The Viking's Witch (30 page)

Odaria glanced at Rothgar over Brennan’s shoulder. Right now, he was as helpless as she was. If he drew his broadsword and killed Brennan, the villagers would attack him. Even he was no match for two dozen crazed people. Was there any hope left for either of them?

“And I will keep mine,” Rothgar said. “But I do wish to say good-bye.” He pushed past Brennan.

Rothgar walked straight up to the wooden beam and kicked the pile of brush aside. “Odaria has been a great source of pleasure to me while I was here. After all the delightful nights I’ve spent with her, I would like a sample of her again. It is a long voyage home.”

She stared at Rothgar. Had he gone mad as well? Why was he dallying here? If Brennan gave the order for the villagers to attack, Rothgar would be killed. She had to warn him.

“Rothgar, ’tis—”

He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. Her body tingled, and she instinctively responded. Their tongues met and melded together as they kissed one last time. She loved him, heart and soul. No matter what happened to her today, she’d love him forever. Tears welled in her eyes. It was some small consolation knowing that she’d die with the taste of Rothgar on her lips.

Rothgar moved away and stared into her eyes.

Her resolve faded, and she started to cry. “I woulda been a good wife,” she whispered.

He smiled, wiped a tear off her cheek, and replied quietly, “Don’t cry, little witch. Now is not the time for tears. Now is the time to
get angry
.”

Rothgar moved back and cleared his throat. “She is yours, Brennan. Do with her as you please. My men will be leaving this place within the hour.” He took a few steps, then turned and walked back.

“I know you are a cruel man, Brennan. But to do this dreadful deed to your own daughter, it’s unholy.” He shook his head.

“His
what
?” Odaria exclaimed.

“Your mother never told you?” Rothgar asked, then pointed at Brennan. “He is your father, Odaria. He’s the one who forced himself upon your mother. He confessed that—and much more—to me when we were questioning him. If you inherited such evil powers, would not he be partly responsible for giving them to you?”

The villagers surrounding the pyre gasped and muttered among themselves.

Her skin prickled. How could such a horrible thing be true? And yet, it made sense. Her mother had always hated Brennan and warned her to stay far away from him. Deep in her heart, she knew Rothgar spoke the truth.

“May the gods have mercy on your soul, Brennan. You will need it,” Rothgar stated. “You violated and murdered the mother of your daughter, killed an innocent babe, buried three men alive, and now are about to burn your child to death when she has committed no crime …”

He chuckled and continued. “Is there no satisfying your bloodlust? Even my people contain their urge for bloodsport, and we don’t kill our own. Is this what you preach in your church? How to kill your enemies and children?”

“Shut your mouth, wretched liar,” Brennan shouted and waved a dagger at Rothgar. “Go now, or else.”

“I will. My stomach sickens at being so near such a
holy
man. It’s odd. I’ve never roasted anyone alive, and yet
you
call
me
a barbarian. I will leave you to practice your Black Arts.” Rothgar strode to the low stone wall. “Ask him about your mother, Odaria,” he called out over his shoulder as he left the village. “She was about to expose his godless crimes to the rest of the village when he killed her.”

“Brennan, you miserable bastard.” She struggled against the ropes. “I shall have your head. You are nothing but a murderous coward.”

Brennan darted to her side and pointed the dagger at her throat. “Speak again, witch, and I shall cut out your tongue before I light the pyre.”

Odaria whimpered and cringed away from him. He was mad and capable of anything. It would do no good to fight with him now and enrage him further. If Brennan thought she had given up, she might find a way to escape—somehow.

“I thought that would silence you, witch. Your Norseman has left you, and soon I shall be rid of you as well.” Brennan shouted orders to the villagers, and they began piling more wood onto the pyre.

She scanned the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rothgar returning. But there was no sign of him. He had left her to meet her fate alone.

Chapter Fifteen

Rothgar raced over the small hill and down the other side. He spotted Haraldur and Sig carrying Orvind’s limp figure through the tall grass. He ran toward them, his chest tight with worry. Odaria’s prediction had been right. Brennan
had
tricked him. Why hadn’t he listened to her?

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re heading to the ship, with Orvind,” Sig answered as he kept walking.

“That was not our plan. One of you was to carry Orvind to safety, while the other one returned with me to rescue Odaria.”

Sig shook his head. “I’m not going back there to rescue that witch. It’s certain death. You never told us the villagers would be there, lying in wait. They are possessed by madness. We’ll all be hexed or killed or worse.”

“
Ja
,” Haraldur said. “Let her use her powers and free herself. Or not. I care nothing for her safety.”

He grabbed Haraldur’s tunic sleeve. “I paid you both very well. You agreed to do this for me in exchange for—”

“That was when I had only one man to kill,” Haraldur said. “There are two dozen armed villagers back there. After what we have done to them, do you think they will spare us?” Haraldur glanced in the direction of the abandoned village. “Leave the girl. She’s probably dead or ruined by now.”

