid ran her tongue over lips that had become dry while she watched him remove his clothing. Now that he was naked before her, the evidence of his desire plain for her to see, a strange feeling overcame her fear, a feeling such as she had never known. She could not put a name to this sudden thrill that ran through her. Was it simply the terror she felt before, now combined with fear of the unknown? Of course, she knew what he intended to do, had been instructed on the ways of men and what was expected of her when this moment arrived. But she had expected it to be on her marriage bed and with a man of her father’s choosing. And with a man she was well acquainted with, not a man who held her captive, and a Norseman at that.

  As he moved closer until she could feel the heat coming from his large body, ever part of her body began to shake. To her surprise, his hands went to her shoulders and then slid down to lift her to stand before him, still keeping a space between them. His grip was gentle, and Brigid tried to ignore his nakedness—a difficult task with his upper body right in front of her eyes, and his lower body so near but still not touching hers.

  “You know what I expect of you, Brigid?” he asked. When she gave a slight nod of the head, he went on, “It would be best for you if you are compliant. I promise not to hurt you any more than I must. You know what I mean, do you not? You are still a maiden who has never known a man.” Saying that, he stared hard at her as if a thought occurred to him. “You are still virginal are you not?”

  So, taken aback by such a question, it was her turn to gaze at him. It had never occurred to her that he would suspect her of already coupling with a man. No point in denying it, he would learn the truth soon enough. “Of course,” she said low. “I am of high birth and under normal circumstances would have remained chaste until my bridal night.”

  That seemed to satisfy him, although why he shoul
d be concerned about her lack of maidenhood was a mystery. Surely a heathen would take whatever female he desired, regardless of whether she was a maiden or not. After a small nod, he reached down and took the hem of her shift in his hands, slowly lifting the garment. Once it was above her head, he threw it to join his clothing scattered about the floor. Brigid hastily covered as much of her body as she was able to with her arms.

  He would have none of that, and carefully took her arms in his hands—hands that were roughened, doubtless by the heavy toil of life on a vessel. As he ran those hands down to her fingertips to raise them to his shoulders, she felt every bump and groove on his skin. Brigid shivered, but not with cold. The warmth coming from his body was sufficient to warm her to the core. No doubt it was his closeness as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her forward until they met flesh to flesh that brought heat to her body. Deep inside there was also a sense of joy that he was no pampered boy who never needed to know what hard work was, or never had the inclination to help his servants perform their chores.

  Despite her brain advising her to fight him, her body obviously held other notions as it reacted in an unusual way. Her breasts suddenly felt heavier, the tips of them stiffening to match the hardness of his manhood, now pressing on her stomach. With a gasp, she allowed him to pull her closer and then his head bent, and his mouth covered hers.

  It was as it was the first time he touched her amid the waves when the sea washed over them. Now a very different feeling rushed over her as all thought fled, to be replaced by such a feeling of rapture, Brigid wanted to cry out. When he reached down to lift her, she allowed him to lay her back onto the furs covering his pallet. Without words, he came down beside her, his eyes not leaving hers, before he covered her mouth again. Now he had one leg half covering her body and the sensation of his body hairs against her skin made her shiver even more.

  The wind that blew up earlier now howled around the fire hole in the roof, making an eerie noise to match the raging tempest within her, as his work-roughened hand began to journey over her heated body. Beginning at her shoulder, he traced a path down across the breast that seemed to be reaching towards him, eager for his touch. One fingertip lingered there for endless moments until the tip ached and seemed to harden even more. Unable to hold it in, Brigid moaned. This seemed to please him for he smiled as he increased his caresses. When his fingers moved lower, running across her belly, it seemed that she held her breath as she waited for him to reach that part of her now throbbing in anticipation and need.

  When he reached his goal, all around them vanished, to be replaced by such a rapturous burst of pleasure that Brigid could not help but react and move her body to match the rhythm of his caress. Then his mouth, hot and wet, began to suckle her breast and Brigid almost screamed with the ecstasy this brought about. This was not what she had expected or anticipated. Was this what he meant when he advised her earlier to be compliant? Surely no woman could resist or fight such an onslaught of emotion.

  Brigid was in a daze of passion and need, without quite knowing what she yearned for, but when he moved to position himself above her, a tiny spark of her former anxiety returned. She was now moving into another realm and without a doubt from this time forward she would somehow be a changed woman. She thought he muttered, “Sorry,” in the moment before his lips covered hers again and he began to penetrate her body.

  All previous feelings of passion and desire fled as the first sharp stab of pain made her cry out. Pushing at his chest, she called out his name, but although he stilled, he did not pull away. “This is the only time. I promise, after tonight, it will get better,” he whispered as he ran his fingers down her cheeks before sucking at the tears that dampened her face. “And by my gods I promise I will never willingly hurt you ever again as long as we both live.”

