Viking (10 page)

Reeling from the blow, Fiona moved to comply. She knew the ritual by now. She was to lie naked
on the bed and await Rolo. Once he shed his own clothing he’d fall atop her like a ravening beast. Then he’d try to put his massive organ inside her. But he would fail, just as he had failed each time he’d tried to penetrate her. She thanked God for giving her knowledge of the herbs she used to render him impotent.

As was his habit, Rolo carried a flagon of mead to his chamber each night, and each night she managed to mix certain herbs with the mead that made him unable to perform sexually. Should Rolo miss a night or two of imbibing, there would still be enough of the herbal mixture remaining in his system to keep his member limp.

Fiona grimaced with distaste as Rolo shed his tunic, baggy trousers and shoes. His body was enormous and beginning to run to fat. His chest and back were crisscrossed with battle scars, all clearly visible through a matted nest of reddish-blond hair. His full beard flowed down to his chest, and his arms and legs were thickly muscled. Despite the obvious strength of his massive body, his shaft hung limp between his legs. It was all Fiona could do to keep from laughing.

Anger, hot and volatile, boiled inside Rolo, threatening to explode into violence. This had never happened to him before. His nature was to take a woman hard and fast and keep on rutting for hours without tiring. Normally he had the staying power of ten men. When a woman left his bed she could barely walk; he’d always prided himself on his sexual stamina. It was all Fiona’s fault, he thought, his
expression thunderous. She had cast a spell upon him, rendering him incapable of functioning as a man in bed.

The thought that one slim woman could work black magic on him was infuriating. Thus he kept trying to bed her despite his failure. He desperately needed to prove to himself that no woman could steal his manhood.

“Spread your legs,” Rolo ordered as he fell atop Fiona’s slender form. “No woman is going to defeat me.”

His oppressive weight nearly suffocated Fiona. She could scarcely breathe, let alone obey. Rolo cursed and pried her legs apart with his knee. Then he flexed his hips and tried to enter her. Nothing. His member was shriveled and flaccid, unable to penetrate her dry passage. With a roar of outrage, he flung himself off of her.

“What have you done to me?” he thundered. “ ’Tis witchcraft! Olaf was right. But I will defeat you, wench. I will have you yet.” He snatched up his clothing and strode naked from the chamber.

The same scenario was repeated the next night, and all the following nights. Then Rolo tried to bed one of his female slaves and failed miserably. After that he truly began to fear Fiona and her witchcraft. When he threatened to beat her if she continued to use black magic on him, she merely smiled and said, “Do so at your own peril, Lord Rolo. It would take little effort on my part to render you impotent for life.” That horrifying thought apparently
frightened Rolo so thoroughly that he left her alone after that.

Thorne’s Homestead

Thorne was well enough now to leave his bed. Though wan and weak and thin from lack of proper nourishment, he was determined to regain his former strength. To that end he forced down huge amounts of food and began practicing with sword and battleaxe. Jousting with his friends provided an outlet for his frustration. Knowledge of the terrible thing that Fiona had done to him plagued him. No matter how hard he tried to forget her, he couldn’t banish her image from his mind.

The first night Thorne sat down to share a meal with his family and friends, Olaf encouraged him to publicly divorce Fiona. It nearly choked him to do so, but after the meal Thorne did as his father requested, loudly proclaiming his divorce in his bedchamber and then by the front door. The divorce seemed to please the entire household. Except for Thorne himself. But after what Fiona had done to him, he felt he had no choice but to divorce her. Unfortunately, divorcing her did not guarantee that he would forget her.

Thorne obsessed constantly over Fiona’s status as Rolo’s mistress. He visualized her naked beneath Rolo’s hulking form, imagined her making love with Rolo as sweetly as she had with him. In the darkest part of the night he even imagined he heard her cries of ecstasy as Rolo brought her to climax.
Thorne’s life was unraveling and he didn’t know what to do about it.

His misery was complete when Bretta slyly suggested, and his father concurred, that she and Thorne should honor their original betrothal. Thorolf offered no objection, but Thorne did.

