The Viking

by Talbott, Marti

“Nor can I.” He turned and started to mount his horse. “I will think o’ something later.”

  “Then ye will not give yer permission to any o’ the lads?”

  “Nay, ye are right. I cannae bear the thought o’ another man bedding ye. Be at peace, my love.” He put his foot in the stirrup, lifted his leg over, turned his horse and rode away.

  She was relieved but she was also miserable and could no longer hold back her tears.

  When Blair and Fergus left the wedding feast, Stefan had no more excuses. He mounted Jirvel’s horse, gave Kannak his hand and helped her swing up behind him. Half way home, he halted the horse and scooted around a little so he could talk to her. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did no one come to help Eogan with the land? Surely the others wanted to help.”

  She bit her lower lip and considered a lie. “‘Twas not so bad as this till the last year or two. I suppose ye will hear it somehow anyway. My father sometimes hurt her.”

  “What? And the other lads knew?”

  “Some did and no doubt they told the others, but mother begged them not to tell Macoran.”

  “Why? He be her laird; he should have killed her husband for it.”

  “Killed him? A laird does not kill a man for hitting his wife.”

  “I would, especially if he hurt a kind soul like Jirvel. I become enraged at the very thought o’ someone harming her.”

  “Then when ye are laird, I will be pleased to be in yer clan and my mother with me. It was most unpleasant. Ye cannae know the nights I cried for her and…” Tears suddenly flooded her eyes and she could not go on.

  He turned a little more and put a brotherly arm around her. “Dinnae weep, wee bairn, I dinnae mean to upset ye.”

  She took a deep breath and rested her head on his shoulder for just a moment. Then she drew away, wiped her cheeks and pushed his arm away. “If Macoran knew, he would have shamed father. Then father would have become enraged and we feared he would kill her. There was naught to do but beg the lads not to tell. Father liked his strong drink and dinnae know his own strength.”

  “Did he hurt ye?”

  “Once, but mother stepped between us afore he could hurt me much. He was always sorry…later when it was too late.”

  “Is this why ye have few friends?”

  “Mother dinnae want people to see her bruises and tell Macoran.”

  “Then ‘tis a good thing yer father be gone. If he comes back, I will kill him myself.” He turned back around and urged the horse on.

  She put her arm back around Stefan’s waist and muttered, “He will not come back.”

  *

  He was proud of their little garden although it did not grow the volume of vegetables and grain Stefan hoped. He wondered if the soil was different somehow than that in his homeland, but he dared not ask any of the men. Next year, he would spend more time with William and watch how he worked the land. Except for two hot weeks, the rain came often enough to keep them from having to haul very much water from the river to the garden.

  The hunting was good, they managed to share the meat of the deer with their neighbors and the women were becoming quite good at making more belts from the skins. All three of them looked forward to the fall festival. After that, they could expect the long hours of darkness and they all agreed a few extra hours of sleep would be very welcome. Perhaps the beautiful night lights in the north would come again in the darkness and they could all lie outside to watch them.

  Laird Macoran did as Jirvel bid him, did not betroth her and for the most part stayed away. When he did come, which was only twice during the summer, he kept himself well back, did not ask if she wanted a husband or mention one for Kannak. He only asked if they were in need, assured himself they were not and quickly glanced over the land.

  But Stefan had developed a keen eye and an instinct when it came to being watched and every time he felt it, it was Macoran who was doing the watching – from the hilltop, the riverbank or from one of several animal paths. If Jirvel noticed, she did not let on. Instead she concentrated on making life as easy and happy as possible for them all.

  When the first of the vegetables were ready to eat, they celebrated. When Diarmad and Stefan caught ample fish in the river, they celebrated and when Blair brought his baby girl and William and Andrina came to share a noon meal, they celebrated.

  For the most part, three happier people in the world did not exist. There was only one concern…Mistress Macoran and her sons were sure to return shortly.

