Viking (9 page)
Thorne heard the click of the doorlatch and whirled abruptly, stunned to see Bretta leaning against the closed door. “Bretta! What in Odin’s name is the meaning of this? Does Thorolf know you’re here?”
“I care not about Thorolf,” Bretta said in a low, seductive purr. “The hall is abuzz with gossip. ’Tis said you banished your wife from your bed because you’re already displeased with her. That pleases Rolo greatly. He wants her, you know. Will you divorce her and marry me? I still want you, Thorne. You have always been my first choice.”
Bretta pressed herself against Thorne. His heat surprised her and a small groan slipped past her
lips. She was nearly as tall as he and they fit perfectly, breasts touching, loins meshing together. When she wound her arms around his neck, Thorne stared down at her impassively.
“I am married, Bretta,” he said coolly. “You are my brother’s betrothed. I would not betray him.”
“You need not betray Thorolf if you divorce Fiona. You were wed by a Christian priest. No one would blame you if you abandoned Fiona. Let me free you from the witch’s evil spell. Once you ease yourself between my thighs you will never want Fiona again.”
Her nimble fingers moved to unfasten the brooch at his shoulder but Thorne caught her hand, stopping her. “You’re a beautiful woman, Bretta. Until I met Fiona I was satisfied with my father’s choice of bride for me. Unfortunately, only Fiona can free me, and she insists she cannot remove a spell that was never cast. I may be displeased with my wife but I am not of a mind to take a mistress. And that’s all you would be to me. Go and be happy with Thorolf.”
“Never!” Bretta spat, pulling away in anger. “You have dealt me an insult I cannot forgive. Beware, for you will pay the price of betrayal.”
Head held high, Bretta whirled on her heel and left in a huff.
Thorne felt a frisson of apprehension slide down his spine, but immediately dismissed it. He feared no woman. Not even Fiona. What he feared was that which he could not understand.
* * *
The following day Bretta made a point of observing Brann. When Brann opened his medicine chest to treat a thrall’s boil, she questioned him about the use of some of the vials stored inside.
Distracted, Brann named a few and mentioned their properties without thinking as he treated the slave. After a few minutes Bretta appeared bored and walked away. But she had gained valuable knowledge. Later, when Brann was away from the hall and no one was about but a few slaves who were busy with meal preparations, Bretta opened Brann’s chest and removed a small vial the wizard had identified as a potent drug that could be deadly unless administered judiciously and with caution.
Two days later Brann was called away to the village to treat a man suffering from an ailment of the digestion. In his absence, Bretta seized the opportunity to act upon the plan she had devised.
A short time later Brann returned from the village in a dither. While he was treating the sick man, an intense premonition of danger had swept over him. He assumed the danger was to Fiona and had hurried back to warn her. He had no idea what form the danger would take but he told Fiona to practice caution. Fiona took Brann’s words to heart and touched very little on her plate at the evening meal. Nor did she drink from her cup.
Unaware of danger, Thorne quaffed deeply from his own cup, trying to drown his unquenchable need for Fiona in ale. When the flagon in front of him was empty, Bretta quickly snatched it up before a servant could be summoned to refill it. “I will
bring you another,” she said as she moved off toward the ale barrel.
Bretta’s hand began to shake. This was the moment she had waited for. If all went as planned, Thorolf would soon be Olaf’s undisputed heir.
No one saw her pour a murky liquid from a vial into the flagon and replace the vial in her pocket. Brann was so concerned about protecting Fiona that he failed to perceive the danger to Thorne. Bretta placed the brimming flagon before Thorne and left the hall. Thorne remained at the table long after everyone had left, drinking until the flagon was empty. No one was around when he tried to rise several hours later and fell flat on his face. He remained there until morning, when Olaf found him and raised up a cry loud enough to awaken the entire household.
“Thorne is dead!”
Fiona sat up, roused from a sound sleep. It took her several moments to focus, but when she did, her heart nearly left her chest. Thorne dead? Nay, it couldn’t be.
