Foretold Read online

  Chapter 7

  Lothar let out the breath he was desperately trying to hold back. Carefully peeking at Dara, watching her move about the room, he wondered why this woman had not exposed his whereabouts to others. He pretended to slumber while she explained their meeting on the beach. He remembered red hair billowing against the blue sky, a green robe flowing along the sand, and creamy white skin underneath it.

  She spoke of a dark-haired man Lothar knew to be his friend Aric, whose soul had been taken to Valhalla before she even arrived. She told him of the battered remains of Aric’s body in the village. His shoulders tensed while he clenched his tied hands into fists, wanting revenge against the villagers. He remained quiet, choosing to let her say her peace, and to his surprise, she unbound his hands.

  Frey the fertility god must have been testing him when she had placed her arms around his chest. The light pressure of her breasts against him had almost been his undoing. The woman smelled of fresh lavender and heather. The warmth of her hands, as they pulled the material across his chest, made him want to groan aloud. He almost did when she whistled.

  He thought about their conversation. No other man around to call as an authority over her meant she was not married. She was in charge of her own life. Not unlike many of the women of his own land of the North. They, too, were capable of handling their own affairs when there was no man around either because the men went a ‘Viking’ or because the women had no more use for them and divorced them outright.

  He’d noticed the sadness in her eyes when she mentioned that others said she was a sorceress. Were people here afraid of her? Did they really believe she could do magic? He knew the elder women like Magda and Selvina could predict things. He remembered what they had told him before he left on his voyage.

  I will find what my heart truly seeks in a new land, he thought, repeating their words in his mind. But where in this obscure land would he discover what his heart wanted? Thor help him; Loki must be taking him on a wild journey.

  After hearing her leave the hut, Lothar slowly climbed out of bed, wincing when he moved his left shoulder to wrap the blanket around his waist.

  “Odin be praised,” he breathed, gazing at the bandaged wound, grateful that it did not bleed as he moved his shoulder in a small circle to stretch the muscle.

  He approached the window and glanced out, watching Dara pull plants from a nearby garden. He smirked, observing her yanking them out with more force than was necessary. He bent over as sudden pressure hit his lower abdomen, then shuffled back to the bed and sat.

  “Valkyrie,” Lothar yelled to get her attention.

  Dara opened the cabin door and stepped inside with a basket.

  “Valkyrie, I need to go outside.”

  “But you’re not well.”

  “I cannot stay here much longer. I need some clothes.

  “I haven’t finished them yet.”

  “If I don’t go soon, I feel like I’ll burst.” He clamped his legs together.

  “Oh, for that you can use the pot there.”

  “I am a full-grown man, and will go outside. Now, unless you want to watch, I suggest you turn your head.” Lothar stood, and pulling the blanket over his hips, he side-stepped past her and headed out the door.

  CAPTIVATED, SHE REMAINED still, watching his broad bandaged chest muscles flex as his hands held the blanket together over his hips. Dara’s face flushed. She bit her lower lip hard, gazing at him as he passed by her on his way out. She’d already seen his manly parts, before, while she completed a loincloth and even put it on him. Now her body betrayed her, making her feel like a virgin on her wedding day.

  And Goddess Danu knew she wasn’t.

  Her thoughts rapidly turned to Vaughn; she turned and kicked the door closed. Smarting, she hobbled over to the table and placed the basket on it. She eased on to the stool, rubbing her foot as the memory churned in her mind.

  Three years prior, there had been a man who she’d thought she was in love with. Vaughn told her he loved her, and they’d made love after several meetings in the forest. She’d been out walking, hoping for a chance to see him again, when she overheard him say, “Park and Serle, I spent one night pricking her, now pay up.”