His blood boiled, and he clenched his jaw. He longed to smash his fist into Haraldur’s face and pummel him until he was unconscious, but he had no time for that.

“Pathetic cowards. You are as weak as water. How dare you call yourselves Nordmenn when you shirk from a fight? Odaria has more courage and strength in her little finger than the two of you have in your whole bodies. Mark my words, I will deal with you two later.”

He dashed over the hill ahead of them and bolted to Odaria’s village in long loping strides, cutting across the fields as fast as his legs would take him. Time was of the essence, and Odaria’s life was at stake. As he ran, he mulled over his ruined scheme.

Everything would have worked out perfectly if Brennan had been alone, but the damned villagers had ruined his surprise attack. He had anticipated leaving Odaria for a few moments, then returning with Haraldur and Sig to rescue her, but his plan had failed. He only had one chance left, and he prayed the gods would be on his side.

A few minutes later, he reached the village. Everywhere he looked, Karnik’s men were taking down tents, rolling up blankets, and packing supplies. They were stripping the village of everything they could bring home.

He doubled over and tried to catch his breath. His bruised ribs ached, and he had a painful stitch in his right side. Running clear across the isle had sapped him of what remaining strength he’d had. With little sleep for two nights and no food this morning, he was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

Nordskog was at his side in a flash. “Rothgar, where are Orvind and the girl?”

He glanced at Nordskog and shook his head. “No time to explain,” he said in between gasps for air. His gaze traveled to the bandage wrapped around Nordskog’s calf.

“How fast can you run on that leg?”

“Nothing to say, witch?” Brennan asked as he threw a handful of driftwood onto the pile in front of her. “Your spell didn’t save you for long, did it? You may have conjured Norsemen to save you once, but your lover has abandoned you.”

“Go to hell.” Odaria stared at the pyre surrounding her. Now it was built as high as her knees. The instant it was lit, her dress would catch fire, and from there … She pushed the thought from her mind.

Although being burned alive terrified her, she refused to let Brennan see her fear. It would only please him to watch her cower and beg for mercy. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and took a deep breath. It would be better to die a noble, strong death than to whine like a helpless child.

She scanned the ruined village, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rothgar returning for her. But he was nowhere to be seen. How could he have abandoned her so coldly when she needed him the most? Despite all the times she’d told him that she didn’t need him to watch over her, she was wrong. She wished he were here now. For once, she actually longed for his protection.

Despite the dire circumstances, she still clung to some small measure of hope. After all, things could be worse. At least her feet weren’t bound. In their haste to fasten her arms behind her, the villagers had forgotten to lash her feet to the post. But what good would that do her? Even if she were able to kick some of the twigs away, she still couldn’t free her arms.

She wriggled her shoulders in the hope of loosening the ropes. It was futile. Her arms and hands were firmly bound. A villager approached her and she stopped struggling. She stared at him for a moment, then recognized him. It was Simon, the father of the deformed baby she’d tried to help.

“May the devil himself violate you each day you burn in hell, witch.” He backhanded her across the mouth, then spit in her face.

She licked her lips and tasted blood. For the past several minutes, the villagers had come forth one by one to vent their rage on her. This was the third time she’d been spit on, but Simon was the first person to draw blood. Oddly enough, she didn’t mind their curses and taunts. The longer they delayed lighting the pyre, the better her odds were for escape.

She stared deep into Simon’s brown eyes, hoping to talk some sense into his addled head. “’Tis Brennan’s blood you seek, Simon. He killed your child, not I. I watched helpless as he did it. Ask him how he covered its mouth and nose until it succumbed.”

“Lying whore.”

Someone threw a rock at her. It struck her on the side of the head, and she saw stars. Her pulse soared, and she felt a familiar heat building up inside her. Her powers were slowly returning, but would she have enough time to gather the strength she needed?

She gazed down at the villagers surrounding her. If she couldn’t conjure up a band of Norsemen to free her, she might be able to conjure up something else to use to her advantage—betrayal.

“Brennan’s the one you should be punishing. He led the village to its destruction. He hid the fair-haired Norseman here, knowing that it would bring others in search of him. You witnessed that yourselves. You know I speak the truth.”

She licked her lips and saw a few villagers pause and look in her direction. Was she getting through to them?

“The Norseman offered to set everyone free unharmed on the first day, but Brennan refused to show him where his friend was hidden. ’Tis Brennan’s fault you were held captive and your families were destroyed.”

Several villagers shot Brennan steely glances.

“Is this true?” Simon rushed at Brennan, waving a small dagger. “Is it true that we suffered at their hands for nothing?” he screamed. “They raped and killed my wife before my eyes because you were too stubborn to tell them what they wished to know? You could have stopped this?”

