The Viking's Witch (2 page)

He spotted a wooden platform near the fire and kicked it into the flames. It burned down in seconds. He clutched his necklace again and whispered a quick prayer. The sooner he found Orvind, the sooner he could sail for home and leave this godforsaken place.

Odaria sat huddled in the bottom of the wooden cabinet, her knees pulled close to her heaving chest. She held her breath, hoping to quiet her gasps for air. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, nearly drowning out the sounds of the men exploring the gathering hall.

She swallowed hard and winced. Her throat felt parched and raw. How many days had she gone without water? She rested her head on her knees and fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Nay, she couldn’t start crying now. She must be silent. If the men found her, she’d be done for.

After she’d fled the hillside, she had dashed into the village, hoping to steal enough food and water to last for several days. Once she had provisions, she could hide in the
cairn
and think of a way to leave the island. But her plan had fallen through.

To her horror, the invaders from the beach were swarming the small cottages and storage huts. She had crept into the gathering hall through the cookroom door and hidden in the bottom of the cupboard. Now she was trapped. A group of men had stormed into the gathering hall a few moments ago. From the sounds of their movements, they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.

She listened to the men talking and laughing as they tossed logs onto the fire and dragged benches around the table. She tried to make sense of their harsh, guttural language, but it was nothing she’d ever heard before.

Who were these strange men, and how had she summoned them here? Her powers had never allowed her to do anything like that before. The invaders had arrived at just the right time to save her from the pyre, but what did they want in return? How long would they stay? If she concentrated, could she send them back from whence they came?

She raised her wrists to her mouth and tried to bite through the thick knot binding her hands. The cord tasted like smoke and sweat. After a moment, she spat out a small piece of the heavy rope and gave up. It was no use. Brennan and Malcolm had bound her tight. She needed a sharp blade, and all the daggers were in the cookroom.

She slumped against the inside of the storage cupboard. Now that she had escaped the fire, what would be her fate? If she could elude the invaders all night, she might be able to sneak off to the
cairn
come morning. After that, she’d have to find a boat and leave the island. But where would she go? She had no friends or family to help her and—

The cabinet door flew open. She screamed as someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked her out. She crumpled onto the straw-covered floor and stared at the bearded man looming over her. He had mud-brown hair and wore a red tunic with a sword strapped to its side.

He grinned and muttered something unintelligible as he reached for her. She scrambled to her feet and bolted toward the main door, only to be chased by three other men.

A man blocked her path and tripped her, sending her sprawling to the floor. All the air was knocked out of her chest. She lay on the straw, coughing and trying to catch her breath.

Three men immediately surrounded her. One said something to the others, and they all laughed. She kicked at the man in the red tunic as he made a grab for her leg.

“Leave me be. I command you ta go back to the sea, you foul demons.”

Her protests seemed to amuse the men, and they chuckled as they knelt around her. One clasped her ankles and held her fast, while another forced her arms over her head.

She fought them, but it did no good. Even if she weren’t so weak from hunger, she’d be no match for three strong men. She turned her head as the man in the red tunic groped her breasts through her thin chemise.
This isn’t happening. I’m dreaming, and I’ll wake up in the cottage or in the cairn, anywhere but here
.

As the man lay on top of her, she closed her eyes and screamed as loud as she could.

The next thing she knew, the man’s weight was thrown off her. She opened her eyes and gasped. A blond man wearing a green tunic and matching cloak stood over her. His sword was pointed against the throat of the man clasping her wrists.

She glanced to the side and saw the man in the red tunic sitting on the floor near the fireplace. He had one hand pressed against the side of his head. Blood trickled through his fingers. All the men in the room fell silent.

The blond growled an order at the man still holding her wrists, and she was released. Before her rescuer could turn his attention to her, she rolled onto her hands and knees and crawled under the wooden table. She huddled there, shaking, while he shouted at the others. A man argued back, and she heard the smack of flesh on flesh.

Who was this man? Why had he saved her?

The man in green bent down and looked at her. As he reached out to grab her, she backed away. She kept her gaze riveted on his brown boots as he marched around the table. He yanked a bench away, then reached for her again. She yelped and scooted to the far side of the table. What did he want with her?