  She refused Vaughn after that. Soon, her father found out about the affair: that Vaughn had used her, attempting to gain her father’s favor. Her father accused her of disgracing the family and immediately forced her from his home. Her friend, Colleen, had found her sitting by the river’s edge. Colleen brought her to this hut and introduced her to the Sisters of the Stone Circle. Later, she learned that Vaughn had died. Rumors spread through the village, giving her the aura of magic and scaring off other men. Then last year, when Colleen was visiting her family in Linn Duachaill, Norsemen raided that nearby settlement. News of the captured prisoners, with Colleen among them, traveled quickly. In Colleen’s absence, Dara was chosen to be Priestess.

  HER FOOT STOPPED THROBBING, so she set it down. But now her head ached. Dara closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her fingers, considering her options. She knew this man was different. While she provided a place for him to recuperate, hidden from the villagers, she feared she’d need to protect her own heart as well.

  Dara jumped and opened her eyes when the door suddenly opened, and Lothar paraded inside.

  “Ah, that’s better. Now let’s discuss our evening meal.” He rubbed his hands together.

  Dara noticed the blanket wrapped firmly around his waist. Shaking her mind clear, she stood and rummaged through the basket. “Turnip, carrot and onions stew,” she replied holding out the vegetables.

  “I want some meat to go with it.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  Lothar pointed out the window. “Those furry things out there looked tasty.”

  “You leave my sheep alone!”

  “Not those. The rabbits. I saw several of them scatter when I neared the bushes.”

  “Those you can eat, if you can catch them. They’ve been in and out of my garden so many times that it’s been hard to grow a decent crop this year.”

  “I’ll need a few things. Some rope, a vegetable,” he said, grabbing one of the carrots, “and a knife.”

  Dara froze for a moment her eyes wide and her fingertips chilled. Was he testing her, seeing if she would trust him? She took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. Realizing he would eventually need the knife, she turned and brought out the short iron blade with a sharpened steel edge. With hand trembling, she handed it over, wooden handle first.

  She felt his hand gently cradling hers, warming it. He tilted her chin up with his other hand, and said softly, “Courage Valkyrie, I would never use it on you. So is my word, so is my bond.” Her chin cooled when his hand dropped, and he turned to leave, saying, “Have the fire ready when I get back.”

  Flustered, Dara said quickly, “I have some other things I think you’ll want before you go outside.”

  “I’m hungry, they can wait.”

  “I think you’ll change your mind.” She crossed over to the chest at the end of the pallet, opened the lid, brought out his cleaned leggings and leather boots, and handed them to him.

  “Odin bless you.” He took them, walked over to the bed and put them on, then strode out with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Within the hour he had a skinned rabbit waiting to be cooked on the fire she’d prepared.

  The meal of roasted rabbit with braised carrots and onions, along with a goblet of honey mead, was a delightful change from the stew she’d so often eaten. She was grateful for the repast. She noticed that the knife was not returned to her, neither was the rope. She hoped the rope would not be used to trap her as he did so skillfully to the unsuspecting rabbit.

  After dinner, she returned to sewing his shirt, determined to have it finished so he didn’t have to keep wearing the blanket. Viewing his chest, as she had all night, was creating unnerving images in her mind, and she needed to focus on the fact that he had to go back to his own peo
ple.

  She finished the last few stitches remaining on the shirt when the firelight coals faded into ash.

  Lothar placed it over his head. The material flowed into position.

  “Thank you, Dara.”

  His rich voice sent shockwaves through her. She looked up at him, startled; he had called her Dara for the first time that night.

  To ease her thoughts, she surveyed her handy work as he rotated for her to judge the fit.

  The looseness of the shirt allowed for movement although the length of the arms were short. She hadn’t remembered to measure them while he slept, and the sleeves ended half way down his forearms. She gently brushed his forearms with her fingers. “I’ll make the next one a little longer.” She yawned.

  “Tired, Valkyrie?” he asked.

  She nodded as another yawn prevented her from answering.

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “Over there.” She pointed to the hemp stool. “You’ve been sleeping on my pallet.”

  “Then tonight I return it to you.”

