Under A Viking Moon

by Tami Dee

  He deliberately nodded her head in the affirmative. Kat knew her jaw would have a bruise by this afternoon.

  "Do not defy me, Kat." He let her go so abruptly that Kat stumbled back a step while he, with long strides, started down the hill towards his fortress.

  Kat had a good mind to flee the other way, back to the springs and then to the ocean. There had to be a way out of this cursed time and Kat was more determined than ever to find it.

  You must make amends Katla, to his people and your own. Save the infant or all will be lost.

  Kat pushed her grandmother's words away and hurried to follow Leif. Oh, if only this was not all so strange, so unfamiliar, and her grandmother's voice was not in her head insisting that she fix things that had been broken such a long time ago, she would strike out on her own and make her way home. And she would do so this very day.

  *****

  Alone in Leif's alcove, she tossed and turned. Leif had left her in the sleeping chamber hours ago, issuing orders that, after having been served a meal, she wasn't to be disturbed for the rest of the day. She put a hand to her lips. Leif had woken her shortly after she had fallen asleep.

  "No," she had said, turning her face away from his searing kisses. "I'm still angry with you."

  "Aye, elskaminn," he had whispered, capturing her face between careful hands and brushing feather-light kisses over her lips as he spoke. "I am angry with myself. Let me love you Kat, just let me love you."

  She had returned his kisses, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him back from the depths of her soul.

  As he had lain, half sprawled atop her, the weight and heat, the strength from his hard, warrior's body, had made her feel protected, desired, cherished. Her heart had swelled with love for him, even as it shattered as the hopelessness of their situation crushed in on her.

  Then he had left. To where she didn't know. But then again, she never knew where he disappeared to during the day or what he did. Likely there was much involved in caring for his family and clan.

  The slaves that had carried out Leif's orders regarding her were sullen and tight-lipped. The favored treatment she was receiving this day would cost her tomorrow.

  But Kat didn't care. She needed a break, time to plot her rescue of the infant that by this point she was certain wasn't anywhere near Denmark.

  No, he had to be in Iceland. Where was Iceland from here anyway? She knew it was across the water, but how far across she did not know. And how she was supposed to get there? If her fellow slaves would just talk to her, she might be able to learn something -- anything -- that could help her escape Denmark and get to Iceland. Maybe they would tell her something for no other reason than to get rid of her.

  Iceland.

  Kat shivered. Her mind continued to run at a hundred miles an hour in the silence that surrounded her.

  She wondered if Scipio knew about the child. Surely he must. Perhaps he has the baby with him. What would his reaction be if he saw her? Would he to believe that she was the Katla everyone else thought she was? Would she be welcomed in his land or hated as she was here?

  The thought of being welcomed, anywhere, by anyone, warmed her.

  The alcove door slammed open and Cavan appeared, his face set in hard lines, his blue eyes shooting hatred out of them.

  What was his problem?

  "What are you doing here?" she demanded, trying to hide the apprehension his presence caused her. "It's not morning yet."

  "Come."

  Did everyone in this century speak in one word sentences? Kat was becoming frustrated and a little frightened by his rather aggressive stance. "Where is Leif?" she tried.

  Cavan's response was to reach in and grab her by the ankle and drag her, struggling, out into the hall.

  "Have you lost your mind?" she demanded as he grabbed her by the nape of her neck and, before she had any clue as to what his intentions were, slapped her across the face. Hard.

  Kat's head snapped back and a scream worked its way from her throat.

  "What's wrong with you, you jerk?" she cried. "Does this arm band not ring any bells for you?"

  She thrust out her arm so he could see the twisting ornament that was supposed to protect her from such mistreatment. The fire pit in the center of the great hall was roaring, casting ominous flames behind Cavan. Kat felt her heart clench in real fear.

  Sneering at her, his light eyes narrow and hard, he reached out and pinched her chin between his fingers so hard that she called out in pain.

  "Jarl Leif set the standard for your discipline when he did this to you," he taunted her, squeezing harder. "Out!"

  "I'm not going anywhere with you, buster," she told him. "I demand to speak to Leif. I have every intention of ratting you out, Cavan. Don't think I won't."

  He struck her then and laughed.

  "The master is away and it will be weeks before he returns, if he returns at all. His brother Balmung is in charge, and he, with Jarl Leif's permission, has left me to keep you in line."

  Kat felt her heart constrict painfully. Leif was gone. A sense of hopelessness descended upon her like a cloud. How could he have left and not told her he was going? Where had he gone? When would he be back?

  She opened her mouth to ask Cavan then decided against it. What was the use?

  She was doomed.

  She stood with as much dignity as she could muster as he looped the rope through her collar.

  "I don't understand why I am leaving tonight," Kat protested. "I always sleep here."

  "The only reason Jarl Leif endures your presence in his sleeping chamber is to plant his seed in your womb," Cavan told her. "He is not here now, and you shall not sully his alcove while he is gone. You are a slave and you will live with the others."

  As he led her through the great hall Kat noticed that it was suspiciously empty and she wondered if Leif's family was in cahoots with the mad slave master. Probably.

