The Viking's Cursed Bride

by Mairibeth Macmillan

  No, he would never be such a fool as to love another woman. He shook his head. That was a thought he was not going to entertain. What was done, was done and he would have to live with the consequences as he lived with the consequences of his marriage to Ingrid. He could only pray to the gods that this would be less catastrophic.

  Tormod unbuckled his sword from his waist and hefted his axe in his hand. He headed out of the village. Once he reached the edge of the forest, he began to run. Earlier he had allowed himself to be distracted. He needed to be alone, to run, to clear his mind and body of the anger and shame that filled him. Why could he not put this behind him? Perhaps he should have insisted Arne stayed at home, in the Northlands, but Ragna had begged him to allow her son to come. Told him that it would not help either of them to pretend nothing had happened.

  He gripped the axe tightly, swinging it in front of him if a branch got in his way. Otherwise he pumped his arms back and forth, matching his steps. He could feel his heart racing, his blood beginning to burn. He ran and ran until he could run no more.

  When he stopped, his breaths were loud and his chest heaved. He was deep in the forest and on the crest of a small hill. As he calmed, he heard it. Snorting, and the footsteps of an animal. A boar most likely. He turned slowly in a circle, trying to see through the darkness of the trees. The glint of its eyes gave its position away. He dropped the axe from one hand to the other and back again, preparing himself for the fight he knew would come.

  The boar stared at him, pawed the ground a time or two, but didn’t move.

  Tormod stared at it. It was a big beast, one of the largest he’d seen on these shores, and its tusks were sharp. They would make a fine trophy. He swung the axe around one time, then another. The beast lowered its head to the ground, then attacked.

  Everything outside of the fight ceased to exist. There were only the swing and miss or swing and hit of the axe. Each time it sank into flesh was a small victory on the way to final triumph, each time it glanced off the tough hide of the boar a time to recalculate, change the angle of the thrust, the speed of the blow. Screams from both man and beast surrounded them until finally there was only Tormod’s breathing.

  He dropped to his knees as the boar collapsed for a final time at his feet. He hung his axe on his belt and lifted the beast, staggering under its weight. His muscles shook with the effort, but he had won and he would return to the village with his spoils, no matter how heavy they were or how long it took.

  Tormod had run much farther than he’d realised. It was nearly full light by the time he reached the village again and took the boar into the hall. He dumped the carcass beside Ragna, who said nothing, merely looked at him and jerked her head in the direction of the beach.

  Tormod didn’t even bother to undress, just strode out into the cold water and, once far enough out, ducked under it. He remained under the water, his body finally cooling while his breathing and heart rate slowed. His lungs began to burn so he surfaced and took a deep breath. Water sluiced off him as he pulled off his bloodstained clothes and threw them towards the beach. Then he swam a little.

  Reality began to seep in. The water was bitterly cold and his arms were trembling from the exertion of carrying the boar so far. He closed his eyes and floated onto his back, rubbing at his hair and wishing he had some soap.

  A soft sploosh beside him got him to open his eyes and drew his attention to Björn’s presence on the beach. Realising what had made the noise, he scrabbled on the rocky sea bed until he found the bar of rough soap his cousin had thrown towards him and quickly cleaned himself and his hair of the last traces of blood and sweat. Then he threw the bar back towards the beach. He exited the water, and as he strode up the beach, Björn handed him a fur that he wrapped around his shivering body.

  “We will feast later,” Björn said as they continued up the beach. “I hope seeing you again will be enough to calm that wife of yours, but I doubt it.”

  “She was worried?”

  “We all were.” Björn looked at him. “No shield, no sword, no armour, just gone. I have been looking for you.”

  “I had to get away. I was angry,” Tormod said. “I had my axe.”

  Björn put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “She thinks you are angry with her. You are punishing her for the sins of another. She is all alone here. If you turn on her…” Björn left the sentence hanging. Then he looked over towards the barn where Ulf and Arne stood guard over the prisoner. Arne looked away, but not before the dawn’s light highlighted the scars on his face. Scars from injuries that everyone had believed would kill him.