  *

  Jirvel was not pleased. The Priest was asking for a much higher tithe than usual and she was not about to pay it. He sat his horse in her small courtyard wearing a long brown robe made of soft wool with an attached floppy hood over his head and a cloth rope tied around his middle. “Father, was it not ye who said greed was one o’ the seven deadly sins?” she asked.

  “Precisely what are ye accusing me o’, lass?”

  “Not ye father, me.”

  He got down off his horse, clasped his hands together in a priestly way and rocked up on his tip-toes. “Are ye asking me to hear yer confession?”

  “Perhaps, but moreover I am asking ye to help me understand. “Is greed not one o’ the seven deadly sins?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then I confess I am guilty. Ye see, the good Lord sent us a laddie to help with the land and he needs to be fed. Yet ye are asking me to give over a larger amount o’ our food for the tithe and …and my greed forbids it.”

  The priest studied her eyes for a moment and then gave Stefan a slow look up and down. “Tis a growing laddie at that.”

  “I dinnae know a laddie could eat so much.”

  As was his habit, the priest started collecting tithes at the eastern edge of Macoran land and worked his way to the village. That meant he would see Ronan next. She handed a small basket of vegetables to him and smiled. “I have heard there are lads who want to marry me, but I think…”

  “Ye are already married.”

  “And happily until recently. But I think the lads who say they prefer me truly want the land instead. ‘Tis that not also greed, father?”

  He tried to think what she was getting at and hesitated. “But yer married.”

  “True enough and I wish to stay married. I took a sacred vow and a good wife should wait for her husband no matter how long it takes. Perhaps he be only lost somewhere.”

  “‘Tis possible, I suppose. A man would be daft not to come back to ye if he were able, Jirvel.” He noticed her blush and took the small basket she offered. Then he emptied the contents into a much larger basket tied to the back of his saddle. “Feed that laddie well, Jirvel or ye will answer to me!” With that, he mounted and rode away.

  Jirvel smiled. She trusted Macoran not to betroth her, but not letting Ronan talk the priest into setting aside her marriage would be an added measure of protection. For days, all three held their breath waiting for news of Jirvel’s marriage circumstances, but nothing more was said and they were relieved.

  *

  At the fall festival, the belts Jirvel and Kannak made were quickly snatched up. They bartered for a new shovel, two hair brushes the fishermen brought from England and then ordered a new pair of shoes for Kannak and the still growing Stefan. The mood, Stefan noticed was not as lively but then, Mistress Macoran and her wayward sons were back.

  As before, Macoran sat on the platform with his wife and watched Jirvel, and just as before she occasionally looked at him. But once they were home and Kannak was asleep, Jirvel slipped out of the cottage and went off some place to cry. Stefan wanted desperately to comfort her, but he wasn’t supposed to know about her love for Macoran, so he went to bed instead. That kind of love, he decided, was not worth the pain it caused.

  A fortnight later Macoran sent a man. His name was Eachann, and Eachann informed Jirvel that he was to teach Stefan how to fight. But a week later, after Eachann lost every match to Stefan despite the boy’s awkwardness, he v
entured to speak to Jirvel alone, “The laddie fights like a Viking.”

  “Many Vikings live in the north.”

  “I have heard o’ a very tall lad in the north, but he be slow o’ hand and mind.”

  “I have heard that too.”

  “But Stefan be not slow, though I cannae imagine too many lads…even in the north will be as large as he. How old be he?”

  “Not yet sixteen.”

  Eachann shook his head. “He will grow still.”

  It was the last they saw of Eachann except on their occasional trips to the village.

  *

  Stefan suffered a growing spurt in the weeks following, his awkwardness increased and the women in his life never missed an occasion to laugh at him. It was time, he decided, to learn the dress of the Scots and once he became accustomed to the pleating and the belting and the tucking, he found the one long strip of tartan made into a kilt both comfortable and likeable. Kannak presented him with a new belt and he marveled at how accomplished she had become.