  Chapter Six

  Brigid entered the dimly lit hut that had been their prison, calling out as she closed the door behind her. Instantly the boy Bjorn came running from the rear, the small orphan child Brigid befriended on the longship at his side.

  “How do you fare?” Bjorn asked. He looked downcast and Brigid could not be sure why. “Why have you been sleeping in another hut? Were you forced to leave us?”

  “I thought it was explained to you.” Brigid sat on one of the pallets that lined the hut and pulled the smaller child onto her knee. Both children looked much cleaner and wore better clothes than when she left three dawns ago to move to the Norse leader’s hut.

  Rolf insisted she not visit her fellow Celts any sooner, and she was thankful that in the dimness of the hut he could not see her flushed cheeks. His reasoning was that they needed the time to become better acquainted with each other. By this he meant that, apart from meals and bathing, Brigid spend as much time as possible learning what was expected of her as the woman of the leader of his people. So far, all she had learnt was how to please him and how he could return the pleasure. After the initial pain wore off, he proceeded to teach her this in the gentlest way.

  Still stunned by her own reaction to his lessons, Brigid tried to resist his advances, acting as if she hated him, endeavouring to not let him see the effect on her senses. This was fine whilst not in the throes of passion, but the wall of resistance she tried to erect always ended up shattered at his touch. Determined that she would never completely let him rule her heart, she kept up the act of indifference when not in his arms. Strangely, he seemed to find this amusing, something she considered was a trait peculiar to men.

  “Where are the others?” Brigid decided it best not to try to explain the situation further to the boy. “And why are you not out toiling in the fields? They do know you are an expert goat handler, do they not?”

  Bjorn cheered up at this, and said with excitement, “I have a herd to look after that includes females with young at their teats.” He clapped his hands. “And I shall be milking soon. They make fine cheese from the milk and soon I will be allowed to help with this task.”

  Brigid smiled. The boy was obviously past dwelling on their capture and imprisonment. “That is very good. And where is everybody?”

  “The women go off with the stern large woman called Ingrid.” He shrugged, and his face said he was not interested. “I think they are being told their tasks. Some of them grumble when they return later. And the old woman, Stella, has taken the babes and small ones to play somewhere.” Once again, he lifted his shoulders. “I think they go to the sea shore when the tide is out.”

  “So why is this little one here with you?” Brigid smiled down at the young boy who was now sucking at his not too clean thumb.

  “He follows me around. I will teach him how to handle the goats.” Bjorn puffed up his small chest. “He does not wish to go with the old woman—she grumbles and complains all the time.”

  Brigid knew that only too well. No matter how they all fared and whether the other women settled into their life here, Stella would always find something that did not suit her. It was to be expected of a woman of her advanced years who had seen much of life, knew all there was to know about birth and death. Perhaps she wished she had joined Asa and was now at the bottom of the ocean. Brigid shuddered when she recalled how near to death she herself came that fateful day. At those times, she tended to think that perhaps Rolf was right and his fates or his goddess Frey had a hand in how it turned out.

  Fingering the necklet of amber beads that Rolf presented her with the morn after their first coupling, she sighed. There was no going back now. It was best to put what might have been, and all thoughts of her past life, behind her.

  “So, tell me, why are you not now with your goat herd?” Brigid asked.

  “I have to go early in the day, before the sun rises, to help with cleaning out the pen where they are kept overnight, safe from wild hunting creatures.” His nose wrinkled at this obviously disliked task. “Then the men who now tend the herd show me what needs to be done. I am then allowed to come back here where I fetch logs for the fire and water for the w
omenfolk.”

  Brigid rose, placing the young boy on the dusty floor. “I am proud of you, Bjorn.” At least he seemed content. Intending to next go to see how the Celtic women were faring she left the hut. Rolf was waiting outside, which annoyed her somewhat. Was she to be followed wherever she went? Was this to be her life for always? When he told her after rising that there were matters of importance he needed to attend to she felt a small amount of joy at the sense of freedom, felt almost light-hearted that she was now able to come and go as she pleased.

  It seemed he had other ideas. “Come,” he said as he placed a warm cloak across her shoulders. “I have someone I wish you to see.”

  As they began to walk through the village, Brigid did not miss the reaction of the Norse women they passed. Perhaps women were the same no matter what part of the world you came from. Some of the looks she received could only be determined as envy, while others showed clear malice. Brigid wanted to scream at these people that she was not the woman of their leader by choice, and no matter how he made her feel when they were naked side by side in his bed, she would forever wish she were still in her homeland far, far away. Would always wish her dear father were still there to advise and praise her, or to chivvy her when she made a mistake.

  They passed one of the enclosures containing geese and other fowl. Margret and one of the other Celts were working there. Brigid waved, and they returned her greeting, but when she stopped in the hope of talking to them the man they were obviously working for gave them a sharp warning and they returned to their task.