Foretold Page 7

  “Especially you.” Dara flushed.

  “Please enlighten me to what your Goddess said.”

  “The path that I choose will have enormous challenges. I am the one to choose what path I take.”

  “I understand.” Lothar hesitated as he gazed into her eyes, stroking his thumb along her hand. “I have seen us together in my mind. I desire to be with you. Should you choose to take the journey with me, I can promise to hold you in my heart, protect you with my body, and share my soul as we travel our path together.” Lothar gazed into Dara’s emerald eyes.

  “I want you to be part of my journey. Even though I know we will face challenges, my life would not be complete without you,” she breathed.

  Lothar lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers. He heard her moan with pleasure. Lothar smiled deeply while he held her close in his arms.

  “What of your people, Lothar of the North, would they welcome an outsider to their clan?”

  “My father told me about his violent younger years and how he rescued a woman from Francia. He loved her and she became his wife. He made her a promise that he would cease his raiding when I was born. He soon found profit in becoming an expert trader, and is a respected chieftain. My father loved her greatly before she journeyed to the afterlife.”

  “I want an answer.”

  “I will not say, for the people will tell you themselves.”

  “We can remain here.”

  “Where people ridicule and scorn you.”

  “There are others like Colleen.”

  “I’d like to meet her, if she truly is a friend of yours.”

  “She was captured last year by a group of Norsemen. I haven’t seen her since.”

  Lothar stiffened at the mention of Norsemen. “One of the local king’s men could have taken her.”

  “No. He would never do that.” Dara shook her head. “Colleen had traveled south to visit her relatives in Linn Duachaill; the village was raided while she was there.”

  Lothar took a deep breath and closed his eyes. People from his homeland could be responsible for taking Dara’s friend. He tried to imagine where they would have taken her, to his homeland in the north, east to the land of the Slavs, or to the newly opened markets in the south with the Caliphate. He exhaled and opened his eyes.

  “Maybe she will return one day.”

  “Perhaps,” Dara said wearily.

  “Enough for tonight.”

  Lothar held her hand while gazing at Dara. She looked up at the blanket of blue with sparkling stars above, her skin glowing in the moonlight. He stepped behind her, inhaling the scent of heather in her hair, then lightly touched her shoulders, and groaned when she molded her body against his.

  Lothar knew he must cease his actions. His body ached to be with her. His shaft strained against his leggings she was driving him mad with lust. He could take her right now, force her legs apart and relieve himself into her as a savage Viking berserker. But his heart wanted more, someone he could trust.

  He also knew he needed to return home.

  Lothar stepped around her. “I need to take a quick swim,” he said.

  “You’ll catch your death. I can see my own breath in the moonlight.”

  “I’m extremely warm now, Valkyrie,” he said huskily. “I will return.”

  Chapter 14

  Dara tugged the woolen cloak tighter around her head to protect her from the drizzling rain and keep her warm. She glanced back at Lothar lumbering behind to push the cart before the wheels stuck in the mud.

  She held Sinséar’s lead rope. The pony pulled the cart filled with the mead and five jars of honey Dara needed to pay her taxes. On her belt she carried three drawstring pouches, one of lavender, another of chamomile, and the third, rosemary, bounced against her hip. She’d brought them to trade for more linen and woolen cloth.

  Walking in the rain, Dara smiled, remembering how Lothar had surprised her earlier. When she stepped out of the hut, he was already hitching Sinséar up to the cart. She was shocked to see different shades of fur wrapped around Lothar’s shoulders over the linen shirt. She realized Lothar must have stitched together several pelts from the rabbits he caught. She had wondered what he was doing with the fur. He must have tanned the hides out in the forest to keep the smell away from the hut.

  Together, they had plodded the five miles to Droicheada in relative silence, separated by the distance of pony, cart, and rain. She was anxious about the amount of taxes to be paid.

  Entering the marketplace, Dara nervously looked around for the decomposed body from a month ago. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was gone.

