VIKING'S CURSED BRIDE, THE

by MACMILLAN, MAIRIBETH

  “How does it feel to be going home?” Tormod asked.

  “I was just thinking…” She stopped, looked up at him and tried to smile. “Dun Cadell has not felt like home for a very long time, not since my mother died. And yet…”

  “And yet?”

  “And yet in so many ways it is home. Or was.”

  “Was?”

  “My home is with you now,” she explained, frowning at him.

  He stared at her for a moment, then reached for her hands and squeezed them. A simple gesture and yet it made tears spring to her eyes. “We will be there soon. And once things are settled we will go home, together.”

  They stood side by side as they journeyed down the loch. The winds were with them and it would take less than an hour to get there. Aoife wondered how long it would be until they saw movement on the shore.

  When they were more than halfway to the fort and had seen no signs of life, she turned to Tormod. “Do you not think it is odd?”

  “The stillness?”

  She nodded. There was barely even a sound of nature beyond their boats.

  “Silence!” Tormod ordered.

  All noise on the boats ceased, bar the creak of the mast. Everyone looked around, puzzled expressions on their faces. They rounded a headland and Dun Cadell lay in front of them, set back a little from the shore on a craggy hillock. Dark rocks lay between it and the water’s edge.

  “There’s no smoke,” said Aoife.

  She stared at the coast of her father’s lands, frowning as they got closer to the fort and the first of the guard towers appeared. She watched it carefully but saw no sign of movement, no sign anyone had noticed their approach and sent a message. Perhaps a boy on foot ran through the woods? But no birds flew up and the woods seemed silent and still.

  Tormod must have noticed her focus because he placed his hand on her waist and gave her a querying look.

  “The guard towers are empty,” she said.

  “Are you sure? You don’t think they are expecting us and lying in wait? That they are just hiding?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “They are not there. There are no fires or anything.”

  “Do you think your vision was true?”

  Aoife stared at the fort, at the palisade, at its gates, at the surrounding land. Little by little, she began to see differences. Then, although she could see the scene in front of her, it was as if a second image had appeared in front of it. She closed her eyes and the vision grew stronger. She could smell roasting meats, hear the clanks of cutlery and crockery. The meal began, but she could feel the tension in the room. Ula stood apart from her father. She saw her father stare at his wife, his eyes questioning. Ula and her daughters left the hall. Cadell stood, confused, and then chaos ensued.

  Aoife pressed her fists against her eyes, but nothing could block out the vision of the short swords and axes pulled from beneath cloaks and tables, and used to slaughter first her father and then any man, woman or child who had gone to his defence.

  There was a deathly silence and the vision was gone. Tormod’s arms were around her, holding her, his voice reassuring her. “What did you see?”

  “They’re dead,” she said and opened her tear-filled eyes. “They’re all dead.”

  “All of them? The whole fort?”

  Aoife took a few deep breaths, aware of the scrutiny of the warriors around her. “No,” she whispered, “not all of them. Only the ones loyal to my father. And… my father.” She felt Tormod’s arms tighten around her in response to the news.

  “Who did this?”

  “I don’t know. My father’s men, some of them. They were sitting down to eat and then Ula and her daughters left the room. Then they used short swords and axes and…” She stopped and looked up at Tormod, then at his cousins and the other Norsemen surrounding them. Some of them were staring at her, but as she looked at them, really looked at them, it was with an expression of awe rather than fear.

  “This may not be what happened,” she said. “At least not exactly. Sometimes it is an interpretation, rather than fact. Like the bear and the wolf and the hawk surrounded by the sound of thunder that haunts my dreams. So you might not want to take it all too literally.”

  Tormod smiled at his cousins. “It seems my wife is a seer of sorts.” Then he squeezed her arms and laughed. “She has been seeing us in her visions for some time now.”

  “If only you could fly like your namesake, Arne,” Ulf said. “As a hawk, you could fly above the fort and come back and tell us whether an army waits for us in there.”

  Aoife smiled, relieved he had finally accepted her.

  “What do we do in your dreams?” Björn asked with a grin. “I mean, if you are dreaming of me…” He stopped as Tormod frowned at him.

  “The thunder is only the beginning of the storm,” she said.

  All of them stared uneasily at the fort ahead of them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sound of the longships crunching against the shingle beach was loud in the eerie silence surrounding Dun Cadell. Tormod and his men had waited and watched from just off shore for more than an hour, but the silence had remained unbroken. Aoife had stared at her former home all that time, not a single word passing her lips. The two ravens perched on the ship’s mast stared at the same place. It was the Lord Odin keeping watch over them, he was sure of it. It also reassured him of her loyalty. After all, who was he to second guess Odin?

  “It is time to move,” he said. “There may be more trickery. Or survivors. Be alert.”

  The warriors headed up towards the fort walls in three groups led by Ulf, Björn and Arne. Tormod remained on the shore with Aoife and the fourth group of warriors, all wary and ready to head quickly for any one scene where trouble might erupt. The gates in the wooden palisade that surrounded the fort and its farms lay wide open, although that was not unusual. More unusual was the lack of activity on the farms, the animals simply wandering.