Despite his great age, Brann hurried past Fiona and knelt beside Thorne. “He still breathes,” he announced.
“What is wrong with him?” Olaf demanded to know. “He was hale enough last night.”
Brann raised Thorne’s lids and saw that his pupils were dilated. His pulse was weak and thready and his skin had a bluish tinge. He cursed himself for a fool. Last night’s danger was not to Fiona, but to Thorne, and he’d failed to sense it. “I’ll have to
examine him more thoroughly to discover what is wrong with him, Lord Olaf. Your son is in grave danger of dying. He must be treated immediately.”
“Dying!” Olaf hissed in disbelief. “ ’Tis the witch’s doing.” His eyes blazed with tormented fury. “She has cast a fatal spell upon my son.”
“Let me examine Thorne, I beg you,” Brann pleaded. “If there is a cure, I will find it.”
“Nay! Neither you nor the witch will touch my son.”
“My lord, please,” Fiona begged. “Brann can save Thorne if you but allow it.”
“Your concern is touching,” Olaf spat. “But beyond belief. You seduced my son away from his betrothed. Then you used witchcraft to bring on this mysterious illness. Did you think he would leave you a rich widow? Or is it merely your nature to perform evil deeds?”
“You think I harmed Thorne?”
“You or the wizard, ’tis the same. There is a healer in the village. Thorolf will fetch him.” He motioned to Ulm, who was standing nearby. “Lock the witch and her mentor in the storage shed,” he ordered. “I’ll deal with them later.” He bent to lift Thorne and two karls hastened to help him.
“There is no time to waste,” Fiona cried in growing panic. “Thorne will die if he isn’t treated properly. Brann and I are the only ones with the knowledge to save him. If you don’t trust me, at least allow Brann to help him.”
Olaf remained stubbornly opposed to allowing either Brann or Fiona to touch Thorne, let alone treat
him. Bretta, who had been observing the scene in smug silence, now said, “You are wise, Lord Olaf, not to let the witch near Thorne. She is evil.”
Fiona protested violently when Ulm and two cohorts dragged her and Brann from the hall. The men were not gentle. By the time she and Brann were locked inside the storage shed, both were covered with scrapes and bruises.
Fiona sank down on a sack of grain and stared at Brann in despair. “Will he die?”
“I should have seen it,” Brann said with remorse. “The danger I perceived was not to you. It never occurred to me that someone would want Thorne dead.”
“Who do you suspect? What brought on his illness?”
Brann’s eyes were bleak. “An overdose of a potent drug. A skillful healer can save him, but I fear these heathens know little about the art of healing.”
“Dear God. Who would want Thorne dead?”
“Someone who would benefit from his death.”
“But who—” Her eyes widened as a sudden thought came to her. “Oh, no. Both Bretta and Thorolf would benefit. Thorolf would become heir if Thorne died, and Bretta would be Thorolf’s wife.”
“ ’Twas Bretta,” Brann said with conviction. “And the drug she used to poison him most likely came from my chest. She must have stolen it while I was occupied elsewhere. The chest is always beneath the bench where I sleep. I should have been more vigilant.”
“ ’Tis not your fault.” She swallowed a sob at the
thought of Thorne lying near death in his chamber. “How can we save him if Olaf refuses to allow us near him?”
“We pray for a miracle, child.”
The miracle did not appear. The next morning Fiona and Brann were dragged from the shed to receive their punishment. The entire household was gathered around Olaf and Thorolf. Olaf stepped forward, his expression grim. Fiona’s heart plummeted.
“Is Thorne … is he … ?” She could not say the word. If Thorne died, so would something inside her. When had she begun to love him?
“Thorne still lives, but there is naught the healer can do for him. He lies there unmoving, unfeeling, a man about to begin his journey to Valhalla. You both will die for what you have done to him. A warrior should die with a sword in his hand. A straw death is humiliating to a man like my son.”
Brann struggled forward, his eyes dark with ominous warning. “Killing Fiona will solve nothing. She is your son’s wife.”