“Let Thorolf marry Bretta, Father,” he stated emphatically. “I have no wish to take a wife.” What he did not say was that losing Fiona was a festering wound still too raw to be healed simply by taking another woman. He hadn’t come to grips yet with the knowledge that Fiona had tried to kill him. He’d probably be haunted by Fiona’s memory for the rest of his life.

Bretta hid her fury well. Thorne’s rejection had hurt. She couldn’t believe Thorne hadn’t succumbed to the poison she’d given him. The man had the constitution of an ox. Nothing had worked out as she’d planned. Now Thorne had the gall to refuse to wed her. She hoped Rolo was beating Fiona regularly.

Thorne remained in the hall that night after everyone else had sought their beds. Something made him look toward the benches lining the hall. He frowned when he saw Brann staring at him with condemnation. He crooked a finger at Brann, and the old man shuffled over to join him.

“I’m curious, wizard. Tell me, why did Fiona poison me? ’Tis tearing me up inside.”

“Fiona did not poison you, lord Viking.”

“I should have known you would lie for her.”

“You must look to another for the cause of your illness.”

Thorne scowled. “There is no other. If you know something I do not, you had better tell me.”

“You would not believe me. And I have not the proof to substantiate my claim.”

“Who!” Thorne said in a low hiss. “Name the villain who wanted me dead.”

“Very well, if you insist. ’Twas Bretta. She stole a potent drug from my chest and slipped it into your ale.”

Thorne went still. Then he burst into laughter. “You speak nonsense. Bretta has no reason to kill me.”

“Does she not? Think, lord Viking. The answer will come to you. I have read the runes and consulted the stars. You will know the truth when you seek it. Good night, lord Viking. I will take my rest now.”

Thorne stared at Brann’s bent back as the old man hobbled off to his bench. Should he believe the wizard? he wondered. It was ludicrous to think Bretta had poisoned him, yet he couldn’t help recalling the night he had rebuffed Bretta’s advances and the implied threat she had left hanging between them. But would the woman go so far as to try to kill him? The answer to that question nagged at him like a bad dream. He made a silent vow to learn the truth for himself.

Brann’s sage words nagged at Thorne the following day, and the day after that. He watched Bretta closely. On the outside she seemed content with her
betrothal to Thorolf, but there were times when he caught her looking at him with a mixture of loathing and longing. Thorne decided that he’d never really known the complex woman dwelling inside the calm beauty.

Thorne’s confused thoughts had led to a single conclusion. Brann had hinted that evidence existed to substantiate Bretta’s guilt. If there was such proof, Thorne vowed to find it.

The next day Bretta walked to the village with Thorolf to inspect the new dragon ship Thorolf had commissioned to be built. Thorne was invited to go along but he declined, thinking Bretta’s absence would offer him an opportunity to do some snooping. First he sought out Brann and asked him to describe the vial that had been stolen from his chest. Then he slipped into Bretta’s chamber to search for conclusive proof of her guilt.

There were few places in which to search. The chamber was small, furnished simply with a bed of furs, two chests for clothing, a table and a long bench. Thorne searched through one chest and found nothing but women’s fripperies. The second chest held an assortment of folded tunics and little else. He was about to lower the lid on the chest and give up this wild goose chase when a bulge in the pocket of the tunic lying on top caught his attention. Without hesitation he searched the pocket and removed a vial identical to the one Brann had described to him.

Blood rushed to his head. His heart pounded. The meaning of his find made him want to shout with
joy. Fiona had not poisoned him! The refrain sang through his veins and warmed his heart.

At that moment, Olaf passed the open door of Bretta’s chamber and saw Thorne standing beside her clothes chest.

“What in Odin’s name are you doing in Bretta’s chamber?” Olaf asked from the doorway.

“Discovering something that will surprise everyone,” Thorne replied.

“I don’t understand. Are you ill again?”

“Not ill, Father. Merely wiser.” He stuck out his hand, revealing the vial in his open palm. “I found this in the pocket of Bretta’s tunic. ’Tis the vial stolen from Brann’s medicine chest. It contained the drug that paralyzed me and nearly stopped my heart. ’Twas Bretta who poisoned me, not Fiona.”