  It was Ulf’s group who approached the gates in the stone walls of the fort directly. When they reached them, they knocked. Any enemy would already be aware of their presence if they were watching. The sound echoed off the buildings and walls. There was no response and barely even a whisper of breeze. Ulf pushed the high wooden gate. It swung easily inwards. The warriors positioned themselves, but nothing happened.

  Ulf turned to Tormod, his face serious. “There has been a massacre,” he shouted. “I can smell blood, and there are rats, so many rats.”

  Ulf and his men entered, but it was not long before they returned to the gate, ashen-faced. Ulf returned to the longships to speak to Tormod.

  “I do not think there is anyone left alive,” Ulf said. “Although, as the fort has not been burned, I would assume the victor plans to come back.”

  “Lord Cadell?”

  Ulf shook his head.

  Tormod reached for Aoife’s hand. It was stone cold. “And what of the rest of his family?”

  “There is no sign of his wife or any of his daughters. In fact, we found few women. But it looks like the bodies of many of the fort’s inhabitants lie in the great hall, as the Lady Aoife saw. They have been there for at least…” Ulf made a face. “I would say about four days. No more.”

  “So, before the boats attacked us.”

  “Yes, perhaps they thought…”

  Tormod waited for Ulf to speak, but his friend was deep in thought. He eventually continued, “It is possible the other Britons thought Cadell was in league with you.”

  “It was supposed to be an alliance,” Tormod acknowledged. “Perhaps the other Britons resented it.”

  “You thought Cadell had tricked you.”

  “And you think maybe he did not?”

  “Given that he now lies dead, I’d say it is a possibility.”

  “I must see for myself.” Aoife was pale but looked determined. “I must see for myself,” she repeated to Ulf, then turned to Tormod. “Please.”

  “You will only find it distr
essing,” Ulf said.

  She looked at the gates, then back at him. “It is better to know than to imagine. Or to dream.”

  “Very well,” said Tormod.

  “I will go back,” Ulf said. “Continue to search for anything that might prove who is responsible.”

  Tormod saw conflicting emotions play across her face and when she took a step towards the gates regardless, he let her. His whole being relaxed when she stopped and turned back to him.

  “If they only found my father’s body, then Ula is responsible for this.”

  Tormod stared at her. “You think so?” he finally said. “You do not think she and your sisters have been taken captive?”

  Aoife closed her eyes, then shook her head. “No, in my vision she stood and left the room with her daughters. That seemed to be the signal to attack my father. I think Ula would do whatever she thought was necessary to survive.”

  Ulf laughed bitterly. “I knew a woman like that once.”

  “Ulf, lay out Lord Cadell’s body for my wife to say her farewells,” Tormod said. “You may see him then, but not before.”

  Aoife opened her eyes, tilting her head up towards the sky, her lips moving in prayer.

  “I’m sure he sits in Valhalla,” Tormod said, placing his hand on her shoulder.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, then laughed through her tears. “Although I’m not sure that’s where he will be or would want to be.” She squeezed Tormod’s fingers in acknowledgment of his kindness. “I would like to go to my old room, if that is all right?”

  “I will take you myself,” Tormod said.

  “Will you bury the dead?” Aoife asked him.

  Tormod rubbed a hand across his forehead. “We will try,” he promised. “We will have to do something. It seems likely whoever invaded this place did not intend to occupy it immediately. Otherwise they would not have left so many bodies—”

  “So many? But there are no birds, no signs…”

  “Do not look around,” Tormod said, putting a hand out to stop her when she began to do just that. “If they have not dealt with the dead yet, then they are leaving them there for a reason.”

  “In my visions, when my father and his men were attacked, it was Norse swords and axes that were used. Not the long swords favoured by the Britons.”

  “They may be waiting, watching. Ready to catch us in the act, so to speak.”

  “If they are nearby then perhaps there is still a chance for us to find Rhiannon. Elisedd’s mother,” Aoife said. Now there was genuine fear on her face. “You really think they are here, waiting?”

  “Where is the priest?” Aoife asked suddenly. “Father Bricius. Even if it was other Britons who did this, they would not kill the priest.”

  “We will search for him, any that are not among the dead must be considered traitors to your father.”

  “It is not hard to believe that Father Bricius would betray my father. Nor Rhydderch. Both were more loyal to Ula than to my father.” She sighed. “I almost pity him living amongst so many who would not hesitate to betray him. You are fortunate to have the loyalty and respect of those you lead.”

  “I am, indeed. Now, let us go.”

  They walked through the gates and into the courtyard, then crossed to the door that opened into a circular tower attached to the largest building. When they went through the door, it clanged shut behind them. Tormod stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding her body tightly against his own and kissing her gently on the lips.

  “This is not your doing,” she said, leaning into him.

  He revelled in the thought she trusted him. Her arms tightened around him and he smiled.

  He held her for a moment longer, then pushed her to arm’s length. “There is little we can do for now. We must take this to Doomster Hill upriver in time and present it before your king, but for now we will visit where you wish and then search for your maid. Just to be sure.”

