The Viking's Witch (11 page)

All of a sudden, the bed jostled and bounced as Rothgar flailed next to her. He shouted a stream of words she didn’t understand, then jerked his head from side to side, moaning and muttering.

She sat up. Although the room was bathed in shadows, she could see Rothgar clearly. His eyes were closed. He was asleep.

His shoulders twitched as his arms strained and jerked wildly. It seemed as if he were fighting with someone. What was he dreaming about? She reached out and touched his bare shoulder. Although it was dangerous to wake a person during a dream, she was worried that his shouting might bring the other Norsemen upstairs to investigate.

“Rothgar, wake up.” She grasped his thick shoulder and shook it as hard as she could. He muttered something, and she shook him again. A second later, he opened his eyes.

“
Hvat
?”

“Are you all right? You were—”

“I’m fine.” He sat up and cradled his head in his hands. His blond hair splayed through his fingers.

She rested her hand on Rothgar’s broad back. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin. His muscles twitched and rippled beneath her palm as his chest heaved. She longed to comfort him through his troubles but knew not how. Her experience with men was limited. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing. Merely a bad dream.”

She understood that. Over the years, she’d had her fair share of troubling dreams. “It must have been awful,” she said, rubbing his back in small circles. “You were twitching and yelling—”

“Yelling?” He looked at her over his shoulder. “What did I say?”

“I know not. ’Twas in that Norse tongue you growl out. I couldna understand a word of it, but it seemed as if you were fighting something—or someone.”

Rothgar pulled away from her and climbed out of bed. He picked up his tunic off the floor and yanked it over his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Go back to sleep.” He laced the front of his tunic closed, then fastened his cloak around his shoulders.

“Leaving? Why? Where are you going in the middle of the night?” She watched Rothgar’s shadowy figure as he gathered his dagger and sword. Why did he have this sudden urge to leave? Where was he going? Was he upset with her?

“Pray do not leave, Rothgar. Come back to bed. If you are leavin’ because we exchanged cross words downstairs, I’m sorry. I couldna say more about what I saw in the vision.”

“It’s not that. I know you told me all you could.” He sighed. “I need to go. I will sleep no more tonight. Not after that dream.”

She didn’t ask what he’d dreamt. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t tell her anyway. What sort of horrible dream could make such a brave man afraid to go back to sleep? “Where are you going? ’Tis pitch-black out.”

“To my ship,” he answered as he strapped his dagger to his waist. “I will return in the morning.”

“You’re leaving me?”

He sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. “You will be fine. You can take care of yourself for a few hours.”

“Pray do not leave me here alone.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “The moment the men downstairs know you have gone, they shall be up here beating down the door.” She made her voice as sweet and as gentle as possible. “Stay.”

Deep down, she had no fear of the Norsemen. She just did not want Rothgar to leave her. He was the only person she trusted on the isle. What if a terrible tragedy befell him while he was gone? Who would protect her? How would she ever leave?

“I’m in no mood for sweet talk and games. Go back to sleep. You will not know I’ve gone.”

She tightened her grip around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against the back of his tunic. “Pray, do not leave me behind. Allow me to come with you. I promise I shan’t be a pest. I will do whatever you ask of me.” She batted her eyelashes. “I feel safer when I’m at your side.”

His shoulders sagged, and he let out a deep sigh. “Fine, then. You may come along.” He frowned. “I know better than to argue with you anyway.”

Rothgar stepped over a large rock as he made his way through the darkness. Odaria walked alongside him carrying a small oil lamp and chattering away.

“Oftentimes, I’d bake pies and cakes and take them into the village. A woman named Maeve would trade me …”

He tuned her out and kept walking, lost deep in his own thoughts. Today had not been a good day, and tonight had been even worse. Even though he had learned that Orvind’s ship had been wrecked here, he was no closer to finding him than he had been yesterday.

The long day had tired him out, and yet his sleep had been plagued with dreams about the pretty little wife he’d lost years ago. Why was Gretta haunting him tonight? Was it because for the first time in years he was capable of becoming erect, as a man should be? He sighed.
If only I had listened to her and stayed home …

After months of being cooped up indoors with Gretta and the new baby, he had prepared to go
a-viking
with some of the other men from the village. Gretta had pleaded with him to stay home with her instead. He recalled their conversation clearly, as if it had happened yesterday.

It was early morning. The sun had not yet risen over the mountains.

Gretta had followed him around their shadowy bedchamber. “Pray do not leave me here alone,” she had whispered, then wrapped her arms around him.

A chill settled over him. Those were the same words Odaria had used on him tonight.

What Gretta said to him would haunt him forever. He should have listened to her and stayed home. If he had, he would be living a far different life now. But he’d paid heavily for ignoring Gretta’s pleas. While away, he had sinned, and the gods had taken his wife and child as punishment for his infidelity.

He strolled on for a few more yards before realizing that Odaria was no longer at his side. Puzzled, he turned around. Odaria was staring at a patch of burned grass and wood embers. She shivered, and the oil lamp she carried trembled in her hand.

“Are you cold? Do you wish to wear my cloak?”

“Nay.” She looked at him. “Do you not know this place? ’Tis where it happened.”

“Where what happened? It is dark. I—”

“This is the exact spot where they had me. Where I cursed the whole lot of them.” Odaria bent down and picked up a burnt piece of wood. “Your men came out of the darkness there,” she said, pointing to the right.

“
Ja
, we are not far from the ship. Come with me,” he replied, clasping her hand and pulling her away. He didn’t want Odaria to dwell on what had nearly happened to her. She had suffered through a terrible ordeal in the last two days. How much could her mind take before she fell into madness?

