Legend of the Mist (10 page)

* * *

Nothing ...

Blessed, blissful nothing ...

No taunting sea, no pulling, watery hands ...

N
o shameful madness ...

Norah had never known a peace like this, a serenity so profound that even in death she could not help but smile. Her lifele
ss body sensed nothing but the warm, strong arms which enveloped her in their embrace. Contented, she snuggled into them, pressing her cheek against the firm chest on which her head lay. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she thought she felt a jaw resting atop her head, and soft lips breathe into her hair.

It felt nice.
She
felt nice. Safe. Protected.

And right
. Above all, everything felt
right
.

Gradually
the profound serenity dissipated, like the mist under the midday sun, as her senses returned.

Strange ..
. the arms which embraced her were moving. Jostling her back and forth roughly. With a moan, she shook her head and burrowed her face deeper into the chest, but the arms offered no respite.

The jostling turned to thumping against her back. Or perhaps the jostling had been thumping all along. The force was so strong that
a surge of water gurgled up from her throat and spilled from her mouth. And then the unpleasant thumping was forgotten, replaced by the blinding pain of her lungs as they pulled ragged, raking breaths into her chest.

She was not dead. The sea had not claime
d her soul. The arms which held her were not those of death, would not be dragging her to the pits of hell this night ...

N
orah’s eyes flew wide. Arms—whose arms?

Slowly
she peeled herself away from the chest against which she leaned. Her bleary eyes scanned upwards, taking in a wet tunic slicked tight to a contoured stomach. Upwards over a powerful chest which melted into a sleek neck, a faint pulse murmuring beneath the taut skin at the throat. Upwards still, past a well-defined jaw, full, strong lips and then, finally, a pair of pale eyes.

A gasp flooded her body
. Not of indrawn breath, but rather of every facet of her being inhaling at once in a chorus of recognition. It was the eyes. Some intangible thing about the eyes, rooted deep beneath the surface. These eyes belonged to this island as surely as she herself did. As surely as the broch and the mist.

At that precise moment
there was a shift in Norah’s lonely world. In a way that made no sense—everything was clear. He was important to her, this man; important to the path on which she’d been set in this life.

Whatever her fate, he was meant to be a part of it.

The moment of revelation was a brief one, and Norah tempered it swiftly. Clearing her throat, she slid away from the stranger who had pulled her from the water. Her arms shook as she did, weakened from her ordeal.

The tremble in the maid’s fragile body alarmed Torsten. Instinctively he reached out to assist her.
There was an energy from where her body had rested against his. It radiated across his skin and through to his core. That, too, alarmed him, for he had felt it the instant he found her beneath the water’s surface.

“Are you alright?” he managed when
he found his voice.

The maid gazed steadily into his eyes
. “I—I think so,” she said, her own voice hoarse.

“Would you mind telling me, then,
why in the fires of
Muspelheim
you thought you must end your life by jumping off a—a ...”

There
, Torsten faltered as he searched for the Gaelic word for “cliff.”

“I didna
want
to—”

“You did not want to die? What did you think would happen, then,
fifla
?”

Norah began to protest,
but thought better of it. She had meant to say that she had not wished to end her life. That the sea had willed her to jump. But how could she explain such a thing?

She studied
the man’s face closely. His features were set in a mask of anger, but his expression did not hide the fear which the incident had caused him.

She’d seen those features
before, represented in another who had entered her life in recent years.

With quiet confidence she
stated, “Ye’re one of Einarr Alfradsson’s clan.”

“I am his brother, Torsten.”

“Ye have the look of him.”

He
snorted. “So I have been told. In fact, I had hoped to find his lodgings and announce my arrival, but was diverted by a certain maid atop a—a ... mighty Thor, what is your word for it?”

“The word is
cliff
,” Norah answered, biting back a giggle. “I wonder at yer timing, though, sir. Ye meant to surprise him as he slept?”

“
Well ... no. I have travelled without rest for many days. I had not planned the hour of my arrival.”

“Then I’m sorry to disappoint ye, but
Sir Einarr returned to his lodgings—on his
own
island—after the evening meal. As he does every night wi’ his men.”

Torsten blushed
at the maid’s laughing tone. Of course Einarr would be on Rysa Beag. It was, after all, his stronghold. Why had Torsten thought his brother would be sheltering on Fara?

