Foretold Read online

  He continued to watch her frantically grab the blanket in one hand and her bowl of porridge in the other, and scurry back to the pallet. He placed his bowl with spoon on the floor and scooted over to make room for her. She tossed the blanket onto his lap, lifted the cover and nestled next to him.

  Lothar smiled when she snuggled up to him, only to be shocked by her cold toes and legs as she placed them upon his legs, trapping him. He placed his hands upon her calves, warming her with slow strokes.

  Beads of perspiration gathered at his forehead while he watched her slowly eat her porridge, licking the spoon with slow deliberation. He swallowed hard, watching as she took another mouthful. He glided his hand farther up between her thighs, waiting for her next move.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  She pivoted out of his loose hold on her and placed her bowl on the floor beside the bed; she reclined next to him, stroking his arms and chest.

  “Mmmm...” she murmured.

  His hands roamed over the curves of her body. He turned his body to her.

  “You’re warming up,” she whispered as she wrapped her leg over his thigh.

  “I’m burning now,” he groaned in her ear. His hard shaft moved against her stomach.

  She reached under the blanket and softly caressed the velvety tip.

  He moaned deeply, noticing she bit her lower lip as she stroked his hardened shaft between her fingers. He enjoyed the way her body swayed against him.

  Wanting to increase her anticipation, his hands slowly weaved a path down her back, across her hips, to her soft feminine curls, lightly stoking the nub of her pleasure crevice with his thumb. While his fingers work their magic around the edge of her inner core, her fingers stroked him faster.

  Lothar grinned, listening to her breathing change to quick gasps for air close to her release. “I think you’re very warm and more than ready,” he said withdrawing his hand and removing hers from his shaft. He reclined and pulled her thigh over to have her straddle him.

  Nodding in response, she eased herself over him. Fiery sensations shot through her as she welcomed the full length of his staff into her body.

  He reached up, cupping her breasts. His fingers gently pinching her hardened nipples as she slowly stroked her body up and down upon his full erection. His intense pleasure built as she leaned forward and rode him faster. His hands glided down to her hips, aiding her rise and fall until he felt her body vibrate around him as she fell into desire’s oblivion. With a few more strokes, he joined her, then cradled her to his chest, stroking her hair as she relaxed upon him until his manhood withdrew, spent from their coupling.

  She nuzzled back into the crook of his arms, with her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as they lay there together in the warmth of each other’s arms.

  “Was that part of the ritual as well?” he asked as he felt her body cool, and produced tiny bumps on her arms. He groped for the blankets with his foot and pulled the material up to cover the both of them with.

  “We don’t really sacrifice virgins, but you need not worry about that anymore,” she teased.

  Chapter 22

  “I wish I could stay here all day,” Lothar whispered, nuzzling against Dara’s cheek.

  “Why don’t you” she crooned and scooted her body against his.

  “I need to find a way to save your village from being raided.” Lothar kissed her forehead and rose from bed.

  Dara sat up. “Do you think your brother would raid us just to come after you and your cuff?”

  Lothar tugged on his leggings. “I’m sure he would try, although he’s not the only one.”

  “There are others?”

  “Many Norsemen raid for profit. One of them may have been here before. You said your friend was taken from a village close by.” Lothar pulled his new tunic over his head and shook his hair free from under the collar.

  “True,” Dara nodded, then looked up. “You’re leaving so soon.”

  “As much as I’d like to stay, my body needs to rest from your exquisite attention.” He winked. “I’ll go check the snares while you finish the porridge.” He walked swiftly to the door and departed.

  DARA WRAPPED THE BLANKET around her body, slid to the edge of the pallet, and slipped her feet into her shoes, wrapping the laces around her ankle. She flipped back the blanket, instantly regretting the action with the rush of cool air against her skin. Shivering, she dashed out of bed, quickly grabbed her linen dress and slid it on over her head, smoothing down the material as it fell into place.

  She picked up the dishes from each side of the pallet and set them on the table. Grabbing the iron hook from the table, she walked to the cooking area, removed the hanging pot and set it down on the floor next to the table. Using the long wooden spoon, she scooped out the remaining porridge into the two bowls to cool and stepped back to the fire to prepare for some cleaning.

  After stirring the coals she added some kindling until it set the wood afire. She wrapped her cloak around her, grabbed the wooden water bucket and stepped outside to the rain barrel. The heavy frost crunched under her footsteps. She chipped at the thin layer of ice at the top, dunked and filled the bucket, then carried it back inside quickly, trying not to spill.

  She removed her cloak and set it on the stool. She dipped her fingers into the rainwater and flicked a few drops into the porridge pot. The water droplets didn’t sizzle away so the pot had cooled enough. She rinsed it out and placed it back over the fire. Next, she placed soiled linens into the water, and stirred it around with a long stick. She moved the pallet and went down the stairs to get another caldron for rinsing.

  Dara grabbed the cauldron and started climbing the stairs.

  “Och! What sort of brew is this?” Lothar spluttered “It’s not fit for man or beast.”

  She ran up the last few steps to find Lothar spitting on the dirt floor, and then wiping his tongue with his hand.

