Viking

by Fabio

  As the two glowered at each other in a continuing battle of wills, Sibeal surprised them both by lurching to her feet and moving toward them.

  "You shame yourself, my lady," the thrall whispered fiercely to Reyna. "You insult the kindness of your future husband."

  Sibeal swept out of the room, and Viktor found to his astonishment that Reyna appeared shamed, her head lowered, her teeth chewing her bottom lip as she obviously considered the servant's scolding.

  "Well, Reyna?" he demanded.

  "Sibeal is right," she muttered with surprising humility, still not meeting his eye. "I spoke out of turn. In truth, I wish you to come with me to fetch the monk because I know you will not harm him."

  "And you see that as a weakness, Reyna?"

  Her voice came very low. "Nay. Tis a strength that none other of your warriors possesses."

  His pride still not completed soothed, Viktor spoke with irony. "Yes, and if you and I go alone, Reyna, it will be far easier for you to escape me—won't it?"

  Angered, she flung a hand wide. "How can I escape you, Viking? You have Ragar and Harald as hostage—the reason for our nuptials in the first place."

  "The only reason, Reyna. "

  She ignored that. lf I manage to escape you, Viking, I will only ensure the deaths of my brother and his kinsman, and thereby defeat my own purpose. Besides, I swore my fealty to your clan—"

  "And to me," Viktor reminded her firmly.

  "Yea, to you, Viking, before God, albeit unwillingly," she retorted. "Still, I take solemnly my pledge."

  "I'm relieved to hear you take something seriously, Reyna," he drawled. He considered the matter for another moment, then nodded. "You and I will ride alone for the hills to fetch your monk. Are you happy now?"

  She hesitated before saying, "There is another matter."

  "Yes?"

  She tilted her chin proudly. "I must have a dagger with which to defend myself.'

  Viktor almost howled with laughter. "Woman, you are unbelievable! Do you actually think I'm going to hand you a knife so you may hurl it into my back?"

  She gestured angrily. "I have sworn fealty to you—I cannot slay you!"

  "And it's driving you crazy, isn't it? " he replied nastily.

  She spoke through clenched teeth. "Besides, were I to kill you, I would do so to your face."

  "You respect me that much, do you?" he asked in feigned amazement.

  "I respect my oath!" she cried, stamping a foot in her exasperation. 'l cannot kill you because I have sworn fealty to you, so we are arguing over naught!"

  "Yes, I must agree that this entire exchange strikes me as nonsense." Absorbing her fierce glower, he sighed. "Why do you want a dagger, Reyna?"

  Her hand again sliced through the air. "We are going to the moors! There could be wild animals lurking about, or even ghosts or trolls, indeed, what if Wolfgard has dispatched more warriors, not to rescue but to slay me? And verily, your men ..."

  "Yes, Reyna?"

  She towered her gaze. "You know they do not respect me."

  Viktor stared at her for a long moment, then decided that her concerns were real, her fears genuine. "Very well," he agreed wearily. "You may have your dagger."

  She grinned, looking all winsome—and devious—vixen. Eyeing her transformation, Viktor didn't know whether to throttle her or demand a kiss. Ruefully he shook his head.

  "Let's get out of here before I change my mind. I'm either demented or the worst kind of fool."

  It was afternoon by the time the two approached Pelagius's pitiful sod cottage up in the hills. The early summer day was mild and sunny, the tundra brilliant with blooming heather and wildflowers, but their mood was hardly festive. They had traveled mostly in silence, and Viktor was well aware of his bride-to-be's haughty facade as she rode before him astride her pony, the skirt of her long garment bunched between her thighs.

  Back at the village, Viktor had given Reyna a dagger in its sheath, though he wisely hadn't turned his back on her since then. Still, there was definitely a bur in her saddle now—for, just as Viktor had feared, before they had left the hamlet, Svein and several other warriors had spotted them on horseback and bidden them pause. All of the men had taken issue with the prospect of their jarl riding off alone with the Valkyrie, especially with Reyna carrying a dagger. When Viktor had refused to cancel the expedition, Rollo had savagely warned Reyna that if the two of them failed to return before nightfall, or if she in any way harmed or betrayed their jarl, he would personally slit the throats of Ragar and Harald. Reyna had accepted the ultimatum in seething silence, tossing her mane of hair and spurring her pony. Yet Viktor realized the warning had had its desired effect—while not in the least measure endearing the stubborn girl to her bridegroom.

