The Viking's Witch (10 page)

“We were to be rid of you once and for all.”

“But why?”

Darach snorted. “You are as dumb as a duck. Did you believe the nightly walks along the seashore were
my
idea? You thought I fancied you?” He laughed. “Brennan came to me and instructed me to earn your trust, to make you believe I found you lovable—instead of a repulsive, black-souled witch. It sickened me to be near you, knowing what you are.”

Odaria gasped. “Darach!”

“Why do you think I refused to aid you at the pyre last night? I was pleased to be rid of you, with your curses and hexes and storms—”

“But Darach, I thought—”

“You thought what I wished you to think. And now you have chosen
me
to save?” He laughed. “I’d sooner be skinned alive than fall in with you, Satan’s harlot. You shall not trade my soul for some food and drink. God shall protect me from your evil spells. You conjured up these pagan monsters to save yourself from the pyre, but once they have gone, Brennan shall come after you again. His vengeance shall not be swift. You will suffer and—”

“How can you say such vile things? You know I have done nothing I’ve been accused of. I didn’t kill the—”

“Lying whore. Everyone in the village knows what you did. Tell me, Odaria, have these devils ravaged you yet? I pray that each of them takes his fill of you over and over until your—”

Odaria splashed beer from the pitcher in Darach’s face.

Rothgar leapt to his feet in an instant.

“Get him out of here.” Odaria stood and backed away from the table. “Take him from my sight, Rothgar, before I shove a dagger through his black heart.”

Rothgar crossed the room and grabbed Darach by the front of his shirt. Darach punched him in the chest, but it was a weak, pathetic blow.

The blood drained from Darach’s face, and he looked at Odaria. “He was listening. You tricked me.” He crossed himself. “I’ll see you burn yet.”

Rothgar shoved Darach at Sig. “Gag him, then take him back to the others. Do not allow him to speak. No food or water for two days.”

Sig nodded and dragged the kicking and screaming man from the room.

Rothgar looked at Odaria. She was sitting on the wooden bench, weeping into her hands. He sat next to her and touched her shoulder. “Odaria, I—”

She buried her face in his chest. “I thought he fancied me. I told him secrets I’d never told another soul. He pretended he cared for me, and this is what he does? How could I have been so foolish? No man in the village ever wanted to spend time with me. I should have known it was a trick.”

He wrapped his arms around Odaria’s shoulders and held her as she sobbed. “It matters not. He is not a good man for you.” He squeezed her tighter. “I am sorry for what he said, but you did well.”

Odaria glanced up at him. Tears sparkled in her long, dark lashes. “I did?”

“
Ja
. Now I know that Orvind’s ship was here.” He smiled. “You have made me proud, my little witch.”

“I told you I could help.”

“
Ja
, you are full of deceit and quite clever. Promise me you shall never use your deceptions on me.”

“Never. There shall never be lies between us.”

“
Gut
.” He stood. “I must leave now. Sig will return to stay with you.”

Odaria clutched his sleeve and held him fast. “Where are you going?”

“To the north shore of the isle.”

She rose. “I will go with you. If you discover bits of wreckage or an object belonging to Orvind, I may be able to use it to find him.”

He shook his head. “
Neinn.
Stay here. It will be growing dark soon, and I do not want to risk you becoming hurt or lost.”

“But Rothgar, I know the isle well. I could—”

“Do as I say.” He saw a look of hurt flash in Odaria’s eyes, and he slipped his arm around her waist. Without hesitation, he pulled her close and kissed her. To his surprise, Odaria’s warm lips moved against his, increasing the intensity of their embrace.

He let out a soft moan, then forced himself to break the kiss.

Odaria smiled at him and tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. “Must you leave now?”

“
Ja
. When I find Orvind, we sail at once.” He gave her a quick kiss, then headed for the door. “Wait for me.”

“Aye. Find him quickly, for I am most eager to leave this place.”

Chapter Six

Odaria hummed a tune to herself as she carried a stack of wooden plates into the cookroom. She set them on the small table and glanced over her shoulder. Sig stood in the doorway, focused on her every move. She studied him out of the corner of her eye. He looked much like the other Norsemen. He had a light brown beard and wore a dark brown tunic with gold embroidery. She wasn’t afraid of him, but he
was
grating on her nerves.

Sig had hovered over her ever since Rothgar had left nearly two hours ago. Although he was obeying Rothgar’s order to watch over her, she didn’t like to be followed around. “If you insist on trailing me like me shadow, you ought to help with the cleanin’.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“Ah, never mind.” She rolled her eyes. “Even if you did understand, you wouldna be a help.” She brushed past him and reentered the main room. Where was Rothgar? What was keeping him? She wrung her hands as she paced in front of the fireplace.

After Rothgar had left, she’d kept herself busy by cleaning and straightening up. The gathering hall was a sight: food had dried onto the straw floor, the table was coated with spilled beer, and the woodbin was empty. Although this wasn’t her home, she felt the urge to keep it tidy and presentable. Doing the chores had prevented her from worrying about Rothgar and kept her mind off of Darach’s betrayal. His cruel words still stung. How could the one person she had trusted and confided in turn against her so easily? She frowned. Perhaps it made for a good lesson. It proved that men were liars.