  She shivered when the unpleasant image of her swinging on that tree briefly crossed her mind again.

  Dara admired the hues of the brightly adorned market stalls contrasting against the gray clouds. They were set up in the courtyard opposite of the tax collector, who roosted behind a table. A canvas awning stretched between four poles with rope, then tied to wooden stakes. It protected the three men, in front, from the rain. The taxman wrote the items collected for taxes in the ledger.

  “You go ahead and barter with the cloth makers,” Lothar offered.

  Dara gazed at him. His shoes and leggings were covered with mud, his hair slick with dripping water. “But the cart?” she hesitated.

  “I’ll watch over it.” He took the lead rope from her hand. “So is my word, so is my bond.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” Dara replied.

  “Get green cloth,” Lothar suggested.

  “Why green?” she asked.

  “It is becoming my favorite color, Valkyrie, the color of your eyes,” he crooned.

  Dara wheeled around and pulled the mantle tight over her head, to hide the heat that bloomed within. She walked across the courtyard toward the market stalls.

  “I like red, too,” he called out to her. “The color of your cheeks right now.”

  She growled when she heard his teasing voice, picked up the front of her dress and hurried away.

  “WHY DO YOU CALL THE witch ‘Valkyrie’?” a gray-haired man in front of him asked. The man carried two interwoven wood cages of chickens in his hands.

  “None of your business,” declared Lothar.

  “Keep away from her, she’s trouble,” the man continued.

  “Listen, old man. What I do is my business.”

  “Fine,” the man shrugged. “I think they want to make trouble for her.”

  “Tell me more,” commanded Lothar, suddenly interested.

  “See those two with the fat tax collector?”

  Lothar scanned ahead and grimaced at Park and Serle, the same two men who’d visited them the week prior.

  “Those two fools.” Lothar exhaled. “They are of no concern.”

  “I overheard that they’re going to make sure the witch can’t pay her taxes.”

  “They will not succeed.”

  “They sounded very determined, something about the witch and their friend’s death.”

  “I need to have a discussion with them.” Lothar untied his knife sheath from his belt.

  “Be careful,” the man warned.

  “I just want to talk with them.” Lothar shoved his knife with sheath deep into the leg of his boot.

  “They have the King’s law on their side.”

  Leaving the cart, Lothar stomped to the front of the line, crossed his arms and waited.

  “Well, if it isn’t the witch’s cock,” Serle taunted as he nudged Park.

  “I can see you two have been busy,” he retorted eyeing the heavily laden satchels at their sides.

  “This is our share of the money,” Park stuttered.

  “The king is aware of this arrangement?” Lothar taunted.

  “He’s a busy man,” the tax collector claimed.

  “So, you set up a little side business of your own,” Lothar preached loudly.

  “Get back in line,” Serle commanded. Park withdrew his sword from its sh
eath.

  Lothar raised his arms. “I’m not carrying a weapon.” He watched Park lower the sword.

  “Obstruction and insubordination to the King’s men during their duties is a crime,” the tax collector admonished.

  “When they are off duty, we’ll continue our conversation,” declared Lothar.

  “Leave now!” Serle shouted.

  Lothar paused, his hand clenched into a fist, his body ready, waiting for Serle to move a hand toward his sword. Instead, Serle raised his hand from his weapon and Park slid his sword back into its case.

  “Another time then,” vowed Lothar.

  He whirled around and strode back to Sinséar in the middle of the line. Lothar grimaced when he noticed the man with the chickens still there.

  “Where are you from?” the old man prattled again.

  “Francia,” Lothar said, thinking fast.

  “A Frank,” the man repeated loudly. “Good Francia. I thought I detected something different in your voice.”

  Lothar squirmed; he realized the old man scrutinized him.

  “Valkyrie... You called her Valkyrie. That is a Norse name, is it not?” the old man jabbered.

  Lothar stopped. “I was told a story about Valkyries being warrior maidens. Dara is a beautiful woman with a feisty spirit.”

