Foretold Page 3

  Dara contemplated where she would put the man while he recovered. “Perhaps the shed would work,” she murmured as she walked to the shelter.

  She inspected the rough interior of the pitched hut, and sputtered when small pieces of thatched roof fell upon her head. After the debris stopped falling, she peered up, through the gaping hole in the roof, and watched gray billowy clouds slowly pass by.

  With the roof in disrepair because of the storm of the night before, and the animals skittish, she changed her mind about the shelter. She didn’t want him to die in the cold or be stomped to death. So, the only other place was her small hut.

  She strode from the shelter to her hut, opened the door, and quickly scanned the interior, searching for where she could place him while he recovered. On one side of the room was the table with her book still open. She instantly decided against placing him on the table because of his height. The only place reasonable would be in her bed on the other side of the room. The low wooden pallet would keep his body off the ground. She spread the straw mattress smooth, and covered it with linen. Satisfied with the arrangement, she walked back outside to her patient.

  Upon reaching the cart, Dara found the man half awake, rolling his head side to side.

  Ignoring the groaning sounds he made, Dara strained with his semi-conscious body while she moved him from the cart, his right arm slung over her shoulder as she attempted to help him walk. He stumbled, and together they both fell inside. She moved from under his arm and hissed. Dara had landed on her hip. She rubbed the area until the throbbing ceased, then leaned over, tapping his bearded face once more, and roused him, finally maneuvering him onto the bed. She turned him onto his back, where he instantly closed his eyes.

  Gazing at his upper body as her breathing came back to normal, she noticed the linen bandage was wet with fresh blood.

  “Luckily for you, that you’re unconscious again,” she whispered while removing the bandages.

  Peeling back some of the torn tissue, Dara spied some wooden shards buried deep within the wound. Quickly she grabbed her sewing basket. Using a long bone needle, she carefully dug through the swollen flesh. After gently removing the wooden bits, she cleansed the wound with fresh water. Finally, she stitched up the gash in his shoulder, placing a small amount of moonwort and lanolin along the edges to keep the area safe from infection. Carefully, she re-bandaged the shoulder with clean linen and placed another blanket over him.

  She moved the hemp stool next to the bed and rested for a few minutes, her body aching, in complete exhaustion, begging to fall asleep. She placed her head against her arms on the edge of the bed.

  The mattress shook slightly. Looking up through half dazed eyes, she watched him shivering. She placed her hand on his forehead, noting he was feverish. Removing the cover, she hesitantly glided her hand lower on his body for the cause of the chill. Finding his leggings still damp, Dara decided that the rest of his clothing must come off.

  Carefully, she slipped his wet leggings off. A rush of heat filled her cheeks as she tried to avert her eyes from his bare groin. She removed the last of his wet clothes and tossed them to the ground and then replaced the blanket, watching his body calm itself.

  “Should I tie him up?” she wondered as she settled on the edge of her stool. She reflected that to help a Viking raider was punishable by death after they’d previously ravaged the village of Linn Duachaill. The people the Vikings captured, including her friend Colleen ... what became of them? Although she still did not know from whence he came, and could not prove he was a Norseman, she wanted answers though feared she already knew.

  From where she sat, Dara gazed at the man lying there, his chest rising and falling with every breath. She noted that while he slept, his upper face was relaxed, almost gentle, giving her the impression of a different man.

  Cocking her head to one side, she squinted to get a different perspective on his looks. “Maybe with a few adjustments to his appearance,” she commented quietly to herself.

  She removed the thin belt from her waist, tied his wrists together, and went to get her shears.

  Chapter 5

  Dara finished hitching Sinséar to the wooden cart, walked inside and set the four clay jars of fresh honey into the empty basket.

  Still nervous about leaving, Dara strayed back to take one last look at the sleeping man in the bed.

  He appeared to be recovering. His fever had gone down, but he remained unconscious. The deep gash in his left shoulder would eventually leave a scar as it healed. Unfortunately, she had run out of the moonwort, and a few other items. Therefore, she had decided to proceed to the marketplace after she gathered her herbs.

  Picking up the basket, she walked outside, closing the door quietly behind her, then placed the basket into the cart. She grabbed Sinséar’s lead rope and headed toward the village, telling herself that she’d be gone for just a short time.

  Dara smiled feeling the warm, early morning rays of sunshine that filtered through the trees caress her skin. During the past three days, she’d remained inside her home, caring for the injured man, while the late autumn weather had cleared. The dry ground made her five-mile journey to Droicheada for market day that much easier to walk.

  Dara stopped near the hillside and left Sinséar to graze while she collected the last remaining moonwort before frost set in. She roamed about, removing the leaves from the stalk and placing them in the basket. Later she’d chop and mix the leaves into the healing salve. The repetitive task kept her hands busy, freeing her mind, which wandered back to the blonde man sleeping in her bed.

  He had mumbled and shouted throughout his sleep, although she still was unable to understand what he was saying. She was concerned about the way he thrashed around while he slept, like he was battling for his life. He would settle into peaceful slumber for short periods, leaving her a brief time to nap, only to relive the nightmare again.

