I would like to thank my wife for all her support and help, and Lady Ver for her thorough editing and insightful comments. Any remaining grammatical and spelling errors are solely my responsibility.

This story borrows from history, but takes place in a time and place that never existed.

*****

Prologue

She woke with the realization that a change was coming to her life. A glance out her bedroom window revealed knights and soldiers waiting impatiently in the courtyard below, the nobles' horses shifting nervously in anticipation of the coming battle. Morag glanced with dissatisfaction at the reflection of her pale face framed by her long, unbrushed blonde hair, before dashing out of her room. Servants ducked out of her way as she flew down corridors and stairways until at last she stopped at the double doors leading from the inner keep to the courtyard. She took a deep breath, smoothed her green gown, then pushed the doors open.

"Morag! Come to see me off after all, have ye?"

She knew that he'd be waiting for her arrival just so he could play the forgotten sire. "Father! I've caught you trying to sneak away from home!" She glanced at the assembled warriors and realized that some of the knights were considering dismounting due to her presence. She shook her head. "Stay atop your steeds, gallant knights! I know how difficult it is to move about in your armour."

Morag and her father embraced. "Beware Lord Argent over there, my dear," he whispered in her ear. "If I should not return, he will doubtless press his suit."

Her eyes darted around the courtyard, noting that many of the young and unmarried men had turned her way. Morag picked out Lord Argent immediately in his gold and crimson tunic, atop the largest horse in the assembly. He had twice before attempted to acquire her, as she thought of his clumsy manner of courting. He had spoken eloquently enough on the economic benefits of a union between himself and the daughter of Lord MacLint but had never sought to woo her in any traditional sense. In fact, Morag had found it contemptible how the man had never even addressed her by name or title on any occasion, preferring to speak of her less so than he did his horse or his other beasts. She and her father had kept a civil tongue on both occasions, although both had been sorely tempted to make an un-Christian response.

"He has been bending your ear?"

Lord MacLint sighed. "He speaks often of my age and what will become of my lands should I fall in battle." He caressed her cheek, then tousled her hair. "I would have preferred an amorous and lust-filled wooing, one that would have had you smiling in mischief, rather than his business-like approach. If something should happen, Morag-" her father's eyes softened "-know that your happiness is all that you should strive for. Do not act purely from duty and obligation. I would give anything for your lasting happiness-"

"I shall count the days until your return, Father." Morag knew her father well enough that once he spoke of such things he would lose his tongue, being unsure of what to speak of next.

Several men helped lift Lord MacLint onto his horse. He thanked them, then looked down at his daughter. "God willing."

As the small army left the courtyard, Morag noted the many stares back in her direction from men probably wondering who would protect her if her sole living relative should perish in the coming fight against the Vikings. Among the knights there were a few calculating glances her way. Argent's was the most calculating, though she knew from experience that the man respected her father a great deal. Morag thought as she met Argent's eyes that his greedy glance was the most passionless as well.

Chapter 1: Cast Aside

"And what of the girl?" asked the fawning advisor. At a harsh look from his king he bowed his head and placed his right hand on the lush robes over his heart, covering a fine gold medallion as he did so. "I mean no disrespect, sire, but Lord MacLint was a brave and loyal servant to you." He raised his eyes and caught the shrewd stare directed his way. "Surely some small protection can be provided for his only daughter, a lovely young woman by all accounts and the last in his line?"

A deep sigh hinted at the sovereign's frustration and exhaustion with political scheming. A page entered the room, opening the door long enough that the sounds of revelry in the grand hall filled the room the two men had retreated to.

"They are barbarians!" The king lifted the crown from his head and examined it carefully in the flickering candlelight. "My kingdom must survive, and if one woman must be left to her fate, then so be it! It matters not who her father was, nor how bravely he fought against the Vikings, that I must now make peace with. Perhaps if MacLint had fought better his daughter's virtue would now be safely protected by the man and his retainers."

"Yes, sire," offered the advisor. He, too, had fought against the Vikings in that final battle and he once again thanked God that he had survived the slaughter so that he might shelter his own wife, mistresses, and children. Lord MacLint had voiced little liking for the king's close circle in the past, often having referred to them as scared children hanging around their mother's skirts. It was a simple matter for the advisor to think of the dead warrior unkindly.

"Sire!" reminded the young page. "Your guests...request your presence that the arrangements may be concluded as soon as possible. They claim to be eager to see what fertile lands have been ceded them."

The king nodded and then left the chamber to share the entertainments with his once-enemies and now-allies, leaving the advisor alone to finger the gold-filled pouch that had been slipped to him by Lord Argent. He pondered whether Argent would demand the return of the gold coins or consider it payment for future efforts toward his acquisition of MacLint's lands and daughter. The Vikings were likely to find entertainment enough in her from what he had heard, but surely Argent was pragmatic enough to ignore the girl's knowledge of the forbidden fruit?

Chapter 2: An Unsought Reward

Olaf sat back against the wall and surveyed the scene before him. His son-strong, young, and fresh from his first battle-was wrestling two men and being cheered on by the bulk of those who had chosen to fight under Olaf's banner. Snorri had acquitted himself well, killing at least a dozen men and showing no fear. Even when an axe blade had sliced his shoulder open, he had kept fighting. The Viking father nodded in satisfaction; Snorri would be a leader of men just as he had been. Those who had followed Olaf would follow his son just as readily.

Olaf turned, noting his daughter's raven hair as she went from man to man speaking words of praise and encouragement. These were his best captains, and she was wise enough to keep her trim figure in their view. She would find a powerful and respected husband, just as her honey-haired mother had done. Olaf had no fears for her future.

Thvaldi staggered across his field of view, an arm around a willing young woman. He'd been drunk since the battle, or perhaps just before it began. Olaf chuckled.

Life was good. He'd answered the call for battle, summoning a large force of Vikings to his command. They'd fought well and the battle had been won. The southerners had fought just as well, but only the living enjoyed the spoils. Did these Christian men fight on in this Heaven they believed in?

A young woman, comely enough and about the same age as his daughter Ingrid, sat down upon his knee and handed Olaf a horn of mead. He gave her a smile and a squeeze, then took a long drink. Times were good, although if all-seeing Ingrid spotted this maiden with him she'd fall upon him harder than the worst winter storm. Thankfully, her back was to them and she was far across the celebration in this southern king's castle.

Instead, Gunderr the Lucky approached him.

"Begone, girl! Olaf and I have something to discuss," the leader of the Viking force commanded. He sat down heavily beside his old friend.

The maiden pouted at Olaf, seeking permission to stay and enjoy his company. "Off you go, little one," said Olaf, giving one of her breasts a gentle squeeze. "Come see me after we're done and you can help an old man out of his armour."

She giggled, took a drink from the horn, and then left them.

"Do you recall being that young, Olaf?"

"I would've already planted my seed in her, and I would have said Hela take you and your talk!" Olaf said, laughing.

"Why do you suppose she sought you out?" the Viking asked, nodding his head at the girl's swaying hips.

Olaf stared at Gunderr, a man who matched his fifty years, and shook his head. "Your beard is as grey as mine! She saw a man of power, a leader of victorious warriors, and she either wanted a brief celebration or to seduce me into taking her as a wife. I'm not ready for Hela's cold embrace, Gunderr, and I can still make a woman moan so that her voice shakes the whole hall!"

"Women were less free with themselves when we were young, Olaf."

"Did you just wish to reminisce, or did you actually have something to say to me? If it's the former, then I'll just go find out how eager she is..." He made to stand, but the other put his hand on his arm.

"We need land here, Olaf."

"Agreed. More land means more farms. More farms mean more warriors. King Thrum of the Burning Skull isn't any friend of ours just because he's been attacking many of our less than friendly neighbours. What has this to do with me?"

"This southern king has offered me land in exchange for a promise not to attack his kingdom again." Olaf raised an eyebrow in response. "It's a lot of land. He lost a fair number of landholders and lords in the battle."

"That he did." Olaf's eyes wandered over to his son who had just raised his thick arms in triumph. "We could take his castle while he's weakened. Take what plunder we desire. There is much gold and silver here, and the women are quite fetching."

"You're going to settle down, Olaf. No more a-Viking for you."

Olaf thought about arguing the matter, but settling down didn't sound so bad. This battle hadn't been as thrilling as they used to be. Perhaps he could take over a local keep, install some of his best men as landowners, and collect a few pretty faces to keep him occupied until he was finally slain in some petty border skirmish.

"I've picked out the place. Very fertile lands. Snorri and Ingrid will be going with you."

"Freya's tits! They're going back home with you, Gunderr. Snorri's taking my old lands there, and Ingrid's going looking for a husband. It will do them both good to be out from under me."

"No. My decision is made. Their future is here, Olaf. As is yours. There is wealth here and it will only assure the futures of Snorri and Ingrid." Gunderr rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "And I was thinking I might send one of my sons to visit you next year. Ingrid could do worse than a Viking prince."

His shoulders slumping, Olaf considered the situation. It was far from ideal, but if Thrum did make a move into Gunderr's territory-and it did seem likely-Olaf's homeland would fall quickly. It would be up to someone here to raise an army and return home to help Gunderr fight off the invaders. If Snorri were to be that man, then there would be nothing Gunderr would not give him...

"This place better be all that you say it is, Gunderr." Olaf glanced slyly at his king. "Or Snorri and I might have to go a-Viking along your coast."

Gunderr grinned and slapped Olaf on the back. "And I'll meet you on the beach! Or you bring that eager, ample-bosomed friend of yours that I shooed away a few moments ago and you'll be so distracted that you'll row south instead of north!"

Olaf's eyes caught that same young woman, and the younger and more energetic warrior whose lap she now sat on. Gunderr, too, saw that she'd found a new friend, and the two men laughed.

Chapter 3: An Unsought Arrangement

Morag bowed low to the priest. He'd ridden up smartly to the gate of her father's keep, his horse decorated with silver and a fine leather harness. The older man seemed somewhat nervous, and she prayed it was not because he bore her the terrible news she feared must be true.

"Daughter, you do me much good seeing your smiling face." The priest reached down, put his gloved fingers under her chin, and tilted her head up. "Makes me believe I'm a younger man. Surely God has blessed you with charm, grace, and beauty for a reason."

"Thank you for your kind words, Father. However, I must dispense with civility and ask if you have any news of my father, or any of the other men who left in my father's service." Morag turned her head slightly as if to regard the others in the great hall who awaited news of their loved ones who'd gone off to fight the Vikings. In truth, her goal had been to partly and politely draw away from the priest's fingers, and it had worked.

"Alas, it has not gone well. Many were lost in the battle with the Vikings!" he announced with raised voice. Morag's eyes narrowed as she considered how unsympathetically that news was delivered.

"I have come to remove your mistress from danger!" the priest then said with a louder voice while circling around Morag.

There were cries of sorrow and some spoke the names of men who had not returned. Morag scowled, then hid her disgust.

"What danger am I in? When will my father return?"