  “Thank you.”

  They went up the stairs curving inside the thick walls, Tormod with his sword drawn and his axe at the ready. Aoife had a knife in her hand and kept a safe distance behind her husband. Although he sensed the tower was empty. There was a stillness simply not felt in a building with any life in it.

  On the first floor, she gestured for him to push open the door.

  Inside the room were four narrow beds made up, empty, but otherwise nothing. Just an ordinary bedchamber.

  Aoife was staring at a space where a bed once stood. Hers, he presumed. “There is nothing left,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” He looked around at the bare walls, the empty surfaces and bare cupboards.

  “My sisters knew what was coming,” Aoife said. “They have taken all their trinkets with them. Everything that was precious to them.”

  He watched as she ran her hands over every surface and looked around each bed and on the floor and thought of how little she had brought with her. “Are you looking for something?”

  “I had a pendant of my mother’s with a cut amethyst at its centre.”

  “An amethyst pendant? Was it a cross engraved with knotwork?”

  “Yes… how did you know what the pendant looked like?”

  He was silent for a long moment, not wanting to either hurt her, nor lie to her. “I saw your stepmother wearing one like it.”

  She said nothing, but her expression hardened and her fists clenched. She turned and headed for the stairs.

  “Wait!” But she was gone. He hurried after her, finally catching her as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Ulf waited for them there.

  “What is it?” Tormod asked him.

  “We have searched everywhere. There are no signs of the priest, Lady Ula, or the daughters. Or at least none of the dead women… well.” Ulf swallowed and ran a hand down his face. “All of the dead women appear to be servants.”

  “These were my family’s servants,” Aoife said, pulling herself up taller. “The least I can do is look upon the faces of the dead. They died in my family’s service. And I should look for Rhiannon.” Aoife took a deep breath. “What will I tell Elisedd if I find her?”

  “We will tell him the truth, together,” Tormod promised her. “Just as soon as we know what it is.”

  She looked at him. Tears glinted in her eyes, tears she refused to allow to fall. Then she smiled. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  The stench of death was heavy in the air. The coppery smell of blood had intensified until she pushed open the door to the great hall, when it was replaced by the stench of putrefaction and rot. All of Tormod’s men in the hall when she entered stopped what they were doing and waited out of respect as she looked around the hall. Then they resumed chasing away the rats and moving bodies outside.

  “You must burn the dead,” Aoife stated.

  “Not bury them?” Tormod asked.

  “No,” she said, after thinking about it. “It is too late for that. It would be better to burn the bodies. The rats are already here, and to bury so many in these circumstances… it’s not practical.”

  Tormod looked closely at her. “If you are sure. The Church…”

  “The Church, or the priest, is either amongst the dead or has run away. My mother was a Pict and they are not afraid to burn their dead. The people of this fort loved her; they would have carried out her wishes. It was only after Ula arrived that things changed. And now she is gone too.” Aoife peered around the courtyard.

  “We have not found her body.”

  “All the more reason to not consider what she would have done,” said Aoife, frowning. She blinked, then took a deep breath. “We will set the fort to rights, and then we must go to the king to see who will inherit.”

  “You have no brothers?” Tormod asked.

  “None that lived.”

  “So, who would inherit the fort?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps if I had a son, I could petition the king for him to inherit. And my father had a brother. He died sometime ago, bu
t I believe he had a son. Cenydd. Further south. Near the old wall and Caer Luel. He would have a rightful claim, also.”

  “I will send a ship with word. What of Lady Ula and your sisters?”

  “Do you think they live?”

  “I think they have escaped along with the priest.” Tormod took her hand and held it tight in his own. “Do you think there might have been something between Lady Ula and Bricius?”

  Aoife snatched her hand away from him. Her mouth opened and shut like a fish. “He’s a priest. There are rules, basic decency…”

  “The way you were treated was not very decent.”

  “That was different,” she returned quickly, wondering why she was defending them. “They saw me as sinful. Cursed. They were trying to help me. To save my soul.”

  It was what she had always been told. How the beatings and other punishments had always been justified, and yet… The words had rung hollow in her ears as she said them. How could she be guilty of something she did not control? She looked into her husband’s face, unsure if he believed her or not. He took her by the elbows and pulled her against him.

  “They were wrong to do so,” he said, then kissed her. “You are not cursed. The gods made you the way you are. Who are they to deny you your gifts?”

  For a long moment she looked at him, wanting to believe. Then she tried to pull back, shame sweeping through her. She shook her head. “The devil made me the way I am.”

  “No,” Tormod said, his arms going around her. “You have helped us, saved us. You saved your family, and still they treated you badly. The Church treated you badly and perhaps it was because…”

  “Because?”

  “Did they say you were cursed when your mother was alive?”

  “No, although I have always had dreams and visions,” Aoife replied. “But I was so young then, no one would have—”

  “So, it was only once your stepmother was here?” Tormod asked. “And Father Bricius?”

  “Yes. The two of them always sided against me. They were the ones who went most often to my father. It was Father Bricius who suggested they send me to the abbey after Alt Clut.”