“How do you know ’tis the same vial?” Olaf charged, refusing to believe Bretta could be guilty of committing so grave a crime.

“Brann described it to me.”

“Someone other than Bretta placed it in the chest.”

“Nay. Bretta put it there herself.”

“What is going on?” Bretta demanded as she walked into her chamber, surprised to see Thorne and Olaf there.

Thorne thrust the vial under her nose. “Do you recognize this?”

Bretta blanched. She had meant to get rid of the vial but hadn’t found the opportunity to do so. “Where did you get it?”

“In your tunic pocket,” Thorne replied grimly.

Bretta licked moisture onto her suddenly dry lips. Thorne looked ready to kill. “ ’Tis medicine a healer gave me before I left home. I take it for headaches that come upon me suddenly.”

Olaf gave Thorne a smug look. “See, I knew there had to be a plausible explanation.”

Thorne popped the cork and held the vial to Bretta’s lips. “Drink, Bretta. There’s a small amount left in the vial.”

Bretta tried to turn aside but Thorne grasped her head in his big hand and held it steady. “I do not have a headache,” Bretta cried in desperation.

“Drink!” Thorne repeated harshly as he pressed the vial to her lips.

“Nay! I do not want to die!”

Olaf’s chin dropped to his chest as Thorne stared at Bretta with loathing. The proof was indisputable.

“Why, Bretta?” Olaf wanted to know.

“I wanted Thorne but he did not want me. The insult was too much for me to bear. He bedded Fiona despite my offer to share his bed. Forgive me, my lord. I was not in my right mind. I was mad with love for Thorne and wanted to make him suffer for giving me to his brother. I never meant to kill him.”

She fell to her knees, the perfect picture of humility and remorse. She knew Olaf had every right to kill her for what she’d done and she feared for her life.

“On your feet, woman!” Olaf roared. “I’m sending you back to your brother. There will be no betrothal. It pains me to think I harbored a viper in
my home. Be ready to leave within the hour. Let Rolo deal with you now.”

Olaf strode from the room. Thorne sent Bretta a hard look and followed close on Olaf’s heels. Thorne knew if he remained a moment longer in Bretta’s company he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions. He accompanied Olaf through the hall, out the door and into the sunshine, leaving all that was dark and evil inside.

“I’m going after Fiona, Father,” Thorne said. His words brought Olaf to an abrupt halt. “She did not hurt me.”

“Fiona is Rolo’s mistress now. You divorced her, remember? Everyone in the household heard you renounce her. Why would you want another man’s leavings?”

“I don’t know why,” Thorne said honestly. “ ’Tis an obsession. I am tormented when we’re apart.” He gnashed his teeth in frustration. “When I visualize her in Rolo’s bed it makes me want to kill him.”

Olaf snorted in disgust. “ ’Tis obvious you’re still bewitched. I’m standing firm on this issue, Thorne. I vow I will disown you and make Thorolf my heir if you bring Fiona back into my household. Forget her. We will find you another bride, one suitable to your station.”

Thorne went still. His father’s ultimatum both shocked and angered him. He’d always been his own man and made his own decisions.

“I once offered to relinquish my place as your heir in Thorolf’s favor and you refused to accept,”
he said. “I need neither your wealth nor your title. I have enough wealth of my own to do as I please.”

“So be it,” Olaf said in a voice that would leave most men quaking.

Chapter Ten

Rolo’s Homestead

Rolo continued to torment Fiona. Since he couldn’t bed her, he was making her life miserable by taunting her with cruel words. The taunt that hurt the most was Rolo’s claim that Thorne was dead. Fiona did not sense his death. She had probed her inner self and had been rewarded with a glimpse of him alive and well.

“What makes you think Thorne still lives?” Rolo asked after another frustrating attempt to ravish Fiona. He wanted to hurt and humiliate her as she was hurting and humiliating him. What she was doing to him was evil and he wanted to punish her. But he feared her threat to render him permanently
impotent. Vikings took great pride in their sexual prowess.