"I fear he shall not return, child." Morag's heart went cold as all that she had feared was confirmed. "He was struck down by the very man who has been given possession of this keep and your father's lands."

"Given?" she asked with rising anger.

"My child, we must away before the Vikings come. I left the king's castle as soon as I heard the tidings. I came directly here, knowing my Christian duty was to protect such a fair flower from the demons who hurry here. I will keep you under my cloak, and that will protect you. We will ride together and stay together until we arrive at a place of refuge."

She did not like the look in his eyes, nor the way his eyes took in the curves of her hips and breasts beneath her blue velvet dress. "And how long before we arrive at a refuge, Father?"

He looked away. "Well, we must travel from place to place for some time. I have duties to perform, people to warn, services to conduct. Since there will only be two of us, you may have to help me from time to time. Lady Morag, you must come with me!"

"And all the others here? Left to the mercy of the Vikings?"

"And what will they do to you, Lady Morag? I can see you stretched out upon this very floor, a mere plaything for their bestial lusts! Think of what I can offer you!"

"Get out."

The priest struck the end of his staff upon the stone floor. "You must come with me, Lady Morag! Do you deny my authority?"

"I will stay and protect my people from the Vikings." She glanced at those servants who stood quietly by watching the two argue.

The priest grabbed her arm and squeezed it painfully. "Lady, I do not think you understand what foul things they do to women!"

She shook her arm free and stepped away from him. "I understand what foul things some men do to women, Father. I may yet be a maiden, but I am no fool. And I would be a fool to trust my safety in your hands. Now, get out of my keep and off my lands before I chase you out!"

The priest glowered at her for a few seconds, then turned on his heel and left without another word. Morag shook as she watched him go.

"Lady Morag!" called a familiar voice.

Her maid, Winnifred, had just come running into the great hall. "You should have fled with the priest! He could protect you from the barbarians that are coming!"

"You heard?"

The young woman nodded, some of her brown hair tumbling free. Winnifred and Morag had been friends since childhood, and the lady of the keep was reminded again why she loved her friend so dearly.

"I cannot flee while my people are in danger, Winnifred. Surely you can see that. But you-"

"And I cannot flee while my lady is in danger. Surely you can see that."

They smiled at each other briefly. Then Morag sent the servants off to resume their duties. She'd thought of telling them all to flee, but flee to what? The Vikings might be cruel masters, but even they needed their meals cooked and clothes mended. Fleeing into the wilderness would mean a slow death by starvation for those that did so, especially as the fields had almost been picked clean for the king's army.

"Perhaps..." suggested Winnifred, "perhaps a brave knight will come to our rescue."

"Perhaps," agreed Morag, although she felt that sentiment was but a childish fantasy.

Chapter 4: Lord Olaf Arrives

The train of horses, wagons, and Viking warriors followed the muddy track across the field that surrounded the keep. Olaf, still occasionally pained from the battle a few short weeks before, shifted in his saddle and scrutinized the landscape.

The stony and somewhat moss-covered keep sat alone in the midst of a large, rolling grassy field. Trees had been cut well away from the high walls of the stone keep, and towers were tall enough to allow guardsmen to see a fair distance. There was no well or stream near the walls that he could see, and from what he had heard of this Lord MacLint Olaf was positive there would be a reliable water source somewhere within those daunting walls.

The land was fertile. Farmers, those who had survived the battle and those who had hidden in fright at home when the call to arms had come, toiled in the fields now as he and his men rode by. None waved. Every peasant's eye had been turned fearfully to the Vikings as they passed, and for good reason, knew Olaf.

He turned around to glance at his men, grunting as he did so. They yawned and complained about the long journey they had just undertaken. Doubtlessly, some wished they were on a dragon-headed long ship bound for their beloved fjords and farms, and not stuck in this southern land amongst these Thor-forsaken people. His most trusted officers nodded back at him but also stared around in boredom. Olaf wondered if any of them had recognized the great wealth of this land; its farms would bring a bountiful harvest for each landowner, perhaps not this year but certainly in the next.

Snorri swatted a fly away from his horse's ear. His father looked on him with pride. The lad was as tall as he was, but stronger. And he now had his first battle scars! No longer would others whisper that Snorri was fearsome in appearance only. It was also clear to Olaf's observant eyes that Snorri felt none of the hungers and lusts that men of his age usually mistook for purpose.

Turning his eye to Ingrid, Olaf was given a brief smile by the raven-haired beauty. He recognized it for the mask it was. His daughter was sour in mood and would wait for an opportune time to voice her displeasure to him. So much like her mother had been, Olaf thought wistfully, although Ingrid's appearance was so unlike that of his beloved Brunhilde. Two halves of Hela in appearance, but both were as passionate as the death goddess was not.

"Lord?" asked the man leading Olaf's horse.

The Viking chieftain shifted around in his seat and peered at the keep that his man was pointing to. He could make out something in front of the gates. Was it a pair of small trees, or bushes? Age had weakened his eyes, just as it had stolen some of his strength and energy, but in return it had given him a sharpness of mind that those around him appeared to lack. The gifts of Loki in exchange for the curse of Hodr. Olaf chuckled at the thought, raising the eyebrows of those around him.

"Two women, lord," whispered the keen-eyed man leading Olaf's steed.
Olaf nodded in response, then reminded himself that there was a reason he'd picked this man to be his personal bodyguard. "Let us go and find out if they mean to bar us from my new keep!" Olaf announced, summoning dangerous laughter from those around him. As they rode nearer, the Viking chieftain saw that the two women were alike in age, close to that of his own offspring. Yet the blonde in the fine blue dress had an air of confidence and command about her while the brunette positioned herself behind the blonde. Neither had any sign of a weapon upon them.

"I am Morag, daughter of Lord MacLint!" shouted the finer-dressed of the two women. She stepped forward.

A scowl twisted her face, making Olaf wonder momentarily if he'd been sent into a coven of witches. As he regarded the young woman, her face softened. Olaf stared in open surprise at the long blonde hair the young woman wore loose around her head and neck. He opened his mouth and almost whispered Brunhilde's name before he remembered that she had died bringing Ingrid into the world.

"Your father fought well, daughter of Lord MacLint!" Olaf declared. "He was a brave warrior. His only fault lay in being on the losing side." He looked the girl up and down. She was perhaps nineteen. She had a fine smooth face, although the remnants of the scowl hid some of her beauty. The other woman still cowered behind her mistress, averting her gaze from the Vikings. "I am Lord Olaf Shieldbreaker of Midgard. And you are here to welcome me to my new possessions, I take it?"

The woman shivered in fury but kept her tongue. "There was no fault in my father!"

"Peace, woman. I mean you no harm." Olaf dismounted, grunting as his leather boots struck the mud heavily. Gunderr was correct, he thought, I am getting too old for this. "Did your people take all the rocks from the earth to build your castles and keeps, girl?"

There was a clamour behind Olaf as others dismounted and jostled for space. Metal rattled and clanged, and a few men cursed as they lost their footing and fell into the mud. Laughter eased the tension, and he could see that this Morag was losing some of her spite as she realized it was only men who had come to her home and not the fairy-tale monsters that she had feared.

"Come, child! I faced your father on the field of battle. He died bravely. You have nothing to feel ashamed about." He approached the woman and looked down at her as she courageously stood her ground. "You've bravely kept the keep safe after all the men left for battle. And, you stand before me like the noblest of women. You know at a word from me you would be cut down where you stand."

"I know."

"But, I will not say the word. You impress me, girl, just as your father did on the battlefield." Olaf looked up into the grey and cloudy sky. "I'm sure he's drinking a toast in Valhalla right now, and smacking the bottom of every Valkyrie who dares to come within his reach."

He was disappointed that his words did nothing to cheer her mood. The scowl reminded him of Ingrid. "Lady Morag, will you escort me into my keep?"

Her eyes flared and her cheeks reddened. However, she put her hand on his arm and the two of them walked side by side through the open gate. Olaf noted the impressive defences as they walked. Her father had been a man after his own heart; there were few improvements to be made in defending this place. A small army such as Olaf's could hold off one twice its size for months!

"How long do you intend to stay?" asked Morag.

Olaf turned to her. Her face showed shrewd calculation and a hatred for him.

"This place and everything and everyone within it now belong to me. You would do well to remember that. And call me Lord Olaf until I tell you otherwise. I stay as long as I wish to." He turned toward the servants and workers assembled in the courtyard. "I am your new master. If you obey, you will be treated well! If you do not obey, then you will be punished! Make sure my men are comfortable. We are tired and hungry."

"Do you intend to stay forever...Lord Olaf?" Morag asked.

"Perhaps." She pulled her hand away from his arm. "Why did you stay, Lady Morag?"

As soldiers unburdened themselves and looked around, horses neighed and a light rain began to fall. The courtyard was already filled with mud.

"I have nowhere else to go, Lord Olaf," came the simple response.

When he turned to her at that moment he spied the real woman, alone and afraid and surrounded by the violent and cruel enemies of her people. "Come then, and show me around. You'll be safe enough."

Morag nodded and led him to the inner keep wall, where two massive oaken doors barred the way. A woman's scream made Olaf and Morag freeze.

"Mistress!" cried out the woman who had stood behind Morag in front of the keep.

"Winnifred!" shouted Morag, taking two quick steps toward the other woman who had been grabbed roughly by one of Olaf's men. The Viking chieftain reached out for her arm and held her in place. "My maid!" she pleaded with Olaf.

The Viking turned to the maid to see her assailant's hand grab the front of her blouse and pull, stripping the young woman. A cheer went up among the other Vikings who were watching with enjoyment.

"She's just a slave," said Olaf. "Besides, she'll not be harmed. Come! Show me the keep!"

Morag wrenched her arm from his grasp with surprising strength. "She's not a slave! She's freeborn!" As he turned he noted that a group of warriors were encircling the woman Winnifred. Her assailant, a still-drunk Thvaldi, had thrown her onto her back in the mud and was climbing atop her. Olaf watched as Morag dashed to the side, plucked an unwieldy timber from a woodpile, and ran past the watching warriors. She struck Thvaldi twice on the back as hard as she could, but it was insufficient to distract the drunken Viking.

"Snorri!" shouted Olaf.

The chieftain's son pushed others aside as he rushed to the scene. He plucked the wood from Morag's hands, then lifted Thvaldi off Winnifred and cast him away into the mud. Some warriors went to the drunken Viking to calm him down.

Snorri looked at his father. Olaf nodded quickly, then pointed at the naked girl. Snorri reached down and helped her to her feet. Morag had grabbed the remnants of Winnifred's gown and now wrapped it about the frightened girl's shoulders.

"Thank you," Morag said to Snorri, seemingly unaware that Olaf had directed his actions.

"Send the girl to her room to recover," commanded Olaf gruffly. "She'll be left untouched by my men."

Morag nodded, but her face was full of disgust. She whispered something to her friend who then rushed off through the oaken doors. Winnifred's sobs could be heard echoing from within the inner keep until the oaken doors swung shut.

