The last chapter of the Vikings and a GIVEAWAY in Week 17/Chapter 17 of Silver and Spice by Maria MacAuley!

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 17/chapter 17 (and the very end) of  Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. Now we present to you the last portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)


ALSO be sure to scroll down and enter the giveaway to win a Amazon Giftcard!

Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!

View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE,  chapter 3 HERE,  chapter 4 HERE, chapter 5 HERE, chapter 6 HERE, chapter 7 HERE, chapter 8 HERE, chapter 9 HERE, chapter 10 HERE, chapter 11 HERE, chapter 12 HERE, chapter 13 HERE, chapter 14 HERE, chapter 15 HERE, chapter 16 HERE

Chapter 17

Erik knew his actions and words were harsh this evening, but years of knowing and keeping the secret of his brother's torment at Alfhilde's hands had finally exploded into rage.

It was undeniable, Alfhilde had made his brother into a strong man, educated in Greek and Latin, disciplined in his actions. Erik was proud of his brother, proud of his skills.  However, Alfhilde had failed Kristr greatly by her abuse of the boy who grieved for his mother. How many more Norse sons had been entrusted to her care and had suffered?  Alfhilde was his aunt, his own mother’s sister.  She had no blood relation to Kristr, but she should have treated him as family.

Not taking his eyes off Alfhilde, who was confined to the corner, radiating fury, he addressed his brother. 'Is Roisin safe?'

'Ja, I have concealed her, and when we get these boys under control and accounted for, I shall bring her back to the buildings. And you,' he stabbed the air viciously at Alfhilde, 'may get down on your knees and beg Roisin's forgiveness. You do not and will not have mine.' He turned from her angry stare, not looking backwards.

'We three can take care of the young boys,' Erik advised. 'Go to Roisin.' Knottr and Johan had started to account for the foster-children in Alfhilde’s care.

Kristr lifted a flaming torch from a sconce. There was no need for stealth now. Walking across the freshly turned earth for planting, he mused on the dissatisfaction he felt at MacRonan's death. He had wanted to watch him die slowly and painfully, to find out why he had cheated him in the first place.  Why had MacRonan’s last words been ‘Mother-Thief?’ He had not taken MacRonan’s mother from him; Aisling had believed her only son dead and was willing to take her chances with Kerik Halsrason than stay another year in her abusive marriage.  Peter MacRonan, however, had taken Aisling from not one son but two, in bitterness and revenge.

*****

Embarking onto the secluded boat, a soft smile crossed his face when he saw Roisin cocooned in the sleeping sack. She was fast asleep, her hand still curled around the knife. He crouched down and stroked her cheek, whispering her name, a little louder when she did not stir.

'Kristr,' she smiled in her sleep, coming around slowly.

'Ja, Sweetling. I am here.' He continued his small circular caress.

'You are my true love,' her whispers were clear, and music to his ears.

'And you are mine.' He never meant anything so much in his life. Shaking her very gently; she finally roused from her slumber.

Opening his sea chest he brought out his new grey embroidered tunic, and held it up. 'This may be – just- a little big for you, but it is a lot more suitable to the climate than that silk gown you have been dressed in.' He ran his fingers over the raised embroidery, on the finely woven wool-cloth, tracing the outline of the rune. A chill ran down his spine as he thought of the previous days when he had come upon the finely threaded piece, the obvious care that she had taken in her work.

She could not stop her tears. 'Kristr, I thought I had lost you forever. They wanted to make me a bed slave! MacRonan wanted to lay with me. If that disgusting vile creature had touched me...' She wriggled frantically out of the sleeping sack and vomited over the edge of the boat. '

'Shhh, Sweetling.' He stroked her back and handed her a waterskin.  She drank gratefully. 'He can never hurt you again.' Starting to carefully unravel the twists of her hair from the circlet, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. 'Consider this a battle scar. Your tresses may be shorter, but it does not distract from your beauty.'

'I suppose it will grow again.' She pulled at the ornate style herself, freeing her shorter black curls. 'A small price to pay to be with you.' She smiled shyly, growing wider when she saw his mirrored reaction.

'Only two more objects to remove, and you are again mine.' He worked the wires free around the ankle bells and threw them over the edge of boat, their gentle tinkling stilled with the immediate splash of the water. Alfhilde had no more hold on his precious Roisin. 'Mine.'

'Yours.' Her breathless words stirred within him. 'Make me yours.'

She did not feel the cold grey fingers of the dawn as Kristr dropped sweet kisses over her body, around her neck where the slave collar had been locked by Alfhilde. He cupped and suckled on her breasts, marvelling in their softness and warmth. With each tiny moan of pleasure as he licked and nipped down over her belly, he nuzzled between her slender thighs, feasting on the intoxicating nectar that guided his way. Sensing her reaching her peak, and slowing down his celebration of her body, he chuckled as she gave a playful scowl and mewl of protest. Stopping to drink in the view of her lush curves and creamy skin, he knew he would never have his fill of her. Finally succumbing to her quiet pleas for release, he returned to his enjoyment of her sweet tender spot, as her voice became louder until she called out his name in ecstasy.

Revelling in her cries of pleasure he claimed her honeyed entrance, the spasms of her womb guiding him in further. Locked in their lovers' embrace of the body, their eyes stared into each other's soul, green as the land into grey as the ocean. The passion was as raw and intense as a winter storm in the mountains of the north. For now, the boat was their world; nothing else mattered. With a final thrust, they collapsed in unison, the two becoming one.

****

When they arrived back at the hall, Johan, Erik and Taylr had assembled the young men in Alfhilde's care, gathering their tales as evidence for Alfilde’s trial at an Allthing.

'Where is she?' Kristr growled, searching the hall.

'Alone, bound in her bedchamber. It is still too good for the likes of her,' Erik snarled. Kristr watched his brother’s expression change when he saw Roisin, to the normal goodnatured grin for which he was known. Erik’s actions over the previous night confirmed to Kristr that his brother would be a fair Jarl and strong leader, when the time came. 'Roisin!' he hugged her and swung her around, her oversized tunic swirling around her tiny body. 'Besides my darling Ciara, I do not believe I have ever been so pleased to see a woman.'

'Nor I either.' Johan gave a small bow to Roisin, and winked to Kristr, the happiness evident on his face. As far as Johan was concerned, if Roisin was not wed to Kristr by the end of four seasons, with a babe in her womb he would move to Abyssinia, and tolerate sand and heat for the rest of his days.

Settling in front of the hearth with the four men, Roisin finally asked, 'Why did he hate you so?' She shivered as she remembered his lascivious stare, when the women were dressing her. 'He said you were brothers. I did not know he fostered with you.'