  Observing her clenched jaw and mutinous eyes, he wondered if she would be able to remain so aloof and defiant when he made love to her tonight. He regretted the fact that physical intimacy in their marriage would obviously have to come before emotional rapport could follow. Nevertheless, he was determined to bring them together tonight, not only because he was burning with desire for this feisty wench, but also because there was altogether too much pride and anger still looming between them, poisoning their relationship. It was high time to start pulling down some of those barriers. Besides, the fate of all peoples on Vanaheim was at stake here; together, they must end both their personal antagonism and the larger war that had too long consumed and threatened the entire island.

  At last they paused before the yawning doorway of the monk's ramshackle abode. Dismounting, Viktor grimaced at the sight of the sagging thatch roof and the scrawny garden off to one side. As a derelict chicken limped past the front door, Reyna motioned to Viktor to follow her through it.

  "Pelagius, " she called softly. "Are you here?"

  "Obviously not," said Viktor.

  He glanced around the tiny, gloomy expanse. A crude table held but an iron cup half filled with water, a few berries, and a bowl of soggy seaweed. Obviously an edible variety, Viktor mused, shaking his head at the monk's paltry diet. In one corner jutted a platform of stone where the monk no doubt prayed and slept. A tiny desk held an inkwell, a plume, and a half-finished vellum page from an illuminated manuscript. Viktor took a moment to admire the artful Gothic inscriptions.

  He glanced at the walls, on which several bulky leather bags hung from pegs. "What are those?" he asked Reyna.

  'The Gospels Pelagius has inscribed," she replied. "He reads to me from them frequently." She nodded toward the desk. "And he frets that soon he will exhaust the supply of parchment he brought with him on his voyage."

  "Where did he come from?"

  "Inishmore, in the Aran Islands. He came to Vanaheim fifteen summers past, in a curragh with three other monks. Pelagius was the only one to survive the voyage."

  "And now he lives the life of a hermit?" Viktor asked.

  "He subscribes himself to the rule of St. Enda, and spends his days in labor or at prayer."

  "He sleeps on a bed of stone?"

  "According to the Rule, salvation comes through deprivation. Pelagius has no fire, eats the most meager, austere diet, and sleeps in a hair shirt on a bed of stone." A smile played over her lips. "He calls the Viking custom of sleeping without garments the graves! sin."

  Viktor had to struggle not to laugh. If memory served him, all of Europe went to bed naked throughout much of the Dark and Middle Ages.

  But not Reyna, he recalled with a smile. 'Tell me," he teased, "is the monk's example the reason you wear a shift to bed?"

  "You are crude, Viking!" she snapped in a fit of temper.

  "I am to be your husband, Reyna," he stated. "If you find that crude, just wait until tonight."

  "You are no better than the others!"

  That comment brought a scowl to his face. "Why are you so defensive regarding what you wear to bed? I know you said Wolfgard used to beat you. Did he or his warriors every try to ... abuse you?"

  "Do you fear your brid
e is sullied, Viking?" she scoffed, and stalked out of the hut.

  Bemused, Viktor followed her and caught her arm, not releasing her even when she pivoted to hurl him a mutinous glance. "Reyna, we are to marry. If someone has harmed you previously, I have a right to know—and I'll kill the bastard."

  She regarded him with pride. "No one has misused me— though not for want of trying."

  Sympathy for this brave girl surged within Viktor, and he flashed her a compassionate smile. "It must have been a very difficult life for you, always having to be on your guard, even as you slept. All of that will change once you are my wife."

  "Yea—men I will have just you to battle!"

  "If you are still determined to fight me, that is your choice,

  Reyna," he informed her, "though your life will be much easier if you work with me, not against me."

  "We are enemies!"

  Uttering a curse, he seized her shoulders, pulling her closer. "Nay—we are going to be husband and wife." Hoping to lighten her smoldering expression, he added teasingly, "And be assured, Reyna, that I shall soon divest you of your habit of wearing clothing to bed."