  “Humph,” the elderly man snorted. “So long as it is just a story.”

  “Do you know of a ship heading to Francia?” Lothar inquired, changing the subject.

  “Go to the river and ask for Rolf, he’d be leaving soon. The only one I know foolish enough to do so at this time of year. Hey, what is your name anyway?”

  “Lothar.”

  “I’ll be here, if you want to leave the cart. I’m sure your Valkyrie will be back soon.”

  Lothar glanced over to the marketplace, spotting Dara bartering with a cart vendor. “I won’t be gone long.”

  He marched towards the harbor. Most of the boats were turned upside down to weather the winter. Others, on the beach, were single-person fishing coracles.

  Pungent ale assaulted Lothar’s nose and he followed the scent, finally spotting a man with his hand down the front a woman’s dress while she laughed.

  “I’m looking for Rolf,” he interrupted.

  “Shove off man, can’t you see me and her are busy.”

  “I was told Rolf had a ship leaving soon.”

  “Aren’t you leaving soon?” the woman at the man’s side cooed.

  “Quiet, you,” the man growled at her, then turned back to Lothar. “I have a ship leaving in a week.”

  “Name your price to get to Francia.”

  “Two gold coins.”

  “That’s outrageous!” Lothar scoffed.

  “It’s my ship as I remember.”

  “One gold coin,” Lothar countered.

  “Two gold coins, and in advance,” Rolf added. “With terrible storms out there at this time of year, I might not get back home to my lovely here.”

  Lothar stood while the drunken man squeezed the woman beside him. He saw the man run his tongue up the woman’s cheek, and heard her giggle. Lothar spun around and strode away in disgust.

  “Remember, in a week. I leave with or without you,” Rolf’s voice rang out. It grated on Lothar’s senses as he returned to the square.

  “Where is Sinséar?”

  Lothar pivoted when he heard Dara’s voice as she rushed towards him.

  “Sinséar, and the cart, where are they?” she asked.

  “Back in line, next to the man with the chickens.” He pointed back into the line. The elderly man and the chickens, along with the cart and Dara’s pony, were gone.

  Lothar ran to the spot where the cart had been, and searched for the cart and pony’s tracks. “Loki’s head, I can’t tell which way they went in all this mud!” he yelled.

  He overheard laughter from the front of the line. Serle and Park were snickering.

  “Now what am I going to use?” Dara asked.

  Lothar fumed from humiliation. Grabbing Dara’s hand, he pulled her behind him while he shoved his way through the line. Halting in front of the tax collector, Lothar pushed abruptly against the table with his leg, deliberately interrupting the transaction.

  “She is next,” Lothar demanded.

  The bald rotund man clucked his tongue. “Name?”

  “Dara Rogan,” she said.

  “Trade?”

  “Witch!” someone yelled.

  Lothar turned and stared down the crowd behind them.

  Dara stiffened at the remark, then took a deep breath and replied, “Priestess and healer.”

  “Residence?”

  “Forest near Termonfecken.”

  “Dwellings?”

  “Hut, two pens, and a shelter.”

  “Husband?”

  Lothar noticed Dara glance sideways to him, and then back to the tax collector. “None,” she said.

  Lothar scrutinized the balding man as he calculated the totals. “Two gold coins and twelve pieces of silver,” the tax collector announced.

  The sudden inhale and murmur of the crowd as to the amount announced told Lothar the man had set an exorbitant amount, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to pay. Lothar suspected the man was involved in the cart disappearance. He scowled at the taxman’s rotted teeth when the man smiled.

  Lothar shoved his hand into the pouch at his waist, pulled out a gold cuff with the wolf head on it, then slammed it down on the table.

  “This should cover it, and any extra expenses you and your two friends will have.”

  “Yes!” the tax collector exclaimed. “Where did you get this?” the man asked.

  “Family.”

  “Hmm, I guess I can melt it,” he said, placing the cuff into a satchel on the table. Then wrote, “Paid in full” in his ledger and signed his name.