Kristr shook his head. 'Nei, we were not foster brothers, but he was my dearthair, my true brother, by blood. We shared a mother, but I did not know this until recently. His last words to me were Mother Thief. Aisling had believed her son dead before she came North with my father.'

Silence fell over the group as they thought of a mother told that her son was dead, and of a son who was told his mother abandoned him.

Johan interjected, 'When I met him in Dubh Linn, he was not aware that he was a brother to Kristr, although he knew that Aisling had left with Kerik.' He frowned, and glanced at his friend. 'Perhaps he hated you because Kerik Halsrason was your sire.' It was time to tread carefully to save Roisin's blushes. 'He knew Alfhilde; perhaps he was jealous of your, ah, friendship with her.'

'Well, my brothers, the key to that particular lock is not far away.' Taylr strood up and purposefully walked out of the hall.

Taking Roisin's hand, Kristr kissed her palm tenderly. 'He is dead now, and she will be tried at the Allthing, but I have other plans to consider.' There was not even a desire to find the soaked ragged clothes of his enemy on the rocks. MacRonan was no more, and Kristr wanted no relics of his enemy's past to mar his future.

Pushing Alfhilde through the longhouse, Taylr forced her to a stop in front of Kristr. Making her kneel before him, Taylr held a firm grip on her thick blonde braids, forcing her head so that she had to look up. Boring down into her eyes unblinkingly, she finally capitulated.

'Well?' he demanded 'Perhaps you may share with us why MacRonan hated me so? Comply and the company of the Allthing may look favourably on you.'

Alfhilde knew she had nothing to lose, except her life. 'He was eaten up by jealousy of you.' She spat the words 'Jealous that your sire took his mother, jealous that you were fostered by me, jealous of your wealth, and finally when the fool worked it out, jealous that you were his blood brother, by a mother who he believed abandoned him for a life in the North.'

Kristr slumped on the bench. This man had wanted him dead for over ten summers. Kristr was nothing but a boy at the time, but looking into Alfhilde's ice blue eyes full of venom, it as clear how twisted a man or woman could become over envy, even to a child.

It was planned that Kristr would sail with Roisin in the remaining boat to Dun na Shee, accompanied by four of Alfhilde's older fosterlings, who would act as oarsmen. He had promised he would take her to see her father, and he would keep his word. Now that MacRonan was dead, the ransom demanded from him was void. There had been no quarrel with Raymond. His heart felt heavy when he thought how she would choose her homeland of Donegal over him.

Erik, Knottr and Johan agreed to stay at Jarlshof, guarding Alfhilde and waiting for Kerik's ship. It would be less than a sennight before he arrived. The time would also permit Johan to talk with the fosterlings, and to help build the testimony against Alfhilde. The men and the women of the Allthing would decide her fate, but if she was merely banished to Vinland, the icy expanse to the very far North, she would consider herself fortunate.

Before the ship sailed out of the river, with its crew of five plus Roisin, Kristr, cupping his hands around his mouth, called to his brother, 'Erik, do not wed until I return! I wish to see my brother finally take a wife!' He hoped Kerik would now give his blessing. There would be much to celebrate on the Halsrason steading. Kristr prayed he would be part of it.

***

Roisin could barely contain her excitement on the three-day journey home. She blamed her churning stomach on the rolling waves and the joy of seeing her father.

As the boat sailed down the main lough, confusion crossed her face. Instead of a small committee to welcome the group, it looked like a war party, a rough throng looking for blood.

'It is the Viking sail, Sweetling.' Kristr tried to soothe her, 'When we get closer, they will recognise you and all will be well.' She crossed herself in silent prayer, and hoped he was right. ‘Take this anyway, just in case.’ He strapped her dagger to her thigh, hidden by the oversized tunic.  She touched the blade and hoped it would not be needed.

When the boat reached the water's edge, Roisin tried to call out to the men assembled. She recognised her brother. 'Patrick! Fergus! Please, I beseech you! I am well and this man means me no harm. Let us disembark.'

As Patrick helped her off the boat, the men then swarmed over the craft, pulling Kristr and the boys off the vessel. Roisin screamed in rage as Fergus, hauled her off towards the rath as she watched Kristr helplessly. He did not fight his captors.

'Unhand me, Fergus!' She was breathless and her words were rasping through her aching throat. 'You don't know what you are doing!' She tried again to twist out of his grasp but he was resolute, only letting her go when they were close to the simple replacement gates of the rath.

‘You look like your mother, little Roisin.  You should have obeyed your father and married MacRonan without argument.  Running and hiding in woods!’ He spat words at her. ‘Look at the walls and gates of the rath – your stubbornness caused this.  Your mother was too strong willed as well, and look what happened her!’

Roisin stopped struggling.  ‘What do you know of her death?’

‘Nothing that needs to concern you.’ 

She gasped, and stared up at Fergus, the man she believed was one of her father’s most trusted warriors.  ‘You!  You had a hand in her death.’  Fergus said nothing.  No denial. No reason.  She did not need to hear an excuse.

Anger overcame Roisin.  Once again, within a heartbeat she found her mother’s inner strength.  She stilled, in an effort to show capitulation. When his grip released, she slid down past the hem of Kristr’s tunic and drew out her dagger.  For the second time in her life she heard a man’s howl of pain as she stabbed him and ran.

 Ignoring the state of disarray, she ran through the still scorched entrance of the ring fort, crying in joy when she saw her father.

'Papa!' she sobbed into his tunic as he held her close, kissing the crown of her head. 'I thought I should never see you again!'

Raymond could not speak. His daughter was in his arms; the daughter he thought was dead. Time flew back eighteen summers when he felt his joy and awe when Breda had handed him the tiny pink bundle, with a shock of black curls, barely an hour old. 'Roisin. My Roisin.' He fought his emotions, 'I thought I had lost you forever.' He rubbed his fingers through her shoulder length hair. 'Did the Viking do this to you?'

'No, Papa. He saved me twice. From MacRonan and a marriage...,' Raymond winced in shame '... and from a half-troll who tried to make me a slave.' Their reunion was cut short when Kristr was led into the hall. Roisin gasped in horror had been beaten around the face, his hands were tied and Patrick was yanking him forward by a rope about his neck. 'No!' she cried as she left her father's embrace and ran to Kristr. She would always love her father, but her love for Kristr was different, deeper. The unending love of a man and woman. Grabbing Patrick's dagger she started to gnaw at the ropes. 'This man is a good man, an honourable man, a man I..., I love with all my heart.'

Kristr's bruised eyes flickered slightly, and through bloody lips he murmured 'And I you, Sweetling.'