She looked up as the main door swung open and three Norsemen came inside. She recognized the short, fair-haired one as a man Rothgar called Haraldur. She ran to Rothgar’s side as soon as he entered.

“Did you find Orvind? What happened? Why were you gone so long?”

“Allow me to pass through the doorway, woman,” Rothgar grumbled.

She moved back as he walked past her carrying a dripping wet boot and an enormous shield. “What are these?”

“Objects we found on the northern side of the isle.” Rothgar arched an eyebrow and looked at her. “You claim you can learn of a person through objects.” He laid the items on the wooden bench near the fireplace. “Then tell me of these.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she stared up at him. Was he serious? Did he expect her to tell him things instantly? “Now? Are they Orvind’s?”

“You are to tell me, witch.”

She shook her head. “Rothgar, the gift I have doesna work on demand. I—”

“You said you could help. Now help.” He directed the others to lay the objects they carried on the bench. “Or have you been lying to me all along? Are your claims to possess powers but a mere trick?”

“Nay.” She bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor. When she focused her energy and touched objects, she could tell of their former owners. But using her powers for this purpose disturbed her, and she avoided it whenever possible. She never knew what she might see or feel when she touched something belonging to a stranger.

At times, this gift left her plagued with terrible dreams, and she didn’t like to invite bad images into her head. But what good would it do to explain all this to Rothgar? He didn’t believe in her powers, and even she didn’t know exactly how they worked. Using her sight put a great strain on her, and she was already exhausted from the long day.

“Would you rather wait till morn? I may—”

“Now.” Rothgar grabbed her arm and dragged her to the bench. “Do not try my patience. Do what you must to find Orvind.”

“Unhand me.” She yanked her arm from his grip and glared at him. “I’m not a plaything to be ordered about as you wish.”

Rothgar gazed at his boots and let out a long breath. “Forgive me. I’m most eager to find him.” He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I need you to help me.”

Deep down, she understood Rothgar’s sense of urgency. He was desperate, and if Orvind was nearly dead or trapped somewhere, every moment counted. “Aye. I’ll do what I can with what you’ve brought me. I’ll tell you what I see.”

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She cleared her mind, then rubbed her hands together briskly. Heat radiated from her palms, and she relaxed. When her fingers started to tingle, she opened and closed her left hand a few times. Whenever her hands prickled and grew warm, she knew her powers were being channeled from wherever they came from.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes and approached the first object on the bench. It was a brown leather boot.

Haraldur said something to the other men, and she whipped her head in his direction. “Quiet, Haraldur.”

His blue eyes widened, and he took a step back, clutching the silver pendant dangling around his neck.

She grinned. Word must have traveled through the Norse camp about what had happened with Brennan. It seemed as if Rothgar’s brave Norse warriors were afraid of a mere girl.

She touched the boot with her fingertips, then jerked her hand back. Her fingers felt numb and ached as if they were stabbed by hundreds of needles. She looked at Rothgar. “Where did you find this?”

“In the sea.”

She frowned, then placed her hand on the toe of the boot. An icy wave washed over her body. She coughed and sputtered as her mouth and nose filled with the salty taste of cold seawater. Her lungs hurt, and her head spun. Everything went black. She couldn’t breathe. Drowning … She was drowning. Odaria kept her eyes closed and allowed the vision to play out in her mind’s eye.

Roaring waves of black water rushed over her head. A thick rope had her by the right ankle and was dragging her down into the depths of the sea. She struggled and tried to swim, but it was no use. The rope was attached to something heavy, a rock perhaps, that was sinking fast.

Salt water filled her nose, burning her nostrils and the back of her throat. Her heart thundered as her lungs ached for air. She held her breath until it felt as if her head and chest would explode. After another minute, it was too much to bear. Her lungs filled with water, and everything began to fade.

She jerked her hand off the boot and bent over, coughing and wheezing as she gasped for air.

Rothgar was at her side in an instant. “Odaria, what—?”

“He drowned.” She coughed into her hand and wiped her watery eyes. “He got caught on a rope and was pulled down. He’s dead.”

“Are you certain?”

“I saw it. I saw him as he died. He tried, but he couldna reach the surface.”

“Was it Orvind?”

“I dunno.” She spit into the fire, trying to rid her mouth of the taste of seawater. Haraldur and the other Norsemen backed away from her. One of them said something to Rothgar, and he answered.

She took a moment to catch her breath and calm herself. By the gods, she hated doing this. Why had she ever told Rothgar that she could divine from objects? Her mother had warned her against toying with this so-called gift.

When she’d been a young girl, her mother had told her that all personal objects held some energy or presence of their owners. Most times it was faint, but if a person died tragically, it was stronger and much more dangerous. Holding a death object often allowed her to experience the person’s death with them, watching and feeling all that they felt, but she was unable to help. If she touched the wrong object or the wrong person, she could get a nasty shock.

“What did he look like?” Rothgar asked.

