The Viking

by Talbott, Marti

  At last the days began to lengthen, the winter had not been harsh and sometime between winter and spring, Stefan turned eighteen.

  Surely by now Kannak was married and he should forget her – but he could not. He remembered her challenges, her dimples, the way she looked perturbed when he called her a wee bairn and the feel of her lips when he finally kissed her. He remembered every second of the days they had together and even longed to hear her call him a bletherskite. He was so close to her and still he could not reach her or get word to her. At last, he’d had enough of slavery and cared not if he lived or died. What was life without Kannak anyway?

  *

  Laird Limond came daily now that the work was progressing faster. He was pleased with his new home and eager to live in it. Yet each time he came, he sought out the location of the tall lad with the pleasing belt.

  Stefan glared at him and when Laird Limond came closer, he finally spoke his mind. “Yer castle will fall.”

  Limond returned his glare, “Dare ye speak to me?”

  “‘Twill not last a year afore it falls.”

  Again Limond narrowed his eyes. “Do ye put a curse on it, Lad?”

  “Nay, I speak the truth. It will crumble to the ground.”

  “Ye do curse it. I should have ye flogged for saying such as that.” His anger remained in his eyes for a time and then his expression mellowed, “But I am not a cruel lad. I will have yer belt instead.”

  “Nay, ye will not.” Two of the guards drew their swords and he could tell by the look in their eyes they meant to use them. Perhaps he did not want to die after all. At length Stefan relented and began to untie his belt. As soon as it was free, he handed it over, grabbed the loose cloth of his kilt, and wrapped it around his waist to cover his nakedness. His rage was increasing and this time he was bound to lose control.

  Limond ignored Stefan and admired the craftsmanship on the outside of the belt, but when he flipped it over to look at the inside, the medallion fell to the ground.

  Stefan caught his breath. “‘Tis all I have o’ my mother.”

  Limond stooped over, picked up the medallion and was about to toss it away when he thought he recognized it. He stared at it for a while longer and then looked at Stefan’s face as though for the first time. “Who be yer mother, lad?”

  “She died when I was a wee laddie. Her name was Sheena.”

  As if he’d been struck, Limond took a step back. For a seemingly endless moment, he again studied Stefan’s features. At last, he handed the belt back and turned to the guards. “Let him dress and bring that lad to the keep.”

  The guards were almost as surprised as Stefan but they did as he said. Stefan was happy to have the belt back, but Laird Limond kept the medallion and he wanted it back too. His rage was quickly returning.

  *

  Laird Limond’s keep was dark and unfriendly. The stuffed head of a wild boar hung on the wall as did several dangerous looking weapons, one of which was the biggest sword Stefan had ever seen. The furnishings were crude and worn through with animal skins spread out on the floor. No wonder the man wanted a castle, his conditions were dreadful, Stefan thought. But he was not there to approve or disapprove of how the man lived, he was there to get his medallion back and he was ready to stand his ground.

  He was not bound, but four guards with their swords drawn stood behind him blocking the only door to the outside he could see. All he could do was wait and it seemed like forever before Limond entered the room from behind a curtain.

  Limond laid the medallion down on a table and poured himself a goblet of wine. Then he picked the medallion back up and took a seat at the table. “I will hear what ye have to say.” He paused to think of just the right question. “Do ye have any other family?”

  “I have only one aunt and four cousins, but they do not live here.”

  It was the right answer and Limond held his breath. “And yer aunt’s name?”

  “Murdina, she be my mother’s sister.”

  “And she lives still?”

  “The last I heard o’ her.”

  “When was that?”

  “Two years.” Stefan could not understand why the man wanted to know, but at least he was being allowed to talk. “What will ye do with the slaves once yer castle be built?”

  “Sell them.”

  It was just as he expected and it irked him. “They have families.”

  Limond had not actually thought about that and he dismissed it now. “Tell me, why do ye say my castle will fall. Have the slaves impaired it?”