Patrick snorted in disgust, 'This Viking has addled one sister's mind, and who knows what has happened to the other.' Glaring at his prisoner, his eyes and expression black with hatred, he continued, 'Now that she probably carries his child, this Viking,' he could not call him by name, '...this Viking wants to leave her here.' He went to strike Kristr, but was intercepted by Roisin, the display of her new knife skills evident. Patrick may have been closer to the truth than he cared to realise. She knew that her courses had not arrived in one and a half moons, and from what she had heard around the sewing circles and looms, this might mean something.

'Ciara is well, Patrick.' Roisin's voice was low, the dagger still in her hand. 'She has found her true love. So should you.' Roisin looked at her brother, the relief flooding though his body.  The  black cloud of fate that had suffocated him  and Ciara for six years had finally dispersed. Ciara was happy. Now that their planned union was all but dissolved, Roisin knew that he could make his own choice as Chieftain. In  her own quiet determination Ciara had not only survived, she thrived. Patrick would too.

'So, Kristr Halsrason,' Raymond still was not convinced, 'Why does a Viking maurader want my precious daughter?' This man had kidnapped his daughter from his own lands, and spirited her away. The Northman’s enemy had come and stolen everything of value and almost razed the rath to the ground.  MacRonan and his men came through, intent on destroying the clan and people of Dun na Shee and laying claim to his daughter as if she were livestock.

'My Chieftain.' It was the closest term of respect that Kristr could translate. 'I do not regret taking your daughter.' Raymond unsheathed his dagger. 'I do not regret preventing a marriage to the underhand MacRonan, I do not regret welcoming her into my family in the north. I do not regret falling in love with her.' He stopped. 'But I deeply deeply regret the hurt that I caused her by not letting her say goodbye to you, and I regret that I failed to protect her from evil.' He took a deep breath. 'I do not deserve her, but I would like to make her my bride.'

'You expect me to pay a king's ransom for my daughter and then give her to you in marriage? I will never make a decision on my daughter’s behalf again.' 

'There is no ransom now. The demand died with MacRonan.' Kristr now knew how Roisin felt when her stomach churned. His own belly lurched with nervous energy as he considered his situation. He did not wish to barter a bride-price for a woman so perfect, so pure of heart, like she were a prize milk cow. He looked Raymond straight in the eye. 'MacRonan owed me silver. There is no amount of precious metal in this world that I would hold back to have the privilege of making your daughter my wife, my partner. But only if she is willing.'

Roisin careered back into her father’s arms, with a squeal of delight worthy of Marthe. 'Papa, please grant his request.' She would miss Donegal, but it was possible to travel over the seas, especially in the long days of summer.

'In return for letting me wed your daughter, I will provide all that you need to repair your home, to rebuild your boats and to prepare your land for the growing season.' I have four young men currently at my disposal who need to learn some farming skills, and some of the Gaelic language.' Kristr knew his plans. Land was scarce in the North and many men were making their way to this mild, wet Island. To prepare them as settlers, not invaders, could only smooth the change that were coming, and prevent bloodshed from feuds.

Raymond sat back in his chair and sighed. Roisin looked so much like, her mother. He remembered the same look on Breda's face as she begged Niall, her own father to permit her to wed the young untried man from Dun na Shee.

'Kristr Halsrason, do you promise to protect my daughter with all your heart?'

'Chieftain, I give you my word.'

'Roisin of Dun na Shee, do you promise to be an honourable wife, but also promise to come back to me if you are unhappy?' He may allow Kristr to marry Roisin, but he would never give her away.

'Papa, I do.'

Straightening his back, and looking to Patrick, whose face had finally softened, he said, 'I agree to this union.'

*****

One full moon later, the simple Christian service in St Aonghus' church ended with the joyous pealing of bells. The couple left the church to the well wishes of those who lived inside and outside the rath. Blessings for a long marriage and healthy babes intermingled with some of the more raucous intentions of a man and woman joining as husband and wife.

As a bride, she wore a deep red kirtle, as her mother had, on a cool Summer day nineteen years previous. Her linen cream underdress peeped through the wide bell sleeves, and her silver girdle, a bride-gift from Kristr, showed off her slim waist and curved hips. Her hair was decorated with rare tiny scarlet flowers that only blossomed once every three summers, for beauty, and leaves of oak for fertility. Kristr stood proudly beside her, his face healed and the fine embroidered grey tunic skimming over every toned muscle in his chest.

In the Norse tradition, Kristr carried his wife over the threshold of the hall before the wedding feast could begin.  Ducking under the lintel, he stopped and asked her if she felt well. 'Yes, my love. I have some news for you of my unwell stomach.' She blushed as he looked to her abdomen and arched an eyebrow. With her shy nod, he gave a whoop of delight, planted a long loving kiss on her lips, and thanked every god in the known world, be they Christian, Norse, Celtic, Greek, Roman or Saracen, that through silver, Roisin had been brought into his world.

Thank you to:

The dawn is copyright unknownswilly.org, the boat is copyright flickr Jomme from his Norway photoset and the other drawing and painting is E Paterson

Bio

Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.

She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.

If Maria were to choose her favorite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.

email: banbha@hotmail.com

~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~

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The Vikings are back in Week 16/Chapter 16 of Silver and Spice by Maria MacAuley!

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 16/chapter 16 of  Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. There are only two more chapters after this one (pouts) Now we present to you another portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story.  We will be posting a chapter for you to enjoy each week until the story's end. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)

Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!

View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE,  chapter 3 HERE,  chapter 4 HERE, chapter 5 HERE, chapter 6 HERE, chapter 7 HERE, chapter 8 HERE, chapter 9 HERE, chapter 10 HERE, chapter 11 HERE, chapter 12 HERE, chapter 13 HERE, chapter 14 HERE, chapter 15 HERE

Chapter 16

A man's voice cut through the fog that was clouding her mind. 'She is stirring again, Sean.' Roisin groaned as she lolled on the uneven planks of the boat, trying to raise herself onto her elbows.  The undulating movement was making her queasy and her head throbbed from where she had been struck.  A hand pulled her sharply by the ankle and once more she slid down flat against the boards of the hull.

'Make her drink more elixir, Lorcan. Keep her silent.' A sour smelling finger and thumb pinched her nose and as she gasped for air, the cloying viscous liquid slid down her throat again.  She tried to fight the drowsiness, but failed.  The voices faded as unconsciousness once again set in

Kristr was pacing the hall, hurling curses on his enemy.  It was one thing when MacRonan’s four men attacked him and left him for dead, but this was his woman; he valued her more than life itself. “We must leave now! MacRonan will not get away with this!  He cannot have had more than a quarter day’s sailing on us.”  How frightened Roisin must be; he remembered his own guilt at taking her hostage, the look of fear and hurt in those clear green innocent eyes haunting him now.

