Rule of the Shieldmaiden

by Jaime Loughran

  Turlough’s lips turned downward. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She nodded and a slow smile spread across her lips. “I got tired of him not being here, so I told everyone all about him. The village opted for forgiveness, so Bjorn is going to Dublin to bring him home.”

  Turlough shook his head. “That man can be stubborn sometimes, I swear. Did he never once consider they would lean toward forgiveness?”

  She shook her head. “I think he had it in his head they would hate him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left to avoid facing that, and because he didn’t want any of his past to pose a problem with me being jarl.”

  “You’re most likely right. He risked his life for you without hesitation. I doubt he’d do anything to bring hardship on you.”

  She shrugged. “Except that him not being here with me is a hardship.”

  “Well, I’ll help fix that. How about if I give Bjorn a ride to Dublin?”

  She smiled and threw her arms around him. “That would be wonderful! I was just telling Bjorn I wasn’t happy about him going alone.”

  “Aye, she was saying that.” Bjorn said as he rolled his eyes. “Always with the concern for others, this one.”

  Skathi playfully slapped his arm and then embraced Turlough.

  Thora’s eyes narrowed. “Someone has to keep an eye on you,” she teased.

  “So, you’re going to Dublin? I suppose a wagon ride wouldn’t be nearly as bad as the last one you gave me. I won’t have to go under grain sacks, will I?” He raised an eyebrow as a smile cracked through his feigned expression of sternness.

  Turlough motioned toward the wagon as he met Bjorn’s gaze with a stern expression of his own. “Your choice, old man. There’s room beside me, and there are grain sacks in the back.”

  The two broke out into laughter as they clasped forearms.

  Skathi shooed the group toward the longhouse. “Come, come, let’s break our fast.”

  As the four of them sat down to their bowls of porridge and buttered oat bread, Thora eyed Turlough as curiosity got the better of her. “Any news on Donnchadh and Travers? You haven’t said anything about either.” She bit into a chunk of bread and savored the buttery, oaty goodness as she waited for his answer.

  He swallowed his mouthful of porridge and dragged his sleeve across his lips. “Rónán. Travers killed him.”

  Thora’s eyes dropped to the wooden table top and nodded. “We were there when he had his man do it. Galinn took it hard. You were already on your way back to the fort when we returned, so we couldn’t tell you. Galinn worried about how you’d react when you got back and learned of his death.”

  Turlough stared into his bowl of porridge. “I wasn’t happy to find out about that, but there wasn’t much I could do. I have to keep up the facade of being on my uncle’s side for the time being.”

  Thora tilted her head as she moved her spoon through her porridge, watching the way the swelled oats moved. “It’s a facade?” She was careful not to sound too interested.

  “The man killed my father. I have no love for him, and will kill him eventually. I just need to find the right time.”

  Turlough’s expression took on the hard edge of anger. Thora didn’t doubt he meant every word he said. “That’s my plan as well, for his part in my family’s deaths. I also intend to kill Travers for what he did to Rónán.”

  He rubbed his sparse reddish beard. “Maybe we should join our efforts. I wouldn’t want to deny you the opportunity for avenging your family’s deaths, just as I wouldn’t want my chance denied.”

  “I think that may be a good idea. You’re not left to accomplish the task without support, and I could use the inside information you have access to.” She smiled before taking a spoonful of porridge.

  “Look at that! You’ve made your first Irish alliance!” Bjorn held up his spoonful of porridge in a makeshift toast of celebration before the food disappeared into his mouth. “Now, finish eating. We need to be on our way. There’s much ground to cover.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Galinn awoke with a start as he reached the familiar waking point in his heart-rending nightmare. He took a few slow breaths to calm his runaway heartbeat as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He longed for the torment of the nightmares of Rónán’s death. As terrible as those were, they were nothing compared to the one that’s plagued him for weeks now. He couldn’t watch Thora beheaded by Travers one more time. He just couldn’t. He tried everything from avoiding sleep to drinking himself into a stupor to avoid the nightmare. Still, every time he fell asleep, sober or not, he’d bear witness to Thora’s torture and eventual death without making a single move to stop it. The sound of her decapitated head hitting the wooden platform Travers executed her on—the sickening thud—jolted him awake each time. The worst part about the nightmare was the overwhelming feeling that he could’ve saved her if he only tried. Yet, night after night, he remained silent and fixed in place.