  Tormod closed his eyes, remembering. None of them had thought Arne would survive the journey home, but he had, although he was delirious with fever and had lost a great deal of blood. There was little skin that had not felt the touch of their enemies’ swords or axes - in an ambush meant for him.

  Tormod opened his eyes and pulled the fur tighter around him against the chill of the morning air. Ulf approached them.

  “The prisoner is chained. Do you wish to deal with him now?” Ulf asked.

  “No, once I have dressed and eaten will be time enough,” Tormod replied. “Let him start to truly fear us before we question him.”

  “Or it may give him a chance to escape,” Ulf retorted.

  Tormod stared at his cousin for a long moment. Ulf’s gaze did not waver, and Tormod knew he had every right to doubt his judgment, but as jarl, Tormod could not let such doubt stand unchallenged. “Surely he will only escape if Björn has failed in his duty to chain him.”

  “I can assure you he is well secured,” Björn said.

  Ulf held Tormod’s gaze for a minute longer, then nodded. “Very well.”

  “I need to clear my head.” As he passed Ulf, however, his cousin put a hand on his shoulder, halting him.

  “Did we not already hear enough? Lord Cadell has deceived us. His daughter is worthless. He cares not if she lives or dies.”

  Tormod didn’t look at Ulf. He clenched his fists, struggling to stop himself from lashing out at his cousin, making him withdraw his words. But he couldn’t. Ulf was right. In one way.

  Tormod turned to Ulf and met his gaze full on. “My wife is not worthless.” He realised as he spoke the words that he truly believed them.

  “Your wife…” Ulf left the words hanging for a moment, then dropped his hand from Tormod’s shoulder. “Let us pray to the gods that you are right.”

  Tormod closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the red rage that had descended over him at Ulf’s words. He tried to persuade himself that his cousin’s words had not affected him as much as they had. And pushed away the thought that what he felt for Aoife went beyond mere convenience. He couldn’t love Aoife. He wouldn’t allow it. It was safer for everyone if he didn’t.

  Tormod opened his eyes and looked around at the small groups of warriors and villagers who were still discussing the battle’s aftermath. All of them were armed, and Tormod sensed from many of them the dejection that the battle had not even reached them. The Britons had not made it past their first line of defence. Still, if this were a sign of what was to come, then it would not be long before the whole village was needed. By then he needed to ensure that Aoife was seen as one of them, not as Cadell’s daughter. If Aoife carried his child, their jarl’s child, then she would be protected.

  “Ulf!” Tormod wasn’t sure what to say. He rubbed a hand down his face. “You are right. We need to rethink our alliance with Lord Cadell.”

  Ulf’s face held an equal mix of triumph and relief. “We have been fooled by Cadell. We need to plan our next move.”

  A chill ran through Tormod’s veins. He knew his cousin had tried to take the edge off his criticism by saying ‘we’, when Tormod knew fine well that this was his fault. He had been fooled. And not for the first time.

  “We need to decide what we do with the prisoner and…” Ulf broke off, holding Tormod’s gaze.

  Tormod was t
orn between knowing that his cousin was right, and hating him for it. “My wife is innocent.”

  There was a lengthy pause before Ulf said, “You are sure?”

  “Yes.”

  It was enough. It had to be enough. If Ulf was going to challenge him on this, then better that he should know now. He was relieved when his cousin agreed.

  “I think there is trouble in Lord Cadell’s fort,” said Tormod. “I believe that may be why the maid sent her son here, sent Elisedd here. After all, who would send a child into an enemy camp unless what is at home is something far, far worse?”

  Ulf frowned but seemed to be seriously considering Tormod’s words. “We have many questions to ask the prisoner. But, Tormod, you need to deal with the prisoner in a way that reassures our people. Keep your wife away from the Thing.”

  “These men came to kill all of us. My wife included.”