Kerik sat stone-faced, but finally he broke his silence. “With all my faith in Thor I believe that MacRonan’s father Peter killed my beloved Aisling, the mother of Kristr.”  He bit out the words.  “But his offspring will not not be permitted to carry out the same atrocity on Roisin.”

Johan observed his friend as he stomped the length of the room, kicking the rushes on the floor. 'Kristr, I could not agree with you more, but you must prepare a plan.'

'And what do you suggest? My personal plan is to find MacRonan, cut his ball sack into one hundred pieces and feed it to Alfhilde of Jarlshof.  You were the one that told me they were working together.’

Johan was not perturbed by Kristr's rage, but this fury would lead to poor decisions. 'I believe that they will have sailed to Jarlshof, although MacRonan will assume that you will follow him to Dubh Linn.' The tall quiet Irishman's skill at observation had not let him down before. Johan, in his guise of Albert of Northumberland remembered all too clearly the crushed golden torc that belonged to Alfhilde, in the grimy hands of MacRonan.

'Well, Johan, we shall sail on the morning to Jarlshof.' Kristr trusted his brother in fosterage with his life, and now he had to trust him with Roisin's life too. He picked up the remains of Roisin's braid, and held it tight in his fist. This was not the only memento he was going to have of the woman who had changed his life. Placing the plait in his pouch, he drew his sword. 'I will be in the blacksmith's forge, sharpening my blades.'

Erik stood up. 'I am coming with you, as is Knottr. We cannot allow you to travel on your own.' A dry smirk crossed his face. 'That fiery red hair of yours matches your temperament, and Johan will need our assistance to save you from yourself.' Knottr, as usual, said nothing, his expression resolute. Kristr nodded his thanks. His brother knew him well.

Johan was happy to be leaving in a small group. If they entered the Jarlshof waters from the less-used and poorly-defended North shore under darkness, it should be easy to enter the settlement buildings.

Addressing Kerik as Jarl, he said, 'It might be prudent to send messengers to some of the nearby steadings.' Over a score of boys were fostered by Alfhilde at any time, and when this was over Johan was sure that Alfhilde would no longer be fostering young men or boys. Although a boy reached manhood at the tender age of twelve summers, it was not uncommon for them to lay with women so early in life, but bed-sport with the likes of Alfhilde was not normally introduced to those so young.

'Consider it done, Johan. If you are not back within a sennight I shall arrange a sailing to Jarlshof myself.' An icy tone had replaced Kerik's normal booming baritone. He would summon the neighbouring Jarls to an Allthing, where Alfhilde would face her crimes.

Roisin tried to shake herself from sleep, but her limbs would not co-operate. She strained to hear the voices around her; the blindfold was still there, its rough weave pressing against her cheek.  How many hours had passed?  Was it days?

'Why did you cut her hair?' It was a woman, the voice sounded familiar.

A man's voice responded. 'You told me she was to be a slave. Even I know that the Norse do not permit their thralls to have the beauty of long hair. How else will you recognise their lowly status?' Roisin would never forget that voice. She tried not to shake in fear, glad for now that her muscles would not co-operate. MacRonan intended to sell her as a slave. Her heart thumped as she thought that she would never see Kristr, her father or Ciara again.  What would Breda, her mother have done?  Breda had been killed callously at the hands of a man, and she had been skilled in weaponry. She offered a silent prayer to her mother, to guide her with inner strength.  She had to stay alive for Kristr, for her family.

'Most men prefer their bed thralls to look like women, not some dirty wench from the outhouses.' The woman who spoke gave a snort of disapproval. She felt someone grab her by the shoulder and turn her body over. A hand tugged on her hair. 'Maybe we can do something with it.' She could not suppress a small cry of pain at the sharp action.

The woman laughed. 'How much sleeping draught did you give her? The Halfling is barely bigger than a girl, no wonder she's still asleep.' Halfling. The woman was Alfhilde. She had insulted her size when Kristr had brought her here on the way to the steading. 'I shall have Ethel and Ruth wash her when she fully wakens up.'

'What is she tries to escape, Alfhilde?'

'She will not be able to get very far, MacRonan.'

The voices faded as they moved out of the chamber, and despite every best intention, she succumbed to sleep again.

The main hall was empty save for the two who ate their meal. 'So, Alfhilde, what is your plan for my former betrothed?' MacRonan swallowed his mead in one gulp, and motioned to the servant to fill his goblet again.

'My fosterlings have been very disciplined over the winter. They have learned their lessons well.' MacRonan guffawed. Lessons with Alfhilde were very varied and far ranging. She ignored his phlegmatic expression of humour and continued, 'I think they deserve a tournament. The halfing will make an interesting prize over the usual award of coin.' She took a dainty sip of her own mead. 'And the winner can do whatever he wants with her.' Oxen had more value than thralls. The punishment for killing another man's livestock was greater than the punishment of killing a slave.

'I hope you have not forgotten our original agreement, Valkyrie. I want her first. It will give me pleasure to take something away from the Halsrason the Great.' His tone was mocking yet the jealousy he felt for his rival was there.

'As you wish. She is no virgin anyway if she has been living with him on the fjords, there is nothing else to do up there.' Alfhilde snarled, 'His father chose my sister over me when she visited there. Gertrude's life should have been mine!'

MacRonan's head turned sharply. 'You are mistaken. Kerik Halsrason took my mother, and she went willingly! She even had borne him a half-Irish bastard.'

Alfhilde gave a hollow laugh. She had not assumed MacRonan's could be so naive. ‘Your pathetic Christian beliefs have blinded you to the real world of Halsrason! He had two women. His own little harem in the frozen North. And who do you think that half-Irish bastard is?' How could he not have seen it before now? 'Surely that fine head of red hair reminds you of another.' She paused, waiting for her words to sink through her companion's wax-filled ears.

He jumped to his feet, drawing his blade in blind rage. 'Kristr Halsrason is Aisling's bastard! I will gut his little wifelet now, and send her back to the fjords in pieces!'

A dagger flew past his ears, the whistling of metal ringing in his head. The action shocked him back into reality. 'She belongs to me, I paid you handsomely in gold, and you will not touch her until I say so!'

Alfhilde stormed out of the hall, shouting for her servants, her blond braids snapping against her back with every step.

A firm hand shook her shoulder sharply. 'Get up, Slave! You have slept long enough!' She startled awake as she was yanked up by her arms onto a chair. Squinting her eyes to the light as the blindfold was pulled off, her vision finally adjusted to see three women standing in front of her. Alfhilde's lips curled into a sneer. 'Well, halfling, let us see if we can prepare you to be a worthy prize.' Slave. This woman did not even use her name.