“She is my son’s whore.”
“Kill her and you’ll be damned forever.”
“You speak nonsense, old man!” Olaf roared.
“Fiona and Thorne belong together. Their future together was revealed to me before Fiona was born.”
Olaf laughed harshly. “You’re a lunatic as well as a purveyor of evil. Fiona must die.” He grasped her wrist and shoved her to her knees. Then he drew his sword.
“Wait!” Rolo rushed forward, placing himself between Fiona and Olaf. “What if Brann is right? What if Thorne’s life depends upon the witch’s well-being? It might not be in Thorne’s best interest to kill Fiona.”
“I cannot bear the sight of her,” Olaf said. “Because of her, my son has suffered through months of torment. He became obsessed with her from the first moment he set eyes on her.”
“Give her to me,” Rolo suggested slyly. “I desire her for my mistress. I will take her away and you will never see her again.”
“Nay!” Fiona cried, distraught. “Kill me now, for I refuse to become Rolo’s mistress. I am Thorne’s wife, not his widow. Thorne still lives, does he not?”
“He breathes but does not live,” Olaf said. “I do not recognize your Christian marriage.”
“Kill Fiona at your own peril,” Brann warned. His voice resounded ominously as he stabbed his arms into the air. To onlookers it appeared that he was imploring the gods to wreak vengeance upon the Vikings.
The threat affected Olaf just as Brann hoped it would. There was little that lived and breathed that Olaf feared, but witches and curses were things he could not fight with sword or battleaxe. He flung down his sword in disgust.
“She’s yours, Rolo, take her! If I ever set eyes on either of you again, I will kill you both.”
Rolo didn’t wait for Olaf to change his mind. He swept Fiona from her feet and tossed her over his shoulder as if she were a sack of grain. He shoved
her at Thorolf and asked him to watch her. Then he strode back to the hall for his belongings and to bid his sister good-bye.
Bretta met him at the door. “Soon you will be mistress here,” Rolo said in a hushed tone. “Thorne is as good as dead.”
“Aye, and you will have Fiona in your bed. I wish you joy of her, brother.” Then they parted.
Fiona could not believe this was happening. Thorne would die unless Brann was allowed to treat him. No punishment could be as terrible as knowing that Thorne no longer lived. She saw Thorolf staring at her and realized her only hope was to appeal to him. She began speaking to him but he ignored her. Then curiosity won out and he listened to her pleas.
“Please listen, Thorolf. If you love your brother, you must convince your father to let Brann cure Thorne. Brann is the only one besides myself who can save him. I beg you, Thorolf, do not let Thorne die. He is my husband; I would never harm him.”
That was all she was allowed to say, for a moment later Rolo returned with his bundle of clothing and dragged her away. She didn’t even have time to plead for Brann’s life. If Olaf had his way, Brann would be put to death.
Thorne hovered near death. Olaf struggled with hopeless anger at the sight of his son lying wan and helpless in his bed. Though the Viking healer from the village had given up on Thorne, Brann still claimed he could save him. Olaf entertained such fear and doubt over Brann’s and Fiona’s part in Thorne’s illness, however, that he couldn’t bring himself to let the wizard touch his son. Oddly, Olaf’s anxiety did not ease after Fiona had been taken away. He feared that sending Fiona away had been a terrible mistake.
Days passed and Thorne’s condition did not improve. Olaf and Thorolf sat in the hall after the others had sought their beds and spoke in hushed voices.
“It looks hopeless,” Olaf said, pounding his fist on the table in frustration.
“Perhaps another healer …” Thorolf suggested.
“To what purpose? He will but concur that Thorne’s condition is beyond help.”
Thorolf had agonized long and hard about speaking out. Now he could wait no longer to unburden himself to Olaf.
“Let the wizard try to heal Thorne, Father. What harm can it do? I am certain my brother will die if Brann does not treat him.”
“I cannot bear the thought of that wizard touching Thorne. How do we know Brann won’t hasten Thorne’s death?”
