Surrender To The Viking (20 page)

‘Consider it done,’ said Unnr.

‘Bring Lara’s sword with you when you come.’

Finn bent and lifted his wife carefully, with no more effort than if she had been a child. His throat tightened. She weighed nothing. Nor had she ever seemed as fragile or as vulnerable as now.

He carried her back to the sleeping quarters and fired off a series of instructions to the startled servants. While they bustled about fetching water and cloths he laid Lara on the bed. Then he undressed her. He used his seax to cut away the tunic and shirt. The skin beneath was cold and alabaster pale but it was unblemished. He was right. The blood on the fabric wasn’t hers. That was something at least. Gently he turned her head and examined the cut there. Like all head wounds it had bled copiously but what bothered him more was the spreading black-and-red swelling around the cut. It must have been a heavy blow. Had it cracked her skull? Depressed the bone? Was there internal bleeding as well? He cleansed the injury as best he could and covered her with blankets and furs to keep her warm. Then he sat down to wait.

* * *

A little later Unnr appeared on the threshold bearing Lara’s sword. ‘I brought this, my lord, like you said.’

Finn nodded. ‘I thank you. Put it over there in the corner.’

Unnr duly obliged and then looked at the still figure in the bed. ‘How is she?’

‘As you see.’

‘She’ll be all right, won’t she? The lads will want to know.’

Finn dredged up a wan smile. ‘She’s a fighter. She’ll come through it. She has to.’

‘Aye, right. Of course she does.’

‘I’ll let you know when she comes round.’

‘Good.’ Unnr hesitated. ‘Best get those cuts tended to, my lord. You won’t be much use to her if they get infected and you’re off your head with fever.’

‘You’re right. I’ll attend to it presently.’

In truth Finn had forgotten about his injuries. Without the protection of the chain mail byrnie he couldn’t hope to escape unscathed but it might have been much worse. But for Lara the odds would have been even greater. She’d taken out two of his opponents. His fear for her had lent strength to his arm. Either that or Steingrim was so confident of winning that he became careless. Finn broke through his guard and sped him with a single thrust through the gut, one of the most satisfying strokes he’d ever delivered. He didn’t have long to celebrate though because two others attacked him and he was hard-pressed for a while, losing sight of Lara. The few short minutes between then and the arrival of his sword brothers had been enough for the harm to be done.

He looked at her and his throat tightened.
Why did you come back? Why didn’t you save yourself?
He’d done his best to make her go, to turn her away from him. To achieve it he’d been prepared to say anything, no matter how cruel or how untrue. He really thought it had worked at first but then she came back. Incredibly, improbably, against all reason she came back. Lara wasn’t conceited about her fighting skills. She must have known there was a better than even chance of getting killed, of them both getting killed. Yet she’d chosen to stay with him, to die with him.
I do love you, Finn.
He shut his eyes, remembering that conversation. It hadn’t been a throwaway comment at all. She’d meant every word. Her actions today proved that beyond doubt. There was no greater love.

The knowledge smote him, more painful by far than the cuts he had received in the fighting. He should have told her the truth. The chance had been there and he’d let it pass. Now there might never be another. She might die believing every lying word he’d uttered today.

He remained where he was for some time but without seeing any change in her condition. Eventually he permitted one of the servants to bathe and bind his injuries, and then donned fresh clothing. Having done that, he arranged for a straw palliasse to be fetched and set down near the bed. He wouldn’t risk disturbing Lara so he was going to have to sleep on the floor for a while. It would also mean he would be on hand if she needed anything.

* * *

For the remainder of that day and all of the night he watched over her but Lara did not stir or wake. In the meantime the bruising had darkened and spread, a hideous red-black mass discolouring her brow and temple and cheek. The lump at the site of the blow was the size of his palm. With great care he laid a cold compress over it, changing it regularly. Still she didn’t move. Sometimes he checked for a pulse just to reassure himself that she was still alive.

‘Don’t die, my darling girl. Please don’t die.’