  “I cannot; you are not yet fully healed,” Dara objected.

  “I insist. I have slept on the ground for many nights, another night will not hurt me in the least.”

  Her body, not willing to protest, longed to finally stretch out, in the comfort of her own bed. “Step outside, so that I may undress.”

  HE TURNED, CLOSED HIS eyes, leaving her the privacy that she’d requested. His arms remembered the silky touch of her fingers on his skin. He craned his neck side-to-side trying to focus on something besides the woman in some state of undress. He took a deep cleansing breath and let it out, which did nothing to cool his emotions.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, not waiting for an answer.

  The refreshing cool night air helped. He thought about the storm that had brought him here. That night was only a week ago, yet seemed much further in the past. Glimpses of what happened, during and after the storm, passed through his memory. He knew he would have to return home to tell the families of those on board who had gone to Valhalla. His own family would not worry as much; his father was the Chieftain of Oseberg, and his younger brother, Ulin, would not miss him at all. He had no wife back home, so no one would cry if he had been killed as well.

  It was a sobering thought as he knocked on the hut door softly. There was no answer.

  Lothar opened the door and glanced toward the pallet. He crept over to see that she was already asleep, observing the blanket wrapped around her chest and her arms exposed to the night air. He gazed at her hair flowing down past her shoulders, the feathery eyelashes closed against the night. He let his gaze flow over her, noticing the silver manacles she wore, the delicate swirls creating an intricate pattern around each wrist.

  Leaving her to sleep, he whispered, “Good night, my Valkyrie.”

  Chapter 8

  “I need to get out of here,” Lothar said, sitting on the stool with his knees higher than his waist while Dara examined his wound.

  “Where?” Dara gently pushed and pulled at the gash with her fingers, testing the stitches for seepage.

  “I’ve been inside long enough that I feel like a youngling.” He placed his hand gently over her fingers and pulled them away from his chest. “I need an ax.”

  Dara gasped and pulled her fingers away. “What do you need that for?” She had already given him a knife and some rope; if he meant to kill her, he already had weapons.

  “I’ve noticed the pen for your sheep could use some repair.”

  “I have an ax,” she confessed and walked to the door. “I’ll get it.” Dara walked outside to her gardening tools and picked out the dull rusted blade with the split handle. Grinning to herself that he’d never be able to use it, she carried it back inside.

  Lothar laughed. “That’s no ax.” He slapped his knee and then stood. He walked over and took the tool from of her hands. “It’s smaller than the one I had when I reached five summers.”

  “Well, if you don’t want it...”

  “I can repair it,” Lothar said, surveying it and nodding. “First, I will need a handle.” He turned, strode over to the stool, lifted it and smashed it against the floor.

  DARA PULLED THE LAST of the weeds from her winter garden while she watched for Lothar. As she tilled the soil, Dara thought about how he’d helped with repairs around her home; spending the last two weeks chopping young alder trees, lashing them together and rebuilding the shelter for the sheep, and fixing a small ring so her pony could move around freely. He placed new reed thatch over the gaping holes in the roof of the pitched hut. Using thin branches, he created a new shelter for her beehives, while he crafted two taller stools out of thicker branches.

  Late afternoons, Lothar returned from the forest. He’d be carrying a rabbit, tied on the rope, already skinned and gutted. She was impressed with his success at catching those pesky creatures that had haunted her garden for so long. Now with fewer rabbits, she might actually be able to grow a decent crop.

  Nightly, after their meal, she examined his wound. Her face flushed every time Lothar removed his tunic, revealing an expansive chest that tapered to a firm stomach. Her hands trembled slightly last night when the underlying muscle of his shoulders flexed as she removed the stitches. She watched the muscle relax when she rubbed a little salve upon the area. She wondered if he contracted the muscle on purpose. She caught a glimpse of a smile, but he had turned his head quickly away.