The two women stripped her clothes from her, and pushed her into a tub, scrubbing her thoroughly. She moved to resist their meaty hands assaulting her tender skin but Alfhilde raised a whip, and cracked it viciously, the snap cutting through the air. 'Next time it will be your flesh, Slave.'

Shivering and naked, she was dried. Scented oils were rubbed furiously onto her body. The overpowering aroma was causing her stomach to churn. She tried to think of Kristr and how he had washed her and anointed her so lovingly after their first night of lovemaking.  She tried to resist as she was dressed in a robe, so sheer that her pink nipples were seen clearly and the small black curls at the entrance to her womanhood cast a tiny triangle of shadow under the light delicate fabric. Forcing her to sit on a stool, the women braided her much shorter hair into many strands and twisted each into a circlet on her head. Under Alfhilde's watchful gaze, the whip twirling in her hand, Roisin closed her eyes, shutting out the unwelcome sensations and ministrations of the women, her thoughts on Kristr; she would not dwell on what was to become of her at the hands of this jealous crazed woman.

A polished plate was held in front of her face, and she looked at her reflection. Her hair, twisted up and arranged on her head exposed her slender neck. She jumped and cried out as she felt a cold piece of metal clamped around her throat, and the mirror was held up again. Tugging in panic at the ornate collar, she pulled at it frantically, but it would not budge. Her ears burned with Alfhilde's throaty laugh.

'Now, Slave, you look pretty, but you do not sound pretty.' Startled, Roisin's gaze followed her captor as Alfhilde smirked, drawing two rows of golden bells from a chest. Handing them to Ethel, she picked up the whip and dragged it slowly over Roisin's back.

'Move and you will feel twenty blows of my lash, Slave. Fifteen will easily kill you, and I will enjoy sending your bloody corpse to your lover.' She blinked back tears. She could not let Kristr remember her like this. She acquiesced, trying not to watch, as Ethel wrapped a bell cuff around her slim ankle, securing them by twisting copper wire around the hasp and crimping it shut. She repeated the process on the other foot.

'Stand, Slave.' Alfhilde curled her finger around the collar, forcing Roisin to stand. Alfhilde moved behind her, and she felt a sharp slap on her buttock, causing her to lurch forward.  Her tormentor pointed across the chamber. 'Walk to the chest and back.' Roisin did this, every step giving a beautiful sound, but to her ears it was clanging, jarring and sinister. 'These bells come from faraway lands, south of Arabia. This is how they keep their bed slaves under control. Every move you make will be heard by all, and they will know what you are, a slave.'

Without announcement, MacRonan walked into the room, and leered at her. Roisin's blood ran cold under his stare. Alfhilde laughed, 'Not yet, lusty one. After the display tonight you can take her'

He laughed in sick mirth. 'I shall look forward to it Alfhilde. Brothers should share everything, Roisin, surely you agree?' When she refused to answer, he pinched her cheek and turned on his heel.  Kristr had you, so shall I.

Their small boat slipped furtively in through the channel to the north of Jarlshof. The water was very shallow; a larger boat would not have made it so far down the river. The men disembarked quietly, each armed with sword, dagger and ax. Lowering the sail and dropping the mast pole, the craft was easily concealed behind a rock. Darkness was their friend tonight, the dim white glow of the full moon shed sufficient light for the group.

Having spent so many years here, creeping through the outbuildings was no problem for Kristr or Johan. The occasional bark of a hound was easily silenced by tossing a sliver of dried boar at the animal. If that did not work, the animal would be slaughtered.

'Stay here.' Johan motioned to Kristr and the others to stay back as they reached the hall, a yellow blade of light shining out through the ajar door. Kristr drew his dagger, the polished steel glinting in the moonlight. Johan grabbed his arm, 'Nei. I said stay here, your emotions will drive your rage.' He was not sure what he was going to see, but if it involved Roisin, Kristr's fury would have them all killed before they had a chance to save her or themselves.

Johan crept up slowly and watched the unfolding spectacle in horror.

Roisin was standing on a dais in the middle of the room; her eyes blazing with a mixture of shame and anger. The silk robe was so fine she may as well have been nude. A leash had been attached to the collar on her neck.

'Turn, Slave.' Alfhilde was standing beside her, the leash in her hand. He could hardly bear to watch as Roisin, staring straight ahead, moved slowly in a circle, unable to stop the jingling bells on her ankles, the sweet sound jarring against the bitter anger evident on her face.

'Fosterlings!' Alfhilde called out to the assembled group of young men. 'There shall be a tournament for swordplay, archery, knife play and horse skills.' She pulled again on the leash. 'The victor will win this thrall for their bed furs.'

Roisin was conscious of nothing but the deafening sound of blood that was pumping through her head, and she barely heard the appreciative murmur that rustled through the assembly.  She concentrated on staying upright against the panicked dizziness as the future loomed before her.  

Through the noise and activity of the hall, Roisin felt the world was moving slowly, she was only an observer to the ongoing hideous display. She watched as Alfhilde motioned to Ethel. 'Take her back to her chamber, she can be claimed by her champion tomorrow.' Handing the leash to the thrall, Roisin followed her gaoler from the hall, the bells tinkling around her feet? It was just as Alfhilde had said; the sonorous jangle letting everyone know who she was, and why she was there.

Johan ran back to Kristr. 'Hold him down!' he hissed to Erik and Knottr. Clamping Kristr’s mouth shut, he whispered furiously in his friend's ear of what he had seen. 'I know where she is going. Keep your temper and we will not lose her. Do you understand?' Kristr nodded and growled behind Johan's hand. Johan was still in control. His friends needed his particular brand of leadership tonight. He instructed Knottr to scupper any boats that were in the harbour. With a nod, Knottr pulled his ax from his back, checked his tinder pouch and marched off to the water's edge.

'Erik, I need you to keep watch on the door of the main hall, lest anyone leave the hall.' These young foster boys would pose no problem for the tall strapping man. Johan and Kristr crept along the side of the buildings, towards the smaller building, keeping the soft pealing of the bells within earshot.

Following the thrall and Roisin into the chamber, Johan pounced on Ethel, subduing her. He hoped that the servant would absolve him of this attack, but Roisin's safety was of greater importance. Roisin started to scream in fear until she felt a finger on her trembling lips, and saw Kristr’s silver eyes staring at her with a mixture of fear and longing. Tears started to well within her, as she tried to speak.

'Shhh, Sweetling.' I have come to bring you home. Home. She was not sure if he meant her father's rath, or his hall, but if she was with him, it would be home. He unclasped the collar from around her neck, letting the leash drop to the floor. He gave her reddened neck a soft kiss.

'I cannot move, they will find me, and you.' She pointed to her feet and the bells. Slicing through the furs left in the chamber, he pushed her gently onto the bed.