Why indeed!
Torsten knew the answer to that question without having to give it a thought. He
hadn’t
thought; that had been the problem. Ever since Einarr’s summons had come for him, Tosten’s usually sharp mind had been clouded by the name of Fara, by that nagging itch that called out to him, begging him to come home.

Wait ... home? Had he just thought the word
home
?

He
extinguished the thought angrily. What was
happening
to him?

Norah
waited patiently for the confusion which flickered across the Norseman’s face to pass. “Ye’re welcome to make yer lodgings in the barracks wi’ the men until morning,” she offered.

“Ja, I think that would do fine. Thank you.”

A silence followed, a pregnant silence in which their eyes met. And held. The moment was fleeting, and when it passed they both made to stand. Norah’s weakened legs wobbled, and Torsten thrust his arms out to assist her.

Carefully, almost tenderly, he threaded his arm around her waist to help her walk. He held her close—closer, perhaps, than he needed to, but the maid did not pull away. Curious how his forearm seemed to nestle into the curve at the base of her rib cage, like the curved joints of
the logs in a longhouse.

Curious how she seemed to shift into him ever so slightly, as if this were a dance they’d performed many times before ...

In silence Norah led them through the shimmering mist in the direction of the fortress.

“
Can you reach your bed unaided?” he asked once they arrived.

“Aye, sir, I can make it. Thank ye for yer ...
yer help.”

“You are welcome,
fifla
. I hope I shall not have to offer it again under similar circumstances.”

With a final, lingering glance, Torsten turned and strode
away into the darkness.

“Ye willna,” she whispered to his retreating form.

* * *

In
the few hours before dawn Norah found sleep, though it was plagued by dreams. Dreams of the beautiful faces; of the broch; of laughing and feasting and dancing. Of voices which spoke to one another in a language she did not know.

These dreams were not new to her, she had them often.
But this time there was another element to the visions which played behind her eyelids. Another face, one which made her heart soar and her body sing. It was a face as connected to the island, to the broch, to the mist as she herself was. A face which, just hours before, she’d opened her eyes to find when she’d been pulled from her death at the bottom of the sea.

She awoke to the gentle glow of a misty, muggy dawn, before anyone else in the keep had risen. Silently she made her way to the window ledge in the common room and perched atop it.

She’d been here like this, in the same spot and the same position, the night before—it seemed a lifetime ago now. Before, the sea had called to her. It had exerted its pull on her soul, calling her to her death.

But now ...

Now the sea was silent, the pull barely perceptible. For the first time in her life the taunting, merciless melody of the waves was nowhere to be heard.

Nine

The next morning the hall was filled with the din of uneasy chatter. Islanders and Norse alike milled about, not quite sure how to behave in light of the previous night’s announcement—and what had happened after.

No one knew what had
taken place behind closed doors when Norah was dragged off to the keep to be dealt with. And they were afraid to speculate.

The chief and his family gave no indication one way or another. When the food arrived, they took their places at the high table as usual, and ate their meal
with quiet pride. The rest in the hall followed suit, but watched those on the dais surreptitiously.

“If she isna down here by the time I finish my bannock, I’m having her dragged
from her bed,” Fearchar murmured to his wife who sat next to him.

“Hush now,” Iseabal chided. “She were up and dressing when last I
saw her. I dinna think she’s planning on defying ye now.”

Iobhar, who had been listening,
opened his mouth to add his opinion, but was thwarted when a hush fell over the conversation.

Standing
at the entrance to the hall, was Norah. She gazed over the crowd of anxious faces as if nothing had happened the night before. There was a quiet serenity in her countenance as she made her way to her place on the dais, and she walked with all the grace and poise that a chief’s daughter ought to have.

Torsten, who
sat at one of the lower tables nearest the far-right wall, stared at the vision which crossed the room with a half-chewed piece of herring lodged in his cheek.

In the light of day
the maid was even more beautiful than she had been bathed in moonlight. Her alabaster skin was almost iridescent; its pearly sheen set fire to her long, silky tresses which were, as he had guessed the night before, a deep, blood red. Though she was dressed in a simple tunic of wool overtop a common linen shift she looked ravishing, for the plain design of the clothing accentuated the curve of her hip, and the slender line of her waist.

Her eyes took i
n the activity of the room, eyes that seemed to have a life of their own as they picked up the minute changes in light and shadow, reflecting them in the green of her irises. Even from a distance Torsten could see it.