The man muttered a few words and retreated. Seconds later, the table tilted up onto its side. She squealed as pewter candleholders and serving bowls rolled onto the floor. The massive table rocked once, then toppled over with a crash, blocking her escape.

Trapped, she tried to dart past the man, but he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to his chest. She screamed and kicked at him, trying to free herself. He clamped his wide hand over her mouth.

“Quiet!”

She gazed into his eyes and stopped struggling. The man’s eyes were ice-blue, nearly white in color. In all her nineteen years, she had never seen anything like them.

A slight grin crept across the man’s bearded face, and he arched his left eyebrow.

All of a sudden, she realized why he was grinning. His right arm was wrapped around her ribs, and his hand rested on her buttocks. He squeezed her closer, and a burst of heat flared between them.

The urge to fight drained out of her as she stared up at him. Although this strange man now held her at his mercy, she did not fear him. If anything, he intrigued her. Her instincts told her he wasn’t like the other invaders. Something about him was different. Who was he?

She glanced behind her. The other men in the room stood rooted to their spots, watching them intently. None of them spoke, and they made no attempt to challenge the blond man. Was he their leader?

The man chuckled. “You are mine,” he said as he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.

Chapter Two

Odaria went limp and allowed the man to carry her into the cookroom. He kicked the door to the main room, shut it with his boot, then set her on her feet.

“Be still,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed her back against the door.

His hot breath tickled the side of her neck, and she looked up at him. Except for the two long braids near his ears, his honey-colored hair hung loose around his shoulders. His dark blond beard was neatly trimmed, and he had high, sculpted cheekbones.

Whoever he was, he was a giant of a man and stood more than a foot taller than her. She’d be unable to stop him if he meant to have his way with her. It would take at least five men to overpower this brute.

He removed a silver-handled dagger from the leather belt around his waist and waved it in front of her. The blade gleamed in the flickering candlelight.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and summoned what small amount of courage she had left. “Slit me throat if you will, but make haste,” she said, angling her neck toward him. “I’d sooner face an honorable death than suffer the torment and abuse of your disgusting man urges.”

To her surprise, he laughed. “You are strong.
Gut
.” He grabbed her wrists and, without a moment’s hesitation, slit the knot binding her hands.

She examined her arms as the rope fell away. Her wrists were rubbed raw, the skin torn and bleeding in spots. As she stared down, she realized that one strap of her chemise was ripped. Most of her right breast was exposed. She covered herself quickly. “Who are you?”

“I am Rothgar. A
Nordmann
.”

“A Norseman!”

Her heart skipped a beat and she clutched her chemise tight around her chest. Tales of the vicious sea raiders were legend throughout Scotland. Violent Norse savages invaded small islands and villages, robbing, raping, and destroying everything in their paths.

Everyone knew the stories of how they had plundered Lindesfarne and Ioan. They stole all the gold, silver, and other treasures from the monasteries, then slaughtered everyone in sight. But why would they come here? There was nothing of value on the isle.

“
Ja
,
Vikingr
.” Rothgar nodded.

She pressed her eyes shut and tried to think calmly. Now, more than ever, she needed to keep her wits about her and show no fear. The gathering hall was filled with Norsemen, her thin chemise did little to conceal her nakedness, and everyone else in the village was … where? Dead?

So far, Rothgar hadn’t harmed her. Did that mean he could be reasoned with? But what could she possibly offer him in exchange for her freedom?

“
Hvat ist thine namn
?”

Rothgar’s garbled question made no sense to her. “What?”

He gestured at himself. “Rothgar.” He pointed at her. “
Namn
.”

“Oh … my
name
. Odaria.”

She scanned the cookroom and spotted a large table piled high with food. Brennan must have been planning a feast to celebrate her death. There would be plenty of meat and beer in the underground storage area. Men liked to eat. The Norsemen must be hungry from their long journey. Mayhap she could offer Rothgar a meal and strike a bargain with him.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, cocking her head. “I know where to find food and drink, wood for the fire, clean water, and—”

“
Hvat ist das plass
?”

She scowled at him, trying to decipher his words. A few seconds later, she understood. “This is a cookroom. Women in the village prepare meals here. See?” She waved at the iron pots, wooden pitchers, and other cookery items stacked on the shelves around the room. “They make food.”