'Forgive me, my love. This will not be for long.' He took the cut strips and bound her ankles together, the soft fibres of the pelt trapping within the bells, muffling their sound. He settled her tiny frame in his arms, and signalling to Johan, he left to go towards the hidden boat.

When they reached the little ship, he helped her into a sleeping sack, lined with lambswool. The thin overly ornate clothes she wore had her shivering. 'Keep under the covers, Sweetling, I will be back.' He drew a dagger from his belt and pressed the hilt into her hand. 'You were able to use it before. Do not be afraid to use it again.' Kissing her forehead, with great difficulty, he moved away from her soft skin, and took his leave.

When Kristr crept back to the main hall, he saw Erik standing over a number of youths. They had been knocked unconscious, obviously as they had left the building. The alarm had not yet been raised. Alfhilde and MacRonan were so confident in their deception they had not made plans to prevent a raid.

'Has MacRonan left the hall?' Kristr demanded.

'Nei, not yet. You know you cannot kill him, Brother.' Erik wished he could cut the varlet's throat himself.

'Then I shall maim him before we leave.'

Kristr watched at Knottr walked towards them, ax casually slung over his shoulder as if back from a day chopping firewood. Knottr's mouth was grim, as he finally spoke. His task was complete. 'The boats have been sunk. MacRonan will go nowhere. Those ships that do not have a hole in their hull, currently smoulder. They will set ablaze soon.'

Kristr strode into the hall, and pointed his sword at MacRonan. The remaining boys leapt to their feet, but their still unfilled frames would be no match for the seasoned Viking warriors.

'Sean MacRonan, in front of this assembly as my witnesses, I challenge you to a Holmsgang at the next Allthing, or you forfeit your life now. For insults to me, and to my woman.'  MacRonan may not have been Viking, but the shame of not accepting a challenge would follow him for the rest of his days.

'Your woman?' How do you know I have not planted my seed in her belly? Such a tiny little thing. She will probably die bringing my black-haired son into the world. We are brothers, you and I. She was not fussy which son of Aisling's laid with her.'

Kristr saw red, lunged at MacRonan, slicing his left arm open. Screaming in rage at the second injury to his limb, he tossed a flaming bowl of fish oil at his enemy. Kristr jumped back, and MacRonan made for the door, sword drawn. Although there was but five summers between the men, Kristr was easily besting the pudgy MacRonan, as he drove him from the hall over the carpet of heather that covered the barren ground, sparks flying from the swords as Kristr rained blow after blow onto MacRonan’s blade, the weaker man's lack of skill and strength evident as he deflected less and less. Finally, Kristr's sword struck his left shoulder; MacRonan yelled in pain but held on to his sword nonetheless.

'It will be your manhood next, you waste of seed!' Kristr meant what he said.

Looking to the flames licking up around the destroyed boats, the eerie orange glow casting ominous shadows over his already darkened beserkr features, MacRonan knew he would not have the reserves to escape his enemy alone. It was Lorcan who always fought his battles; and he was nowhere to be seen.

'I will not take part in your Viking Holmsgang, Halsrason.' In the dark, MacRonan stopped swinging his sword. Confused, Kristr strode towards him, determined to end his life, but skidded to a halt as he realised how close they were standing at the edge of the cliff. He knew from experience that it was not high, but the rocks and waves at the bottom had claimed many an animal's life. Another animal will be pushed off them tonight, Kristr thought grimly.

'You will never get the pleasure of killing me, but I will haunt your soul for all eternity, you Mother thief!' With that he threw himself over the edge.

Kristr howled in outrage, the sound tearing through the night. It was a hollow victory, but the night was not yet over. By the light of morning there would be nothing but gaudy rags clinging to the black rocks below. He would claim his trophy in the cold light of day.

It was time to find his brothers. Running to the hall, he was confronted with the scene of Erik, firmly holding a twisting shrieking Alfhilde his grasp. His expression was like iron, no trace of the good nature that he normally countenanced around women. Her time had come and she did not deserve any mercy. Seeing his brother, Erik swept Alfhilde's legs from under her, forcing her to her knees.

Kristr stared down at his former mentor and lover. 'You were going to take my Roisin as a thrall!'

'She is Irish, what does it matter? There is no law against taking slaves; only your father was soft-hearted enough to fall in love with one.'

'She will be his wife, you jealous troll.' Erik's fury nearly matched that of his brother. 'We should never have come back near you, and your abusive ways.' He threw her roughly into the corner. And after you stand trial at the Allthing, you will never foster again!

Be sure to come back next week for chapter 17!

Thank you to:

Bedford Viking Boat (its the one hidden in the rushes) - copyright GR Bush  www.grbush.com/ 

the Norway Boat is Copyright Jomme flickr.com from his ‘Norway 2008’ set and Eva’s little boat  

E. Paterson for the Viking painting 

Bio

Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.

She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.

If Maria were to choose her favorite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.

email: banbha@hotmail.com

~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~

The Vikings are back in Week 15/Chapter 15 of Silver and Spice by Maria MacAuley!

Hello friends/followers! Welcome to week 15/chapter 15 of  Maria MacAuley's Silver & Spice. There are only two more chapters after this one (pouts) Now we present to you another portion of a very exciting, romantic and all-around great story.  We will be posting a chapter for you to enjoy each week until the story's end. We are looking forward to comments, feelings, thoughts, etc. of what you think for each portion posted. So please be sure to leave a comment in the comments section :)

Now I present to you... Silver and Spice!

View Prologue and chapter 1 HERE, chapter 2 HERE,  chapter 3 HERE,  chapter 4 HERE, chapter 5 HERE, chapter 6 HERE, chapter 7 HERE, chapter 8 HERE, chapter 9 HERE, chapter 10 HERE, chapter 11 HERE, chapter 12 HERE, chapter 13 HERE, chapter 14 HERE

Chapter 15

Conall looked around the chaos of the rath.  He and Diarmuid had joined the other men in clearing up. Digging a shallow grave he buried the hounds that had been killed the night before.  Tine and Sioc, his two favourite dogs named Fire and Ice, were now lifeless in the ground.  It could have been much worse.  The larger livestock were on the back pasture where the boys normally played hurling, and were safe. With the exception of a couple of slaughtered chickens and month old lambs there was no other loss of life. Cleaning up the aftermath, Fergus was unusually quiet, but when Conall had questioned him, he merely shrugged and continued filling in the graves of the wolfhounds. The chieftain put it down to anger over the attack, and without any reason, did not question him further.  Conall had found it odd that Fergus had been unscathed during the raid, yet Diarmuid had a nasty gash in his arm and Patrick, his son, had been severely beaten.  Both would recover, and now was not the time to apportion blame.