  He didn’t know why the relentless nightmare plagued him, but he’d give almost anything for it to stop. If Thora were in trouble, Galinn would do anything within his power to help. Didn’t he prove that by leaving when it became obvious his presence was more harmful than helpful? He rolled off his pallet bed and stood. As the icy tendrils of the nightmare disentangled themselves from his mind, the sounds from the city outside filtered through the waddle and daub walls of his modest dwelling. He opened the door and watched as people went about their business as if he wasn’t there. As he watched a young couple stroll by holding hands, Galinn’s thoughts turned to Thora. They never reached the hand holding stage. He leaned his head against the rough edge of the opened wooden door, wondering where their relationship would be if he had stayed. That wasn’t the first time he’d had the thought. Like every other time the thought crossed his mind, he pushed it aside and reassured himself the separation was necessary for her well-being. Like it or not, she was better off without him.

  He wondered if their paths would ever cross again. If the gods would align events to bring them together, if only for a short time, as they had before. He blinked and shook his head at his fanciful thinking, because he thought he saw Bjorn walking with Turlough on the other side of the street. Turlough would have reason to be in Dublin, and he expected to see him at some point or another, but Bjorn? Galinn laughed at himself and started to close the door when the sound of his name stopped him.

  Bjorn stood across the street waving at him with a goofy grin that quickly faded. Galinn rubbed his eyes and looked again. Turlough stood beside Bjorn. Confusion replaced disbelief as he swung the door wide open and waved them over. Dodging a cart and some sheep, while avoiding as many of the mud puddles as possible, they made their way to his home.

  “What are you doing here?” He stared at Bjorn as if he’d dematerialize at any moment and prove this whole thing to be a figment of his imagination.

  Bjorn clapped him on the back as he crossed the threshold. “By the gods, man. You look like you’ve seen better days!”

  Galinn stared at the dirt floor and smoothed his tunic, thankful the loose garment covered the worst of it. He was a mess and he knew it. He spent his free time at the tavern, which frequently led to drinking too much and fighting too often. Over the past couple of weeks, the losses had been piling up, but that didn’t stop him from picking the next fight. Truth be told, he welcomed the beatings because they made him feel as bad physically as he did mentally. With those two things as pastimes, and the physically demanding labor in the stables, he’d lost a fair amount of weight and had bruises all over his face and body in various stages—and colors—of healing.

  Bjorn ignored his lack of response and didn’t press the issue, but Galinn could feel his penetrating gaze assessing him. “I’m here to see you. Turlough stopped by for a visit before making the journey here and offered me a ride. I took his unexpected arrival as a sign I needed to see you.”

  Galinn’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. “Is Thora okay? Has something
happen? What of Skathi? Is she well? Why are you really here?” He forced himself to stop with the questions long enough to get an answer to at least one of them.

  Bjorn looked to Turlough and shrugged. “I told you he wouldn’t believe the ‘I was just visiting’ excuse.”

  Turlough laughed. “I guess you were right.” He looked around the small house and sniffed before rubbing his nose. “You’re doing…well…for yourself?”

  “It’s a long way from Kincora or how I imagine Dún Corcaighe is now, but it’s home.” He found it hard not to feel defensive over Turlough obviously finding his living conditions lacking, even if Galinn agreed with Turlough. “Brandr is settled in at the stable down the road. He has thick bedding in his stall, good quality hay, and I get to see him every day. That makes this,” he motioned around the tiny room with the bed in the corner, small table and chair along the side wall, and the small hearth, “Tolerable.”