The thought of a future without her filled him with dread. If he lost her he would lose a part of himself and nothing would ever be the same again. He loved her. If she lived he would tell her that; he would demonstrate it to her every day. First though he was going to have to beg her forgiveness.

Chapter Twenty-One

T
hree days went by and Lara still didn’t regain consciousness. In all that time Finn hardly left her side, praying to every god he’d ever heard of that she might wake and be herself again. Occasionally Unnr looked in and reported back to the others in the evenings while everyone was gathered at table, but his sombre expression told them all they needed to know.

‘I am sorry to hear that the lady is no better,’ said Folkvar, ‘but what of Jarl Finn? We haven’t seen or spoken to him in days.’

‘I tell you frankly I don’t like it,’ replied Unnr. ‘I’ve never seen him like this before. He hardly eats or sleeps. He looks terrible. If she dies I fear for him.’

The others exchanged troubled glances.

‘We have to do something,’ said Vigdis.

Unnr raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’

‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should make a sacrifice to Odin All-Father and ask for his intercession.’

His companions looked thoughtful, weighing his words carefully. Several people nodded.

‘Vigdis is right,’ said Sturla. ‘Lady Lara was injured in battle so if anyone can save her it’s surely the god of war. We must seek Odin’s help in this.’

A rumble of agreement spread through the gathering.

‘I have seen it done before,’ said Vigdis. ‘The people sacrificed a fine bull and drained its blood into a large tub. Then they cut the body of the animal into pieces and added those as well.’

His companions listened intently. Pleased by their evident interest he went on.

‘When it was done they placed the injured warrior in the tub and he bathed in the contents while the spae-wife spoke the ritual words. In that way the strength of the animal passed into the patient and he was cured.’

The men exchanged thoughtful glances.

‘Impressive,’ said Sturla.

‘That’s powerful medicine all right,’ said Folkvar, ‘but will it work for a woman as well as for a man?’

‘She
is
a warrior. But whether a bull is the appropriate sacrifice in this case is more than I can say. Somehow it doesn’t seem quite right for the transference of female energy.’

‘Good point. Come to that, is Odin the correct deity to ask? Might not one of the Valkyries be better? Eir for instance.’

‘Eir is known to be a great healer,’ said Sturla.

‘And, being one of Odin’s attendants, could still intercede with him if necessary. Inside influence as it were.’

The others nodded solemnly.

‘We would need to consult a spae-wife before we could be absolutely sure,’ said Sturla.

‘The woman Gyrda is known for her skill as a seidr-worker and her dwelling is no more than an hour’s sail from here. She could easily be fetched to perform the relevant rite.’ Folkvar looked at his companions. ‘What say you?’

‘I say we give it a try,’ said Unnr. ‘All those in favour raise a hand.’ His gaze scanned the room. ‘That’s unanimous, then.’ He paused. ‘Obviously Jarl Finn will have the last word on this matter. I’ll speak to him right away.’

* * *

Finn heard Unnr in silence. He hadn’t been expecting anything like the suggestion put before him now, but it was a serious and sacred thing they were proposing and it behoved him to consider it carefully.

‘I will think on this,’ he said, ‘and let you know my decision in the morning.’

‘As you will, my lord.’

Finn knew about healing rituals and had seen some performed. The fact that his shield brothers had conceived of the scheme spoke louder than words of the esteem in which they held his wife, and he was grateful for their care of her. That they should even have considered the bull sacrifice made him feel particularly proud. It was an honour usually reserved for warriors of high rank. He had already asked for Odin’s help but as yet the All-Father had not answered his prayers. Of course, if his shield brothers were right and male energy was not appropriate that would explain it. Perhaps an approach to Eir might be more successful.

He glanced at the still figure in the bed. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. Never before had he sat around waiting for something to happen: it was entirely opposed to the world of action he usually inhabited. In that world if what you wanted wasn’t happening then you made it happen. This sitting and waiting was excruciating. The opportunity to do something, anything, that might help gave him a slender straw of hope to clutch at. If there was the least chance that a healing ritual might save Lara he was willing to try. It would take a little time to organise and time was running out. He knew what answer he would give his men in the morning. Feeling marginally better for having made a decision he returned to his chair beside the bed.