******

The rain poured from the skies. All day, all night. All the following day. The wind chopped up the waters, the waves crashing down along the normally serene waters of the fjord. Roisin was anxious lest the time to sail would pass, and another moon and tide would go by before they could leave. She wanted to see her father, to tell him she missed him, but to tell him she was happy. She got up from bed, and went to fetch some water to wash her face and hands. She loved the Norse custom of regular washing, and this would suffice until the evening.

Still lying under the furs, Kristr watched her intently as she brushed her hair, the narrow white teeth of the comb moving smoothly through the dark black waves, her fluid expert motions the result of years of practice. Reaching behind, she separated her tresses into three, and started to braid. He sat up and moved behind her, taking the strands and continuing the plait, until the rope of hair ended just above her slender waist. Running his hands softly over her curves, he delighted in the sensuous feeling of her skin, and her sigh of appreciation to his touch, before she stepped away, opening the trunk and pulling out a green linen kirtle, the colour of her eyes.

'Will we leave tomorrow?' she asked, hope in her voice, as she dressed, carefully pinning the brooches of her apron dress into place, looking down, making sure they were straight. He smiled inwardly at her Nordic dress, and how beautiful she looked, clothed or not.

'It is unlikely, Sweetling. If the rain ceases today, then we may sail before the waning moon.' His voice was gruff, more so than was necessary. He was avoiding starting the journey, and he knew it. Johan had assured him that Conall did not have the silver, but holding Roisin to her word that she would return with him after all that they had shared would be so difficult. Tethering her and bringing her North once was unfair on an innocent party, to do it again would result in her hatred. He no longer cared about his honour as a trader and merchant. His honour as a man should be greater, and he would try to explain that to his father.

'All this rain reminds me of home,' she sighed. 'It can be tiresome, but without it, we do not have our fine green land.'

He could not disagree with her. The lands of Ulster, known in Gaelic as Uladh, were varied with their undulating gentle green slopes, majestic valleys, and purple heather topped hills, the coastline craggy and wild, the grey mists that blew in from the sea. On a rare clear day the lands of Albion could be seen to the East, to the west, it was ocean for days, weeks and months. It reminded him of home. He could make it his home.

The other provinces were so different. Connacht was barren and craggy, stark in its beauty. Few men had sailed there. Leinster was green and lush, the place where Dubh Linn was founded. Munster to very far south was rocky yet green, warm yet wet, an otherworldly place with high mountains and high tides, hardly accessible without crossing the rough boggy land of the centre of the island. For such a small place, the changes in landscape were extreme; no wonder the Irish never gave up belief in the fairy-folk, or the Sidhe, as they were called in Gaelic.

*****

Stepping out of the dim light of the hall, they were greeted by a wide glorious rainbow, the sun was struggling to come out from behind the clouds, leaving the magical colours of the arch in the sky. Marthe came slowly towards them, picking her way daintily along the mucky path. Roisin laughed in amusement, slow and dainty were not words usually associated with Kristr's tall lively sister.

'Hej! Kristr und Roisin!' She sidestepped a brown pool of water, nearly landing in another one. 'The weather has changed, and I have to go to the woods to see what new plants the earth god Jord has left for me with the gift of his rain!' Obviously being confined to the hall for three days did not suit Marthe's personality and she was keen to be outside again.

'Marthe, I would love to go to the woods with you, but maybe we can wait another day for the earth to dry out a bit. I'm sure the gifts from nature will still be there tomorrow.' Roisin hoped that the gentle refusal would be understood. 'Perhaps instead you can show me some of your runes?' Ever since she had seen the angular shape on Kristr's breast, she had been fascinated by the symbols, so unlike the fluid letters of her own language. She had copied the rune as carefully as she could for her embroidery, but would need Marthe's assistance to know that it was right. Also, the day spent around the hall would give her a chance to pack her newly acquired belongings for the trip; her precious rose oil, needles and hair comb, as well as preparation of the food and ale for the crew.

Marthe seemed to be glad of any activity, and her noisy exuberant approval would waken the dead. She hugged Roisin, 'What a magnificent idea! I shall make sure Ciara joins us too!' She danced off, only managing to avoid half the puddles as she went in search of Ciara and Erik, not aware of Roisin's giggles.

'Your sister's attitude to life would bring a smile to the face of even the most sour old crone.' Roisin, squeezed Kristr's hand. 'I think her smile might be one of her most potent potions in her store of healing skills.'

Kristr followed his sister's movements until she had made it back to the hall, her calls for Ciara cutting through the quiet morning. 'Ja,' he grinned. ' I love her dearly, but I pity the poor man who takes her as a wife.' He did not believe that at all. His sister was coming of age, and there would be no shortage of suitors for the lively, intelligent, kindhearted Jarl's daughter. It would be a fortunate man who succeeded in wooing Marthe as well as her father, mother and brothers.

The following day was a perfect Spring day. The sea was calm, there was only a few wispy clouds in the sky and there was even a bit of warmth in the sun as it stretched its rays over the fjord. The torrential rain of the previous days was forgotten in the bright light of the morning. Shortly after the dagmal, Marthe, Ciara and Roisin left for the woods, with instructions from Kristr to keep to the path, and to be aware of boars. He had tucked her new sharpened dagger in its sheath, and fastened it on to her girdle. Marthe brought her basket to gather fresh herbs for her healing potions, and Ciara was keen to find some cloudberries; she had never tasted them before and Erik spoke longingly of the first tart fruits of Spring. Roisin packed her sewing into a little satchel. She could find a dry spot to sit and finish her embroidery whilst the other two foraged for their ingredients.

As they walked along, listening to Marthe and her stories, songs and mimickry of her menfolk, Roisin felt that if she was not training to be a healer, she would be known throughout the fjords as a skald and entertainer.

Marthe's mischievous side was not far under her skin. 'Tell me, Sisters,' she swung her basket casually from arm to arm, 'what is it like being with a man?' Roisin blushed crimson and Ciara giggled in amusement.

'We cannot talk about such things, Marthe,' Roisin chided. She did not want to start talking of Kristr and their bed play.  Her mind drifted to Kristr’s naked form, his body muscular from years of sailing and farming. She broke out of her reverie when Marthe's voice rang in her ears.

'But I am still virgin, and how will I know what is love?' Marthe pouted. 'I know nothing of the ways of the world, and now that I have found women for my brothers, I want to know what to expect! I'm not a child, and as my sisters you should tell me what I am to expect!' She threw her arms in the air in mock despair, her basket almost launched through the air. 'By the time I meet a suitable mate, Erik, Kristr and my father will have scared him so much, I shall be a maiden forever, with grey hair and stooped over a walking staff!'

