The Viking's Cursed Bride

by Mairibeth Macmillan

  “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes. I will sit here for a few minutes before I come and join you.”

  Tormod started to walk slowly towards his brother Anders’ boat, his steps becoming quicker as he grew closer. His brother leapt ashore and ran towards him. When they met, the two men embraced, and Tormod felt a sudden pang of longing for the home he had not seen for more than a year now. He shook off the thought. This was home now.

  “It is good to see you, brother,” Anders said. “And look who I have brought.”

  “Hello, Father,” Einar said, stepping forward.

  Tormod looked down at the boy. He had grown since he had last seen him. He must be eight now. The same age as Elisedd. Tormod grasped the boy’s shoulder and felt him trembling. He peered into eyes matching his first wife’s. Eyes which had hidden a lie Tormod could never forgive. He snatched his hand back and turned away.

  “Tormod!”

  He stopped at Anders’ shout.

  “Your son has been looking forward to seeing you. Will you not take him and show him his new home?”

  Tormod stared at Anders, then blinked and looked at Einar. How had he thought the boy could stay with him and Aoife? He was a constant reminder of Tormod’s past. He should start his family anew, with his wife.

  “Hello.” Aoife’s voice startled him. She had come over without him noticing. She knelt down beside Einar and took his hands. “I am Aoife. Your father’s new wife.” Tormod would have congratulated her at how good her Norse was in only a few weeks, but he was too shocked to say anything. “Tell him I will find somewhere for him to stay and I will look after him as if he were my own,” she added in Brythonic.

  Tormod did nothing.

  After a moment, Anders cleared his throat and translated what Aoife had not been able to say in Norse for the boy. The boy smiled tentatively at Aoife.

  “Are you not going to introduce me to your new wife?” his brother said. “And then we can talk while she finds a bed for your son. I am unable to stay and must leave as soon as the boats are ready to return.”

  Tormod made the introductions, then Aoife led the boy towards the hall. He was sure Ragna would find somewhere appropriate for the boy to stay, for the time being at least. Tormod would resolve the matter soon. As he turned to help unload the boats, he saw many of the villagers watching the boy, nudging their neighbours to look over at him as he entered the hall with Aoife. They quickly looked away when they noticed Tormod.

  * * *

  The boy’s hand was warm against her own. Einar. His name was Einar. She couldn’t understand Tormod’s reaction. He was a fine boy, hale and strong, although it was clear that there were few similarities between them. Even Tormod’s own brother had been shocked by his dismissal of the child. No, not shocked, Aoife realised. It seemed Anders had been ready for Tormod’s reaction and prepared to step in. Whether he was Tormod’s natural born son or not, Tormod had indicated that it was necessary to act as if he was and yet it was Tormod who was not doing so.

  The other villagers appeared content to maintain the pretence and Aoife was determined to care for the boy as she would wish a child of her own to be cared for. She had been around the same age when her own father had remarried and she was going to be a better stepmother than Ula had been to her.

  Another wave of dizziness hit her and she staggered.

  “What is wrong?” Einar asked.

  “Nothing,” she assured him. “It will pass.” But the boy gripped her hand even more tightly as they made their way towards the door of the hall. As they passed the hearth, Aoife looked down at where a thrall was finishing skinning a rabbit, ready to put it in the soapstone bowl to cook on the fire. It was a sight she had seen many times and the smell of the blood and fur a familiar one, and yet today it had her clasping at her stomach and hurrying past. She pushed open the door to their room and stepped inside, then quickly pulled it closed as soon as the boy had followed her.

  She sat on the bed, then took huge, gasping breaths of the fresher air in an attempt to stave off the nausea.

  The boy watched her from near the door, his eyes large and frightened. “Are you going to die, too?” he whispered.

  “No,” Aoife replied. She shook her head, but that proved to be the final straw. She grabbed at an empty bowl on the table and was violently sick. Her stomach continued to rebel for the next few minutes and somehow she was not surprised when she felt a cooling cloth placed on her forehead and the bowl removed from her and an empty one put in its place. She sat mumbling, concentrating on breathing in and out, in and out. A mug of water was held to her lips. She sipped.