As her breathing settled, she rubbed her temples, forcing herself to recall the horrifying details of what she’d seen. “He had dark hair and a beard. He thought it was a coward’s way to die.”

“I see. Move on to the next item. Tell me of it,” Rothgar said, gesturing at the bench.

She glanced at the three remaining objects and sighed. Had the owners all drowned? Odds were that they had and she would be forced to see each one of them suffering and crying out for help in their final moments. “If you insist.”

The next item was a large leather pouch with a thick strap. She shook her left hand a few times, and when it started to tingle, she touched the edge of the pouch. After a second, she relaxed a little. There was no death associated with this object. Instead, she felt anger and frustration.

“He’s on a ship … at night … There’s a storm.” The howling wind roared in her ears, and she started rocking with the roll of a ship.

“An older man with a red beard carries this satchel over his shoulder. He is arguing with a young man who has … strange white hair. The older man is quite angry.”

“What are they saying?”

She opened her eyes and looked at Rothgar. “If I spoke Norse, I could tell you.”

He frowned. “What else do you see?”

Her right hand balled into a tight fist. “The older man longs to strike the younger man but dares not. He’s worried about the storm. He walked away from the young man, then went back and pointed at him.” She took her hand off the satchel and shrugged. “It seemed as if he was chastising him for something.”

Rothgar sighed. “Nothing else?”

“Nay.” She moved on to the next object. It was a small gold dagger with an ornately carved jeweled hilt. As she touched the cool metal, a warm tingle spread through her.

“Oh, this is different.” A feeling of intense pleasure flooded over her, and she relaxed. There was no mistaking the owner of the dagger. She smiled and turned to Rothgar.

“What is the meaning of this game?”

Rothgar glanced at the other Norsemen. “What do you mean?”

“This was not on the beach.” She picked up the dagger. “’Tis yours.”

Rothgar flashed her a grin. “If so, then tell me of it.”

She closed her eyes. Obviously Rothgar had meant to test her by inserting one of his own objects into the mix. A warm pulse of energy flowed from the metal.

“’Twas given to you by an older man … with white hair and light blue eyes. He was not your father but a close relation. He is a noble man and loves you as a son. Yet”—she looked at him, puzzled—“when he presented it to you, you did not wish to accept it. Why not?”

Rothgar’s mouth opened a little. From the look on his face, she knew he hadn’t expected her to tell him such personal details. “Is that enough, or shall I read more?”

Rothgar snatched the dagger from her hand and fastened it around his waist. “
Ja
, enough, witch.” He pointed to the gold-and-green-painted shield. “And what of this? Tell me what you see.”

She touched the edge of the large shield. A searing, white-hot pain shot through her right shoulder and arm. “Ow!” She jerked her hand away and whimpered as she massaged her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“The arm, or shoulder … ’tis broken or crushed.” She took a few deep breaths to push the intense pain away and forced herself to touch the painted shield again. “’Tis dark. The water is cold … People are screaming.”

She shook her head and winced as the pain in her shoulder increased. “The storm smashed the ship against the rocks. He, too, hit the rocks but floated to shore, clutching the shield. He’s scared. The wreck was his fault … never should have left home … bad sailing. He should have listened to … Turvid.”

Odaria opened her eyes. “The owner of the shield is the same man who argued with the owner of that.” She pointed to the satchel.

She waited while Rothgar translated her vision to the other Norsemen. They exchanged worried glances and muttered a few words amongst themselves.

“What else?” Rothgar barked.

“Nothing. ’Tis all I see from this.”

“What do you mean, that is all you see? This is Orvind’s shield. I must know where he is.”

“I know not. The image faded. He may have passed out from the pain. All I can tell you is that he got to shore and was alive when he carried that shield. Ow! Dammit!” She cried out as another blinding pain shot through her arm. She sat on a nearby chair and rubbed her aching shoulder. The ache would subside in a few moments, but the ordeal had made her tired and cranky. Right now, the last thing she wanted was to be grilled by Rothgar over something she couldn’t control.

“Is he still alive?”

“The injury is not fatal. He may be.” She shrugged. “I cannot say.”

Rothgar paced, gesturing wildly. “What good are your powers if they tell me nothing? You were to tell me where Orvind is and how to find him. Instead of learning what I need, I hear tales of arguments at sea and a—”

“I told you all I can.” A ceramic pitcher slid off the table and shattered to bits on the floor. The group of Norsemen muttered to themselves and backed into the far corner.

She stood up, glanced at the broken pieces of pottery, then looked at Rothgar. “I’m tired, and I’m going ta bed. When you find Orvind, you will see that I was right. He’ll have a broken arm or shoulder,” she called out as she marched up the stairs. “My visions are never wrong.”

Odaria snapped her eyes open. What had awakened her so abruptly? Perhaps she’d had a bad dream. How long had she been asleep? She glanced around the moonlit bedchamber. Rothgar lay sleeping next to her. When had he come upstairs? The moment her head had touched the pillow, she’d fallen into a deep sleep. Rothgar must have come in some time after she’d drifted off and—