  Dara shook her head from her musings. After pulling another stubborn weed, Dara wiped perspiration from her forehead, and glanced up. Lothar swaggered down the hill, returning with the hatchet in one hand and dragging three long tree trunks, lashed together, behind him. Dara stepped from the garden towards him, spotting a rip on the upper arm of his tunic, a dark stain underneath the torn linen.

  “You’re hurt,” she gasped.

  Lothar dropped the trees near the garden. “It’s nothing but a scratch,” he replied. “Do not worry, Valkyrie.”

  Dara shook her head, watched him put down the hatchet, take off the shirt, and walk to the sheep’s fresh water barrel. Quickly he dunked his head in the water, came back up and grinned at her. His eyebrows wiggled up and down while droplets fell from the scraggly facial hair he refused to shave off. Then she noticed his eyes turn serious as he looked past her, drying his head with his shirt while he came closer.

  “Well, well, what do we have here?” a voice taunted behind her. “Hey, Serle, looks like the witch has a new cock to bed her.”

  Dara whirled around. Two men came down the path. She recognized them as the men she’d overheard Vaughn talking with that night. She turned from the two interlopers as shame and humiliation fought their way to her face. Her eyes filled. She closed her eyes tight, willing tears not to spill.

  LOTHAR STEPPED IN FRONT of Dara. “It’s never a good day to call any woman a witch,” his deep voice threatened while he casually walked towards the men. “Or a man a cock, even when you think he can’t hear you.” Lothar glared down his nose at the stout man who was less than a head shorter than he. The second man, whose face was covered with pockmarks, swallowed as he stared up at Lothar.

  “The witch killed our friend Vaughn, after he pricked her good,” Serle slurred, making rutting motions with his groin. “Isn’t that right, Park?”

  Lothar rolled his eyes at the first man. “I can’t blame your friend for dying, if he gesticulated like that.” He smirked when the man ceased his demonstration, straightened his tunic, and went silent.

  “He drowned in the river,” the pock-marked man stated.

  “Of course your friend knew how to swim, before going into the water,” Lothar countered again, crossing his arms in front of his bare chest. He watched the two shrug their shoulders and grumble to one another.

  “We are here to remind the witch that her taxes to King Malachy are due next week,” Park finally announced.

  “And to get a look at her goods. Are you now prickin’ the w
itch?” Serle laughed. His beefy tongue hung out while he elbowed his thin friend.

  “Get off my land!” Dara yelled as she charged past Lothar, who grabbed her by the waist and held her away. Lothar turned his head when she screamed in Gaeilge, while she struggled against his hold. He watched the pock-marked one flinch a bit, but the stout one just pointed and laughed.

  Lothar gritted his teeth when she dug her nails into his arm, trying to free herself, but he held her firmly against his side. He clenched his hands into fists. He ached to feel the impact of his fist on Serle’s jaw.

  “I can always let her loose,” Lothar warned, and flicked his head sideways.

  The two men snorted, turned and walked back up the path.

  He released Dara when the men were a safe distance away. Dara stormed inside the hut, and slammed the door. The sound echoed through the area causing the sheep to scatter in the corral.

  Lothar ambled to the hut, and carefully opened the door. His eyes followed Dara’s movements as she paced the floor. He couldn’t understand what she grumbled; his ears still rung from her fuming, and her words were too fast for him to interpret. Hearing her furious tone and watching her pick up objects and then slam them down again, he quickly decided it was time for him to be somewhere else. He shook his head and closed the door.

  After taking a few steps away, he heard the hut door squeak open.

  “Where are you going?” she called out between sniffs.

  Lothar stopped and turned. “It is true then.”

  She strode up to face him. “What truth do you seek that has not been already told to you?” she demanded.

  “That you ...” he began softly.

  “What ... not a virgin?” Dara blurted. “Is that what you want to know? The answer they so crudely demonstrated, is no. I’m not. Are you?” She glared at him for daring to even ask.