  “‘Tis not the slaves who decide the parts to the sod. Yer builder mixed it too thin and it will not hold. If ye let us speak, we would have told ye long ago. Now ‘tis too late.”

  “If I let ye speak, ye would rebel?”

  Stefan narrowed his eyes, “If there were a way to rebel, we would not need to speak to plan it. We have no weapons, no horses and we are men who wish to live another day hoping to see our families again.”

  Limond let Stefan’s words hang in the air. “Do ye have a wife and children?”

  “Nay, but I would have by now, had I not been snatched.”

  “Who snatched ye?”

  “What does it matter?” Stefan did not mean to let his anger show so forcefully and he feared he would never get his medallion back if he did not calm down.

  “Why were ye taken?”

  “Macoran’s wife arranged it.”

  “Macoran? What does Macoran have to do with it?”

  “I lived with them for a year. I will have my medallion back.”

  Limond got up, walked to a window and stared out. He had a dozen questions and did not know what to ask first.

  “I will have my medallion back,” Stefan repeated.

  “And ye will get it, but I have something to show ye first.” Limond walked to him and put the medallion in Stefan’s hand. Then he reached into the pouch he had hanging around his neck and produced another just like it.

  Several times, Stefan looked at his and then compared it with the one Limond held. “They are the same.”

  “Aye. I had one made for myself, my wife and my two daughters, Sheena and Murdina.”

  It was Stefan’s turn to stare. He wrinkled his brow and tried to accept the words. His mother might have looked like Limond, but he did not remember her face. Still, he remembered his aunt’s face and the resemblance was there. “I am yer grandson?”

  “It would appear so.”

  Stefan should have been delighted to have found his grandfather, but he wasn’t. Instead he became even more enraged. “Ye have enslaved yer own grandson.”

  His words bit into the old man’s very soul and the color drained out his face. “I dinnae know.”

  “All the slaves are someone’s grandson.”

  “But they are rogues. Slavery be their punishment.”

  “If it pleases ye to believe it.”

  “They are not rogues?”

  “We are not allowed to speak, remember? If they are rogues, they have more than paid the price for their crimes. Produce the accusers who say differently.”

  Limond hung his head, “I cannae.”

  “Then ye must set them free. Yer castle be hopeless and ye have no more use for them.”

  “But I have paid…”

  “Ye have paid?” Stefan’s voice was getting louder and he didn’t care. “How many nights have ye gone to bed in so much pain ye could not sleep? How many nights have ye laid awake wondering if the lass ye love had chosen another? These lads think of nothing else. They have paid a far higher price for yer castle than ye ever could. Free them and do it today.”

  “Ye dare command me?”

  “Someone must. Ye may be my flesh and blood but ye have become a hardened man with no soul. Murdina remembers ye as a dear father who filled their lives with love and laughter. She said…”

  “And was it not yer father who took them…and all the love and laughter with them?”

  He was right. Ste
fan closed his eyes and could not think of anything else to say.

  “Yer grandmother passed the very night they were taken. ‘Tis what killed all my laughter.”

  Stefan said it so softly he barely heard the words himself, “Being slave to ye has killed mine.”

  They seemed to be at an impasse and neither of them knew what to do about it. Finally Limond got a good look at Stefan’s worn clothing and untrimmed hair. “Ye will bathe upstairs in a warm bath and ye will wear the colors o’ yer true clan.”

  “I will not be yer grandson until ye agree to free the slaves. If ye sell them, ye will sell me as well.”

  CHAPTER XVII

  Not an hour later, Stefan was bathed, his beard and hair were trimmed and he wore new clothing in the colors of his grandfather. The slaves hardly recognized him as he sat a horse next to Limond and looked down at them. “Ye are free. Laird Limond has agreed to give each of ye a portion of food and a horse to see ye home safely.”

  Limond nodded to the guards who were happy to walk away, but the slaves still could not believe it. “We are truly free?” asked Baodan.

  Stefan smiled. “Aye, and if ye still have families, they have waited long enough.”