  The door to the windowless slave quarters was shoved open and the rope removed. There were no candles burning, nor was there a fire in the fire pit. When the heavy door slammed shut behind Cavan, it was pitch dark. How strange.

  She almost toppled as an invisible foot swept itself under her feet. Someone else pinched her and another shoved her into a stone wall but not before she had tripped over at least two more sleeping forms.

  Slipping down the rough plank wall to the dirt floor Kat curled herself into a ball. The slaves had apparently gotten enough rest to last them the rest of the night, for the slaps and kicks and punches assaulting her from the darkness went on for hours and hours.

  Only half conscious and no longer able to feel pain, Kat was relived when Cavan opened the door and announced it was time to work.

  "I have a special job for you today." he sneered as he tied her with his rope and led her in a direction that she had never been before.

  Kat started to pray for a miracle.

  Oh Leif, where are you?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Three agonizing weeks passed and still no sign of Leif. Kat's clothes were loose on her now since Cavan only allowed her to eat what she cooked. And only in her spare time, of which he made sure she had none.

  Yawning, she rubbed her weary eyes.

  During Leif's absence, in addition to her 'woman's' work, she had been forced to collect wood, fertilize fields, make fences, dig turf, slop the pigs and make the hated ropes that Cavan parading her around with.

  Common sense told her that these were men's jobs, but nobody cared. She was a slave. She learned through taunts of the others like her, that no law protected her. In short, she had no rights whatsoever.

  A piece of rotten food flew through the air and landed in a soggy clump on the side of Kat's sunken cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes and she angrily blinked them away. She wouldn't let them see her cry. Never! Keeping her eyes fixed on her task, Kat twisted the garment she was washing in the frigid river with renewed vigor.

  Leif's brothers were still away from the fo
rtress. Davyn was away on a trade voyage, Ofeig had joined Leif on his mission, wherever that was, and Balmung, who was responsible for the family and clans' protection in Leif's absence, was in the fields, supervising the planting as he had been each day since Leif's departure.

  Kat only knew these things because she was getting very good at eavesdropping.

  In her opinion, Cavan was drunk with power. He had the gall to allow groups of villagers to enter Leif's fortress daily while Balmung was away. Entering the fortress on the pretext of business, they proceeded to gawk at her and heckle.

  She had become a sideshow for Cavan's very own circus.

  What benefit he got from it was still a mystery to Kat.

  But she knew that as long as she wore the armband, he was honor bound to keep her safe.

  Relatively safe that was.

  Her ancestor had been responsible for so many deaths. Everyone that tossed something at her had lost someone at her hands. At first Kat's soft heart tried to excuse their inexcusable behavior, but now, after days and days of their torment, she had no more compassion left in her.

  Her face twisted in a bitter line as a mud ball hit her between her shoulder blades.

  Dropping the garment she was washing, she leapt to her feet. She swayed with hunger and fatigue but her anger wouldn't allow her to fall. Cavan stood not three feet away, with his back deliberately turned away from the angry crowd.

  "Stop it," she cried. "Do you hear me? Just stop it!"

  Another mud ball landed in her face.

  She had had enough.

  Kat lunged into the crowd, screaming with rage, unaware that the sound coming out of her throat was as fierce as any war cry.

  The crowd parted in shock, and then began to swarm about her, fists flying. Kat was too enraged to be afraid or even realize she was engaged in a battle that she couldn't possibly win.

  Within an alarmingly short amount of time, her garments were in shreds at her feet. Except for a sleeve of the linen from the under dress Leif had given her, she was nude. The crowd backed away, circling her. She was bruised, cut, bleeding from her nose and who knew where else, and to her mortification, tears were pouring down her cheeks.

  Their laughter was worse than the beating. A women's high-pitched cackle grated on her ears and the men's lust-filled eyes churned her stomach. As ridiculous as it was to think at a time like this, Kat was grateful for all the years of walking the steep inclines of San Francisco's streets. She was much too thin, but her legs, thighs and butt were in great shape. A small comfort.

  The crowd parted and Boddi, a man that came from a nearby village once a week to trade, made his way towards her with sure, menacing steps, a wicked leather whip dangling from his finger tips.

  He turned toward Cavan and the two men exchanged a nod. Terror curled in Kat's belly as, with a flip of his wrist, the whip hissed through the air. A burning pain such as she had never felt before sliced under her left breast and across her ribcage.

  His arm flexed again and Kat squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blow. The cheering crowd became quiet, and then she heard the shuffling of feet.

  "Open your eyes." The command came from a deep voice that she had heard only once before.

  Balmung.

  Slowly she opened her eyes, not knowing if he was her savior or yet another tormenter. She met his eyes unflinchingly until she heard a gurgling noise at her feet. And then, glancing down she saw, only inches from her feet, crumpled and bloody, Boddi with a battle axe wedged in the back of his head, the blade embedded so deeply his that head was split in two, his brains seeping onto the frost-bitten ground.

  Lightheaded, Kat raised her eyes to Balmung whose face was expressionless.