  Turlough’s cheeks reddened. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “What if you didn’t have to stay here anymore? What if there was a better place for both you and Brandr?” Bjorn cut in with the seriousness of a man offering a lifeline to a drowning man.

  “Where?” Galinn couldn’t imagine any such place. He burnt his bridge in Kincora, and he posed a threat to Thora’s rule as jarl. He had no business with any of the other Norse villages in the area, nor would any of the Irish have him. He was better off in Dublin, where he could remain anonymous.

  “Dún Corcaighe.”

  Galinn scoffed. “That can’t happen, Bjorn. Come on, we’ve had this conversation already. You know I had to leave because of the risk my past causes to Thora as jarl and the risk my presence poses to her life.”

  Bjorn nodded and rubbed his clean shaven chin. “I know that’s what you think. The situation has changed.”

  Galinn’s stomach tightened. He refused to allow his hopes to rise. “Changed, how? Thora isn’t jarl anymore? Is she okay?”

  Bjorn held up his hands. “She’s fine, and she’s still jarl. She told everyone about your past.”

  Galinn’s knees gave out and he was thankful for the chair he landed in. “She did what?” His mind reeled, unable to focus on any one passing thought.

  “She told everyone and allowed them to decide if you should be welcome or not. It took surprisingly little convincing—and Ulf spoke on your behalf—but they all agreed you should be there.”

  His heart thundered in his ears as he struggled to make sense of what Bjorn said. Thora betrayed him by telling her people of his past after he’d asked her not to. Did that matter when it seems they were willing to accept him as one of their own anyway? “Wait. Did you say Ulf spoke for me?”

  Bjorn nodded. “Quite convincingly too. I know; I was shocked too.”

  “Is this some sort of trick?” Galinn couldn’t quite believe his ears.

  Turlough shook his head. “No trick. When we left Thora, she was insistent that we make the journey as quickly as we could and bring you back. By force, if necessary.”

  “I believe she said, ‘I don’t care if you have to knock him out and tie him across Brandr’s back’,” Bjorn added, laughing.

  Galinn chuckled. “Aye, that sounds like her.”

  “So, you see, we can’t go back without you.” Bjorn pinned him with a serious look and in that moment, Galinn could easily see Bjorn knocking him out and tying him on Brandr’s back to bring him back to Thora. There were a few things a person didn’t do when it came to Bjorn, and one of those things was getting in the way of him fulfilling his duty to his family.

  “Is it that easy? She tells them, they accept, and I go back?” It sounded too good to be true.

  Bjorn nodded. “It is, my friend. The decision has been made. The village knows I’m here and for what purpose. Everyone expects you to return with me.”

  “And that’s it?” It couldn’t be that simple. If it were, he’d have a long way to go in order to make up for not listening to Thora when she first suggested telling everyone.

  “Whatever comes after doesn’t matter. You’ll be home, with Thora, and the two of you can deal with whatever else comes. Together.” Bjorn shrugged.

  For the first time in months, Galinn allowed himself to consider the possibility of a life with Thora. The idea of being by her side, of sharing her bed, brought a sense of elation Galinn didn’t deserve. As the image of Rónán lying dead with a cut throat blasted through and obliterated his happiness, he was reminded of why he didn’t deserve to be happy. Travers was still out there and posed a threat. “I can’t go back. She’s safer without me around.”

  Bjorn sputtered, red-faced and unable to form a coherent word.

  Turlough frowned. “You blame yourself for Rónán, and you think if you’re in Dún Corcaighe that you’ll bring trouble to Thora from Donnchadh and the bishop?”

  Galinn nodded and avoided Turlough’s gaze.

  “You’re a fool!” Turlough grabbed him by his tunic and forced Galinn to look him in the eye. The anger seething below the surface of his face made Turlough seem a lot older than his sixteen years. “She told you she planned to go after Donnchadh, so that trouble is coming with or without you. Once her intentions reach Kincora, she will be in danger whether you’re there or not. On that front, you have two choices. Be there to help protect her. Offer her the valuable insight you have on him and see that she wins that battle. Or stay here and hide away like a coward, leaving her to face the possibility of losing to Donnchadh.” He released Galinn with a shove. Galinn sagged in the chair. “If that isn’t enough to get you to go back willingly, why not use her intention as the chance to get your revenge for Rónán’s death?”