Rothgar rolled his eyes. “
Ja
, food.
Vat ist dat
?” He pointed to the door behind her.

“The gathering hall. The men conduct business here. There is a room upstairs for sleeping. The larder, the food and drink, is below,” she said slowly, hoping he’d understand.

He nodded and inched closer to her. She tried to move away, but she had nowhere to go. Her back was pressed against the door. Rothgar grinned and cupped her chin in his wide hand. Her heart fluttered. What was he doing? She stared into his eyes as he bowed his head. His rough beard grazed her cheek as his lips lightly brushed against hers.

Her entire body tingled, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. The room spun and seemed to grow dim. As everything faded, she had a clear vision of wrapping her arms around Rothgar’s neck and eagerly pulling him close for a kiss. Dizzy, she pitched forward. Rothgar caught her and clutched her to his chest.

“Shh,” he soothed, running his hand through her loose hair. “I will not harm you, Odaria.”

She relaxed against his broad chest, letting him support her weight. His touch was calming, and she felt safe here, leaning against Rothgar as she would rest against a thick tree. She inhaled deep. Rothgar didn’t stink of rancid sweat like the other men. He smelled clean and salty, like the sea. The scent comforted her. She could almost fall asleep where she stood.

Rothgar curled his arms around her ribs. She didn’t protest. In spite of everything, he hadn’t harmed her and he had saved her from that horrible Norseman in the red tunic.

After a few moments, her dizzy spell passed, and she gazed at him. “You are not like the others. You are different, Rothgar.”

He smiled. “
Ja
, in some ways.” He released her and moved back, his eyes focused on her bosom. He licked his lips suggestively. “Yet I am still very much a man.”

She folded her arms across her breasts and shot him a stony glare. Although Rothgar had treated her decently, she’d been taught long ago never to trust men. In time, they all revealed their lustful urges.

“Fear not, Odaria. I will not share you with the others. I wish to have you all to myself.” Rothgar chuckled and winked at her. “Now, show me this food.”

“Aye.” She had no choice but to obey Rothgar’s wishes—for now.

Rothgar ducked as he followed Odaria down the narrow stone staircase. The passageway beneath the gathering hall was barely wide enough for him to squeeze his shoulders through. The candle he carried in his left hand cast long shadows against the walls.

He paused on the third step and cocked his head, listening. He still didn’t believe that all of the villagers had been at the fire on the hillside. Why were they so easily gathered up like a herd of sheep? It seemed too convenient.

Odaria reached the bottom of the stairs and spun to face him. “Why have you stopped?”

Instinctively, he rested his right hand on the hilt of his broadsword. His twenty-seven years had taught him to always be prepared for an attack and, pretty or not, Odaria hadn’t earned his trust.

For all he knew, she could be leading him into a deadly trap. The rest of the villagers could be lurking in the darkness, waiting to slay him. He frowned and tightened his grip on his sword. The silver hilt felt cold in his sweaty palm. In these cramped quarters, he doubted he could unsheathe his weapon, let alone wield it properly.

He raised the candle as high as he could and peered into the shadowy chamber. The cool air smelled like dirt and reminded him of a grave.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drumming out any warning sounds of danger. By the gods, what had ever possessed him to come down here? It had been ages since he’d been in a battle, and since then, he’d become too easygoing and too trusting. Years ago, he never would have allowed himself to be tricked into creeping around in the darkness with a strange girl.

He glanced at Odaria. She
was
a strange girl, indeed. The moment he had touched her in the cookroom, an odd prickling sensation had spread through his body. It wasn’t the thrill of excitement or the powerful rush one experienced after a good fight. Instead, it felt as if he’d been jabbed with thousands of sharp pins. His hands had grown warm and throbbed when he’d caressed her. Odaria’s skin blazed as if she were on fire from the inside. He’d never felt anything like that before. But until today, he’d never met a girl like Odaria.

Although she was pretty, her courage impressed him most. She hadn’t cowered before him, crying and begging for mercy. She’d kept her wits about her and dealt with him as a man would. That was uncommon in a woman, but Odaria was far from common.

Her wavy raven-black hair hung past her shoulders, contrasting sharply against her creamy white skin. Her large eyes were deep green flecked with bits of gold. From what he saw of her body through that scrap of linen she wore, she was young, succulent, and curvy in all the right places. Just being near her made him—

“Rothgar?”