  But in the fall, the clan’s livestock began to grow thick, warm coats and the heather plant bloomed profusely and cast off thousands more seeds than normal. It was a sure sign of a harsh winter. As well, the water level in the river started to drop. Already the rain in the mountains had turned to snow.

  *

  It happened on a day when they were bundling fire wood and taking it to the shed. Kannak suddenly let the bundle she carried fall to the ground and grabbed the top of her head. A few yards behind her, Stefan threw his bundle away, ran and got to her just before she collapsed. “Jirvel!”

  Stefan already had her in his arms and was carrying her toward the cottage when Jirvel rushed out, felt Kannak’s hot forehead and gasped. “She has the fever.” Jirvel rushed to the door, held it open and then followed him through the first room and into the small bedchamber. She threw back the covers and waited for him to lay Kannak down.

  “My head hurts,” Kannak moaned.

  Stefan backed away, “What can I do to help?”

  Jirvel was already starting to loosen her daughter’s clothing. “Pull off her shoes and then put more wood on the fire. She will chill soon and we must keep her warm.”

  He did as she said, closed his eyes each time Kannak complained of the headache and was in a state of near panic. They could not lose Kannak; it would be too cruel for Jirvel. Kannak needed the kind of help he could not give her and although Stefan had not felt Macoran watching them that day, maybe…just maybe.

  He stepped outside and started to slowly scan the trees and the paths with his eyes. Then he looked up the hill at Macoran’s favorite place. He could not see the man, but just in case, Stefan raised a hand high in the air. It was not a prearranged signal, but it would have to do. More than a few died from a sudden fever and he was determined Kannak would not be among them. He held his hand in the air for a while longer and then went back inside.

  It worked. Shortly thereafter, Macoran burst through the door. “What is it?”

  “Kannak has the fever,” Stefan answered.

  Macoran did not hesitate; he moved the curtain aside and went into Jirvel’s bedchamber.

  “What are ye doing?” a stunned Jirvel asked.

  Macoran felt Kannak’s head, pulled her up to a sitting position, wrapped her blankets around her and started to pick her up.

  “Ye cannae have her.”

  “Stand aside lass. She goes with me.”

  “Nay, ye cannae take her, I will not allow it.”

  He carefully slipped Kannak through the bedchamber doorway and waited for Stefan to open the door to the outside. “‘Twill be a harsh winter and Kannak will spend it in the village where I can see that she lives.”

  “The whole winter?”

  Once he got Kannak out the door, he handed her to Stefan and mounted his horse. Then he opened his arms, waited for Stefan to give him the girl and made sure she was completely wrapped up. “There be an empty cottage now that the elder Andrew has passed. Ye are welcome to come or stay as ye please, Jirvel.”

  Jirvel stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, “What right have ye to…”

  “I am yer laird and I command it. She belongs to me…” he quickly glanced at Stefan, “just as all the children do. Ye will do as I say, Jirvel.” With that, he turned his horse around, nudged the horse’s flanks and took Kannak away.

  Stefan was pleased though he did not let on. Instead, he opened his arms and let his adopted mother cry on his shoulder. “Macoran did the right thing. Ye said yerself we are out of the medicine for headaches and fevers. It would take too long for me to fetch more and return. Gather yer things and follow them. I will see that the fire be put out, take the cow to William and ask him to come for the chickens when he can. Then I will come.”

  CHAPTER XI

  Stefan was beside himself with worry. Something made him fear if he was not with Kannak and quickly, she might die the way his mother died in his father’s absence. She and Jirvel were all he had and he had come to love them both. Once Jirvel was on the horse and headed for the village, he made sure the fire was cold, grabbed his extra clothing, stuffed them in a cloth sack and slung it over his shoulder. Then he took the cow to William and started the long walk to the village. He could have borrowed a horse, he knew, but he did not want to take the time to return it. Once he was there, all he wanted to do was stay with Kannak. Soon he was running more often than walking. Still, it seemed to take forever.