Chapter 5: Reunion

The pounding upon the door of Morag's chamber was slowing but had not stopped for almost a full minute. Morag was curled up in a ball on the floor of her bedchamber, equidistant from the single window and the lone door. Despite the fact that she had set the latch and pushed her bed in front of the wooden portal, this room felt less safe than it ever had before.

She had not cried, not once. Tears were for those who were suffering worse than she was. She could imagine the raping Vikings spreading through the keep like a pestilence, seeking out women wherever they went to satisfy their unnatural lusts. They were monsters! And Olaf had been the worst of all of them, feigning respect and chivalry while allowing his men to rampage against those he was now supposed to protect. At least that one man had helped poor Winnifred, she thought.

Morag pushed herself up so that she was sitting upon the floor. "Go away!" she hissed toward the door, as if that would keep her safe from the men who were trying to break it down.

The hammering upon the door stopped. "Mistress?" called out a feminine voice.

"God preserve you!" Morag leapt to her feet and dragged the bed away from the door as fast as she could. She had to bring Winnifred into the relative safety of her bedchamber before some Viking spied her.

The maid fell into the room as soon as the door was unlatched. Morag then shut the door and made it fast again. Winnifred watched in wonder.

Collapsing beside her bed once she was finished, Morag turned to her lifelong friend. The poor girl's dress was open all down the front, and both her skin and the cloth were marred with brown mud. There seemed to be no serious injury, but Morag knew she had a duty to care for the poor maid. For some reason after returning to her room, Winnifred had tried to repair her gown and put it back on instead of changing into another dress.

Morag rose to her feet and opened her wardrobe. She pulled out a gown that would cover Winnifred from neck to foot and held it out to the girl. "This is for you. I'm so sorry one of them tried to ravage you, Winnifred."

"I'm a mess, mistress," replied her friend, examining her own mud-stained arms and legs. "I cannot wear something of yours! It's too fine!"

"Nonsense." Morag began searching for some cloths to wipe her friend clean. "Strip your clothes off. We'll clean you up, then I'll get you out of the keep." The words had come out of her mouth without her really having thought about them. Was it possible to get Winnifred away from these rapacious Vikings?

"There's no place that's safe, mistress."

Morag stopped and her shoulders drooped. "I fear you're correct, Winnie, but I don't see what else we can do."

"You shall remain here, safely hidden and out of their reach, mistress. I shall go and collect food for you when you are hungry. Their chieftain said I was not to be touched."

"And Vikings are well known for their adherence to rule of law?"

"I think they shall obey him, mistress." Her eyes welled up with tears. "Especially when that other one, the strong one, is ready to act on old Olaf's behalf."

"Old Olaf is an apt name for him isn't it, Winnie?" The two shared a brief chuckle. "I will not put you at any further risk and that is my final word on the matter."

"Yes, mistress."

Morag helped Winnifred strip, then wiped her as free from mud as she could. Then, she dressed the protesting maid in one of her gowns. It would cover her and was thick enough to offer some protection from the cool nights.

"Your father's farm is quite distant as I remember," suggested Morag.

"Yes, lady. It would not be safe to try to walk there, not with the Vikings wandering about as they are. You must stay safely here!"

"Bah!" Morag pushed the bed away from the door, then listened carefully. She unlatched the door and listened again. Opening the door, the loud creak that sounded made her cringe. The hallway was dark. "Come, Winnie. I know some ways around the castle that no-one else knows about, certainly not these intruders."

"I remember," said Winnifred.

The two women snuck out into the darkness, pausing fearfully at every noise as they made their way through deserted corridors.

Chapter 6: Accusation

Morag said farewell to her friend at the secret door, then attempted to sneak back to the dubious refuge of her bedchamber. As she was returning to her room by passages and stairs as yet, she hoped, undiscovered by the Viking marauders, her heart stopped as a strong hand grabbed her hair and cruelly yanked her backwards. She stared up into the snarling face of the dark-haired woman who had been in Olaf's company.

"Thought you could escape, did you?" her captor shouted at her. "Put on a show for my father and then thought you could run off? Embarrassing him? Striking at him in the only way that was left to you?" Morag was slapped across the face. "You disgust me!" The Viking woman pulled a dagger from her belt. "A real woman would have sunk her knife into my father's heart, right up to the hilt, before plunging it into her own!"

The woman yanked on Morag's hair again, dragging her away to an uncertain fate. Morag feared that it was now her turn to be taken by Viking warriors and suspected the first would be this woman's father, Olaf. Her status of Lady of the Keep now meant nothing. She consoled herself that at least Winnifred had escaped and, if she took Morag's commands to heart, would encourage her family to flee to lands where the Vikings had not yet been.

Morag managed to turn about so she was scuttling under her own power, but the other woman's firm grip kept her headed toward the sounds of a raucous celebration. Doors were thrown open before the two women and the great hall slowly fell silent as Olaf's daughter posed with her captive.

"What is the meaning of this, Ingrid?" demanded Olaf from across the room.

"This temptress was caught fleeing the keep!" Ingrid tightened her grip on Morag's hair, then half-dragged her across the floor, past tables of laughing Vikings. "First, she used her wiles to seduce you, Father, then once your guard was down, she struck out on her own. If I had not suspected her of bewitching you and gone in search of her she might have escaped!"

"No! Please!" begged Morag.

"I say we cast her amongst your warriors and once they finish with her she can crawl away to freedom! If she can!" Ingrid laughed, and many male voices echoed her.

"Let her stand, daughter," commanded Olaf. "I'll hear of her duplicity from her own lips before I declare a punishment!"

Ingrid released her grip upon Morag, then carefully sheathed her dagger. Morag searched the room for a friendly face. Those she knew, former servants and slaves to her father, looked away from her. The Viking warriors watched eagerly and talked quietly amongst themselves.

"I was not trying to escape, Lord Olaf," began Morag. She took in a deep breath. "Lady Ingrid may return to where she found me and see for herself that I was headed away from any escape from the keep." She turned a hateful look upon the raven-haired Viking woman.

"That is easily checked," suggested Olaf. "And if you lie, Ingrid will have permission to punish you herself." There was an evil chuckle from the woman beside Morag. "My daughter is very handy with a whip," he added, and laughter rang out amongst the crowd.

"I do not lie, Lord Olaf. And, since you have requested that I address you by your title, I would appreciate it if you returned the courtesy!"

The room went silent. Ingrid drew her dagger and readied for her father's command to slit the impudent southern woman's throat.

"Daughter!"

A dangerous look passed between father and daughter, then the dark-haired woman slowly sheathed her dagger again.

"You would make a proper wife for a hero, Lady Morag." Beside Morag, Ingrid breathed quickly and her hands opened and closed. Olaf and his son exchanged looks. "Now, what were you doing when Ingrid found you?"

"I had just set my maid free of any further torment from your men, Lord Olaf. I was returning to my room, where you had sent me earlier this very day. I meant to secret myself there and think on my fate."

"I see," replied the Viking chieftain. He rose from his chair and raised his arms. "Listen, all of you! Lady Morag is not to be harmed by anyone! By anyone!" he repeated for the benefit of the seething Ingrid. "I am overlord of these lands now. These people belong to me. They are under my protection. No-one is to harm any of them unless they desire to be oathbreakers!"

Morag searched the room for defiance from the infamously-wild Viking warriors, but saw none. There were scowling faces, but those same faces also showed resignation. Their lord's word was law, much to her surprise.

"That will be most suitable, Lord Olaf." Morag was surprised by the charity, as well. Stories of rapes and killings were abundant wherever the Vikings were known. "I thank you on behalf of my people...those who were once my people." She bowed low to her new master.

"Come, Lady Morag, join me at the table."

A spot was hastily vacated. After a quick and wary glance at Ingrid, Morag sat beside the Viking chieftain. "I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Olaf."

The chieftain merely nodded at her as he tore a piece of meat apart with his teeth. He still eats like a wolf, thought Morag.

"It is a pleasure to have such a lovely lady as yourself to dine with, Lady Morag," said a voice to her left. She turned to find that the Viking who had rescued Winnifred from the drunken warrior had just addressed her. "Surely you will join us, as part of our family?"

Morag's eyes went wide.

"You, too, are bewitched by this enchantress?" demanded Ingrid. "Will any man prove immune to her spells?" she asked of the room.

"She's no witch, daughter. Sit and eat." Olaf pointed to an empty seat.

Ingrid sat down and tore into her meal. However, she frequently cast a scathing look toward Morag.

"I am Snorri, son of Lord Olaf," offered the Viking warrior on Morag's left. "I am glad that we can at last have time to talk."

"I have little to talk to you about, Snorri, son of Olaf," replied Morag, although her tone was softer than she had intended.

"A shame. A union between the two of us might do much for the people of this land. I will inherit once my father has been taken by the Valkyrie." Morag was shocked at his bluntness, but Olaf, who must have heard his son's words, did not seem interested in the conversation. "And after I inherit this keep, my wife will rule here as Lady." Snorri examined the leg of lamb in his hands. "Not a bad fate for a woman with no family."

Morag had to admit that the prospect of becoming the wife of Snorri wasn't that bad. Many women did far worse, even women with sufficient wealth and family to find them a proper husband. And, although he was a Viking, the brief conversation he had offered her so far indicated that he could be un-Viking-like when he so wished. What could she do as wife of Snorri and lady of the keep once Olaf was dead? Wives had been known to sway their husbands. She considered Olaf briefly. Snorri's father was quite grey in his hair and beard. Vikings lived rough lives and certainly there were very few men in this group who matched Olaf's age. Would she have to wait long before she was in a position where she could better protect the people of this land?

"Not a bad fate at all, Snorri, son of Lord Olaf."

He gave her a brief smile. "We'll talk on this later, then." He turned and renewed a conversation he'd been having with some warriors sitting opposite him.

A husband, Morag thought, a protector from the other Vikings and someone who would give her a title. Any children they produced would be hers, so she would also be mother to the heir. Aside from the fact that Snorri was a barbaric Viking, this prospect was very much like what had been in her future before her father's death. That was a fate she had been resigned to long before her father had left for war.

Chapter 7: An Unwelcome Suitor

Dinner was dull, but Morag used the time to think on what she might put her mind to. Noting that no-one was required to address Lord Olaf before they departed, she simply rose from the table and slipped away during a wrestling bout between Snorri and three other Viking men.

There were no challenges as she jogged up the stairs and no accusations as she passed down empty corridors to her bedchamber. She was able to slip inside and then lean back against the latched door.

Would Olaf accept a southern woman, a non-Viking woman, as his son's wife? And exactly what authorities and duties did the wife of a Viking have? Doubtless there'd be a fair amount of coupling; Snorri was a Viking after all. She would be expected to produce a son or two. She'd heard of certain foods and charms that could ensure a baby boy, but she'd have to learn more to make sure they worked.