  “And if we no longer have families, where will ye be?” Baodan asked. “I will be in yer clan, Stefan. Ye have saved our lives more than once and ye will be my laird.”

  Amazed, Stefan watched several of the others nod their agreement. Marriage to a laird was what Kannak wanted and it was now in his power to give it to her. “First I must marry the lass I love…if she be yet free and then I will take her to the hidden castle. Do ye know where that be?”

  Limond smiled. “‘Tis on my land and ye are welcome to it. The place be haunted.”

  Several of the men gasped, but Stefan grinned. “‘Tis not haunted. ‘Tis only the wind, but there are no cottages for ye to live in.”

  “We can build cottages easy enough.” Baodan dumped his last load of rocks out of the bag he carried over his shoulder and grinned. “Say it again, are we truly free?”

  “Truly,” said Limond. “My grandson has shown me the error o’ my ways and I hope someday ye will forgive me.”

  “We can go, right enough,” another man said, “but we have no weapons to defend ourselves. I’d not like letting them capture me a second time.”

  At that Limond scratched his head. “I have a few Viking weapons if that will do. Come to the keep and choose. If ye will stay the night, it will give our lasses more time to bake bread for yer journey.”

  “Do ye trust him, Stefan? Be it a lie?”

  “I trust him, but I promised we would not harm his people. ‘Tis a small price to pay for our freedom, do ye agree?” He waited and one by one, the men nodded. “Good. If ye come to me at the hidden castle, l will welcome ye and yer families. But let it be known we have nothing to build with, no planted fields and no seed or stores for the winter.”

  Manachan grinned. “My father will give us seed for planting, he be a right dead brilliant farmer.”

  It was the first of many smiles Stefan would see that night and he stayed with the slaves even though he wanted nothing more than to swim the river and go to Kannak. He talked to each man, learned of his family and found his nature pleasing. He asked each why they were sold and most of their stories were more like his than of any crimes they committed. Only two admitted stealing. Each claimed it was the Brodies who sold him.

  “Our new home will border Brodie land,” Stefan warned.

  “Good,” said Manachan, “I’ve a message to give them.” All the men laughed and their laughter sounded like music. It was nearing dawn when they finally settled down enough to sleep.

  The next morning, Stefan watched each choose his weapon, mount his new horse and accept his bag of food. Then he watched them ride away together and at last, it was his turn.

  *

  The shortest route between his grandfather’s side of the river to the Macoran side was to swim and in summer the water did more meandering than rushing. He rode his grandfather’s horse down the river bank until he was sure he recognized the other side, dismounted, handed the reins to his grandfather and then waded into the water. It was ice cold but he didn’t care. All he could think of was getting home.

  The currents were stronger than he expected, but nothing could defeat him now and he swam hard to reach the other side. He climbed out onto the flat rock where he often filled the bucket with water, paused just a moment to catch his breath and then stood up. His first hint that something was wrong awaited him there. Jirvel’s bucket was half buried in the sand along the shore. He stared at it for a moment, pulled it free, dumped out the sand and then rinsed it in the river. That’s when he noticed a hole in the bottom, tossed it away and smiled his relief. “Cast off, were ye?”

  He almost forgot, turned to wave to his grandfather and then headed up the path to the cottage. But his foreboding was back and the closer he got, the more certain he was that something was wrong. The land looked deserted and the heather had nearly overrun the place again. He finally dismissed that too; perhaps Jirvel would not let Macoran give her a man to help them.

  He should have been able to see the cottage by now and when he could not, he slowed. Careful to walk quietly, he eased closer until suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Jirvel’s cottage had burned to the ground.

  Stunned, he stayed where he was and stared at the ruins. In all his months of worry, he never once considered that the cottage had burned or that his women were in it when it did. He ran his fingers through his wet hair and tried to push the terror out of his mind. Please God, do not let her be dead. At length, he moved closer. But he could not make himself look inside … not just yet.