  The elder’s cabin was much the same as Jirvel’s except it had no second room. Nevertheless, the one room was large enough for all three of them to have a bed and by the time he got there, Macoran had already moved two more in. It left little room for the table and chairs, but that was the least of their concerns.

  Stefan dropped his sack near the door, knelt down beside Kannak’s bed and touched her cheek. It was still very hot. “How does she do?” he whispered.

  Jirvel put her hand on his shoulder. “She sleeps finally and I doubt she can hear us.” She pointed to the array of bottles and small sacks on the table. “Macoran brings every kind o’ potion and remedy he can find and enters without knocking. But we must take care not to give her too much even if he insists. He may be our laird, but he knows nothing o’ helping the sick.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “Then ‘tis time ye learn. I must go out. If she moans, hold her hand. It seems to comfort her.” She waited for his nod and then slipped out the door.

  Stefan got up, moved a chair next to Kannak’s bed and sat down. She looked so vulnerable and so very ill. He again touched her cheek, but it was just as hot and there was nothing he could do. When she suddenly opened her eyes, she looked disoriented and frightened. Instinctively, he took her hand and when she finally focused on his face and recognized him, she tried to smile. “Sleep, wee bairn, sleep.” She lightly squeezed his hand and closed her eyes.

  But he did not let go of her hand. He remembered how affectionate his aunt and uncle were and realized he missed it. They constantly hugged him and even when he got older and protested, they continued to often muss his hair or pat his back. If Kannak were well, perhaps he would not be so bold, but just now all he had to give her was his affection and perhaps somehow it would help.

  For three long days, Kannak fought the fever, could not seem to get warm when she chilled and cried out in pain from the raging headache. Jirvel cared for her during the day and then tried to get at least some sleep while Stefan watched over her at night. Macoran came day and night, bringing still more remedies the first day and then beginning to take some away that night. He reported others were ill as well and needed them; the fever seemed to be sweeping through the whole village.

  Stefan built the fire hotter when Kannak chilled and then let the embers simply smolder when she was hot. He lifted her head up and forced her to drink as often as he dared, and then held her hand every time she moaned. Just as Jirvel said, it seemed to calm her and it calmed him too. It also let him know
when the fever was subsiding and it was not until the third night that her hand felt almost normal.

  At last, she opened her eyes and truly smiled at him. “I thirst,” she managed to whisper.

  He was thrilled, grabbed the goblet by his chair, lifted her head and helped her drink. “Shall I wash yer face?”

  “Aye, that would feel good.”

  Stefan wet a cloth and carefully dabbed her forehead, her cheeks and then her chin the way Jirvel showed him. Again she smiled, which touched his heart in a way he could not quite understand.

  Through a small opening in the window covering, the northern lights danced against the wall and Kannak turned her head to watch them.

  “Some believe God lives in the north and he sends his lights to assure us he be still there. Would ye like me to take ye outside?” As soon as she nodded, he sat her up, wrapped her blankets around her and lifted her into his arms. To his surprise, Macoran opened the door and he had not even heard the man come in. When he glanced toward Jirvel’s bed, she was sitting up watching.

  There was not a soul outside except the guards when Stefan carried her into the courtyard. The northern lights were especially beautiful and looked like a multi-colored curtain waving across the sky. He watched the lights and the delight in her eyes for a time, but when she seemed to drift off to sleep again, he took her back.

  Holding her in his arms was a time he would remember always and it was another lesson learned - people, even grown men need the touch of another human being. In the days of her illness, holding her hand seemed to help her and at the same time it somehow took away most of the hurt in his heart over losing his father.

  *

  It was a winter of much sorrow.

  Kannak was indeed not the only one to come down with the fever and although she slowly recovered, several of the younger children and even a few of the elders died. The clan’s graveyard was located down the beach on the side of the hill. Stefan helped dig the graves and for a time it seemed they completed one burial only to be faced with another.