As they headed to the beach, he thought about the fire. Odaria had escaped the flames that had tried to consume her, but Gretta and Rurik had not been so fortunate. He frowned. The only two women he had ever cared for seemed plagued by fire—but Odaria had survived. Perhaps delivering Odaria to him was the gods’ way of making amends and giving him another chance. Before he met Odaria, he had closed his heart to all thoughts of love and romance.

They had not walked far when he heard the familiar slapping of waves against the shore. The moon came out from behind a cloud, silhouetting the
knar
as a black dragon against the night sky.

Odaria squealed and yanked her hand from his. “What is that?”

“It’s my ship. Beautiful,
ja
?”

The
knarr
was magnificent. Fifty-four feet from stem to stern, it held thirty men and was designed to serve multiple purposes. It was not as long as a warship, yet not as bulky as a cargo ship. The draught of the hull was only three feet, making it fast and lightweight for speedy travel.

All Norse ships were designed to sail in varying water depths, whether across deep seas or up shallow rivers. They had sailed this ship right up to the beach. A hundred feet down the shore, another
knarr
was anchored in the sand.

“Beautiful? ’Tis horrid. ’Tis no boat; ’tis an ugly floating stick.”

“What do you know of ships, woman?” he growled as he walked to the
knarr
. He was in no mood to have his pride and joy insulted, especially by a Pict. But in her own odd way, Odaria was right about the ship’s appearance. To her, it might look horrid—but that was intentional.

Their ships were deliberately carved and decorated to spark terror in those who saw them approaching. An ornate dragon’s head curved out across the bow, and the stern was fashioned into a curled tail. Colorful carvings of griffins and serpents adorned the wooden shields fastened to the sides, but they couldn’t be seen in the dark. What would Odaria think of the ship when she saw it by the light of day?

“Climb up and over the side.”

“I canna do that.”

He grumbled a curse. Women! They did not belong on ships and were sometimes as helpless as mewling kittens. “Do you live to vex me, woman? What manner of nonsense is this? You asked, nay, begged to accompany me. I should have left you behind.”

“But I do not like this ship. I canna—”

“For Odin’s sake …” In one swift move, he scooped Odaria up and slung her over his shoulder. Within a matter of seconds, he climbed over the side of the ship and set Odaria down. “Be careful where you walk.”

He strode across the deck and leaned against the ten-foot mast. He closed his eyes and was soon lulled into a sense of familiar comfort by the creaking of the ship and the waves lapping against the sides. He had wanted to come aboard and think in silence, perhaps devise a plan for questioning the villagers, but with Odaria here, he had little hope of peace.

“What is this for?” She tugged on a rope hanging from the mast.

“For the mainsail. Leave it be, lest you unfurl the whole damn thing.”

Odaria walked around the deck, holding the oil lamp out in front of her. “This ship is not large enough to carry many people. Are you certain ’tis seaworthy? If I’m to sail with you, I wish to know that the boat shan’t sink like a stone.”

He rolled his eyes. “It carried dozens of grown men here, did it not? I’m certain it can carry a troublesome Pict girl.”

“Aye, but if one Norse ship sank, then others could as well.” Odaria peered over the side. “If this floating log is truly seaworthy, why is it half-sunk into the water? It barely floats. What if it tips over? Nay, ’tis too low for safe travel. A large wave could come aboard and drown everyone or swallow the ship.”

“The low keel helps it travel swiftly. It pays no mind to the waves.” Odaria’s endless questions were not improving his sour mood. If anything, she only reminded him of the disastrous fate of Orvind’s ship.

“And what of the monsters that lurk beneath the sea? What if one of them decides to pull the ship under? What weapons does this boat have to defend against sea beasts or other raiders? Nay, it shall not do one bit. ’Tis not safe. You have to find another ship or build this one higher out of the water before I shall—”

“Quiet!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “If you do not like the ship I’ve provided, then you can remain behind with your beloved villagers. Stay here and wed Darach for all I care.”

Odaria gasped. “How dare you!”

He cursed. His words had come out harsher than he’d intended. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m upset and not thinking clear.”

“Because of your bad dream?”

“
Ja
.” He flopped onto the wooden rowing bench and sighed. “Sometimes I dream about terrible things.”

“Perhaps if you would tell me of it—”

“I will not discuss it with you or anyone.”

He closed his eyes and listened to the waves rolling in and out. After a moment, he realized that Odaria wasn’t picking on the ship to be mean. She was expressing her fears—in her own way. She was afraid of the sea. By Thor, the seafaring Nordmann was in love with a sea-fearing Pict. He opened his eyes and looked at Odaria. “Have you ever sailed off this isle?”

“Nay. Never.” She glanced at him and bit her bottom lip. “I’ve heard horrible tales of ships that sailed off the edge of the world and monsters that lurk in the sea waiting to eat people.” She paused. “I didna mean to make you angry. I wish to go with you Rothgar, but I’m … afraid of the water and what’s hiding in it.”

He nodded. Odaria’s worries weren’t entirely unfounded. Ships did disappear. They were sucked into whirlpools, struck by ice or whales, or blown off course into parts unknown. But if he told Odaria these things, she’d never set foot on the ship again. He forced himself to smile and sound soothing.

“Have no fears, little witch. It is a sturdy, seaworthy vessel. Would I allow you to come aboard if it weren’t safe? The ship is designed to ward off other raiders and evil spirits. We intend for it to look menacing, to frighten enemies, understand?”

“Aye. I trust ya to keep me safe.”

“
Gut.
” He patted the bench seat next to him. “Sit with me.”

Odaria placed the oil lamp on the bench and sat down. She shivered as a breeze blew in off the sea.

“Are you cold?”

She shrugged. “A little.”

He removed his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. “It’s the middle of the night.” He blew out the oil lamp. “Close your eyes and go to sleep. And fret not, little witch. You have nothing to fear from the sea while I’m at your side.”