  Even the shed was burned. Slowly, he walked around what was left of the cottage to the remains of the shed. Even the three walls of the chicken pen were scorched. Burned stubs still remained of the posts that held up the front of the roof and when he dug down, the pouch with his father’s gold and silver coins was still there.

  Stefan stood up and shook the dirt off the pouch. Then he checked the contents, hung it around his neck and slipped it inside his tunic.

  Finally, he forced himself to look at what remained of the cottage. There was little left but the outline of the walls and the hearth. He went back, paused at the doorway and then stepped inside. Jirvel’s little basket of salt still hung on a hook on the hearth, but the outside of it was black. He could see the charred remains of everything that had been made of metal and carefully stepped over them toward the small room the women used as a bedchamber.

  He did not want to look, but he had to know if there were any recognizable human remains. When he saw none, he was comforted. Then he realized Macoran would have seen to a proper burial of the bones and ashes and his relief dissipated.

  Stefan made his way back toward the wall where their weapons once hung. He leaned down and picked up his father’s blackened three-pronged spear minus the long wooden handle.

  “What does a Limond want on our land?”

  Stefan dropped the spear, spun around and put his hand on his sword. The man already had his sword drawn and it took a moment for Stefan to look from it to the Macoran’s face, “William?”

  “By God in Heaven, ‘tis it truly ye, Stefan? We thought ye buried by now.” William quickly shoved his sword back in his sheaf.

  Stefan stepped out of the ruins, walked to him and locked forearms with his old friend. He was afraid of the answer, but he had to ask, “Are they dead?”

  “Nay just moved. The cottage burned not long after ye went missing. Macoran insisted they live in the village and make belts. With ye gone, they could not make a go of the place anyway. I asked Macoran to let me have the land, but he feared Kannak and Jirvel would see it as a sign ye were not coming back.” He slowly looked Stefan up and down. “Ye fell in the river I see, ye are all wet.”

  Stefan’s relieve was so overwhelming he only half heard what William was
saying. “Did Jirvel agree to live in the village?”

  “The two o’ them were so mournful, they dinnae care where they lived. What happened to ye?”

  “I was sold.”

  “What?”

  “‘Tis a long story. Have Jirvel and Kannak taken husbands?”

  “Kannak waits for ye and Jirvel breathes fire when any man suggests it. Macoran had the priest declare her husband dead last year…ye were sold?”

  “Into slavery.”

  William’s mouth dropped. Then he gathered his wits. “Come home with me. Andrina will be as happy to see ye and ye could use a good drying out.” He noticed Stefan look toward the village and knew what he was thinking. “Ye’d not like her to see ye looking like a wet dog and in Limond colors. Come with me. I have an extra Macoran plaid.”

  *

  William loaned Stefan a tartan to wrap around his waist while Andrina hung his clothing near the hearth to dry. If she noticed the scar on his back, she did not mention it. “Kannak will be so happy to see ye.” Just then, a baby cried and she went to the other room to fetch it.

  “A laddie or a lassie?” Stefan asked.

  William beamed, “A laddie and I could not be more proud. I can help ye build a new cottage after the harvest. Blair and some o’ the other lads will help as well.”

  “I am thinking o’ starting my own clan.”

  William watched his wife come back out with the baby and exchanged a look with her. “I am tempted to go with ye.”

  “And leave this fine land?”

  “‘Tis fine land indeed, but there are times I feel we labor just to satisfy the tithe.”

  “There was a time,” said Stefan, “when yer tithe kept us fed and the tithe from the weavers and the cobbler provided us with warm clothing and badly needed shoes that fit. The tithe be a good thing, but perhaps a little less would do.”

  “Then we would like to be in yer clan.”

  “Aye, but we have no tools, few horses, even fewer weapons and no cottages. ‘Twill be a hard life in the beginning.”

  “Then we will think on it.” William poured wine into a goblet and handed it to Stefan. “Blair has married again and Diarmad be betrothed. Both be a fine young lasses.”