  Her mouth dropped open. "You would let me freeze, then?"

  He threw back his head and laughed. "Hardly. My lady shall be toasty warm, even her toes curling in delight."

  She stared at him, her face darkening by shades with each second mat passed. She evidently thought it best not to pursue the subject.

  "Let us find Pelagius," she ground out, stalking away from him.

  "By all means," he agreed.

  They searched the nearby hills and valleys for the monk, at first without success. Then, drawn by the sight of ravens swirling in the distance, they climbed a craggy precipice and spotted the monk standing at its edge with his back to them. A stark figure clothed in a tattered dark robe, he loomed perfectly still at the edge of the cliff with only his staff to support him. Coal-black birds perched on his head and outstretched arms, while other ravens cawed and dived around his body. Viktor mused that the man looked like an ancient scarecrow.

  "By the saints, he is doing it again!" Reyna cried worriedly.

  "Doing what? "

  "Standing cruciform. He does it for days at a stretch, and all throughout Lent"

  "What is his purpose?"

  She stared at Viktor as if he had lost his mind. "To achieve a state of grace through his suffering, of course."

  "Ah, I see." He winked at her solemnly. "Have you ever considered seeking such a state yourself, Reyna?"

  She bared her teeth at him.

  "You might even benefit from it."

  Her response was glowering silence as they slowly approached Pelagius. While the monk stood absolutely still, Viktor could hear a rhythmic moaning. Reyna softly tapped his shoulder. Pelagius at once jerked, whirled, and wielded his staff, prompting his visitors to lunge back out of harm's way, amid a screech of flying ravens.

  "Who goes there?" he demanded.

  Viktor stared at the monk, who appeared as congenial as a madman. Pelagius was tall and gaunt, with a heavy beard and long, wild hair streaked with what Viktor suspected was bird droppings. His nose was red and runny; his eyes darted furtively beneath bushy brows. His skin was coarse and leathery from exposure to the elements—his age difficult to judge.

  "Pelagius, it is I, Reyna."

  Lowering his staff, Pelagius glanced from Reyna to Viktor. You have startled me at my meditation, my child. Why are you here?"

  "I come to bid you perform a wedding. I am to marry Viktor the Valiant."

  The monk hacked out a cough and stared suspiciously at Viktor. "Speaks she the truth, Viking?"

  "Yes. We are to marry tonight, and we would be happy to have you there to attend us."

  Wiping his nose on his filthy sleeve, Pelagius scowled at Reyna. "You cannot marry at Lent, my child."

  "Lent is done," she replied with surprising gentleness. " "Hs now Shieling time."

  "Ah—my mind plays tricks on me.

  "Will you marry us?" Reyna repeated wistfully.

  The hermit monk solemnly shook his head. "I cannot, my child. I am not ordained."

  'Then will you at least say your blessing for us?"

  Pelagius jerked his thumb toward Viktor, then asked Reyna in a tense whisper, "You would live in sin with this heathen?"

  "I have no choice in the matter," she confided bitterly. "Viktor the Valiant's warriors have taken my brother and his kinsman hostage. They will be slain if I do not wed Viktor. And besides"—she glanced with some resentment at Viktor—"my husband-to-be is Christian now, or so be avows. Mayhap he saw the light when he went to Valhalla."

  Pelagius gazed at Viktor with some awe. "You rose from the dead, my son?"

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "And are you Christian now, Viktor the Valiant?"

  "I am."

  His expression skeptical, Pelagius turned back to Reyna. "Think you he lies?"

  "I know not. But will you come to bless our union?"

  "Yea, I will come/' said Pelagius wearily. He raised a craggy brow at Viktor. "I will bless your union with Reyna, as she has asked me. But verily, if you lie, Viking, I will curse you."

  "Fair enough," said Viktor amiably.

  Pelagius refused the offer of Viktor's mount. As they headed back to the village, he walked behind them, mumbling prayers in Latin, a gnarled hand curled around his crosier.

  Viktor frowned at Reyna. "I wish he would have ridden my horse. We may miss our wedding at this rate."

  "Pelagius has embraced total humility," explained Reyna. "To ride a beast of burden would be placing himself above one of God's creatures."