* * *

The spae-wife, Gyrda, arrived the following day, escorted at a respectful distance by half-a-dozen warriors. Although not young she was far from being the ancient crone of Finn’s imagination. She was tall for a woman and of upright bearing which lent her natural authority. With its strong bone structure her face was distinctive, even handsome, the brow and cheek bones tattooed with mystic patterns. The dark eyes missed nothing. She was clad in the blue gown of her calling over which she wore a leather cloak decorated with feathers and beads and the skulls of mice and small birds. More feathers adorned the brown hair which she wore loose over her shoulders. A leather scrip hung from the belt at her waist.

Gyrda examined the patient carefully her eyes narrowing at the sight of the head wound. ‘A blow from a sword pommel you say.’

Finn nodded. ‘Can you help her?’

‘If the gods will it,’ she replied.

When she had completed her examination they returned to the hall to speak to the waiting men. Conversation died away and was replaced by expectant silence as all eyes turned towards the spae-wife. She surveyed them steadily, her expression sombre.

‘Ordinarily when treating a wound like this I should have sought Odin’s help directly,’ she said, ‘but the case is unusual and complex. You are right in thinking that we need the help of Eir.’

The men exchanged looks of satisfaction that their view should have been endorsed by such a respected medical practitioner.

‘In addition,’ she continued, ‘we must invoke the aid of Gmot and Ran.’

‘A powerful trinity,’ said Finn.

Gyrda nodded. ‘You speak true, lord. Gmot not only controls the tides of the sea but also the female cycle and its related energies.’

Understanding began to dawn in the faces of those around.

‘We must ask the moon god to rebalance the patient’s disordered energies,’ she went on, ‘and request the goddess Ran to send cleansing waves and wash away the evil seidr that currently prevents Eir from healing the injury.’

The men listened with close attention.

‘Tell us what we must do,’ said Finn.

‘At the rising of the moon you must carry the patient down to the sea upon your shields. The number of the shields must be nine—one at her head and the rest overlapping beneath her body, for nine is a powerful number and great magic attaches to it.’

‘It will be done.’

‘The bearers must wear iron and steel to counteract the strength of the evil weapon that caused the injury,’ said Gyrda. ‘Then you, my lord, must bear the patient into the waves and immerse her thrice while I speak the words of the healing ritual. The black seidr shall be washed away and the strength of the husband shall be imparted unto the wife.’

‘This also I will do.’

‘Finally,’ said Gyrda, ‘the patient must drink a healing potion which I shall prepare. It is a powerful brew made from special herbs picked at the full of the moon. She must continue to drink it for three days afterwards.’

For the first time in days Finn was hopeful. He’d be willing to tackle a pack of starving wolves armed only with his belt knife if it meant that he could have Lara back.

‘All shall be done as you command.’

* * *

Lara floated up slowly through a sea of darkness towards the pale orb of light dimly discernible above her. She wanted to reach the light but her limbs felt heavy and sluggish and her head ached abominably. The sound of the waves seemed very loud. In spite of the dark sea all around, her throat was dry and she felt thirsty. She groaned, striving for the light again. The water was cold against her flesh and she shivered. There was a voice as well, female, but it spoke words she didn’t understand in a strange sing-song chant. Then the water closed over her and she thought she was lost. She fought the darkness, willing herself to rise above it and somehow, blessedly, she was borne up. Twice more it happened but each time she surfaced. Her eyelids fluttered open but all she could see was a silvery blur. Suddenly there were other voices, male this time, but, again, she couldn’t make out individual words only a ripple of sound. It swelled and faded again. The chanting intensified and reached a crescendo and many voices roared the names of Gmot and Ran and Eir. Thrice they roared. The din seared her brain. Then it ceased abruptly. She thought that someone called her name: the woman, but the voice sounded distant. It spoke again, clearer this time.

‘Lara, you must return. It is time.’

Her eyelids flickered again. She tried to peer through the blur but it refused to clear and the effort made her headache worse and she groaned once more.

‘She wakens.’