“I
know
he is not dead,” Fiona said with vehemence. “I have seen him alive and well.”

“If he is alive, why doesn’t he come for you?” Rolo challenged. “You’re his wife.”

“He blames me for his illness,” Fiona said sadly.

“ ’Tis a valid claim,” Rolo charged. “Look what you’ve done to me.” He glanced down at his flaccid manhood, then yanked down his tunic to cover his shame.

Fiona pulled down her own tunic and leapt from his bed. “We both know I had naught to do with Thorne’s illness.”

Rolo blanched beneath his beard. “You know naught!”

“I know everything.”

Rolo recoiled in fear. He’d thought himself capable of controlling Fiona’s black magic, but his formidable strength was naught compared to her dark powers. He slowly backed away from her. “If I promise not to touch you again, will you restore my manhood?”

“I will think on it,” Fiona said complacently.

Rolo pulled open the door and nearly tripped over a servant in his haste to flee. “Get out of my way!” he roared.

“Master, your sister has returned,” the servant said, trembling beneath Rolo’s fury.

“Bretta is here?” He strode through the hall to greet his sister. Curious, Fiona followed.

“Why are you not with Thorolf, your intended husband?” Rolo wanted to know.

“Thorne lives,” Bretta said by way of explanation.

Rolo’s eyes narrowed. “But I thought—”

“You thought wrong. The man has the constitution of an ox.”

“Do they know, then?”

“Aye, they know. They found the vial in my room.”

Fiona gasped in outrage. “What manner of woman are you? What did you hope to gain by killing Thorne?”

“Thorolf would have become Olaf’s heir upon Thorne’s death. I had everything to gain,” Bretta snapped. “I have been banished forever from Olaf’s home with no prospect of gaining a husband.”

“You were careless!” Rolo exploded. “ ’Tis a wonder Olaf didn’t slay you.”

“I had to plead for my life. All is lost now.” She sent Fiona a venomous look. “You’re as much to blame as Brann, witch! Would that I had been here to hear you cry and beg for mercy when my brother made you his whore. Rolo is not a gentle man, I’m told.”

Ashamed to admit he’d been emasculated by Fiona’s witchcraft, Rolo said gruffly, “Fiona has learned to submit. I am well pleased with my whore.”

Fiona gave him a startled look, opened her mouth to voice a denial, and found her lips sealed with Rolo’s large hand. The fierce look he bestowed upon her warned her that not even her threat to render
him permanently impotent would stop him from harming her if she revealed the truth to his entire household. He’d risk emasculation before he’d reveal to the world that he was half a man. At Fiona’s slight nod of compliance, her mouth was released.

“What was that all about?” Bretta wanted to know.

“I’m trying to teach Fiona respect,” Rolo claimed. “She’s not to speak unless spoken to.”

“I doubt you will succeed, brother,” Bretta jeered. “However, I don’t care what you and your whore do as long as it doesn’t interfere with my plans for finding a new husband at the
althing
next month. ’Tis my hope that you beat Fiona severely and regularly.” She turned to leave, then spun around. “By the way, Fiona, you may be interested to know that Thorne divorced you before the entire household. You are no longer his wife.” Her laughter floated behind her as she made a regal exit.

At first Fiona was shaken by the news. Then she became angry. Thorne was a fool. Obviously he didn’t know that Christian marriages were forever. Vikings might treat marriage lightly, but Christians did not. Then a terrible thought occurred to her. If Thorne no longer wanted her, what was to become of her? Where would she go? She had succeeded in making Rolo fear her powers, but what would happen when the herbs she fed him were gone? She had no idea if that particular kind of herb grew in this harsh climate, or where to find it.

Nay, she decided. She could not stay here in Rolo’s home. Somehow she must find her way back
to Man. She longed to see Brann, to be comforted by his presence. Brann had insisted that Thorne was her chosen mate and she had begun to believe it.

Because she had begun to love him.