“We don’t know, but I’m willing to take the chance. There is naught else left for us.”
Olaf frowned as he pondered Thorolf’s words. He was still meditating when Bretta approached them.
“I could not sleep,” she said, sitting down beside Olaf.
“None of us can,” Olaf muttered. “Not with Thorne so close to entering Valhalla. I ordered his dragon ship readied for his pyre. We will send him off in a style befitting his station. ’Tis sad he won’t die a Viking death, with a sword in one hand and a battleaxe in the other. Dying a straw death upon his bed is not what Thorne would want.”
“I suggested to Father that we should allow Brann to treat Thorne,” Thorolf told Bretta.
“You jest!” Bretta cried in mock horror. “I feared mentioning it before, but I saw Brann and Fiona
conspiring together the night Thorne fell ill. And I just now recalled that I saw Brann slip Fiona a vial from his medicine chest. ’Tis obvious to me that she fed Thorne poison.”
Olaf’s face turned dark as a thundercloud. Bretta’s claim added fuel to his hatred for Fiona and Brann. “Nay, I’ll not let Brann touch my son! Do not ask it of me again, Thorolf.” He rose and stormed from the hall.
“Why didn’t you tell me what you saw before now, Bretta?” Thorolf asked curiously.
“I was frightened Fiona would do me harm if I told,” Bretta lied. “Now that she is gone, there is no longer a reason for me to remain silent.”
“Aren’t you afraid Fiona will harm your brother? Rolo didn’t seem at all worried about taking Fiona into his home or making her his mistress.”
“Rolo is resourceful. He can take care of himself. He will not allow Fiona to bewitch him as she did Thorne.”
“Go to bed, Bretta,” Thorolf growled. “I need to think.”
“About what? When Thorne dies, you will become your father’s heir. Have you never envied that which belongs to your brother?”
“Thorne is the future jarl,” Thorolf contended. “I’ve never envied his position as our father’s heir. Do not speak of Thorne as if he were already dead.”
Bretta merely shrugged. She thought she’d given Thorne enough of the drug to kill him. That he still lived was due to his immense size and strong constitution. She decided not to belabor the subject of
Thorne’s demise. Rising, she left Thorolf to his morose thoughts.
Thorolf’s mood did not improve that night. Nor did it the next day when he looked in on Thorne and found him comatose and as near to death as a man could get. He decided not to approach his father again about allowing Brann to save Thorne. He had reached a decision on his own.
That night Thorolf bided his time, waiting until the household slept before leaving the hall. He stepped into the purple shadows of night and strode through the ground mist to the storage shed where Brann languished in solitary confinement. Olaf had been too distraught to make a decision where the wizard was concerned and had kept him locked in the crude cell. Thorolf hoped the old man had been given food and water, for he truly felt Brann held the secret to saving Thorne’s life.
Thorolf unbarred the door and threw it open, seeking the wizard in the dank, dark corners of the shed. He saw Brann lying upon a sack of grain, his frail body shaking from cold. “Can you hear me, wizard?”
“Aye, I hear you, Thorolf. I’ve been waiting. It took you long enough to seek my help.”
Thorolf swallowed the fear he felt rising within him. His brother’s life was at stake; he couldn’t let superstition sway him. “How did you know I’d come?”
“ ’Tis not time for Thorne to die. Thus I knew someone would seek my help.”
“Father is against using your skills, but I cannot
allow my brother to die. Can you cure him?
Will
you cure him?”
“I can and I will,” Brann assured him. But when the old man tried to rise, Thorolf was shocked at how weak he’d grown. Obviously he had been ignored during the past few days. Thorolf moved with alacrity to help Brann to his feet.
“Are you sure you’re able to do this?” Thorolf asked worriedly. “I’ll have to sneak you into the hall and past the sleeping household.”
“I’ll survive,” Brann said tersely. “Once we’re inside the hall, find my medicine chest and bring it to Thorne’s room. I am ready, Viking. We must save Thorne for Fiona’s sake.”