  After gathering all the leaves she could, Dara put the basket back into the cart, grabbed the pony’s lead rope and continued her journey.

  As she entered the village, Dara spotted a man’s body as it swung in the breeze above the market square. She moved closer, then stopped her cart. She thought it looked like the stout man she’d found dead on the beach. A crow landed upon the shoulder of the body, looked at her and let out a shrill. The hair on the back of her neck shot straight out. She shivered then turned away.

  She walked over to the market area, browsing the merchant carts for the items she needed, although her eyes kept coming back to the body in the square.

  “What happened to that man over there?” Dara inquired of the gray-haired woman who sold linens from a cart.

  “He is,” the old woman spoke with a raspy voice, “or was, I should say, one of those nasty Norse raiders who washed up on our shore the days after the storm.”

  Dara gazed at the gaps where the woman was missing teeth while the crone spoke. Lines etched deeply into the woman’s face, the years leaving their marks.

  “How do you know he was a Norseman?”

  “Just look at him! That long hair and beard of his, and the wolf emblem he wore on his chest, there can be no mistaking that one for anything less than a Norseman!”

  The memory of the beach encounter, with the man who remained unconscious in her bed, filled Dara’s mind. “He can’t be one of them,” she whispered to herself.

  “Being a Norseman, the good people of the village brought him back here to stand for the crimes of all the barbarians who have raided our lands in the past.”

  Astonished, Dara leaned closer and asked, “He had a trial?”

  “He is a Norseman, that is all that matters; killers, thieves, all of them!” the raspy voice shouted while she shook a wrinkled finger at the body.

  Dara’s vision followed the haggard woman’s finger as it pointed back towards the square. The body had turned in the breeze. She recognized the clothing and the size of the man, yet something had changed his appearance.


  “Stoned him,” the woman declared to Dara, while the woman sold more linens and trinkets to other buyers in the market. “The good men of our village brought him to the square and strung up what remains of the heathen for the birds to pick at its rotting flesh.

  “Horrid thing to look at, but they would have taken over the village and possibly raped, and killed us, if not for the storm. So the long-tailed star saved us by telling us to watch for changes.”

  Dara observed the woman barter with the other market buyers. ‘The star,’ she had said.

  She remembered the night she had seen the star. Could it have been a sign, an omen? Dara knew the one person who could answer her questions was lying in her bed.

  Dara bartered the old woman down to two jars of honey for the items she wanted.

  “Thank you,” Dara said. She turned away from the old woman and walked hastily to her cart with three bundles of natural linens and some rough sackcloth filled with herbs.

  Her thoughts kept her agitated. If someone from the village found out about the man lying in her hut, and convinced others that the man was Norse, then he too, would be taken and killed. His body would swing, while birds picked at it, like the one in the square. She would be declared a traitor and swing beside him, a reminder to those who might be tempted to give aid to any Norse at all.

  She pulled Sinséar’s lead rope and felt a chill prickle her skin as she glanced back once more at the dead body.

  Walking home, Dara’s thoughts returned to that night. She had felt uneasiness along the riverbank. Were the spirits warning her about this man while she was at the river’s edge? Was the brilliant star foretelling the villagers of another attack by the Norsemen as the old woman declared? If he is a Norseman, would he take her prisoner, even after she treated his wound and kept him safe?

  Others had seen the star and had assumed it as an unlucky omen. Why didn’t she have the same feeling of trepidation that she had the first night? The star had passed and left no clue of what was to come, good or bad.

  How was she going to face the man in her home again? Sleeping, he was harmless, and although he was injured and did not hurt her when they first met, how could she be sure he wouldn’t when he was healed?

  So many questions filled Dara’s mind as she lead Sinséar toward home.

  Chapter 6

  I must be dead, Lothar determined in his mind, although he didn’t recall the actual pain of dying in battle. He remained motionless, wondering whether one Odin’s nine maidens would judge him worthy to journey to Valhalla.

  An acrid smell made his nose twitch as he inhaled. Hearing a female voice hum close by, he slowly opened his eyes. Attempting to focus on the lilting voice, Lothar turned his head to the side and groaned, regretting the small movement.

  Gradually his sight cleared.

  He gazed at the small cook pit of coals illuminating the center of the room. He spotted an open door beyond the pit, and light coming from a side window with its covering pulled back. He noted the cross breeze kept the room from being smoke filled.

  Rotating his shoulders slowly to gauge the pain, Lothar immediately realized he couldn’t separate his wrists. He turned his head, raised his arms, and looked at the strip of leather binding them together. He twisted and pulled his hands against the strap, causing the blanket covering him to shift and fall to the floor. He shivered as cool air rippled across his body.

  Silence.

  Lothar turned his head to find a woman staring at him. Her shape outlined in the firelight against the darker shadows of the wall.

  He ceased struggling when she glided towards him with a wooden goblet. Her dark auburn tresses danced in waves that cascaded along the linen dress, accentuated her curves.

  “Valkyrie,” he whispered to himself. One of Odin’s maidens chose him worthy, as a warrior. She would free him of his earthly bonds, and escort him to Valhalla.