  “Thank you,” she managed to croak at Ragna, who smiled grimly at her. The older woman passed the bowl to a thrall who left with it.

  A small hand touched her own. She jumped at first and Einar pulled back, but she smiled at him and reached for his hand.

  “My mamma died,” he said. Aoife didn’t understand the next bit, but assumed it was a question.

  Ragna answered hurriedly then shooed the boy out. Aoife tried to protest, but wasn’t up to it. Ragna smiled at her. “Rest, Aoife. You will feel better soon. I will bring you something to drink that will help.”

  She frowned at the older woman. “I am sure I will be fine tomorrow.”

  “I think it may be a few weeks or more until you are yourself again,” Ragna said. “Your husband said he did not want a child so soon, but he should have known better than to try to control that.”

  “A child? Tormod said—”

  Ragna laughed. “Aye, men often do.” She closed the door behind her.

  Aoife closed her eyes but her mind was racing so fast she thought she would never sleep, but she must have because she awoke a while later. The room was empty, but she had the sense someone had just left. Perhaps that was what had woken her. Gingerly she sat up and put her feet on the floor. She still felt a little lightheaded, but the nausea had passed. A steaming herbal drink sat beside her bed. Ragna must have brought it for her.

  Outside she could hear the noise of everyday life, but it seemed as if there was more joy in it today after the arrival of the newcomers.

  As the jarl’s wife she should have welcomed the new arrivals earlier, but she had been too bound up in Tormod’s poor treatment of his son.

  She ran her hand over her stomach. Could she be with child? Tormod had seemed so sure he could avoid a child for now, although on the night of the battle he had made a mistake. She tried to work out when her monthly courses had last come and realised it had been at the abbey.

  The door opened and her husband stepped in. Guiltily she let her hand drop to her side. They regarded one another, Aoife wondering what to say.

  Eventually she asked, “Where is Einar?”

  She knew it was the wrong thing to have said when Tormod’s face clouded over. “Ragna has found a bed for him in the hall.”

  “That is good news,” Aoife said.

  “You are feeling better?” His expression was wary.

  “Yes, Ragna has brought me a drink.”

  Tormod inclined his head, then crossed to the other side of the room and pulled his shirt off. As he looked for a clean one, Aoife indicated her sewing basket. “There is a new one I made for you,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he said, holding it up and admiring it.

  “Are the new arrivals settled in?”

  “Almost. I am going to the bathhouse. Will you join me?”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “Of course. You are my wife. Unless of course there is someone else you would prefer to be looking after.”

  “There is only you, Tormod. Although I thought you would wish me to make your son welcome.”

  He laughed a bitter laugh. “Yes, Ingrid preferred his company to mine, also.”

  “You are being ridiculous,” she said. “You told me you need to keep up the appearance that he is your son. And...”

  “And?”

  “I know what it is l
ike to have a new stepmother. I would prefer not to treat Einar the way I was treated. Is that so unreasonable?”

  The silence stretched between them and then another bout of dizziness rushed through her. She cried out as she fell, then realised it was a vision overwhelming her.

  She was in Håkon’s field again. She heard the crackle of the fire, and wondered why her vision was of the past and not the future. Then she realised this was different. She turned slowly, feeling the presence of death all around her. A cow fell to its knees then crumpled onto its side.

  The fire was no out of control blaze, but one tended by Håkon. She smelled burning flesh. This was no cooking fire—it was a pyre of dead beasts. She screamed at the sight of empty eyes and tongues lolling out of heads.

  “The animals,” she murmured. “In Håkon’s field, the animals are dying.”

  A raven croaked high above. She looked up, trying to see it through the thick, black smoke. Suddenly, it cleared and she could see the raven flying with its partner over the fortifications of a keep. Then she was flying with them, looking down on the world. She spread her wings and soared, sure now it was Dun Cadell below her.