Morag supposed the servants would be under her power and would therefore be under her protection, but what of the farmers and their families? Perhaps a few choice words in Snorri's ear, convincing him of the loyalty of her people? And she could easily sway the tenants and landowners to ensure they kept the peace and paid Snorri the respect he was due.
And what about her duties as a wife? Snorri was a young man, and might be quite amorous. She smirked as she thought of his thickly-muscled arms wrapped around her. Hopefully, he would not be too strong for her, or perhaps she could persuade him to be gentle?

A sound in the hallway roused her from her thoughts. Morag listened and recognized the sound of someone approaching her door. The clink of metal suggested the visitor was a man, an armed or armoured man at that. Could it be Snorri come to find her and continue their conversation in a more private setting? She thought quickly. Should she treat him with cold civility, or warm and welcome femininity?

There was a rap on her door. Hesitant fingers lifted the latch, and Morag eased the door open a crack.

"Snorri?" she asked.

Not Snorri! Her eyes opened wide in surprise at the sight of a Viking warrior standing uncertainly before her. He seemed to regain his composure and smiled in a way that made her wary.

"Lady Morag? I thought we should have a brief talk."

"Yes?" She gripped the door firmly in her hand. "Speak."

He peered into her room and raised his eyebrows. "Ah. I understand that you may not be aware of the arrangement I have with Lord Olaf's son."

"Arrangement?" she asked with narrowing eyes.

He put his hand against the door. "Snorri is not one to favour the women, preferring battle and feats of strength. Instead, I often act for him. He doesn't mind."

"I don't understand," she lied.

He suddenly pushed the door open wider. "Come! Let us not play with words." He brushed past her and strolled about her room. "Not quite what I'm used to-"

"Get out of my bedchamber!"

"Now, Lady Morag"-he pushed down upon her bed, testing its springiness-"surely you don't intend to spend the rest of your life in a cold and empty bed? Am I so ugly? Most women find me quite pleasing...especially as they get to know me better."

"Get out! I will summon Snorri if-"

"No, you won't." His shoulders slumped. He slowly walked to the door, shaking his head in dismay. Then, as he reached the portal, his arm shot out and he grabbed Morag's arm. "I guess I'll have to take what I want, and then you'll see what I mean."

Morag was pulled toward him until they were chest to chest. She swung her leg back and then brought her knee up between his legs, causing him to jump into the air then crumple onto the stone floor. She hurried to the window.

"Get out of my room!" she demanded.

The warrior slowly pushed himself into a sitting position and glared at her.

"I am prepared to defend myself!" she declared. Morag glanced out the window, searching for someone she could call to, but no-one was visible in the evening dark.

He slowly went into a crouch, then stretched himself up until he was standing by the open door. He winced at a momentary pain. Then he drew his dagger.

"I see that you prefer a little blood to be spilled before we reach an agreement, Lady Morag. That's fine with me." He walked gingerly toward her.

"If you touch me-" She stared at the open door and quickly realized she would never reach it. "If you harm me, Olaf and Snorri will be greatly angered." The man froze. Morag raised an eyebrow. "You may have an arrangement with Snorri, but you have no such arrangement with me. If you ever come to my chamber again, I will tell Olaf that you drew your knife on me."

The man blanched.

"What will Lord Olaf do to you? Now, leave the knife on the floor and get out right now!"

To her great surprise, the dagger clattered upon the floor and the man shuffled out of her room. Morag slammed the door shut behind him, then latched it.

She was safe, safer than she had thought she'd be! Olaf's protection would prevent the Vikings from harming her! Morag wondered how she could use that to protect her people, if need be.

Chapter 8: A Challenge at Breakfast

The rest of the night, to Morag's surprise, passed uneventfully. She found very little sleep and there was no comfort in the few times she did drift off. However, the keep seemed very quiet throughout much of the night. As she went down the stairs and passed through the halls on her way to breakfast, she thought on the fact that during last night's meal many of the keep's serving women seemed to have found companions. To her eyes, they had seemed quite willing, almost eager.

Olaf, his son and daughter, and a number of warriors were already in the great hall when Morag arrived. Others were in the chamber but sleeping with their heads upon the tables or flat on their backs and snoring on the floor. She took her place between the overlord and Snorri, was served, and then ate her breakfast quietly. She was surprised that Snorri did not wish to continue his previous evening's conversation, or even offer up some words of affection toward her.

"You slept well?" asked Olaf suddenly.

"Yes," she lied.

"Good." He sat in silence for a few seconds. "It would be a good thing for you to befriend Ingrid and Snorri, Lady Morag."

"I believe your son has already begun to befriend me, Lord Olaf. I doubt your daughter will ever think anything but ill of me."

Olaf laughed. "She's a good girl. She'll come around. Just...do not anger her."

Morag opened her mouth to defend her reputation against Ingrid's accusations when a warrior walked into the hall with a trembling youth beside him. Morag put her hands over her mouth in shock. The beardless youth was Winnifred's younger brother.

"Lord Olaf!" announced the warrior, drawing the attention of everyone and waking a few sleeping upon the floor. "This boy means to have words with you!"

Olaf narrowed his eyes and stared at the boy. Morag noted that young William had a sword at his side and carried a shield. Her heart stopped as she realized what Winnifred's brother intended.

"Well, boy, come forward and say what you have to say!" demanded Olaf.

"He's just a boy," announced Morag, in a voice louder than she had intended. "Send him away, Lord Olaf. He is of no importance to you."

The overlord appraised her. "You know him, or of his purpose."

"Yes." She grabbed the overlord's arm. "Please let him go now! Do not hurt him. He's just a boy!"

"I have come..." squeaked William, drawing his sword. He cleared his throat and swallowed nervously. "I have come to seek vengeance against the man who sullied my sister Winnifred!"

"Your maid, the slave girl?" asked Olaf.

"She is freeborn," reminded Morag, trying to speak before William could anger the Vikings. "She is not a slave!"

"Ah, I recall," said Olaf thoughtfully. "A slave woman may be taken by any man and at any time, but a freeborn woman...!" He looked up in exasperation. "Odin take these fools!"

"Just kill the boy and be done with the matter, Father," suggested Ingrid, taking her place at the table. She shot a haughty look at Morag.

"I am here for vengeance!" declared William a second time. He stared at the assembly, not sure they had properly heard him the first time.

"Yes. Yes. Sit yourself down, lad, while I sort this out."

William stood uncertainly for a few seconds then took a seat after Morag pointed to an empty bench.

Olaf rubbed his temple. "Ingrid-and this goes for the rest of you as well-a slave woman is property and is of no value to anyone. Taking a freeborn woman can mean all manner of problems. Her father could use her rape as an excuse to build animosity against us. Over time he could build an army."

"We'll kill them all!" declared Snorri, causing William to go white as a ghost.

"No!" shouted Morag.

"Boy!" called out Olaf. William stood up straight. "The man who tried to lie with your sister will be brought before you. I would advise you not to start something unless you mean to finish it." Olaf searched the room with his eyes. "Thvaldi! Stand beside this youth!"

A seasoned warrior slowly rose to his feet, then strode over to stand beside William. He was easily twice as massive as the boy, and towered over him. William nervously sidled away until he was out of arm's reach.

Morag glared at Snorri. Olaf leaned over to her. "My son was speaking of an attacking army, not of William and his family," he whispered to her. Morag bit her lip and sent a grateful glance towards the overlord.

Olaf looked up and down the tables, staring down anyone who made a noise. "Thvaldi! Did you try and take this lad's sister against her will?" he asked in an angry tone.

"What?" the man sputtered. He briefly glared at William, causing the boy to step away again. "No! I didn't touch her!"

"Winnifred! Her name is Winnifred!" shouted Morag, slamming her fist upon the hard table. Bowls and plates jumped, and a few still-sleeping Vikings woke up suddenly. "She is my maid and you threw her down to the ground and stripped her in the courtyard!"

"The slave girl?" asked Thvaldi, confused.

"She is no slave!" shouted Morag, pounding her fist on the table as she spoke each word.

"I guess I may have..." The warrior glanced at William, then looked toward the entrance of the great hall. Realizing the boy had come alone to seek vengeance, the warrior grew bold. "Yeah, I did. And I was about to enjoy her company when..." He looked about in confusion and rubbed his head. "I'm ready to face the consequences." He folded his heavily muscled arms over his chest.

"What is going to happen?" Morag asked of Olaf.

He ignored her question. "William! Did you come here, into a fortified keep filled with Viking warriors, seeking vengeance on behalf of your sister? Answer truthfully, boy."

William's eyes darted to Morag and she gave him a quick nod. "Yes, I did."

"The lad's a brave one, Thvaldi. He'll make a fine warrior one day."

The Viking grudgingly nodded his head in agreement.

"You don't own any lands, do you, Thvaldi?"

"What? No, Lord Olaf. But, I'm no thrall."

Olaf smiled as he considered turning this unlucky situation into a boon. "What did you think of the girl, Thvaldi? Would you like to own her?"

"She's no slave!" shouted William and Morag, simultaneously.

The Viking warrior smiled grimly. "Yes, Lord Olaf. I would like to own her. I would very much like to have her as mine."

"Good," said Olaf. "William, you are the man of your family now, are you not?"

"Yes..."

"Would you consent to Winnifred becoming the wife of Thvaldi?"

The room went silent, then whispers were everywhere. William flushed, then opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"Consider this, lad. Thvaldi would be owner of your family's lands, but he would be there to protect you and your family. You sister would now have a husband. Any children that came of the union-your nieces and nephews-would eventually inherit. Thvaldi would teach you how to fight, and you could do worse for a brother-in-law."

William's eyes went to Morag, and Olaf recognized that for what it was. The daughter of the late Lord MacLint nodded to Thvaldi. The teenage boy turned to the Viking warrior who towered over him. "You wish to take my sister as your wife?"

Thvaldi's arms dropped to his sides. "Yeah. It's a big farm, is it?"

"Second biggest in the holding," interjected Morag. "Why do you think she was my handmaid?"

Olaf stood. "William and Thvaldi? Why don't the two of you sit over there and come to an agreement?" They both nodded. Olaf leaned over to Morag and whispered, "Before that boy leaves this keep you should caution him to dispose of every drop of mead and beer in his home. Thvaldi is only rational when he does not drink. I know him, and sober, he will treat this Winnifred well."

Thvaldi and William sat a little distance from everyone else and talked quietly. Olaf nodded his head in satisfaction and returned to his breakfast. Ingrid fumed in her seat, while Morag ate slowly and thought about what had just happened.

Winnifred would be upset, for a while at least, but she was not the first woman who had been married off to a man that had treated her roughly at their first encounter. Morag had hoped for better, for a better future for her and everyone upon her father's lands. She knew the time had come to accept that they were now living under Olaf's rule and arrange matters as best she could.

She glanced at Snorri and considered again what kind of husband he might prove to be. He did not notice her attentive stare.