  "Figuratively as well as literally," Viktor quipped. He stole another glance at the monk. "Too bad he has never heard that cleanliness is next to godliness/'

  Reyna appeared astonished. "Where hear you that, Viking?"

  Viktor was silent, while answering to himself, From John Wesley, seven centuries forward in time.

  Reyna was now regarding him with amusement. "You know, you take a terrible risk, Viking."

  "In what way?"

  Her eyes were twinkling with repressed merriment. "Pelagius has vowed to curse you if you lie. His curses are remarkably effective."

  'Tell me about them."

  "A summer past, three of Wolfgard's warriors discovered Pelagius's cottage. They went there to taunt him, and even ripped apart his finest manuscript Pelagius cursed the lot of them, and one by one, they perished."

  "How?” asked Viktor, fascinated.

  "One fell into the fjord and drowned, another went mad and impaled himself on his sword, a third erupted in boils and warts that rendered him blind, and he died ere long."

  Viktor whistled. "And you speak about it with such relish—bloodthirsty wench."

  "Yea,” she said, unrepentant "Then there was Thorstein—"

  "Dare I ask?"

  "Wolfgard wed me to him, and Pelagius cursed him. That night, Thorstein could not raise his thing to make me wife. It drove him to such a rage he would have throttled me—but first I hit him over his head with his sword hilt."

  Viktor grimaced at the apt symbolism. "And the reason for this little lecture now, Reyna?"

  She smirked. "If you lie, Wang, your little thing will turn black and fall off."

  He chuckled. I told you, Reyna, I never lie. Besides, my thing isn't little—but then, I suppose we'll just have to wait and see how big your eyes grow tonight when I make you my wife, won't we?' And he winked at her lecherously.

  "Your tongue is filthy, Viking!" she shot back.

  "And yours is not?" he countered.

  As she fell into tempestuous silence, Viktor grinned to himself, suddenly feeling very glad they had come to fetch Pelagius. Even giving Reyna the dagger had proved an inspired touch, and the ferocious wench hadn't slain him—yet.

  Still, the concessions had restored Reyna's feisty spirit; she was back to being her old sadistic self again, and why this cheered h
im so, he wasn't entirely sure. But he knew he hadn't liked seeing her so defeated and humbled last night.

  Taming her without crushing her spirit would be the challenge, then, he mused. He looked forward to their wedding night with great anticipation.

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was a most strange wedding ceremony indeed, Viktor mused.

  That night in the central chamber of his longhouse, he and Reyna drank the toast of bridal ale to mark their nuptials in the pagan tradition. As his warriors and their wives, as well as Ragar and Harald, stood witness in solemn silence behind them, Reyna sipped first from the silver chalice. When she passed the cup to Viktor, he stared intently into her eyes and deliberately placed his lips where hers had been. He watched unguarded emotion flare across her lovely face—anger, mistrust, vulnerability—as he handed the chalice back to Svein.

  With the pagan rite performed, Pelagius solemnly stepped forward and bade the bride and groom kneel before him and clasp hands for the Christian blessing. On his knees beside his bride, Viktor struggled not to betray his slight amusement with the monk as the bizarre man mumbled over them in broken Latin and rang his bell. Catching a whiff of Pelagius's rank odor, he fervently hoped that flakes of bird dung would not flutter down upon his and Reyna's heads.

  Viktor glanced at his bride. She looked so gorgeous in her long, sleekly fitted gown of white silk, which was held together by the gold ceremonial brooches he had given her earlier as a wedding present. Her shining blond hair was twisted in one glorious plait interlaced with wildflowers. Her visage was stoic, but Viktor could tell from the slight trembling of her fingers in his that she was not unaffected by the proceeding that bound her to a man she still claimed to hate. How it must rankle for her to be impelled to stand before witnesses and accept him as her husband.

  Still, they would be wed now, and with that union came hope, both for them and for all of Vanaheim. He prayed this marriage would succeed. He knew that he loved this defiant, proud beauty. He loved her strength and spirit, even as he understood and admired her more vulnerable, feminine side;—an aspect of her psyche he was determined to awaken and nurture. If only one day she could care for him half as much. What was she thinking?