  Silence. He couldn’t tell whether Ulf believed him or not.

  “I don’t think we’ll ever convince some of the villagers of that,” Ulf said. That, at least, was one less thing to worry about. “Not unless you can get the prisoner to admit it. And then…” Ulf ran a finger across his throat.

  Then the prisoner would be guilty of trying to murder the wife of a jarl and Tormod would have to have him executed. In one way, he had no objections. In another… He wondered how his wife would react. They had already killed five of her countrymen last night. Those countrymen who had attacked their village had done so with the intention of killing Aoife as well as the Norsemen. If things had gone differently, they might well have succeeded. He knew she had heard the men in the boat. She knew they had been ready to kill her themselves, but their prisoner was the one man who had queried that order. Killing him would achieve little.

  Ulf marched off before Tormod could reply.

  “Ulf is right,” Björn said. “There are many who are worried.”

  “Worried?” Tormod bristled. Their suspicion of his wife was unwarranted, but not everyone would see it that way.

  “You know what I mean. Worried that your loyalties are now divided.”

  “I am hardly the first jarl to marry the daughter of an enemy for the promise of peace.”

  Björn regarded him carefully. “I know that, and they know it too. It is simply that here, with these people, everything is new and different. They don’t understand.”

  “They choose not to understand.”

  “And you have to deal with that. You need to keep them all together. Us all together.”

  Tormod regarded Björn, concerned his cousin would not meet his eye. He expected this from Ulf, Ulf always challenged him, but Björn… Björn was solid, reliable. If Björn was worried, then Tormod really did need to take action.

  “Find out what you can,” he instructed Björn. “Then find me and we will speak. Bring Arne.”

  Björn nodded at him grimly.

  Tormod headed for the hall, and through it to the room he and Aoife shared.

  Chapter Eight

  Tormod wasn’t surprised to find Aoife already washed and dressed, but he was surprised to find she had piled her clothes neatly on the bed and topped it with the small sack of her valuables that she had arrived with. “What are you doing?”

  She jumped and turned to look at him, grabbing the sack and pressing it to her chest. She relaxed when she recognised him. “You are alive.”

  “Would you have preferred it if I wasn’t?” He threw the fur over the end of the bed and strode to where a fresh set of clothes was laid out for him.

  “No. I was worried. I…” She turned away from him as he dressed, and he wondered if the tears he had seen in her eyes were for him or herself.

  “What were you doing?” he asked gently.

  “Preparing to leave. To see my father. I have to ask him why...”

  “Don’t.”

  She froze. “But…”

  “Why do you think he will help you now?” Tormod asked. “Besides, there is no one here that I can spare to take you. No one that I could be sure would come back to me from your father’s lands unharmed.”

  Aoife remained still, biting at her lip.

  “You heard those men last night. If they are willing to kill you, then what worse fate awaits any of us… barbarians?”

  “You are not barbarians! But you have come here, taken our lands and—”

  “These lands were empty, my lady,” said Tormod. “No one defended them. We only wished for a new place to call home.”

  The two of them stared at each other across the room. Then she dropped her gaze.

  “I wish for nothing more than a home, also,” she said quietly.

  “Your home is here now, with us.” He didn’t examine why he felt the need to reassure her. How much easier it would be to simply let her go and find a wife from amongst his own people. And yet something about her called to him.

  “I need to know why my father was willing to let me be killed. Something is not right at Dun Cadell and I need to know what it is. Until I do, I don’t think any of us are safe.”

  “I will keep you safe.”

  For a moment her face lit up with hope.

  Then there was a knock at the door.

  “Come!” he shouted.

  Björn entered. “Tormod, the prisoner. You need to hear what he has to say.”

  “I will be there in a moment,” Tormod replied.

  Aoife gaped at her husband. “There are prisoners?”

  “One,” Björn said.

  She turned away from him, shaking. “Is he to be killed?”