  She landed on grass outside the palisade and looked towards the fort. The rays of the dying sun illuminated the familiar stone structure. Around it was the walls of the courtyard and beyond that the wooden palisade, stained dark in places. She reached out a hand to touch the stain. Ravens croaked overhead, and when she drew back her hand, it was red with blood. She screamed.

  She grabbed onto something solid beside her, then slowly she realised it was Tormod. She was cradled tightly in his arms, but they were no longer alone. Björn, Ulf and Arne were all crowded into the room as well, and when she heard a noise in the doorway, she saw Ragna pulling Einar away.

  “Well,” Björn said, clearly shaken. “If you are not murdering your wife then we will leave you in peace.” He and Arne stepped back towards the door. Ulf didn’t move, but watched as Tormod laid her down on the bed.

  “It was a bad dream,” she said, swallowing. She reached for the drink Ragna had brought her earlier, cold now but it helped calm her. “That was all.”

  Tormod and Ulf stared at each other, then Ulf turned and strode purposefully out the door. “You should sleep,” Tormod said, running a hand over her forehead. For a moment she almost told him the truth about her dreams and visions but fatigue swept over her. What had Ragna put in her drink? Her eyes drifted shut.

  * * *

  There was a knock at the door. Tormod went over and opened it, but blocked the way into the room. Ragna took a step backwards into the hallway and he followed her, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “How is she?” Ragna whispered.

  “Sleeping.” Tormod frowned at his aunt. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

  “Tormod.” Ragna sighed and smiled. “It is likely she carries your child.”

  “But I have been—”

  “Careful? Tormod, I have birthed nine children. Four of whom were conceived when my husband was ‘careful.’” She placed a hand on his arm. “And have you always been as careful as you should? Lust has a way of making us forget, which is how it should be between a man and his wife. Anything less and you are cheating each other. She is not a passing fancy or a concubine, Tormod. She is your wife.”

  Tormod stepped away from Ragna. “No, it is too soon.”

  “It is not, she has been here more than two months.” Ragna smiled slyly at him. “And Midsummer Eve is a popular time for babes to make their way into their mother’s bellies.”

  Tormod thought back to their coupling after the short battle on the beach at Midsummer and knew he had no defense.

  “She is nothing like your first wife, Tomrod. You must stop being so suspicious of her. You saw her when she arrived. She had been beaten.” Ragna shook her head. “Perhaps you have been surrounded by enemies for so long you are seeing them everywhere.”

  “I have had my enemy in my bed before.” He looked at the ground.

  “Tormod.” Ragna waited until he looked at her. “That was not the same and you know it. Einar’s mother was your enemy and you should have seen that, but she was a clever and deceitful woman who fooled all of us.”

  “My cousins were not deceived by her.”

  “And that is fortunate for all of us, but my sons are suspicious of everyone and are particularly overprotective of you.”

  “Then they shouldn’t be, it is I who is responsible for them.”

  Ragna laughed. “I’m not sure that they see it that way. My sons follow you because you are a good leader, the right man to lead this village. They would not do so if they did not believe in you.”

  Tormod heard her words but struggled to allow himself to believe them. “Every time I look at Arne… Every time I see Einar… I am reminded of how I allowed myself to be deceived and the consequences it nearly had.”

  “But you have learned,” Ragna assured him. “You will not make the same mistake again. I do not believe you have.”

  “And if I have? Who will die this time? All of us?”

  “Aside from those who attacked us in the Northlands, the only one who died last time was Ingrid.”

  “Arne almost died.” Tormod was unable to meet his aunt’s gaze. “You nearly lost your son because I refused to believe him when he told me what she had been doing.”

  “But I did not. And if I had, it would have been Ingrid who was to blame,” Ragna said firmly. “It was not you who lay in wait for him at that hut. Ingrid knew her lover and his friends were waiting there to attack whoever followed her.”