H
e could, couldn’t he? Or did he only sense it, imagine it?

He was so mesmerised by the sight of her that he realized
belatedly his mouth was agape. He closed it, and renewed his chewing with vigour to compensate for the momentary lapse.

When she took her place at the end of the high table, h
is brother, seated in the middle and next to whom Torsten presumed was the clan’s chief, leaned forward and assessed her with such approval that Torsten surmised his maid was the one promised to Einarr—

His
maid? What on earth had possessed him to think of her as
his
maid?

He
dropped his eyes to his trencher, angry with himself for having entertained the notion. But when he peered up again, his heart lurched in his chest, for the maid was staring at him from across the room. As if she had divined his thoughts from afar. A quiet confidence emanated from her eyes and from the set of her lovely mouth. A heat blossomed in Torsten’s core from the intimacy of her gaze.

For the rest of the meal he kept his eyes down as much as he could. He dared not trust his reactions beneath the strange and sudden spell the maid seemed to hold over him. It was only as the hall began to clear out and the trestle tables
were being disassembled that Einarr summoned Torsten to meet the members of the high table.

“Brother,” the Norseman called, his extended arm beckoning Torsten to him.

Torsten stood, wiping his hands on his braies, and came as bidden. He suddenly regretted that he’d not had the opportunity to scrape the stubble from his chin.

And suddenly worried that remnants of food lingered on his clothing or in his teeth.

Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d cleaned his teeth?

Thor’s thunder, when was the last time he cared so much about his appearance?

“Chief
Feh
-ruh-ker, if I may, I would like to introduce my brother to you. This is Torsten Alfradsson. Torsten, the great
Feh
-ruh-ker, chief of Clan Gallach.”

“It is my honour,
sir,” Torsten said, bowing to the grey haired man before him. He spoke in Gaelic, following Einarr’s example.

“
I am sure the honour is mine,” Fearchar answered. “Ye speak the Gaelic as well?”

“I do. It is not uncommon given the frequency of trade between our lands and yours. I must say I am glad of it, for I would not otherwise have been able to explain my presence to your warriors this morning.”

“My brother arrived last night, I am told, and took shelter with your men,” Einarr clarified when the chief seemed confused. “I found him waiting at the harbour for me to arrive at dawn.

“
And this,” he added proudly, “is my bride-to-be. Norah.”

The maid had been standing behind the
group and slightly apart from them when Torsten had approached. But at some point during the initial introductions she had slipped silently in behind him. When Torsten turned to greet Einarr’s bride, he found himself staring into the maid’s face at such a close range that he could see the gold flecks which permeated the living green of her eyes. She held his gaze with the same steady confidence she’d possessed through the entire meal, rendering Torsten speechless.

“Sir,” she said, dipping into a polite curtsey.

Of course, she was not the first beautiful young woman Torsten had met, and from his experience with beautiful young women he expected her to offer the typical, inane pleasantries they usually offered:
Your brother has told me so much about you;
or,
I am sure we will get along splendidly
. But she offered none, simply waited for him to return her courtesy.

Which he was powerless to do. He continued to stare, awestruck, at this fascinating creature before him.

There was an otherworldliness about her. Something which set her apart from any maid he had ever known. And in any other maid, such silence would have been unnerving. But in this maid—in
Norah—
it was spell-binding.

“
Fifla
, why do you not show my brother your village until it is time for the training of the men?” Einarr suggested at length. “He has seen little other than the ... oh, what is it called in your tongue—the warriors’ ... er,
heima
, their home?”

“The barracks, s
ir?” Lady Iseabal offered.

“The
barracks
. Yes, that’s it: the barracks. By the by, brother, how is it that you found your way in the dark in this unfamiliar place?”

“
I var heppinn
,” Torsten muttered in Norse:
I was lucky
.

He
shook his head imperceptibly when Norah’s eyes widened. She need not worry; he would not betray her secret.

“
May I ask this of your daughter, Lady Iseabal?” Einarr inquired for formality’s sake.

“Sir, I am sure ye ken it isna proper for a young lady to be in the company of a gentleman unescorted.”

“Pah! What has she to lose? Her reputation? I have already agreed to marry her, and she is in the company of my brother.
Family
—or soon enough will be.”