  “Do you wish him to be?” Tormod asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said after a long pause. “They came because of me. I heard them. They were going to kill me.”

  “They came because of us. You and this village.”

  Her face when she looked at him was a mask of anguish. “I can’t believe that my father ordered it. I think there is something very wrong at Dun Cadell.”

  Tormod couldn’t decide whether she was right, or simply clinging to a last remnant of hope for her father’s love. Although… he thought back to the way Cadell had looked to Ula during their negotiations and wondered if Aoife was, in fact, correct. Elisedd’s arrival seemed to prove that there was something wrong, too.

  “I think so too,” he said. “Now we need to arrange a visit. But we will take the time to plan and prepare and be ready for whatever we find there.”

  Aoife breathed in deeply, then nodded.

  Tormod strode towards her and encircled her in his arms. After only a moment’s hesitation, she leaned into him. He closed his eyes, feeling her warm and solid against his body. He was happy she was alive and sure that he was not willing to give her up.

  * * *

  Aoife opened the door a short while later to Björn, Ulf, and Arne and ushered them inside. She had offered to leave them to talk in peace, but Tormod had insisted she stay. Now, she looked at Tormod, surrounded by his cousins. They were a formidable group—she pitied anyone who had to fight against them.

  When questioned, the prisoner had admitted that they had, indeed, attacked the village on Lord Cadell’s orders and that Aoife was to be killed on sight. Björn had wanted to kill the man for saying this, but Arne had suggested that keeping him alive in case they needed proof of Cadell’s duplicity might be more valuable in the long run.

  “We should send Lord Cadell a message,” Ulf said.

  Aoife started. She should have been listening but somehow… somehow she simply didn’t want to deal with the reality of the situation and was unsure why Tormod had asked her to be here.

  “The bodies of his dead will be a start,” said Ulf.

  Aoife looked at Ulf. Of all the group, he had changed the most since the fight. She had always sensed that he was a warrior first, but now she saw few signs of the man she had come to know since her arrival. He refused to meet her eye for a start, and she feared that he was blinded by thoughts of revenge.

  “If you do
that,” she said, “then my people will see it as a threat. And it will only help to prove that you are indeed their enemy.”

  “We are,” Ulf said. He started to stand, but Tormod pushed him back down. Ulf continued regardless. “They have attacked us twice now, tricked us into accepting you as our jarl’s wife with promises of safety. Those promises have been broken.”

  Aoife stood. “From their perspective, it is you who are the aggressors.”

  Ulf laughed. “This land was deserted before we arrived. And if your people are not strong enough to hold it, then they don’t deserve it. That is the way of the world. The strongest survive.”

  “Your people captured and murdered our king.”

  “King Artgal was killed at the bidding of another. Anyway, why should we listen to you?” Ulf demanded. “You came to us as a promise of peace. A promise that has proved to be false.”

  “Ulf,” Tormod warned.

  Aoife sat down and smoothed her skirts. It was time to take a stand, even if it was a small one. “Because now I am married to your jarl, I am one of you. My father’s kin showed they do not want me. Last night they did not come only to attack the village.” Aoife stopped, took a breath. “They came to kill me, so they could blame you for my death and attack. I heard them. If they want me dead, then they are nothing to me.”

  With that she stood once more and strode from the room out into the main hall. She ignored Ragna’s query as to whether everything was all right and headed outside. Once there she leaned against the wall, trying to get her pounding heart to slow. She was deep in thought, numb—truly cast adrift. She had no idea what the future held for her now. Would the Norse turn on her, also believing her to have no further value? Would Tormod divorce her, or would they simply have her killed?

  Then she remembered the way Elisedd had been treated. An inconvenient child, a suspected saboteur, and yet he had not been killed at first sight. He had had a trial. Perhaps she would be granted that. She blinked back tears. Her father would not have troubled himself with such details. If he thought he had found a traitor then they would be killed with no such trivialisations as a proper hearing, let alone a trial. Ula would have insisted upon it.