  He watched her set the goblet on the floor next to the pallet. He flinched when she bent closer to him, then relaxed his shoulders, and noticed the ache subsided when her warm hand gently caressed his forehead.

  Her eyes were light green with little golden flecks, reminding him of the grassy meadows filled with yellow wildflowers near his home.

  A sudden rush of heat spread through him, his arousal grew between his legs, and he realized that he was not dead, but very much alive! He wiggled his hips, attempting to hide his erection, but the movement teased his body against the material covering him, and he resolved not to move at all.

  “Where am I, Valkyrie?” Lothar spoke hoarsely through cracked lips.

  “My name is Dara, and you are in my home, on the island of Hibernia.” She checked that the leather still bound his wrists.

  Lothar enjoyed the velvety-soft tone of her voice. He rubbed his cheek absentmindedly with the back of his hand while he tried to remember how he arrived there. He felt a strange prickly sensation against his skin. Alarmed when he detected stubble instead of the full beard and mustache, he bellowed, “What have you done to me?”

  She stood and crossed her arms. “I found you after the storm,” she calmly stated. “As for your facial hair, I removed it to save your life.”

  “My beard could not have killed me,” he said.

  “I have been shaving you,” Dara continued unperturbed by his rolling eyes, “and trimmed your hair slightly after I brought you here five days ago. I also removed your wet garments, so as not to leave any trace that you may be a Norse raider.”

  He glanced at the loincloth. “Tell me why I am wearing this garment.”

  “To save your life.”

  “My death is no concern of yours.”

  He watched her nervous hands play with the leather belt while she paced the floor.

  “You could have killed me on the beach, but you didn’t; I simply returned the favor.”

  He glowered at her as he self-consciously placed a hand over the side of his mouth, where he knew there was a small mole near the corner that had been hidden by his beard.

  He sat up and surveyed the room for something to show his reflection. He bent down, picked up the wooden goblet, and glanced at himself in the liquid.

  Detecting a difference in his complexion, Lothar noticed his upper face retained some of the sun-bronze left over from the summer spent out in the weather. But it too had started to fade. He grimaced as he noted the lower half still pale from his former beard. He thought he glimpsed her smile when he set the goblet back down.

  “I am Lothar Truelsen, and I want to know who your chieftain is!”

  “There is no chieftain here.”

  “I will speak with the leader of your clan.”

  “I belong to no clan.”

  “The ruler in your village, then.”

  “I live in the forest.”

  “I demand to know who I talk to about terms for my release,” Lothar growled out.

  “Me!” she finally yelled back.

  “I thought women on this island were bound by the laws of men.” He knew women from his homeland were independent from men, and understood that other countries didn’t follow this custom.

  “I am known by some to be a sorceress.”

  Noticing a tear trickle down her cheek, he felt foolish about what he had been demanding of her. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Tell me your terms for my release.”

  “When you can walk.” She sniffed. “The faster you leave, the less danger I’ll be in.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll find you something to wear for now until you are able to leave.”

  “My clothing...” Lothar reached down and touched the end of the loincloth fully aware of what remained awake underneath.

  “Your leggings were wet; I had to remove them before the dampness killed you.”

  He yawned. “Tell me again where you found me.” With his wrists bound together, he reached down, and grasped the blanket; draping it over his legs, before reclining on the pallet.

  DARA STIRRED T
HE COALS in the fire pit as she told him of their first meeting and the other man on the beach. After she finished, she turned and found him asleep with his shoulders hunched. Sighing, Dara removed the leather strip from his wrists and pulled the blanket over him. She watched his body shift and fall into a comfortable slumber. Grabbing the goblet, she moved to the table, poured some mead and took a swig. She sat on the stool and watched him sleep while considering her motives for helping him.

  “My death is no concern of yours,” he had said. The statement stunned her. What would it mean to her if he died? She couldn’t decide whether the type of danger she would experience was from the local villagers, or something of a more personal nature.

  She wasn’t sure which scared her more.

  Dara didn’t want to think about it, but the question would not leave her. She had to get her mind off of the probing questions, while needing to do something with her hands.

  Since Lothar was asleep, she walked toward her sewing basket, grabbed the bolt of newly purchased linen, then tiptoed over to him and spread the cloth across his chest.

  Dara let out a soft whistle that seemed to stir him. She scrambled back to her stool and set herself to cutting the material. She reprimanded herself for taking such a chance on waking the man when he needed to rest to recover.

  Dara found her bone needle and some thread and started to stitch up a long-sleeved shirt. The pulling of thread through the cloth would keep her mind busy.

  “Ow!” she muttered as the sharp point of the bone needle pricked her. She looked at her finger, noticing a bead of blood appear. She dropped the sewing project onto her lap, and sucked her injured digit, glowering at the sleeping man. If she hadn’t known any better, she was sure she had heard him snicker.

  She removed the finger from her mouth. The pain was gone and the blood stopped pooling. Frustrated, Dara stood, placed the material into her basket, and began pacing back and forth. Finally picking up her gardening basket, she headed outside and closed the door behind her.