Ciara put her arms around Marthe, 'Sister,' she said, proud of Marthe's acceptance of her, 'all I can tell you is that you will know when it is the right man for you.' Ciara knew that better than most. 'It will be most pleasurable to share yourself with a man you love, and who loves you.'

Marthe did not appear to be satisfied with the response, and continued her interrogation.  'But how can something that causes pain give pleasure?' Roisin blushed further, thinking of her recent evening spent wriggling on Kristr's lap, her audacious lust as she initiated further play. 'Why do your cheeks pinken so, Roisin?' queried Marthe. 'I thought there was only pain the first night.' Roisin opened her mouth and closed it again, the words would not form.

Finally she managed to compose herself and sputtered, 'It only hurts for a short time, but after that, it is pleasant.' For reassurance, she looked to Ciara, who nodded in agreement.

'Do not think your blushes will save you from further questions, Sisters!' Marthe laughed at the modesty of the pair, even after nearly a full moon on the steading with the Halsrason family. Shyness with nudity and flesh must be a Irish or a Christian custom. She would leave it for now.

They spent most of the day in and around the edges of the woods, Ciara and Marthe were busy digging roots and cutting plants. Roisin found a log, the space left by the fallen tree affording plenty of light to work on her sewing. She was so proud of her embroidery creation, a Norse pattern sewn with her new silver Norse needles. As the sun started to move down in the sky, she squinted at the light, and called to the others. 'Perhaps we should think about heading to the steading now.'

'But it will not be dark for ages yet,' Marthe was engrossed in carefully lifting a piece of lichen off a rock, 'and I have so many more places to look.'

'All the same, I think we should turn back. The light still fades fast in Spring here. We can come out tomorrow, if Kristr and I have not sailed.' Marthe scrunched her nose in disapproval but shrugged in acceptance. She called to Ciara and they picked up their baskets to head towards the steading, excitedly talking about what each had achieved that day.

'Oh no!' Roisin stopped in her tracks. 'My needles!' She had to go back for them, they were a precious gift from Gertrude. 'You two go on, I shall catch up with you before you know it.' She turned around and hastened back to her sewing spot, and the log on which she had sat. She picked up the little leather cylinder of needles, and prepared to fasten them to her brooch with their silver chain.

She thought the shadow of the sun was falling quickly over the trees, and she made her way back to the path, when the shadows moved and the long light caught the quivering leaves. That was peculiar. She started to walk briskly, then, her imagination getting the better of her, she started to run, when she tripped over a tree root. Wincing, as she got up, she realised she must have strained her ankle. Marthe would be able to help her when she got back to the hall. Unless it was a boar, she should be able to fend off a smaller animal like a fox. Perhaps it was just a rat. She pulled out her shiny sharpened dagger for protection, the metal just catching the last rays of light.  She scolded herself for letting the long shadows of the afternoon sun scare her.

That was until the shadow cast over her body. She turned around and lunged, hearing a man's voice howl in pain and outrage. 'Bitch!' The language was Irish. Another shadow came from the opposite direction and pushed her to the ground, one knee on her back, the other crushing upon her dagger arm, forcing her to release her weapon. She screamed as loudly as she could, but choked as the knee pressed harder on her back, pushing the air from her lungs. 'Hold her there, Lorcan. She shall not cause me further damage.' She tried to scream again. She knew that voice. He came closer to her, squatting on the ground as she lay prone before him. 'I see your lover has been teaching you well. He held up his arm, the gash evident on it, blood congealing in a sticky mass around the lurid saffron coloured fibres of the sleeve. You will pay for this.' His breath was rancid, and she resisted the urge to vomit. He ran a leather thong through his fingers, but rather than reaching for her hands, he pulled on her hair, binding the leather tightly halfway down the length of the braid before pulling out his own knife. 'Shall we leave your lover a present?' He spat the words at her, spittle flying onto her cheek.

She heard the rasping sound of the knife, and her eyes filled with tears of rage as he waved three hand lengths of braid in front of her. 'He will kill you for this insult!'

Throwing the plait on top of her satchel, he issued another order. 'Lorcan, silence her and get her onto the boat.' Roisin felt a slap to the back of her head, felt dizzy and then felt nothing.

****

Ciara and Marthe were nearly back at the outbuildings of Halsrafjord when they met Kristr and Erik coming towards them. Kristr's eyes narrowed. 'Where is Roisin?'

'She forgot her needles when we were at the edge of the woods, and she went back to retrieve them,' Ciara confirmed. 'She said she would catch up with us.' Frowning, she realised that Roisin should have caught up with them long before now, but herself and Marthe had been so involved in their chatter that they had not noticed.

Kristr took off running in the direction of the woods, shouting for Roisin, and followed closely by Erik. With each stride he became more and more panicked. What if she had fallen? Was she injured?

When he came upon the scene in the clearing he howled in rage.  In a heartbeat he was stabbed with guilt. Now he knew exactly how Conall of Dun na Shee must have felt when he found the ransom note stabbed through the tree. Kristr fell to his knees as he saw the satchel, the dagger with blood on it, and the length of her beautiful hair, so carefully plaited by him that morning.

His heart tightened and his stomach lurched. This was not the work of Roisin's menfolk taking her back by stealth. MacRonan had been here. He stared at the disturbed earth, evidence of a struggle. Horror was replaced by anger, and fear of what had become of her. Erik caught up to his brother, and roared in outrage at the small pile of Roisin's belongings before them.

****

Roisin tried to shake herself awake.  She realised that she must be on a boat, the undulating movements were of the sea, not land. Boats did not normally make her feel so ill; and her head was throbbing. She heard men’s voices but they were speaking in Gaelic, not Norse. She tried to open her eyes, but something was stopping her. She reached to her head and felt a rough piece of material. Tugging furiously at the blindfold, she screamed for Kristr , but was rewarded with a foul-smelling hand clamped over her mouth, and the horrifying familiar voice. 'Your precious Viking is not here!' Another dirty pair of hands pressed a wine skin to her lips, but when she tried to turn away, the sticky sweet liquid poured down her throat. She choked, swallowed, and all was dark again.

Be sure to come back next week for chapter 16!

Thank you to:

Copyright http://batmantoo.deviantart.com/

E. Paterson for the Viking painting and the Viking hall

Bio

Maria MacAuley is from Derry, Ireland and has a degree in Celtic Languages. She is married to the love of her life, and they live in relative peace with two cats.

She has a secret wish that her husband will investigate his Nordic family tree further and whisk her off on a longboat to Hammerfest to view the Northern Lights.

If Maria were to choose her favorite tense, it should be the subjunctive, and is always keen to discuss same over a pint of Guinness.

email: banbha@hotmail.com

~*"No portion of this story may be copied or shared without the direct permission of the author."*~