  Turlough’s disgusted look twisted at Galinn’s insides like a knife. Or was the pain caused because Galinn knew Turlough was right and he was hesitant to admit it? He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the waddle and daub wall behind Turlough. “I already have Rónán’s blood on my hands. I can’t have Thora’s too. If I stay away, she doesn’t have the added strike of my presence against her. Nor would she feel like she had to go after Donnchadh to help me deal with Rónán’s death.”

  Turlough scoffed and rolled his eyes. “If you stay here and refuse to help her, you will have her blood on your hands. Do you truly believe you’d be blameless if harm came upon her when your presence might have been the very thing to save her? She is going after Donnchadh and Bishop Travers with or without you. She wants Donnchadh dead because of what he did to her family. That has nothing to do with you!”

  Try as he might, Galinn couldn’t bring himself to see things the way Turlough saw them. Neither Donnchadh nor Travers would find out about her plans until she was in a position to make the aggressive move that alerted them. By then, she’d be capable of defending herself and her people even if he weren’t there. However, if he went back now—when the village was still vulnerable—he’d be the reason the Irish came to attack, and that attack would likely come well before the village was prepared to mount a strong defense. He couldn’t live with himself if that happened.

  Turlough scrubbed his face. “What do I have to say to make you see you’re being a fool? Your presence won’t be the problem you think it is. You should see the fort, for Heaven’s sake! They’ve done incredible things that will give them a hell of a chance to defeat anyone who chose to attack them.”

  Bjorn sighed. “This is taking too long.” He stepped in front of Galinn, grabbed his tunic, apologized, and planted his fist in Galinn’s jaw. Blackness claimed Galinn before he could react.

  CHAPTER 18

  A week of traveling as a prisoner, bound and tossed in the back of the wagon like a sack of grain, and a headache that stemmed from the pain in his jaw, did little to improve Galinn’s outlook on life. He held to the idea that Thora was better off without him around. He didn’t deserve to be happy—despite Turlough and Bjorn trying to convince him otherwise during the trip back to Dún Corcaighe.

  He spent much of the journey pl
anning his escape and watching Brandr, who was tied to the back of the cart. His captors were smart enough to split up when stopping. Bjorn watched Galinn while Turlough tended to the horses and kept them far enough away that Galinn couldn’t get to Brandr before Bjorn could recapture him. He knew. He tried and failed to escape during the second stop. After Bjorn knocked him out for the second time, Galinn opted to go along with them without a fuss. If Bjorn hit him in the jaw one more time, Galinn doubted he’d be able to eat or speak for weeks. That man had an evil right hook. He slowly moved his jaw side to side to ease the stiffness that had set in after the worst of the pain faded.

  Instead of trying to get away before reaching the fort, he’d slip away after they returned him. Thora wouldn’t keep him as a prisoner. He could slip away during the night as she and the rest of the village slept. If anyone saw him, he would tell them he was taking Brandr out for a run. Or scouting. The excuse of scouting worked in the past. He ignored the tiny voice that argued that point and reminded him of when Travers had him followed because he didn’t believe the scouting excuse. This was different. They’d have no reason to suspect him of anything. He’d make sure of that. Eventually, they would realize they were better off without him around.

  When an excited cry went up, Galinn craned his neck around to see the gates of the fort opening and the guards on either side waving. Bjorn returned the wave and then turned around and clapped Galinn on the back. “You’re almost home.”

  Galinn grunted, unable to speak through the unexpected surge of emotion raging through him at the site of the fort. They’d been busy—and they used all of his suggestions for the defenses. When the wagon pulled through the gates and smiling faces surrounded them, all eager to welcome Galinn home, his resolve to leave wavered.