  Of course. Viking men must be taught to school their faces like that from infancy, she thought, hysteria threatening.

  He pulled off his cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders. The warmth from the fur lined cloak seeped into her shoulders, then made its slow journey down her body. She was certain she saw a flash of compassion in Balmung's eyes before he heaved an exasperated sigh.

  He turned to Cavan, now at their side, pretending to have been outraged by the attack.

  Kat wondered if Balmung would fall for his act.

  "You were negligent," Balmung said grimly. "I will leave your punishment to your master. You are to confine yourself to the slave quarters until he returns."

  Cavan appeared about to protest but Balmung had turned his attention to Kat, giving her a narrow-eyed stare he said, "This is Yngvarr; he will be your new slave master until further notice. But now you will come with me."

  He turned on his heel and stalked away through the crowd, which was now disappearing and strode towards the main hall. And though Kat wished to obey him, she stood rooted to the spot.

  Turning, he made a gesture of impatience and returned to scoop her in his arms.

  His face close to hers now, was so like Leif's that she could not remain silent. "Have you heard from Leif?" she asked him, her voice broken by a sob. "Do you know if he is well?"

  "Do not cry," Balmung commanded. And then, to her surprise, he answered her question. "Nay, lady. There has been no word from my brother."

  "Oh." It was all that she could think to say. Her world was cruel and empty without him.

  When Balmung carried her into the great hall, he ordered everyone out, warriors and slaves alike, before setting her on a long wooden bench and telling her that he would soon return.

  The hall was empty and quiet. Kat hurt where Boddi's whip had fallen. She had so many scrapes and bruises she couldn't tell where one pain left off and another started. And she was so hungry.

  Hunger wasn't new to her by any means. The first year that her Amma was taken away from her, she had spent countless nights huddled in back alleys, clutching her empty stomach and praying for food. But that was along time ago. And just the fact that she had been hungry before, didn't make it any easier to deal with now.

  She folded her arms atop the rough wooden plank that made up the table and cradled her head in her arms. Within seconds she began to drift asleep.

  But then her brow furrowed. From somewhere, far, far away she heard a faint pounding that was disturbing her, jarring her into that odd place between awake and asleep. Groggily she opened her eyes and lifted her head from her arms, willing the sound to go away.

  There it was again, a little stronger this time. She stood on shaky legs, grasping the edge of the table to steady herself, and her eye fell on the only other barred alcove door. With dread churning in her empty stomach, she crossed the wide hall and pressed her ear against the door.

  It banged again and she jumped back, grasping her chest to slow her pounding heart.

  She looked over her shoulder, imagining that Balmung wouldn't be pleased to find her away from her seat and likely less pleased that she was about to release whoever was being kept in the alcove.

  With trembling hands, she lifted the square wooden bar that secured the door closed and sucked in her breath when an aged man, who from his appearance, could only be Leif's father, dragged himself from the alcove.

  His white hair was matted and long, and his eyes, which were as brilliant a blue as Leif's, were empty of thought or consideration. She had seen that look before in her Amma's eyes!

  He straightened himself with a great effort and she saw that what once had been the body of a mighty warrior, was now shriveled and painfully thin.

  "Who are you, girl?" he demanded. His hand reaching for a sword that Kat suspected he believed he would find at his hip. Great, she thought, somewhat disgusted, she had rescued a man whose first thought was to slay her. Just her luck.

  "My name is Kat," she told him, pacing her words slowly as though she were talking to a child. "I'm married to Leif," there was no reason she could see to tell him that she was also a slave, the lowest one at that.

  "Leif? Leif who?"

  Kat's heart went out to him. She could see the spark of familiarity in his
eyes when he heard his son's name. She understood from observing her Amma the frustration of not being able to remember clearly or at all something that should be unforgettable.

  Kat ran one hand soothingly up and down his arm. He looked shocked, and fascinated at the same time as he watched her hands slow steady movements upon his arm.

  "Leif is your oldest son, sir," she said. "And he loves you very much."

  Kat felt a surge of rage that this man, once a mighty jarl and master of his kingdom, was being kept prisoner by his family. She had read of the way those who were considered mad were treated in times past, but she had not realized the full horror of it until now.

  "What have you done?" Balmung's voice broke the silence.

  "How can you keep your father in there?" she demanded, clutching the edges of the cloak tightly together. "It's cruel. He needs company, fresh air and conversation to keep his mind from becoming completely useless. And look at him. He is as thin as a stick. Don't you feed him?"

  "Of course we feed him," he told her, frowning, clearly puzzled that she should think anything else possible. "But when we put the food down in front of him, he turns away. We have to keep him locked up, since once he wandered away and we did not find him for three days. It's for his own protection."

  Compassion for Balmung filled her. Clearly he didn't understand the condition of his fathers mind. She wasn't sure that she could explain it, but she had to try.

  Perhaps this was how she could make amends to Leif's people, she thought, hope building within her; she could help his family to understand and care properly for their father.

  "It's not that he doesn't want to eat," she told him. "It's that he forgets that he is hungry."

  "What?"

  "Are there times when your father knows you?"