With little choice in the matter,
the lady nodded demurely. Accepting her task, Norah curtsied to Einarr, and set her gaze on Torsten once more.

“This way,
sir, if ye please.”

Torsten followed her
across the hall and through the wood-beamed archway. He kept a few respectful paces behind her, careful not to let his eyes dip lower than her shoulders.

Careful not to notice the gentle sway of her loose hair which tumbled to the small of her back.

Careful not to admire the delicate skin of her wrists or the slender taper of her fingers which she clasped behind her.

Careful not to lose his head and take her hand, or run his own fingers through her satin hair.

The members of the high table watched them depart with varying degrees of astonishment.

“
I do not know what the cause, but she seems to accept the idea of marriage better than she did last night, ja?” Einarr observed.

“Aye,
” Fearchar agreed. “I dinna ken the cause either, but we are glad for whatever changed her mind. We would not wish to offend ye, sir.”

“
Whether or not she wants to marry me is not important. The deal has been made and she must abide by it.”

No one missed the warning in Einarr’s voice.

“It is a shame Garrett didna come to break his fast this morning,” Lady Iseabal sighed once the Norseman had left to join his men. “It would have done him good to see how she’s come around. When Norah realized he kent of the union last night, it broke his heart to have betrayed her.”

“Betrayed?” Iobhar barked. “He didna betray anything.
Wasna his choice, were it?”

“Still, ‘tis how he felt.”

“Ye’re all sentimental fools. If she werena half mad she’d have been married off long ago. Ye’ve coddled her, Fearchar. I’ve always said it.”

“We’ll no
’ talk of it anymore,” Fearchar answered, his voice low but firm. “I ken what she is, and I couldna have raised her any better than I did. I only hope this turn of countenance means she’ll forgive me one day.”

Outside, Norah
led Torsten towards the village. The new day’s heat was already beginning to intensify, causing the mist around them to thin to a translucent haze. Above, the sun struggled to penetrate the silk-like veil, and the distant sound of the waves lapping at the beach met their ears.

Norah breathed a deep, clean breath and smiled to herself. There were no ghostly voices on those waves this morning, no calls upon her soul to submit to them. They were just waves, just the sound of water rushing in to the island and back out to sea.

“I thank ye, sir,” she said when they were far enough away from the fortress. “I do appreciate yer silence wi’ my family and wi’ Sir Einarr.”

“
I did not think telling them would come to any good. I wonder, though, about your little ... shall we say,
adventure
last night. Had it anything to do with your marriage to my brother?”

Though
Torsten knew his suspicion was correct, he waited for her to deny it.

S
he did not. Once again she set those changeful eyes of hers on him, steady and confident.

“It had, aye.”

A knot rose in his chest at her simple honesty. She was so fragile, like a butterfly’s wing. And yet there was a subtle strength about her, the power of that delicate wing to carry the butterfly high into the air and over great distance. The strangest inkling tickled within him that this maid had seen more, and suffered more, and lived longer than anyone could imagine.

“You are in love with another and you would rather end your life than marry someone else?”
he guessed, more to halt the uneasy direction of his thoughts than that he believed it to be true. But the enigmatic smile which crossed her lips as she lowered her eyes only unnerved him further.

“
Was my silence misguided?” he postulated. “By keeping your secret from Einarr and from your father, have I only purchased you time to try again?”

“Nay, ye havena
.”

“
How do I know? Nothing has changed. You are still betrothed and shall marry Einarr in a few weeks’ time.”

She chuckled to herself, the melody high like a
songbird’s trill. “Things have changed very much.”

“Since last night?”

“Aye, since last night.”

Torsten did not know what she meant by that, and something warned him that he should not ask.
The strange energy which he’d felt between them the previous night when he pulled her from the water reasserted itself; her nearness set the side of his body that was closest to her tingling. As if there was a force drawing them closer.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, studying her profile.
Her lips, delicate and heart-shaped, curved slightly upwards and her emerald eyes looked forward, scanning the outlines of the objects which could be seen through the haze.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps she was seeing something in that fog which none but
she could see. Torsten found her fascinating. He was mesmerised. He could not look away.

Mercifully Norah broke the silence before she
noticed that his surreptitious glance had turned into a blatant stare.

“Let us no’ speak of what happened,” she said.
“Today is a new day, and I shall be quite alright, I assure ye.”