Brann tottered out of the shed behind Thorolf. He stopped at the well to drink deeply, then found the strength to continue. All was quiet inside the hall. Brann went directly to Thorne’s chamber while Thorolf retrieved the medicine chest from beneath the bench where Brann normally slept.
“Bring me a flagon of hot water,” Brann said when Thorolf entered Thorne’s chamber and set the chest at the wizard’s feet. Thorolf left and returned a few minutes later with the water. “Go now. Leave me so that I may save Thorne.”
“I will stay,” Thorolf insisted.
“Nay. Go to bed. There is naught you can do here.”
Thorolf hesitated, then left the room with great reluctance. The moment the door closed behind him, Brann set to work to save his beloved Fiona’s
husband. Brann needed to cure Thorne so that he might rescue his wife from Rolo. In the meantime, Brann had no doubt that Fiona would be able to handle Rolo. Brann even managed a smile at the thought of what Fiona could do to Rolo without the man’s knowledge.
Brann checked the thready cadence of Thorne’s pulse, listened to the faint beat of his heart, and lifted his eyelids to inspect his dilated pupils. Thorne’s condition was so grave that Brann feared he might be too late to reverse the effects of the drug Thorne had been given. It was then that Brann noted the missing vial of foxglove from his medicine chest. An herbal remedy used to treat those with weak hearts, foxglove worked well if used cautiously, but an overdose could be fatal. Aware now of the kind of drug that had caused Thorne’s illness, Brann measured herbs from several jars into a cup, filled it with hot water and allowed the mixture to steep.
When he deemed the infusion ready, Brann painstakingly spooned it into Thorne’s mouth. Then he massaged Thorne’s throat to make him swallow. He repeated the procedure until Thorne had gotten down a quarter of the liquid that had been prepared. Then Brann sat back and waited. Shortly before daylight he began the ritual all over again. When he had exhausted all his considerable knowledge of healing, he pulled a bench close to the bed and prayed to the ancient Druid gods.
When Thorolf entered the chamber a short time
later, he found Brann sleeping upright on the bench and Thorne stirring restlessly in his bed. It was the first sign of life Thorne had exhibited since he had fallen ill.
Thorolf shook Brann awake. “What did you do to him, old man?”
“I treated him with the antidote of the drug he had been given,” Brann explained. “ ’Tis a powerful poison when used injudiciously.”
“Poison!” Thorolf gasped. “Bretta was right. Fiona poisoned Thorne. Will he live?”
Visions danced before Brann’s eyes and he drifted into a trance. Then darkness lifted, allowing him a glimpse of the future. “Aye, Thorne will live,” he said slowly. “His sons will become great chieftains. When their time comes they will rule the Isle of Man with wisdom and courage.”
“Speak not of the future, old man. Thorne will have no sons if he dies.”
Brann came slowly from his trance. “I have seen what I have seen. Fetch Olaf. Tell him that his son will recover.”
Thorolf hurried to get his father.
While Brann was feeding Thorne more of the antidote, Thorne opened his eyes. He tried to speak but could not. He was struggling to form the one name he wished to speak above all others when Thorolf and Olaf burst into the room. Olaf saw that Thorne’s eyes were open and caught his breath in surprise.
“When Thorolf told me he had allowed you to
treat Thorne, I feared you would kill him and I was prepared to retaliate in kind. But now, my son is awake and I am inclined to be lenient. If Thorne lives, your life will be spared.”
“Thorn will live,” Brann said with conviction. “But he has a long way to go before he is well. He needs the special care that only I can give him.”
“Why can’t he speak?” Olaf asked as he watched Thorne struggle to form words.
“His throat has been paralyzed from the effects of the powerful drug he ingested.”
“Are you saying my son was deliberately poisoned, old man?”
“Aye, that is my belief.”
Olaf’s fists clenched at his sides. “Bretta’s accusations were correct. I should have killed the witch while I had the chance. Why did you give Fiona the poison when you knew she would use it on Thorne?”