Chapter 9: Visitors in Her Bedchamber

Following breakfast, Morag took Olaf on a detailed tour of the keep. She showed him every commonly-used passage and almost every means of access. He was introduced to every servant and slave. She even found herself showing him the armoury and the treasury. Olaf seemed impressed with the fortress, the level of care in its maintenance, and by the loyalty shown toward Morag by all who worked within the walls. Yet, it was clear to both that he sensed something was being concealed from him.

He thanked her most courteously and then left her to have her mid-day meal alone in the courtyard. Vikings and servants alike shied away from her while she ate, and she was able to spend the time searching her soul and considering what was right and what was wrong. For while the Vikings were gruff and uncivilized-and some were just cruel-they were not quite what she had expected. Truly, her own people showed similar characteristics from time to time.

Following lunch, Olaf reappeared and they resumed their tour, this time walking around the outside of the keep and examining the fortifications. The Viking chieftain made an effort to direct the path of the tour so that nothing further would remain hidden from him, but he refrained from being too insistent about a more detailed examination of areas that Morag was disinclined to spend time on. The two finished the inspection as supper was beginning, and once again Morag sat between Olaf and Snorri, receiving hostile glares from Ingrid the entire time. The men of Ingrid's family were courteous and treated her respectfully but did not try very hard to engage Morag in their discussions.

After the meal her time was her own, and Morag returned to her room after arranging for servants to prepare a bath for her. Now resolved to pursue Snorri, Morag desired to look her best. The basin was brought up to her chamber and a number of water bearers dumped heated well water into it before leaving her alone. Morag stripped, then slipped into the bath.

The water helped relieve the emotional stress of the last several weeks. As the sky outside her window changed from blue to cobalt blue, to indigo and then to black, Morag closed her eyes and imagined Snorri entering her bedchamber and seducing her as she lay naked in her bath. She smiled. Yes, she decided, things could be far worse.

The door to her bedchamber clicked open and then clicked shut, but the young woman was half-asleep in her fantasy and did not recognize the sounds for reality.

"You may have fooled them, witch, but you'll never fool me!" snarled Ingrid behind her.

Morag's eyes suddenly opened and she twisted about until she saw the intruder. "What do you want?"

Ingrid grabbed her head and pushed her down into the bath water. Morag struggled to free herself but could not. The hand lifted from her head and she burst half out of the bath, coughing and wheezing.

"Do you really have to ask what I want?" sneered the Viking woman.

"I haven't bewitched anyone!" sputtered Morag.

Ingrid strolled about the room, picking up trinkets, peering at them and then dropping them on the floor. "No familiar that I can see...unless it's invisible to mortal eyes! Is that it, witch?"

"I'm no witch!"

"Then why has my father taken such an interest in you?" Ingrid walked over to the tub and grabbed a handful of Morag's long blonde hair. "Is it this? Does it remind him of my mother? Have you always had hair the colour of straw, witch?" Ingrid pulled Morag up by her hair until she was standing in the tub. The Viking woman's eyes drifted down along Morag's body. "No, it would seem that your hair has always been this colour."

Morag fell back into the water as Ingrid suddenly released her. "I don't know why your father's acting differently. I didn't even know he was acting differently!"

"And what of my brother? He's never really shown much interest in women before you. Why does he talk to you? And why do my father and Snorri discuss the possibility of his marrying you?"

"Our union would strengthen Lord Olaf's hold on this land. Any children would be the product of both claims."

Ingrid paused to consider this. "Fair enough," she conceded. She looked down upon Morag's bed. "How many men have stained this bed? What magical creatures have you seduced to gain unnatural powers, witch?"

"I am not a witch! And no man has shared my bed-"

"No man? Oh, you poor girl! I shall have to send up some of our roughest warriors to get you some practice before your wedding night! Or, after your witchcraft has been found out, perhaps my father will order you taken by his soldiers in the pigsty!"

"I am not a witch! Get out of my room! Your father said I was not to be harmed!"

Ingrid scowled at Morag. "So he did. However, you must never forget that I am the real lady of this castle. I rule here! Everything you have really belongs to me. I can come and go from your room whenever I wish. One day they will break your spell..." Ingrid shook her fist at Morag, then stormed out of her bedchamber.

Shivering in fright and from the play of the cold night breeze upon her damp skin, she slumped into the now-cold waters of her bath. Morag hated that woman. Curse her! Ingrid had left the door open when she departed!

She rose from her bath and walked toward the door, but before she could close it Snorri walked into her bedchamber.

"I thought now might be a good time to talk, Lady Morag," he said without even a glance at her.

She threw her arms across her breasts and groin and retreated behind the opened door. "I was in the bath!"

"Yes, yes. You don't have anything I haven't seen before." Morag continued to hide herself. "If I was about to rape you, why would I not simply walk over to you and pull you out from your hiding place?"

"I do not know."

"Put something on if you wish. I care little for your form, Lady Morag. I've never had much interest in the pleasures of flesh, female or otherwise. Battle is what I seek! That is part of the reason I thought a union between us could work so well."

"I..." His words sounded sincere to her ears. She stepped out from behind the door, yet he did nothing more than glance at her. Morag walked over to her nightgown and began to pull it over her head. The fabric stuck to her wet skin and the moisture made much of it sheer. "Are you not interested in women at all, then?"

"Not at all. I've had some, but I really don't see why the others get so excited about a pair of breasts and a small hole between the legs. It doesn't come close to the exhilaration one feels as arrows fly and axes hew arms from chests!" He shook his head in fond memory. "I suppose you are just as disinterested in coupling with a Viking, even the son of a lord."

"I had thought your offer included..." She gazed at his muscled arms and broad chest wistfully. Even beneath furs and leather Snorri had a physique that was best described as heroic. "So, were I your wife you would not lay with me?"

"I suppose I'd have to." Snorri sat on the windowsill, pulled out a dagger, and began picking at some mortar. "Father would be expecting grandchildren. We could always resort to a servant or slave to get you with child should our coupling prove too bothersome."

She could not believe the situation she was in. This brawny Viking warrior was a few steps across the room from her, she had on clothing that did nothing to hide her charms, and yet he showed no interest at all in bedding her. She wondered if perhaps she were not so beautiful as she'd always been told. Or perhaps Vikings had different standards of beauty? She jumped when a voice shouted out: "Snorri!"
Olaf stood at the door, his fists on his hips. He looked from Morag, then to Snorri, then back to Morag and his eyes took all of her in. She covered herself with her hands again.

"My lord!" Morag knew exactly how this must look to the Viking chieftain but couldn't figure out if he were upset that his son was not ravaging her or furious that she might be casting a seductive spell over Snorri just as Ingrid had accused her of doing.

"Girl! Get some decent clothes on!" Olaf 's eyes did not leave Morag as she ran across the room, pulled the sheets from her bed, and wrapped them about her.

"I am sorry, Lord Olaf. I was in the bath when-"

"Oh, I'd come up here to see what she looked like, Father. She's comely." Snorri sheathed his dagger.

Olaf eyed his son curiously. "So...you approve of a union between the two of you?"

"Of course, Father. She will be my Freya, and after seeing her fine form there is little doubt that we shall have many children."

Olaf stared at his son thoughtfully.

Morag cleared her throat. "So there is no impediment to my becoming your daughter, Lord Olaf."

The older man's eyes opened wide. He seemed taken by surprise at her words.

"I mean, you have no objections that Snorri intends to court me?"

To Morag's dismay the two men stared at each other and then laughed deeply. She waited patiently for their mirth to end.

"No, Lady Morag, I have no objection to your union. However, you will find that Vikings do not court ladies." He chuckled, giving Morag time to raise an eyebrow. "Vikings take what they want. I am lord here, and if my son wants you, and if I do not object, then he takes you."

"I see," she replied. "I stand ready to perform my duties as Snorri's wife."

"Oh, you're not his wife yet. That takes a special ceremony and a member of your family or your guardian must pass you off to him, but we're weeks away from that. For now"-Olaf stepped back and reached for the door-"you two may become better acquainted." Then the Viking chieftain stepped out of Morag's chamber and closed the door behind him.

"I see," repeated Morag.

For several seconds neither she nor Snorri moved, and the only sound that was heard was the night wind passing by the window of her chamber. Then, Morag let the blankets slip away from her.

"So Vikings do not court, then?" she asked.

"When we see a woman that we want, we simply approach her family. Sometimes a man wants a woman for a week, sometimes for a year, and sometimes"-Snorri turned and briefly watched the clouds blow across the moon-"a man wants a woman until the end times."

"And how long would you want me for, Snorri?" She walked slowly across the floor toward him.

"I don't want you, Lady Morag," he admitted bluntly. "There's nothing that you can do to make my blood steam and my heart hammer in my chest."

"Are you so sure of that?" she asked. She breathed deeply and arched her back, making sure that the wet cloth of her nightgown clung to every curve along the front of her body. "I can be most enticing...for the man I will call my husband."

He glanced back at her. His eyes darted down to her breasts, then were back up at her face. "I'm sure, Lady Morag." He sighed and stood. "I shall bid you good night." Then he left, closing the door behind himself just as his father had done a short time earlier.

Morag's brow furrowed. Twin pangs of frustration and confusion struck her. She knew she should feel relief that her chastity was not threatened by these un-Christian Vikings, yet should not her soon-to-be-husband act with more passion when she offered herself in a most opportune way? Or, as she secretly feared, was there something wrong with her?

Chapter 10: New Beginnings

Morag made sure to be in the great hall before any of the Vikings presented themselves for breakfast. She hurried the servants about, urging them to prepare the morning meal. A proper wife, she considered, would have such things ready for her husband before he sat down at the table.

Ingrid was the first of Olaf's family to appear, and she was serene as she walked down the stairs to the great hall. At least, until she spied Morag hustling the servants about.

"What are you about, witch?" she called out, waking a few Vikings who had been asleep upon the stone floor. They looked about in bewilderment, then closed their eyes and settled back down.

"I am preparing breakfast for the master of the keep and his family, Lady Ingrid." Morag returned the cold stare that was directed at her. "As is my responsibility as lady of the keep. Until Lord Olaf instructs me otherwise, I shall perform my regular duties." She then busied herself and kept out of the Viking woman's reach.

Ingrid, to Morag's surprise, busied herself elsewhere in the fortress and did not reappear until Olaf came thumping down the stairs. Morag bowed low to him.

"Your breakfast awaits you, Lord Olaf."

He stopped and stared at Morag in surprise. Silence filled the seconds that passed.

"Well, sit, Father!" demanded Ingrid, who had returned to the great hall unnoticed by Morag. "Stop staring at the witch!"

Morag's face coloured. Olaf stammered, "Where is Snorri?"

"Why don't you ask the witch?" suggested Ingrid. "Perhaps she thrust a mistletoe barb into his heart as he thrust into her loins."

Morag opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted by the sounds of half-awake Vikings rising to their feet and taking seats at the benches. She shot a look of hatred at Ingrid. Then, she turned to the Viking lord. "I've not seen your son since he left my chambers last night, Lord Olaf. Shall I have him summoned?"

"Don't bother," said the old Viking, laughing. "He's probably still sleeping off last night."