Thorne’s Homestead

Dawn was breaking as Thorne thrust his battleaxe in his broad leather belt and sheathed Blood-drinker. His face was taut with purpose. He was going after Fiona and no one was going to stop him. He had traveled all the way to the Isle of Man for Fiona, and no man was going to take her from him. She belonged in
his
bed, not Rolo’s. It mattered not that he had divorced her before witnesses. If he couldn’t have her as his wife, he’d take her as his mistress.

Nearly all of Thorne’s warriors had volunteered to accompany him to Rolo’s homestead. Not because they believed Thorne’s cause a just one, but because they relished a good fight. Most still believed that Thorne was possessed, but the likelihood of a rousing battle overcame their reservations.

Thorne was anxious to be off. He’d been vacillating for days, until he realized he could not bear life without Fiona. He couldn’t sleep. Had no appetite for food or drink or women. Fiona’s image appeared before him constantly, plaguing him with her sweet smile and seductive gaze. Her spell had been a fatal one. The only antidote was to gorge
himself on her sweet flesh until she was purged from his soul or he died from overindulgence. His obsession for her was driving him mad.

Thorne had just shoved his knife into his leg lacing when he saw his father and Thorolf striding toward him. He straightened and waited for them to approach.

“You’re going after her, then,” Olaf said harshly.

“Aye. I cannot let Rolo have Fiona.”

“I meant it when I said I’d make your brother my heir in your stead if you deliberately defied me.”

“Aye, I know that.”

“And you’re still determined to commit this folly?”

“I have no choice. I want Fiona.”

Olaf sighed. “I had hoped you’d find the strength to break the witch’s spell, but I was mistaken. You leave me no recourse, Thorne. I am a man of my word.”

“Do not do this, Thorne,” Thorolf urged. “You are Father’s heir. The only way you can break Fiona’s spell is if we remain united against her.”

“I’m sorry, Thorolf. I cannot abandon Fiona, not for you or anyone. You are as worthy as I to become Father’s heir.”

“Is that your last word?” Olaf asked gruffly.

“Aye.”

Olaf turned his back to Thorne and spoke in a voice loud enough to command attention. “Hear me! I hereby declare before witnesses that Thorne is no longer my heir. After I am called to Valhalla, my title and wealth are to go to Thorolf, my second
born. Word will be carried to the king so that none may challenge my decision after my death.”

Then he turned back to Thorne, his face etched in sadness. “ ’Tis not that I love you less, ’tis just that I fear you are possessed.”

“I’m sorry, Thorne,” Thorolf said. “ ’Tis not my doing. For your own salvation, I cannot wish you success.”

Moments later Thorne mounted his horse and rode off. His men trotted on foot beside him. Few Norsemen rode with any degree of skill.

Not too many leagues separated Rolo’s homestead from Olaf’s. Their lands adjoined, making them natural allies. They had come to one another’s defense against invading Danes many times in the past. But none of that mattered now to Thorne, for Rolo had something he wanted.

Rolo was practicing swordplay with one of his men in the yard when he saw a small army of warriors approaching. At first he thought he was being invaded by Danes in search of plunder and new lands. He bellowed a warning, and his men scurried for their weapons. But it was too late, the enemy was already upon them. A man on horseback stepped out from the pack and raised his battleaxe in challenge.

“Rolo! Can you hear me?”

Rolo blanched. It was worse than he’d thought. “Thorne the Relentless, is that you?”

“Aye. I’ve come for that which belongs to me. Give it up peacefully or meet me on the battlefield.”

“If you’re referring to Bretta, take her.”

“ ’Tis not Bretta I want and well you know it. ’Tis Fiona I’ve come for.”

“Ah, I assume you mean my whore,” Rolo taunted. “Mayhap she prefers me for a lover. She’s a passionate little morsel. I’d hate to part with her.”

Rolo was deliberately goading Thorne. It wouldn’t do to let Thorne know how eager he was to be rid of the witch. He was convinced that once Fiona was out of his life, his manhood would be fully restored.

“Then prepare to fight for her,” Thorne said, gripping his battleaxe with purpose. “I intend to send you to Valhalla.”

“Hold!” Rolo cried. “We have been allies and friends too long to let a woman come between us. I have thralls more beautiful than she. Take Fiona. The more I know of her, the more I am convinced that she is capable of evil. She has been practicing witchcraft on me and I will not allow her to possess me as she has you. I will send her out to you.”