Odaria grinned. Her plan was working. If she could turn the villagers against Brennan they would delay lighting the pyre and she might be able to escape somehow.

“Aye, ’tis exactly what happened, Simon. Brennan’s got your baby’s blood on his hands, and he’s leading all of you on a path straight to hell.” She stared out at the crowd and continued.

“He killed my mother, then the child, and then he tried to kill me to hide his crimes. He cared not what the Norsemen did to you. He thought it was fun to play games with them. They told him he could stop the torment, but he challenged them, enraged them. And look what happened. He stands here alive and well while nearly everyone in the village is dead.”

She paused and squared her shoulders. “Remember what happened the last time he tried to burn me?”

A few villagers exchanged worried looks. Three armed men backed away from her, muttering prayers.

“I have no desire to harm you. You have suffered enough. Set me free, and I shall only take Brennan’s life. The rest of you shall be spared.”

“Quiet!” Brennan marched to her and grabbed a handful of her hair. “If you speak again, I shall—”

“What,
Father
? What will you do to your only daughter?”

Brennan’s green eyes blazed.

“You preach that confession saves the soul. Confess and tell the villagers that you sired a witch. Tell them. Tell them how you made me.”

Brennan paced in front of her, chattering to himself and shaking his head. She watched him closely. It wouldn’t serve her purpose to push him too far. He was at the brink of madness and could snap at any moment.

“Aye, I confess that I forced myself upon the witch whore who birthed you. But she used her black powers to tempt my lust, then denied me. I shamed her and hoped that the deed would drive her from the isle. Instead, she bore you.”

The villagers crossed themselves and stepped away from Brennan, whispering prayers.

Brennan hopped onto the stack of dried brush and stood before her. “She thought she was clever and would tell the villagers what I had done years ago. I made certain she never spoke another word. I killed her for being a witch and for practicing crimes against God—the same as I will do to you. We have unfinished business. There shall be no escape for you this time.” He smirked. “I shall burn you as easily as I burned your filthy cottage.”

Her pulse surged, and she balled her hands into fists. “You did that all by yourself?”

Brennan laughed, and the stench of his rancid breath made her eyes water. “Aye. I lit the fire and watched that flea-ridden cat howl and scream while the flames ate him alive.”

In the blink of an eye, she rammed her knee into Brennan’s crotch as hard as she could. He doubled over and fell off the pyre. None of the villagers moved to help him.

“You should have told me anything but that.”

A searing heat built deep in her belly, and her muscles tightened. Rage flooded over her, and thunder rumbled in the distance. A cold wind picked up, billowing her hair around her.

Odaria stared down at the frightened villagers. “This man, this murderer of innocents, is what you have put your faith in?” She paused and shook her head. “I have no sympathy for any of you. May the gods rain down their punishments upon you all.”

“I shall delight in watching you burn, witch,” Brennan shouted as he slowly rose to his feet.

She looked over Brennan’s shoulder and chuckled. “What makes you think you will be able to finish the deed this time?”

“The Norseman has abandoned you. He shall not return—”

“What if I conjure up something worse?” She recognized a figure approaching the abandoned church and grinned. “Mayhap I shall conjure up a band of demons that even the Norsemen fear.”

“You won’t have time.” Brennan snatched a lit torch from one of the villagers and ran to the edge of the pyre. “I condemn you as a murderer and a witch. May the fires of hell consume your very soul.”

An ungodly howl pierced the air. Brennan paused just as he was about to hurl the flaming torch onto the pyre.

Odaria glanced toward the ruined church. Nordskog stood there, his broadsword drawn. She laughed. “Turn around, Brennan. There stands a demon
all
Norsemen fear.”

At that moment, Nordskog raced into the crowd of villagers, wielding his sword. As if on cue, several other
berserkrs
rushed out from behind the ruins. The villagers scattered, screaming as they ran for their lives across the field.

She wiggled against the ropes and kicked away the brush beneath her feet. “Wait! Untie me,” she cried out as Nordskog flew past her in pursuit of Brennan.

“Be still, witch.”

Odaria craned her neck to the side and saw Rothgar approaching her. “You came back.”

He sliced through the ropes with his silver dagger. “
Ja
, and just in time, it seemed.” He freed her from her bonds and scooped her into his arms.

Bloodcurdling screams filled the air. The villagers were being hunted down. Even with their weapons, they didn’t stand a chance against the experienced warriors. Brennan ran across the clearing toward the ruins of the stone church.

“There goes Brennan,” she exclaimed. “Rothgar, aren’t you going after him?”

Rothgar shook his head. “Fear not. Today is his last day alive. He will not escape Nordskog, and he’s an expert in putting on the blood eagle.”