  Dara signed her name next to his.

  Park and Serle rubbed their hands together, already counting the extra money in their pocket.

  “What extra expenses?” Dara asked.

  “Just these two.” Lothar turned and hurled his fist into Serle’s jaw, and the impact sent Serle spinning backwards. Next, Lothar kicked Park, toppling him onto the table, sending the ledger, satchels of coins and the cuff onto the ground, the taxman racing to recollect them.

  “I warned you before to watch out who you called names.” Lothar whirled around and grabbed Dara’s arm. He reached into his boot, pulled out the knife and slashed the rope holding the pole in place. He yanked Dara again and stormed into the crowd that had gathered around them and cheered when the canvas awning landed upon the three men.

  Chapter 15

  “What did you do that for?” she demanded.

  “Not now!” He kept moving. When she tried to pull free, his hand wrapped tightly on her upper arm as they fled from the marketplace.

  Lothar finally stopped off the trail outside Droicheada to catch his breath. He released her arm.

  “Why?” she asked between breaths.

  “Your taxes are paid.” He noticed they were not being chased.

  “Why did you do it?”

  Lothar gazed into her green eyes. “So is my word, so is my bond,” he stated. He trudged back to the trail in silence. He heard her follow behind.

  Lothar mulled the turn of events over in his mind, while he stomped through the mud. How could he explain to her that he had been duped? He was furious with himself and wanted to get away from the people in Droicheada. The outburst would have attracted unwanted attention to him, when he wanted to return home quietly.

  He only had one cuff now, and the bargained price was hard enough with two cuffs, as voyages at this time of year were dangerous and expensive. To ask about a ship now would be futile.

  Vowing silently, Lothar slammed his fist repeatedly into his hand. He would make whoever was responsible for taking the pony and cart of mead and honey regret their action. He suspected that Park and Serle were to blame.

  He glanced back
at Dara, whose teeth chattered.

  “You’re chilled to the bone.”

  Lothar pulled her cloak tighter over her head, removed the pelts he wore, and wrapped them around her shoulders. He scooped Dara into his arms, and flinched when her head rested against his injured shoulder. He took a calming breath, then hastened his steps home.

  When he arrived at the hut, he kicked open the door, and quickly carried Dara inside. He set her feet down near the pallet. Her green eyes were outlined with red. The sight tore at his heart.

  He removed her cloak and overdress.

  Dara pushed weakly at his hands, to stop him from stripping off her linen under-dress.

  “It must be removed, so you can dry off and warm up,” Lothar pointed out.

  “Fine, turn around, I will remove it myself,” she wearily protested. Her arms struggled to untangle the garment from her skin.

  Lothar turned around and tapped his foot while he waited.

  “Help me,” Dara yelped.

  “Yes, Valkyrie.” He pivoted, and stifled a chuckle. The under-dress was swirled halfway off. Her arms flailed about in midair.

  “No peeking,” she cried.

  Lothar snorted, “I will not be able to see what to do.”

  “Hold the sleeves and I can twist out.”

  He grasped the edge of each long sleeve and closed his eyes. He felt the material move as he listened to her struggle out of the dress. The material fell loose into his outstretched hands. He remained standing, honor-bound not to peek.

  “I’m opening my eyes now, Valkyrie.”

  There was no answer. He opened one eye slowly, and found her on the bed tucked under her blanket, her eyes already closed.

  He draped her clothing on the edge of the table to dry, then stepped over and smoothed out the damp tendrils from her forehead. The skin was very cold to his touch, but she breathed steadily.

  Lothar sidled over to the fire pit at the center of the room. He placed dry leaves and twigs into the fire-pit, and struck a flint against his fire-steel, creating a spark. He slowly fed the small flame with branches until it grew into a blaze. He placed a log on the fire, waiting until it began to burn, then rubbed his hands, finally satisfied with the glow of warmth it created in the room.