  She covered her mouth, biting her upper lip hard to stifle the giggle.

  She cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t call it brew,” she managed. Walking over with the iron bucket she placed it next to the pot in front of where he was standing. She leaned over and started pouring the pot’s contents into the bucket. “I call it laundry.”

  LOTHAR GAPPED AT HER, and then the pot. His face drained of color, then his stomach churned. Covering his mouth, he dashed for the door.

  “Next time ask before you go around looking for a bite to eat.”

  He ran outside to the side of the hut, bent over, vomiting the remains of his porridge breakfast over the frost-covered grass.

  When Lothar’s stomach settled, he slowly returned to the hut.

  “I set some other food out for you.” Dara said stirring the pot of laundry without looking at him.

  He glowered at her as he closed the door, and walked over to the table. He rubbed his stomach while surveying the bread and cheese set on a plate for him, noting a goblet of mead to wash the meal down and with its added benefit, to forget the incident. He slumped on the stool, and took a bite of bread in silence; glancing out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw a flicker of a crooked smile on her lips.

  He turned fully around and watching her working on the laundry, noting she was humming to herself.

  “WHAT IS CAUSING THE sheep to bleat like that?” Dara asked.

  Lothar stood, sauntered over to the window and peered out, searching for the cause of the ruckus outside. He closed his eyes, shook his head and groaned, then strode to the door and opened it after a single knock.

  “I thought you two knew better than to return.”

  Serle nudged Park’s elbow forward. “Go on,” he mumbled.

  Park glanced to Serle, turned back, stepped forward into the doorway, and then closed his eyes. “We are here to apologize for our actions and to make amends for our transgressions.” Park nodded his head as he recited.

  Lothar cocked his eyebrow and took a step back when Dara came to the door.
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  “Who sent you?” Dara asked.

  Serle stepped next to Park. “We’re here under orders, to offer our services.”

  ”When King Malachy had learned of the... the....” Park looked at Serle.

  “Misunderstanding on tax day,” Serle said nodding back at Park.

  “Interesting term.” Lothar smirked giving a sideways glance to Dara. Noting her lips pinched together, his gaze drifted down finding her hands balled into fists. “I don’t think she believes you.”

  “We were sent to guard her and do chores to work off the amount of money the mead would have brought in,” Serle explained.

  “I am here to protect her now,” Lothar stated. “You two can leave.”

  “By order of the king, if we don’t rectify what we did, we’ll be lashed,” Park said

  “Why wouldn’t King Malachy allow you to earn the money back another way?” Dara asked.

  “The King has a soft spot for you,” Serle said.

  “That does not make sense.” Lothar shook his head.

  “Lothar, I need to speak with you alone.” Dara pulled his hand.

  “It does make perfect sense, when she’s his bastard,” Park announced.

  Lothar turned then backhanded Park across the face.

  Park fell backwards.

  “Stop Lothar.” Dara pulled on his arm as he stood over Park, who was rubbing his cheek. “It’s true. I am his illegitimate daughter.”

  Scowling, Lothar stepped next to Dara. “Explain why you didn’t tell me earlier,” Lothar fumed watching Park rise to his feet then stand next to Serle.

  “Not in front of these two.” Dara crossed her arms.

  Lothar sighed, walked to the door and opened it. “Park and Serle get started cleaning out the sheep corral.”

  “But we are to guard her,” Serle objected.

  “Guard her from the outside the hut then, and learn some humility while you shovel out the sheep pen. Now get out,” Lothar ordered.

  “Princess Dara,” Park bowed.

  “My name is Dara or Priestess, never call me Princess or you’ll have to explain to the king why you were sent back.”

  “He’ll take the lash to our hides,” Serle protested.

  “Then get outside and start working before I change my mind.” Dara pointed to the corral.

  “Yes Prin ... I mean Priestess Dara,” Park corrected.

  Park and Serle followed Lothar when he stepped outside. “The shovel is there,” he pointed to the garden tools next to the hut. Lothar waited until he saw them inside the corral—Park mucking out the corral with the shovel while Serle stood nearby with a bucket—before he entered the hut and closed the door.

  “So, my Valkyrie is a princess,” Lothar teased.

  “Not you too,” Dara groaned. “Yes, the king is my father.”

  “And your mother?”

  “My mother was a healer. When I was young, she told me how she saved my father’s life after an attack by another nearby king. She stayed with him for a while.

  “I assume you were created during that time.”

  “Yes, but tensions between the neighboring King remained, so he agreed to marry the King’s daughter.”

  “Your mother wasn’t pleased.”

  “Actually she was; she never wanted to be queen. She took me with her when she left. She died of a fever after my fourteenth summer. I was sent to live with my father afterwards.”

  “Do you have any other family Dara?”

  “No. The King’s wife has yet to produce a child. I am the only child from his loins.”

  “Yet you do not live with your father.”

  “He said I disgraced him and he forced me to leave. After he found out the truth, he has wanted me to return.”

  “He charges higher taxes on you and your home.”