Morag's cheeks coloured again. Ingrid slammed her goblet onto the table.

"My lord..." whispered Morag, "we did not..." She stopped herself and put her hand over her mouth. His suggestion was highly improper, especially in front of so many, but Vikings might think such behaviour normal. She wondered if protesting her innocence was the right thing to do with Olaf.

The Viking chieftain looked back and forth at the two young women. "Thor's boars! He spent the night drinking with Sven and Thothrar!" He looked from one to the other again. "Is that all you women ever think about?" he asked.

Morag wanted to flee the room but was rooted to the spot. Her sole satisfaction in this terrible conversation was that Ingrid appeared to be as upset about their misinterpretation as she was.

"When you leave my brother in the clutches of that seductress! That creature! How can anything else be in my thoughts, Father?"

"Ingrid, you must learn to be courteous to Lady Morag," cautioned Olaf in a tired voice.

"Her long blonde hair has cast a spell over your eyes, Father! She seeks to wheedle her way into your heart and Snorri's! She means to be mistress of this keep again!"

"And so she should!" exclaimed Olaf. Ingrid's face went red. "In her place, would you do anything else?"

"I would have thrown myself on my blade, or found a husband to defend the keep from my enemies! I would not have slinked about in fineries and prettied up my hair and face in the hopes that-"

"Enough, Ingrid!" said Olaf. He folded his fingers together in front of his face. "Perhaps the problem is mine. Perhaps I have not given you the freedom to find a husband. The right man would both soothe and temper your anger."

"And what chance have I for a husband here? Amongst these southern weaklings? I would as soon lay with your Lady Morag than any of her kinsmen!"

"I shall send a messenger back to Gunderr." Ingrid's eye lit up at the name. "He has sons with no wives, and perhaps one of them will get you to find a more useful purpose for that tongue, daughter." Ingrid was quickly lost in her own thoughts, and that finally brought a smile to Olaf's face.

"Now, Lady Morag, will you not join us for the morning meal?" asked the Viking chieftain.

She looked about uncertainly, but Snorri was still absent. With a shrug, she took her seat beside Olaf and began to eat.

The Viking chieftain offered her a leg of chicken. "Ingrid will be amenable enough once she has someone to occupy her thoughts. And a husband will give her someone to instruct and command." He glanced at Morag. "She can be less than pleasant, I'm told."

"I would not want to upset you, Lord Olaf, by disagreeing." She took the offered meat and then risked a quick look at Ingrid. "I suppose it is not easy for her, being so far from home and so removed from possible husbands."

"We had all thought to be back home by now," said Olaf wistfully. "You would have been happy with that arrangement."

Morag's thoughts turned to the priest who had come to collect her before the Vikings arrived. "I think that I am as safe with you as I would have been fatherless and with my own people, Lord Olaf. There are vultures who wheel over newly orphaned women."

Snorri suddenly made an appearance, stumbling down the steps into the great hall. He straightened up, looked around, then nodded toward his father. Olaf waved him over as Morag rose from her seat to serve the chieftain's son. Snorri took his time approaching the head table, clapping friends on their backs and kicking others who still snored upon the floor. Finally, he sat heavily upon his chair.

"Odin's eye! I'm hungry!" he exclaimed.

Morag placed a variety of food on the table before him, then filled his goblet with honey mead. She gave him a warm smile. He stared up at her as if not recognizing her. "Father, did we get a new maidservant?"

"That's Lady Morag, Snorri. Be grateful for any attention a woman gives you. Freya's gifts are fleeting."

Morag sat back down in her chair, confused. "I thought that in the spirit of..."

"Witchcraft!" sneered Ingrid, raising a few laughs from those around the room.

"New beginnings!" offered Olaf.

Morag gave the Viking chieftain a quick smile. "In the spirit of new beginnings, I would offer you food for your plate, Snorri, son of Lord Olaf. Am I wrong to do so?"

A number of the warriors raised their eyebrows and elbowed their neighbours at her words. Snorri took a bite of chicken, followed by a long drink from his goblet.

"I am pleased that so fair a creature sits beside me, Lady Morag, although I am unaccustomed to such treatment from the women I've known."

Ingrid gasped. She slammed her goblet down upon the table, spilling its contents, then she stood and stormed from the great hall. No-one laughed.

"Yes," said Olaf quietly as he sat beside Morag watching his daughter depart, "the sooner that I find her a husband, the better for everyone."

Chapter 11: Wayward Arrow

Olaf arranged a tour of the lands he had acquired. To Morag's surprise, she was invited. Under Ingrid's suspicious eye, she mounted her horse and rode out of the keep with the Viking chieftain, his son, and ten warriors.

The day was sunny but cool, with large fluffy clouds drifting lazily from one horizon to the other. To Morag's amazement, she found the Vikings as poor at riding as she was; even Snorri struggled with his beast at times. Again, it was something that made these invaders seem familiar and less monstrous. In a short time the group was laughing and enjoying themselves as the horses carried them across the rolling hills of her homeland.

Suddenly, Olaf shouted, "Ambush!" and reached across Morag with his shield arm. Horses screamed. Men cursed.

"Snorri!" called out Olaf. Morag observed the shout was a command to ride after the attackers and not a demand that he come to his father, for the younger Viking wheeled about then, pointed his axe at something beyond her sight, and charged. The remainder of the warriors rode after him, leaving Morag alone with the Viking chieftain.

"You need not watch over me, Lord Olaf," she said, tossing her head so her hair no longer obscured her face. "I know my way back to the keep. Or do you fear I will ride off?"

When Olaf didn't respond, Morag turned and noted an arrow protruding from Olaf's ribs. His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly.

"You're hurt! And you threw your shield across me that I might be saved from the archers!"

Olaf shrugged, then winced. "Snorri would not appreciate his future bride being punctured with arrows." He opened his eyes and looked about, searching.

"Your son has rode off, after the assailants I assume. Let us return to the keep where you may be healed," she suggested.

He shook his head. "Better that you help me off my horse, that I may lie upon the ground and await the Valkyrie, Morag."

Her eyes widened. She looked about desperately, but no-one was in sight. "I'll help you back to the keep. Surely Ingrid knows some healing, being a Viking woman."

"Nonsense, woman! Lay me down upon the ground and put my axe in my grip!"

Morag eased her horse beside Olaf's, then urged it forward. "We're going back to the keep. And you're in no shape to argue if you cannot dismount under your own power."

Olaf cringed as a wave of pain flowed through his body. He nodded his acceptance and let Morag direct his steed. She managed to tempt both horses back in the direction from whence they'd come, but they had travelled no further than one hundred yards when Morag had the beasts stop. She listened carefully.

"What is it?" gasped Olaf.

"Men," she whispered back. "Nearby, but I know not where."

Olaf reached out to grip her hand. "If I have been kind to you, then I ask that you grant me a favour." Morag nodded. "Lay me down in that woods there. Don't allow them to discover me. You are free to go with your southern warriors."

An image of the lustful priest who had come to rescue her from the Vikings came into her mind. "I'll conceal you within those woods, but I'll stay with you. I have no way of knowing if these men will be...as kind to me as you've been, Lord Olaf."

She urged the horses on, turning them towards the trees. Once within the sheltering forest, she kept them going, forcing the steeds deeper and deeper into the woods until at last her companion begged her to stop.

"I can go no further," he gasped. "Lay me down in the ferns there."

She dismounted quickly. Then she tied the horses to some low branches so that they might forage. Olaf toppled from his mount, half-conscious, and Morag barely caught him before he collapsed upon the ground. The loud metallic clanks of his armour and weapons startled her and she looked around in fright. The edge of the forest was not visible from where they hid.

Morag removed as much of Olaf's armour and weapons as she could, then proceeded to drag the large Viking warrior a small distance from the horses for fear he would be trod upon. At last, she collapsed upon the ground beside the unconscious man. Sleep visited her far more easily than she had thought it would.

Chapter 12: Admission of Guilt

Morag awoke with a start.

Night had fallen and an owl was hooting somewhere nearby. As she lay quietly with her hand upon Olaf's shirt, she listened to the soft rustlings in the undergrowth that spoke of tiny nocturnal creatures busying themselves in their nightly rituals. The moon was high and silvery light filtered through branches, illuminating the horses, Olaf, and her hand.

She placed her ear over Olaf's lips and heard a faint breathing. Her hand felt the tremor of a heartbeat. "So these Valkyrie have not stolen you away just yet, have they?"

Morag sat up and wondered about what she should do next. If she abandoned Olaf, it was very likely that she could make her way to another freehold. There, she could find refuge from the Vikings, at least temporarily. But if that priest were there-she quickly realized that as she would have no protector she would now be prey to the basest of men.

So, she could stay and care for this Viking chieftain who had likely slain her father in battle, or she could make her way back to the keep and seek help. A glance at Olaf's still form convinced her that it was her obligation to care for him. If she had any hope of finding a husband and protector in Snorri, then caring for his father would be a necessity. But, what should she do?

Olaf began to stir, as if waking from a dream. "Ohhh..."

"Hush, now!"

His eyes opened and slowly made their way to her face. "What happened?"

"You don't recall the arrow? It's still in your side."

He winced, then nodded. "I didn't expect to wake up to you."

"What else could I do?"

"Brunhilde, I've missed you so much! I'm glad Odin sent you to collect me. Do we have some time before I go on to Valhalla?"

Morag was taken aback. Was the Viking still dreaming? Or had his injury addled his mind?

"Brunhilde?" came the worried question as his eyes began to glaze over.

"Yes, I'm here," Morag answered. "Talk to me, Olaf."

"Rest your head on my chest like you always used to. I want to feel your long hair in my fingers."

Morag set her head gently upon his breast, then spread her hair out across his shirt. His hand came up brushing her cheek, then he ran his fingers gently over her head.

"Can we just stay like this for a while, Brunhilde?"

"As long as you like, Olaf."

They were silent for several minutes.

"Brunhilde?"

"Yes," she whispered, hoping he would fall back into a healing sleep.

"I'm sorry I got you with child. It was Ingrid that killed you, but it was my fault you were birthing her. I should have known after the trouble you had with Snorri-"

"It wasn't your fault, Olaf. If I had not wanted a child, you would not have been able to put one in me."

He chuckled, then groaned in pain.

Then, his breathing deepened and slowed. Morag feared she was going to be locked in the embrace of a dying man but did not move. Tears came to her eyes as she thought of the years of pain in this Viking's heart over a wife he'd lost during childbirth and the blame he had cast on himself for all that time.

'It was Ingrid that killed you,' considered Morag. How much blame had leaked out of him toward Ingrid? As a small child, had Snorri resented his sister for stealing his mother away? Was this the fount of Ingrid's anger and bitterness? Morag felt a deep sympathy for the Viking woman, and for Olaf and his son.

Olaf's hand slowed and came to a rest on her head. Morag closed her eyes and tried to will herself to sleep, but it did not visit her once throughout that long night.