“I will not tolerate trickery,” Thorne warned, wary of Rolo’s easy compliance. What had Fiona done to him to make him willing to give her up?

“No trickery intended,” Rolo promised. “I am a man of my word.”

Fiona was in her small, windowless chamber at the opposite end of the house and heard nothing of the exchange between Thorne and Rolo. Nor did she have any idea that Thorne had come for her. Thus she was surprised when Rolo flung open the door to her chamber and ordered her out.

Fiona stared at him in open defiance. “What do you want?”

“Your lover has come for you,” Rolo sneered. “And welcome he is to you. Hurry, else he becomes restless and attacks.”

“Thorne is here?” Fiona asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

“I was a fool to make light of your powers,” Rolo remarked. “Thorne is a hard man, not given to fanciful notions or sentiments. Only a man possessed would want a woman as badly as he seems to want you. Fetch your cloak. ’Tis glad I am to be rid of you.”

Fiona turned back to get her cloak, then hurried after Rolo. Bretta stepped in her path, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

“Go to your lover,” Bretta sneered. “You can be nothing but his whore now. ’Tis unlikely he will marry you a second time.”

Fiona gritted her teeth and stepped around Bretta, her head held high. Thorne might think they were no longer married, but she knew better. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to make things easy for him. It had been reprehensible of him to divorce her. If he didn’t want her for his wife, then he could only want her for his whore. By the time she stepped through the door, she was seething with rage. How dare Thorne reduce her to the roll of leman!

She had to admit, however, that she was thrilled to see him restored to his former strength and vitality. She thanked God that someone had had the
intelligence to seek Brann’s help, otherwise Thorne might not be here today.

“Go, Thorne awaits you,” Rolo said, shoving her forward. “But first, remove your spell from me. Restore my manhood.”

Fiona struggled to contain her mirth. “Very well.” She waved her hand. “ ’Tis done. Wait a fortnight before taking a woman and I vow your vigor will be fully restored.”

Rolo almost collapsed with relief. If Thorne hadn’t come for Fiona, he didn’t know what he would have done with her. He was so desperate, he had even considered sending her back to Man.

“Fiona!” Thorne’s voice held a note of relief. He dismounted and strode forward to meet her.

Fiona wanted to run into his arms but refrained, still angry at him for ending their marriage. Instead, she waited for him to come to her.

Thorne practiced admirable restraint when what he longed to do was to sweep her into his arms, carry her away to a private bower and make endless love to her. “Are you unharmed?” His gaze swept over her with an intensity that made her skin tingle and burn.

“Aye. I am well.”

Thorne’s expression hardened as he searched her face. Fiona looked amazingly well for a woman who had suffered Rolo’s rough loving. He’d heard that Rolo was a cruel lover, had seen proof of it himself, and he feared Fiona carried bruises that didn’t show on the outside.

“If he mistreated you I’ll kill him,” Thorne said. “My men are eager to do battle.”

Fiona shook her head. “Do not fight on my account. Rolo willingly gave me up; ’tis enough.”

“Aye, ’tis enough,” Thorne concurred without enthusiasm. Then he surprised her by sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to his mount. He settled her astride his horse and leaped up behind her. The steed leaped forward at his command.

They didn’t speak again until Thorne called a halt for the night. They could have gone on but the men were tired, having marched that day to Rolo’s homestead without respite. Thorne dismounted and lifted his arms for Fiona. She slid into them effortlessly, but immediately pulled away.

“You appear angry,” he said, puzzled by her mood. He had rescued her, hadn’t he?

Fiona stared into his fire-and-ice eyes and felt herself being drawn into the maelstrom of his dark desire. It seemed as if every event of her life had brought her to this moment, to be held captive by her need for this man. She looked away quickly, before her anger turned into fierce desire.

“What did you expect?” she challenged. “We are no longer wed. Will you make me your leman now?”

“So Bretta told you. I should have known. I had no choice but to divorce you. I was convinced that you had tried to kill me.”