‘The gods have heard our prayers.’

‘All praise and thanks to the gods.’

Many voices called out the name of Eir once more, this time in exultation. Strong arms lifted her effortlessly from the cold sea. Someone placed a cup to her lips and bade her drink. The liquid was warm and it had a slightly bitter taste. After that she was borne away and then the darkness was replaced by a pool of mellow light. She had a sense of a sodden garment falling away to be replaced by something soft and warm. It felt good, safe. She knew now that she would not drown.

‘Lara?’

It was a voice she had heard before. She thought she ought to know it. Gradually as the blur cleared she could make out a man’s face bending over her.

‘Lara, my love.’

She tried to speak but all that came out was a dry croak. Very gently a hand lifted her head a little and another placed a cup to her lips. She drank a little water. It tasted sweet and good so she drank some more, eagerly this time, but he removed the cup.

‘Not too much all at once.’

She lay back against the pillow gratefully. ‘My head hurts.’

‘That’s not surprising. It took a heavy blow.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’

He smiled at her. ‘Never mind. It doesn’t matter. It’s just good to have you back again.’

She regarded him curiously. ‘You...you look familiar somehow but I can’t recall your name.’

For a fleeting moment the smile faded and she saw a different emotion flicker across his face but before she could identify it, it had gone.

‘It’s Finn, sweetheart.’

‘Finn?’

‘Don’t worry about it now. It’ll come back to you later. All you have to do is rest.’

Rest sounded very attractive so she shut her eyes and let the comfortable warmth take her.

* * *

Finn looked down at the sleeping figure, his heart full. He had her back. After five days of fear and dread he had her back. The gods had been merciful and answered their supplications. They had restored Lara from the dark limbo where she had drifted between the world of the living and the land of the dead. Now the healing process could truly begin. At first it dismayed him that she should not know his name but then he reflected that it was not uncommon for a blow on the head to cause confusion. It would clear soon enough. He must be patient.

In the meantime he would bathe and shave and change his garments. Then he would have a servant bring him some food. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten or what it was. After that he must speak with his shield brothers. He had neglected them of late although their care for him was undiminished. The spae-wife, Gyrda, had been sent off with a purse full of silver in recognition of her services. It was the least he could do.

Summoning a servant to sit with Lara in his absence, Finn took himself off to the bathhouse feeling better than he had for a week.

* * *

It was light when Lara woke again. Her head still ached but not as badly as before. As her vision cleared she could make out details of the room: wooden rafters and walls, a red curtain across the entrance. The room seemed vaguely familiar. Nearby a man lay sleeping on a straw palliasse. He was the man she had seen before: Finn. In the corner behind him was a pile of war gear. She stared at it and frowned. It was significant somehow but she didn’t know why. Closing her eyes again she tried to remember and couldn’t.

Lifting a hand to check her head she was surprised to feel the lump beneath her fingers and then a hard crust of dried blood. Exploring a little further she found more of it in her hair.
A result of the blow he had mentioned? Possibly.
She glanced at her hand and arm and her frown deepened.
That’s odd.
They didn’t look different but the skin felt drier than usual. It smelled slightly salty. Her hair felt sticky and it too smelled faintly of brine. When she ran her fingers through it they found tangles. She grimaced, wondering how that had happened.

Before any answer presented itself the sleeping figure stirred. Then he opened his eyes. Seeing that she was awake he smiled.

‘How are you feeling today?’

‘A little better, I think.’

‘Good. Would you like some water?’

When she nodded he got up and crossed the room. Lara blinked. For a start he was physically impressive and second he was stark naked save for a bandage around one arm and another around his chest. All this was significant too, and required analysis.
Better start with the bandages.

‘You’re hurt.’

‘Not really. Scratches only.’

‘How did you get them?’

‘In a fight.’

‘Oh.’

She watched him pour water into a horn cup. Having done it, he perched himself on the edge of the bed and carefully lifted her head a little so that she could drink. Now that he was closer she was aware of his warmth and the pleasant musky scent of his skin. It stirred something at the back of her mind but the memory refused to surface.