Chapter 13: Discovered

As dawn broke, Olaf stirred and lifted his hand from Morag's head. She pushed herself up into a sitting position and shook her head. A loud yawn escaped her mouth before she could stop it. A glance at Olaf revealed that he had not stirred to wakefulness because of her carelessness.

Morag rose to her feet and approached the horses, murmuring in a soothing tone. A search of the saddlebags rendered a small amount of food. She ate enough to satisfy her stomach and left the rest in case the Viking should awaken hungry. If he awoke, she reminded herself. She stared at the man. His chest was not rising and falling as much as she would have liked, but she knew he was still breathing. How was she to get him back to the keep?

The sound of something rushing through the forest, breaking branches and panting, interrupted her thoughts. Morag peered around the horses and spied a man in the woods. He moved too quickly and there were too many intervening trunks and hillocks to see clearly enough to identify him, but he was making his way toward her and Olaf.

Was he friendly? How would she determine who was friendly anymore? Her king had abandoned her to the whims of a lustful priest and rapacious Vikings. The Vikings had proved less ferocious than she had feared, at least some of them had. If only her father were still alive she might have some rock to anchor all the thoughts whirling about within her head.
Deciding that it would be wise to arm herself, Morag grabbed Olaf's battle-axe in both hands and hefted it onto her shoulder. The weapon was heavy and pained her. However, she gritted her teeth and prepared to defend herself and the injured Viking.

"Horses!" came the man's gasped exclamation. The beasts whinnied in fright at the nearness of the stranger.

"I am armed and will defend my property from thieves!" declared Morag, in a less than imposing voice. She bit her lip at how feminine and helpless her words sounded.

"Morag MacLint!" said the man as he circled the horses. His eyes were wide in surprise. It was that same priest who had come to collect her before the Vikings had arrived. He wore a travelling cloak and sturdy boots, but otherwise was attired in coloured garments and jewellery as befitted one of noble birth.

"Father, what are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously, not lowering her axe.

He eyed the weapon. "The same as you, hiding from the Vikings." He glanced to Olaf's still form. "And you have managed to slay one! Bless you, daughter! Doubtless the heathen dragged you off into these woods to force himself upon you and then kill you, child. And you managed to surprise and kill him!" He turned back to Morag, his eyes glittering. "God will not condemn you for this, daughter. Especially"-he raised an eyebrow-"if I pray for your soul."

"I am less worried for my soul than my immediate safety, Father." She tightened her grip upon the axe.

The priest looked about full of fear. "Are there more about? Was there a gang of them?"

"No. He's the only one." Morag wondered again what the priest was doing there. "The others chased after some men who'd laid an ambush upon them."

"Ah," said the priest, nodding. "I was with the king's men! You may put down the weapon now, daughter. I am here to offer you my protection again. I have no doubt that you've suffered terribly under these beasts." He nodded toward Olaf.

"They were king's men?"

The priest walked around her, bringing him closer to the Viking upon the ground. "Yes, child. The king decided that now that the main force had returned to their northern homes he would root out those who had taken holdings in his lands. I must confess, I urgently pleaded on your behalf that your father's domain be one of the first cleared of these heathens so that a rescue of his only daughter, a loyal servant of his majesty, might be arranged." He eyed Olaf. "Have you checked his body for valuables?"

"Father, I think it would be best for you to leave."

The priest stared about in fright once more. "I hear nothing! Did you see something in the woods just now?"

"I mean...surely the Vikings are searching for a man of your importance, and they have no respect for the church..."

The priest crouched to better examine Olaf. He reached out toward the still form.

"Stop!" shouted Morag. "Don't touch him!"

"Daughter, this is becoming tiresome. Put down the axe."

The priest stood. After noting Morag straining with the weight of the weapon, he darted forward. Morag lifted the shaft to bring the blade down upon the approaching man, but he was too fast. His hands wrenched the axe from her grip, then tossed it aside. She backed away until she nearly stumbled over the protruding roots of a tree.

When she turned back to the priest, he had a long dagger in his hand. "You are coming with me this time, girl!"

"No!" she shouted, backing away further until she was stopped by a wide and roughly-barked trunk. "I know what you want!"

The priest moved to her quickly and smoothly, almost seeming to float in his large, dark travelling cloak. The tip of his knife played with the knot on the front of her travelling gown.

"I have grown most tiresome of you, daughter." He grabbed a handful of her hair with his left hand. "You just don't comprehend your situation. I am a powerful man. I can protect you from both Vikings and cruel men faithful to the king. However, I must gain something in return." He cut the knot with the blade and Morag put a hand to her chest to prevent the fabric from opening. "This is not so different from a marriage, and I can pray for you every night. I will keep you fed and safe, and you will serve my needs."

"No! You're vile and-"

The priest pressed the tip of his knife against her cheek. He shook his head. He smelled of incense, mould, and urine.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the two of them. Olaf's hands gripped the priest by the neck and squeezed.

"You shall not harm her! Vermin!" spat out the Viking chieftain.

Morag was shocked by the sudden vitality the older man showed, but was quickly dismayed as she watched the priest slowly turn in his attacker's grip. The knife was swung around at the Viking, but missed. She could see Olaf was not squeezing tight enough to strangle the priest, and soon enough the man would be facing the Viking and could stab at him easily. Realizing the priest no longer held a handful of her hair, she grabbed the priest's arm, keeping the man from rotating toward his attacker.

"Let me go, girl! The Viking-!"

The priest twisted suddenly and his fist caught the side of Morag's head. Pain exploded in her temple. Stunned, she released the man's arm. The knife flashed, cutting into her.

As she fell to the ground, she heard a beastly roar of rage. Looking up at the combatants from where she lay nearby, it was clear that the priest's neck had been snapped by Olaf. The Viking shook the priest, then cast aside the body. He grimaced and hunched over, sheltering the arrow wound in his right side, then bent down to Morag.

"I was so afraid he'd killed you, Brunhilde! Are you hurt?"

"A scratch..." She felt under her blouse and winced when her fingers pushed open the small cut upon her right breast. "It's just a scratch, Olaf. It's not even bleeding that much. But you-!"

"I'll be all right," he replied. He tenderly undid the strings upon her blouse and opened it. After examining the cut, he nodded his head and smiled. "It's a small cut. A pity about the dress, though. I'll find you another gown." He stared into her eyes and at first he seemed surprised and unsure, then his face relaxed and he smiled warmly. "I think I deserve a bit of a reward for saving you, wife."

Morag quickly pulled her blouse closed. "The arrow?" she reminded Olaf. "You're badly injured!"

He shook his head. "What arrow, beloved? I've a headache, but nothing worse. I guess he must have hit me from behind and dazed me." He reached down with a hand and gently pulled the fabric of her blouse from her fingers and opened it again, revealing her breasts. "And why so suddenly shy, Brunhilde? Aren't you the very woman who told me she'd happily walk about naked if that pleased me?"

"I..." Morag thought quickly. She didn't want to lose her virginity to anyone but her future husband, but Olaf had been so kind to her and was still deeply saddened by the death of his wife so many years earlier. Also, the man who was most likely going to be her husband had made it clear to her that he had no interest in her as a woman. Would this be her only chance of being with a man? And if it was, could she find a better man than Olaf after she was married?

The Viking chieftain bent down and placed his lips over the cut on her right breast. He kissed her tenderly and briefly. Morag swallowed. Perhaps there was no use in telling him no, she thought, for he was much stronger than she and he was lost in a delusion where he thought she was his beloved and long-lost Brunhilde.

He pushed her blouse open more and his lips found her nipple. He sucked and tickled her with his tongue. Her heart began to beat too fast and she felt almost faint. She grabbed his head and pulled his face against her chest. Olaf sucked strongly, and Morag felt as if everything she was could be sucked out of her and into him through her breast.

Yet, part of her soul reminded her of the impropriety of what she was doing. She must stop! Olaf must stop! But, had not Snorri said she could have other men? What if Olaf got her with child? A quick marriage to Snorri would conceal the fact the child was not his, and he would likely be content to learn that he did not need to trouble himself and lay with her for the first little while in their marriage.

Olaf's mouth moved up her chest to her throat. His weight settled against her side. Her hand was wet.

She stared at her wet hand in surprise as Olaf's kisses covered her cheek. How had that got wet? She remembered that her fingers had been in his hair and...the priest must have struck him a blow just as Olaf had suggested. Her mind dizzy with passion, Morag was grateful that the mystery of blood upon her hand was so simply solved. She turned her face and kissed Olaf eagerly and hungrily, forgetting what she'd been thinking about.

Her skirt lifted higher and higher up her thighs. Dimly, she wondered how that could be, but it was happening and she didn't care if her clothing was moving of its own accord somehow or if Olaf had lifted her dress and was now spreading her legs with his hand.

She grunted in confusion as their lips separated, then hummed happily as they kissed again and she felt his weight upon her. The desire to engulf him consumed Morag. She bent her legs and spread her thighs, then reached her hands down his back and pulled at him. Something pushed against her, between her legs. It felt smooth, hard, wet, and so right, and she was losing herself in Olaf's kisses upon her cheek, her throat, her lips. It was all too much and Morag gave in to the confusion and allowed Olaf to do as he pleased. She was busy enough experiencing so many wonderful new pleasures.

Something pushed apart her lower lips and she felt sudden fear. "Be gentle, please," she pleaded, wondering if he'd listen.

His kisses grew softer and the pressure upon the delicate flesh between her legs eased. As his hard, wet member slid slowly in, her body was given time to adjust. Morag shifted her hips to delay the push, then relaxed and felt a brief pain. It was followed by the most wonderful sensation of filling that she had ever known. Her legs squeezed his thighs, then she reached lower to pull him in deeper when her hand brushed against a narrow wooden shaft in Olaf's side.

He pulled back from her, wincing. "I'm sorry," he breathed quickly, "a sudden spasm. Maybe an old wound. It'll pass-"

"I'm so sorry, Olaf. I forgot the arrow..."

However, he was already struggling to remain conscious. Olaf's arms gave out suddenly and the weight of his body pushed the air from her lungs. Morag squirmed until much of his weight was upon her side and she breathed in great gasps of air. After several seconds of no movement from the Viking, she decided that he must be asleep again. When his manhood began to slip out of her she gently shook Olaf to try and awaken him, but he did not stir.

"Olaf?" she whispered. Morag was torn between letting him sleep and waking him so that they could continue, if possible. As he fully slid out of her, she voiced a frustrated sigh.

They lay together for several minutes, before she decided that she had best remove herself from his embrace and dress. There were others about and if the priest could encounter them then anyone might. And, more troubling was the idea that the priest might not be dead.

It took a great deal of effort to slowly extricate herself from under the large Olaf, especially as she was worried that she would again aggravate his injury. Once she was free she mended her blouse and adjusted her skirt, then pushed Olaf over so that he was lying upon his back again. His arrow wound trickled blood, but it did not seem much worse. What troubled her was the drying blood in his hair. Her mind was clear enough now to remember that the priest had not struck him, so where had that injury come from?