  “It should have been me.”

  “Arne may have nearly died in your place that day, Tormod, but he would do it again. He would be happy to give his life if it meant keeping you alive. You are his jarl and he considers it an honour to protect you.”

  Tormod swallowed. Ragna’s words were shifting things in his mind.

  “And besides,” Ragna said firmly, “this is no longer relevant. Ingrid deceived us all, but that does not mean Aoife is the same.”

  “But what if she is?” Tormod asked. “My father told me back then that I did not deserve to be jarl. What if he was right? How can I be jarl when I am so easily deceived? Maybe I do not deserve to rule.”

  “That was a long time ago and in another land.” Ragna smiled and gently squeezed his arm. “You do deserve to be jarl. Never doubt it. Everyone in this village followed you here because they believe in you.”

  Tormod frowned. “Perhaps if she is with child, it is the lesser of two evils.”

  “Two evils?”

  “She spoke of the animals dying.”

  Ragna pursed her lips. “Our animals are well, perhaps it is nothing more than a bad dream. Pregnancy plays funny tricks on a woman at times.”

  “She dreamed about the fire as it happened. She told me that sometimes she dreamed about things. What if she dreamed about them because she already knew?”

  “Tormod. She is not like Ingrid. I am sure of it. You must speak with her and ask her. If she is innocent, she will answer you with no hesitation. Think about how you would make a judgment if it was for another instead of for yourself. Perhaps you will see it more clearly then. But do not base your judgment on the actions of another. Look to the future.”

  “I have more than just myself to keep safe,” Tormod said. “I have the whole village to think of, the other settlers who will follow.”

  “I know, but I am sure you will come to see the truth as it should be seen. Perhaps your wife can help you. She is carrying your child. Do not let the past cloud your decisions.”

  Tormod watched as Ragna went back into the hall, then he went into his room. Aoife was asleep, her face more relaxed than he had seen it before. His stomach clenched at the thought that she might be lying to him but as he watched her sleep, her features relaxed and she appeared even more beautiful than when she was awake. He sat beside her and stroked her face. She smiled in her sleep and
moved towards his touch.

  Then he pulled off his clothes and slid into the bed beside her. Tomorrow he would confront her and she would answer him without hesitation and put all his fears to rest. After that he would put his past with Ingrid behind him and look only to the future.

  The next morning he was woken by someone hammering on his bedroom door. He yanked open the door to find his three cousins on the other side. “What is it?” Their expressions were dark.

  Ulf pushed his way past him into the bedroom and stood in front of Aoife, his arms folded. “Elisedd came to the village this morning. Håkon’s animals are dying,” he announced, eyeing Aoife. “Just as Lady Aoife said last night.”

  “Out!” Tormod grabbed Ulf by the shoulder and marched him towards the door. “I need time to speak to my wife. Wait for me in the hall. Do nothing until I come.” Ulf opened his mouth to argue but Tormod slammed the door on him and leaned against it. He watched Aoife’s face carefully as she pushed herself to an upright position then he sat down beside her, causing the mattress to shift. She groaned and hugged her knees, trembling. “How are you feeling?”

  Her eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. “I’ve been better.”

  “What will you do with me?” Her voice was small and tired. She sniffed, then held herself stiff and straight and reached for the drink before taking small sips.

  Tormod stood and paced to the small chink in the wall. Outside the fire crackled in the centre of the village. A number of people stood around it drinking, but there was tension in every one of them as their gazes were regularly drawn towards the hall.

  “I am sorry,” she said at last.

  “What for?”

  “For whatever I have done to displease you.”

  “What do you know of the animals dying?”

  There was a long silence while he continued to stare outside. He had hoped his marriage would mark the start of better fortunes, but everything seemed to keep going wrong. He looked at his wife to find her watching him.

  “Only what Ulf told us.”

  “Last night. How did you know?”

  “I told you, I dreamt about it. I saw cattle falling to their knees and dying.” She shivered. “A huge pile of them, burning.”