Brann sank back in helpless dejection. “You think Fiona did this?”
“I
know
she did it,” Olaf retorted. “No one else in this household had access to or knowledge of the poison. No one else had reason to want Thorne dead.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you encourage her, wizard?”
“Brann would not have offered to cure Thorne had he wanted him dead,” Thorolf claimed. “Nay, I doubt Brann is the culprit. This is strictly Fiona’s doing.”
Brann said nothing. Until he was able to prove
that Bretta had stolen the foxglove from his chest, he could not accuse her.
Olaf sent Brann a threatening look. “I demand that you restore my son to his former health. Meanwhile, you will not leave this room. If Thorne dies, you die.”
Brann turned back to his patient after Olaf and Thorolf left the chamber. He would save Thorne, but not because he’d been ordered to. Nay, he’d save Thorne because Fiona needed the Viking.
Thorne made a slow recovery. Little by little, as paralysis left his body, he regained mobility in his arms and legs. The day he spoke his first word, both Olaf and Thorolf were in his chamber with Brann.
“What happened?” His voice lacked strength and was rusty from disuse.
Relief swept through Olaf. He’d begun to think Thorne would never regain the ability to speak. “You were poisoned.”
It took a moment for Thorne to understand the ramifications of Olaf’s reply. “Who?”
“Fiona,” Olaf bit out.
Brann shook his head in vigorous denial. “Nay, do not believe it.”
“ ’Tis true,” Olaf said firmly.
For the first time in days, Thorne’s brain began to function clearly. Fear for Fiona shuddered through him. What had Olaf done to her? Knowing his father as he did, Thorne could imagine what Fiona’s punishment would be for perpetrating such a dastardly deed. Death. He shuddered again.
“What is wrong, lord Viking?” Brann asked with obvious concern. “Are you in pain?”
“Fiona. What happened? Is she … Did Father … ?”
“The wizard convinced me to spare the witch,” Olaf said sourly, “though ’twas not my intention. Fear not, son. She is gone from your life forever. Rolo has taken her for his mistress. He will deal harshly with her should she attempt to practice witchcraft on him.”
Thorne closed his eyes as the agony of loss washed over him. It hurt to think that Fiona had fed him poison, but she was the only one besides the wizard with knowledge of such things. And he doubted that Brann would have bothered to save his life if he had wanted him dead. Nay, it had to have been Fiona. Nothing else made sense. Why did the knowledge pain him so much?
“We will speak of this later,” Olaf said, sensing Thorne’s exhaustion.
“Bretta has been eager to visit you,” Thorolf said in parting. “Do you wish to see her?”
Thorne shook his head. He had no desire to see Bretta. Across time and distance Fiona’s magic spell still claimed him. He knew without the slightest doubt that her memory would continue to torment him even beyond death.
Rolo’s Homestead
Fiona knew the moment Thorne had begun to recover. She had closed her eyes and “seen” him
speaking with Brann. Joy welled up inside her. Thorne lived! Nothing else mattered. She had searched deeply within herself for the power to use her special gift and was rewarded with the vision of Thorne. She and Thorne would be together; she believed in her heart that it was so. Destiny would prevail. There were still obstacles to overcome, including Thorne himself, but in the end she and Thorne would find happiness together.
“Fiona, where are you!”
Fiona started violently. Rolo had found her. His voice held an ominous ring and she shivered in response. She supposed he was going to try to bed her again. Several days had passed since her arrival at Rolo’s homestead, and Rolo’s anger was quickly turning to rage.
Fiona touched the bag of herbs she carried in a pouch beneath her tunic and smiled. She never went anywhere without her herbs, and with good reason. Without them and her knowledge of their special properties, Rolo would have ravished her that first night.
“There you are,” Rolo said as he entered the small chamber she’d been given. “Take off your tunic and lie on the bed. I feel strong as an ox today. When I finish with you, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”
Fiona merely stared at him, which seemed to increase his anger. “Do it now!” he roared as he gave her a clout alongside her head.