Odaria touched his sleeve, and he snapped back to the present moment as if he’d been in a trance.

“
Hvat
?”

“The food is this way.” Odaria bent low as she made her way down into the cellar.

He followed her, not surprised to see that she also took care to avoid striking her head. She was very tall for a woman. He estimated that she stood five and a half feet—nearly the same height as most of Karnik’s men.

Odaria placed her candleholder on a stone shelf built into the wall. “Here it is,” she said, pointing to a long banquet table.

He watched as she drew back a heavy white cloth, revealing a banquet fit for a king. The aroma of fresh-cooked meat wafted up to him, and he moved closer to the table. Even in the dim candlelight he could make out roasted lamb, duck, and boiled lobsters. Loaves of bread, plates of cheese, and bowls of boiled eggs covered the table. Barrels and kegs filled with drink were stacked nearby.

He grinned as he spotted two more covered tables a few feet away. Odaria had spoken the truth about the plentiful feast. There was enough food here to feed one hundred people. Presenting Karnik’s men with this bounty would be a good way to appease them. After all, he had spoiled their fun earlier.

He turned to Odaria. “What is—?”

The words froze on his lips as he realized the space next to him was empty. Odaria had vanished. Where did she go?

He raised his candle and spun toward the stairs, expecting to see her bolting up the steps. Odaria was not there.

A cold sweat broke out all over his body. Was this a trap after all? Were the remaining villagers using Odaria to entice him down here so they could murder him? It wouldn’t surprise him. There were many things he did not know about this odd girl. How had Odaria escaped capture at the hillside? Who tied her wrists? Where were her clothes?

He clasped the hilt of his sword and peered into the darkness. The sooner he escaped this underground tomb, the sooner he could organize Karnik’s men and set in motion his plan for finding Orvind. Then he could go home and forget all about this peculiar little Pict village.

A noise off to his right captured his attention, and he spun toward the sound. He caught a glimpse of something white moving in the far corner. He dashed across the cellar. Odaria’s candlelit chemise glowed like a ghostly beacon in the blackness.

As he approached, he heard Odaria muttering to herself. She was tugging at something in the wall. By Thor, what was she doing?

“Get back!” Odaria whirled around and hurled something at him.

He yelped as he was struck on the side of the head. Whatever Odaria threw was hard and round. It felt like a rock.

“Stay away from me.” Odaria spun around and pulled harder on whatever she was trying to pry from the wall.

He moved closer and raised the candle to get a better view. A wooden latch! Odaria was trying to escape through a hidden door. She wriggled the latch, then yanked hard. Despite her best efforts, the door did not budge.

He followed the outline of the door, then realized why Odaria couldn’t open it. It was bolted shut. Someone had fastened an iron bar across the top to prevent it from being opened.

He laughed. “You are not leaving.”

Odaria threw another stone at him. It hit him in the temple, and he saw a flash of white light.

“Stay back, loathsome sea beast!”

His temper flared, and he shoved Odaria against the door before she could hurl another rock. He grabbed her left wrist, forcing her to drop the stone. To his surprise, she cried out and crumpled forward, begging him to let go.

He held her wrist for a moment, then remembered that her skin had been rubbed away by the ropes. He released her wrist and clasped her upper arm. He didn’t squeeze hard enough to hurt her, just enough to keep her still.

“I save you from Ivor’s attentions, and this is how you repay me? By throwing rocks at my head? I could have let him—”

“Rocks? ’Tweren’t rocks I hurled. They were turnips for the stew. Now set me free.”

“
Neinn
, I will not be tricked again.” As he dragged Odaria away from the door, she kicked him in the shin.

“Unhand me, sea devil. Set me free, lest I shall—”

“You shall do nothing.” He yanked her close. “I will do as I please with you. And I may let Ivor finish what he started.”

Odaria’s eyes widened and she stopped struggling.

Satisfied with her reaction, he dragged her to the stairs. Although he had no intention of letting Ivor anywhere near her, Odaria needn’t know that. The threat alone was enough to quiet her. He had meant what he said when he’d kicked Ivor off of her. He
would
kill any man who tried to harm her again. Such vile abuse against women sickened him. He would not tolerate it from anyone.