  “It is his way to make me come to him, ask for help to pay, then I would be in debt to him, he would never let me have my freedom after that.”

  “You should talk with him.”

  “He has sent messages.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “I never read them, instead I use them as fire starters.”

  “Family is important. You should try to be part of his life.”

  “He could have been part of my life, and especially my mother’s. But his kingdom came first, the rest, including us, were secondary. He knew where we were, yet did nothing.”

  “Are you certain?” Lothar inquired.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You mentioned she was a healer and she didn’t want to be queen, to give up her own life to be part of his. Well, perhaps she thought her role came first.” Lothar countered.

  “How dare you!” Dara shouted. Turning, her hands clasped the wooden goblet and she threw it at him. “My mother loved me and took care of me without him.” She watched him duck, and the goblet crashed against the wall behind him.

  “But without a father to guide you along with your mother, you must feel some regret, not knowing who he truly is.”

  “He’s the King. What else is there to know.”

  “That he loves his daughter.” Lothar stood in front of her.

  “That is uncalled for!” She looked up at him, with tears in her eyes.

  “I would hate it if I had a child that I could not be with, to watch grow.” He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her stiff body, holding her until she began to relax and welcome his touch again.

  “What would you do, Lothar, if you had to choose between a woman or a kingdom?”

  “I cannot answer that now as it would depend on her choices. The woman I love would have to return my love first and be willing to live with me.” He raised her hand and kissed the back of it. “But a village needs a strong leader regardless of his personal life. Your father made his choice to stop the fighting. I know my village accepted my mother when my father was chieftain. So I cannot give you an answer, Valkyrie, the demand has not been made or the choice.”

  “I feel like a fool.”

  “You are passionate and that emotion can blind you to someone who is trying to help.”

  “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  “Start small, send a message by way of the knee-bender.”

  “Abbott Sean?” Dara asked. “Why not Park or Serle? They’re just outside.”

  “True, and although they probably cannot read, I don’t trust them,” Lothar said. “The knee-bender will keep your confidence and if he brings the message to the king, then your father will know you are making considerations.”

  “And just what type of considerations might those be?”

  “Just to talk.

  “You can write a short missive to him about the season,” Lothar kissed her cheek. “I need to check on those two.” He walked outside.

  Dara watched Lothar approach the two men before she closed the door.

  She took out a quill and parchment, dipped the end of the quill into the inkwell, swirling the feather in her fingers as she tried to form an idea of how to begin. Your Highness? Your Majesty? King Malachy? How would she address him? She touched the quill tip to the parchment and wrote, Father.

  Chapter 23

  “It’s done,” Dara said as she sealed the letter with candle wax. She turned to Lothar, who was sharpening his knife on a flat stone.

  Her body warmed to his smile as he looked at her while he placed the sharpened knife in the leather sheath at his waist.

  “I will take it to the knee-bender now, while you finish eating your porridge.” He pointed to the bowls on the table.

  “You haven’t finished yours.”

  “I’m full from the cheese and bread you set out while the porridge cooled.” He rubbed his stomach, but Dara noticed the grimace on his lips.

  “Maybe Park and Serle would like it instead.”

  “You don’t have to feed them, Valkyrie.”

  “It’s a gesture; besides, I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

  Lothar walked up
to Dara and wrapped his arms around her. “You have a good heart, Dara, but your generosity will be the death of you.” He kissed the top of her head, turned, picked up the bowl of porridge and the letter. “I’ll be back soon.” He walked to the door and departed.

  Dara turned to her bowl of porridge, picked up the spoon, ate a few bites of the porridge, then set it down. Her own stomach turned in nervous knots as she thought about what she wrote in the letter. Would her father understand that she enjoyed her life as Priestess? She understood he was trying to convert his kingdom to Christianity, but would he send soldiers the next time to force her to stop her religious practices at the circle of stone? She knew she’d been lucky so far, that he kept a High Druid to appease the people. But then there was the knee-bender, Abbot Sean, who had a talent for having people change their way of thinking with a few phrases, and not be offending. Dara remembered having fish dinner and Christian prayer being said at her table. She liked the knee-bender anyway.

  Dara stood and walked to the chest at the foot of the pallet. She opened it and scanned the bottles inside for wild marjoram to settle her stomach and nerves. Opening the bottle, she carefully tore a dark dry leaf in half, closed the bottle and shut the chest. She took the thumb-sized leaf to the table and set it in the wooden mortar and ground the herb with the pestle to a fine powder. She grabbed the honey jar from the shelf, opened it and picked up the spoon from the porridge. She swirled a small amount of sticky sweetness from the jar with the wooden honey dripper onto the spoon, sprinkled the powder over the honey then swallowed the medicine. She repeated the process twice more, until all the powder was gone. She rinsed the spoon and placed it back on the table next to the porridge.

  She sat on the stool, closed her eyes and pushed her hair back from her face, then crossed her arms and laid her head down to rest on the table.

  “Where’s the Priestess?”

  Dara heard a woman’s frantic voice outside.

  She rushed to the door and opened it. She saw a woman carrying a small child in her arms and Serle pointing towards her hut.