She wandered over to the horses where she noticed bright red upon a large stone. Had he fallen upon this when he collapsed off his horse? She looked back at the injured Viking. Then his delusion was due to the head wound. How long would he suffer from it?

Chapter 14: Lost in a Dream

Olaf was alert when he woke later that same day. He was concerned over his companion's apparent tiredness, but to Morag's dismay he still referred to her using the name of his dead wife. She decided it was best to play the role if it meant getting him to the keep.

"We have time for another roll in the moss, Brunhilde," suggested Olaf, pulling Morag to him. "What say you?"

She placed her hands upon his chest and pushed him away. "We must return to the keep, Olaf. There are enemies about!" She pointed again to the priest's body.

"And you say he attacked us and that I slew him?" asked the Viking, scratching his beard. "In truth, I don't remember any of it. I know we came out for a ride and a picnic and your father was not too happy about the idea, but you persuaded him that you were perfectly safe with me." He chuckled. "I cannot believe he was fooled as to our intentions, Brunhilde."

"Look, Olaf, we have to get back to the keep! You're injured!" She pointed at the arrow in his side.

The Viking looked at it in surprise. "By Hela! When did that happen? Was it the priest?"

Morag rolled her eyes. "We must get back to the keep! Everything will be explained to you there." He reached for her again, but she fended him off. "And you can come to my chamber whenever you wish. I'll submit to you every night from now until the End Days, only we must go to the keep!"

"What is this keep you speak of? You father's long house is just down the fjord..." Olaf paused and looked about. "The floor of these woods seems strangely level. And these trees...!"

"Please, Olaf! Get atop your steed and let us go to the keep!"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. "Fine, Brunhilde. But first..." He leaned down and kissed her lips. Morag had intended to make the kiss a brief one, but once their lips touched she melted onto his broad chest. Passions flared within her, and she wished desperately that Snorri had shown her a fraction of the hunger that this much older man had shown. One of his hands reached down and explored the curve of her bottom. She hummed approval and almost forgot his injury again.

At last she pulled away a little and Olaf took the opportunity to whisper to her. "You know, we could lay down over there, Brunhilde. Another hour or two won't matter."

"No!" She pushed him away very firmly. "We must be on our way! If you love me, Olaf, you must be on your horse and we must ride to the keep now!"

His shoulders slumped. "Very well. But, I will take you up on your offer and sneak to your chamber every night until your father agrees to give you to me."

He walked over to the horse and mounted after a brief and painful pause. Then he reached down and helped Morag atop her own steed, unsuccessfully concealing his grimace as he did so.

She sighed in relief and let him hold her hand for a few seconds. Then they rode through the forest. Morag kept a careful watch for warriors, for both Vikings and the king's men.

Chapter 15: Memory Returns

They were within sight of the high stone walls of the keep when Olaf reigned in his horse, forcing Morag to do the same to stay beside him.

"You're not Brunhilde!" he said in surprise. "But I should know you..." He peered at her suspiciously.

"Please, Olaf! Inside the keep you will have all the answers you want!" She wondered why no-one had ridden out to meet them as yet. "Your daughter awaits you within that sanctuary," Morag added, pointing at the gates.

"My daughter? You mean Ingrid!" He closed his eyes and rubbed his head with both hands. "Why is it so hard to remember?"

"You are Olaf, Viking lord of these lands. I am Morag. We rode out with a group of warriors to survey your new lands and-"

"And we were set upon!" He nodded his head. "There were arrows in the air, and I held my shield over you..." He reached down and felt the shaft protruding from his side. "Snorri and the others?"

"They chased after our attackers," said Morag with a shrug. How quickly the king's men had become 'our attackers,' she thought.

"And where did Brunhilde go?"

Morag stared at him in concern. He had seemed to be returning to his old self until that question.

"Ah." Olaf stared down at his hands. His jaw twitched. "She's been dead for many years now. I hope I didn't bore you with tales of a woman who went on to Valhalla when you were but a babe."

Morag sighed quietly, relieved that Olaf had forgotten their tryst in the woods. "Lord Olaf, we must go in to the keep. Ingrid awaits and can care for you and tend your injury."

"Yes." Olaf looked up and stared at the keep. "This is my future. Ingrid will care for me," he added in a tired tone.

Although Morag was elated that he finally seemed to agree with her, she was troubled by the way he did not quite ride so tall and proud in the saddle. It didn't seem to be a product of the arrow wound, or the blow to the head; she was sure it was something deeper that was stealing away his spirit.

They prodded their horses and cantered to the gate, which was opened before them by surprised guards.

"Fetch Lady Ingrid!" demanded Morag. "Her father has need of her!"

"Who dares give orders in the presence of both me and my father?" demanded the Viking woman from across the courtyard.

Morag dismounted quickly, splashing mud upon herself and others standing nearby. "Lady Ingrid! Hurry!"

The raven-haired daughter of Olaf frowned but did rush over to examine her father. She scowled at Morag after noting the arrow in the man's side and the dried blood upon his head.

"There is no time for discussion, Lady Ingrid!" exclaimed Morag. "I know nothing of the healing arts and brought him here as fast as I was able. Can you help him?"

The Viking woman appeared taken aback. "I know something of healing. You were wise to bring him to me."

Morag grasped Olaf's hand as two warriors eased him from the horse. "Lord Olaf, your daughter is here to take care of you." She then turned to Ingrid. "His mind has been addled by a blow. He sometimes forgets where he is." The Viking woman raised an eyebrow.

"Ingrid?" called out Olaf. "Sometimes I see so much of your mother in you."

Morag and Ingrid both froze. They exchanged looks. Morag's was one of curiosity, while Ingrid's eyes betrayed an unaccustomed vulnerability. Then, the Viking woman had the warriors carry her father deeper into the keep and Morag was left forgotten in the courtyard.

A maidservant rushed over to her and curtsied. "Mistress! You look a mess! Do you wish me to lead you to your bedchamber?"

Weariness suddenly made her arms and legs tremble. Morag looked gratefully at the older woman and nodded quietly. In short order, she was in her room, stripped, and then in bed asleep.

Chapter 16: A Visit in Her Bedchamber

The gentle tapping noise quickly became an impatient pounding upon the door, and it roused Morag from her much needed sleep. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her bed. "Yes?"

"Open the door!" demanded Ingrid.

Morag, still dazed and half-asleep, slipped out of her bed, padded across the floor, and unlatched the door. It was thrown open immediately.

"Do you always open your door naked, or were you hoping my brother would become enflamed with passion at the sight of your body?" said Ingrid quickly as she walked into the room, although there was a small smile upon her lips as she said it.

Morag swiftly closed the door, then climbed back into bed. She watched, slowly becoming more alert, as the Viking woman paced around the room. Her visitor seemed to be in a mood unlike Morag had ever seen before, all nervous energy and harnessed joy.

"Thank you for bringing my father back safely to me." Ingrid went to the window and looked out into a grey sky that was darkening.
"How long have I been asleep, Lady Ingrid?"

"That matters little." The dark-haired woman's shoulder's rose and fell quickly. "Call me Ingrid. It seems foolish for you to use my title with me when we are both daughters of lords and you will likely be as a sister one day soon."

"Thank you, Ingrid," replied a confused Morag. She waited patiently for her guest to explain why she had burst into her bedchamber.

"I am grateful that you cared for my father. The arrow was easily removed and no vitals had been pierced. The wound pains him, but not as much as the strike upon his crown which shall make his head ache for weeks to come. However..."

Morag's eyes went wide as she realized that Olaf must have remembered more of what had gone on in the forest. Why wasn't Ingrid furious with her?

"However, I am having trouble reconciling your previous conniving behaviour with your service to Father. Why did you not leave him and flee to your own people?" Ingrid whirled about and stared at Morag's face, searching out an answer.

"When your people came to my father's keep, I feared I would be raped and murdered. After all, that's what we've always been told Vikings were like."

"And for many, the description is apt," noted Ingrid.

"Yes, well...men of the king are made of similar clay. Your father has shown me kindness and-"

"And you have a future if a marriage to my brother occurs. You transform from nobleman's daughter of a conquered people to nobleman's wife of one of the conquerors?"

"It seems very unromantic when you put it that way, Ingrid. But, what choice have I? My sex determined that my future lay with my choice of husband. Now a willing candidate appears and I would rather that path than slavery or death."

"I understand, Morag." Ingrid looked down at her hands, folded across her belly. "While men may take a wife as their passion takes them, we women must be more mercenary. I understand very well." Ingrid turned to look out the window again, and Morag thought the woman's eyes shone brightly. "My father has been talking to me of my mother. He has sometimes been harsh with me in the past...and has doted on Snorri. From what others have said, I had come to suspect it was my fault that Mother had died. Apparently, my birth was difficult-"

"It was not your fault, Ingrid," offered Morag, receiving a piercing look from Ingrid at the words.

"Father has said as much to me while I have been caring for him. He had a vision of Mother and she forgave him, and now he admits he did not love me as much as I deserved." The Viking woman shivered and hugged herself. "He needs me!"

Morag waited for Ingrid to say something else. Why was she telling the woman she most hated, someone she had repeatedly called a witch, these intimacies?

"Morag"-Ingrid took a deep breath-"I do not really believe you to be some sorceress. And I wanted to say...thank you for bringing my father back to me. I owe you a debt and I mean to pay it back."

With no further words, Ingrid strode from the room. She closed the door behind her and Morag was left alone with her thoughts about the strange conversation. Was the harsh daughter of Olaf now an ally?

Chapter 17: Politics

Morag was in the great hall the next afternoon as the scouts returned, mud-covered and a little bloodied, and sat down heavily at a table. Ingrid nodded to her and the two quickly organized the servants into bringing food and drink for the exhausted warriors. The Viking woman had not said a single biting word to her all day.

"What happened?" demanded Olaf. He shifted in his seat, then grimaced as a brief spasm of pain reminded him of his recent wounds.

One of those just returned dropped his helmet upon the table. "Lord Olaf, we encountered a few small groups of these southern men and there were a few fights, but none of them had any real hunger for battle." He glanced at Morag. "I think they are scouts for a bigger army. The king means to march upon this keep."

"Snorri?"

"He patrols, seeking out what glory he can, but he promised to return very soon."

"And Gunderr and his men have removed themselves so they can protect our homeland from King Thrum of the Burning Skull," noted the older Viking, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "This keep is strong, well maintained, and well-provisioned. We'll hold off any army that's too large to crush."

"Assuming the food's not poisoned," muttered one of the men, casting a dark glance toward Morag.

"Hrothgar! You're a fool among men!" declared Ingrid with a sarcastic laugh. "Better that you should caper out about in bright clothing for the southern king than wear armour and lift that axe!"

The warrior blanched, then glanced at Olaf. The Viking chieftain seemed lost in thought.

"If you had eyes and a brain in that tiny head of yours," continued Ingrid, "you would have noted that Lady Morag has cast her lot in with us!"

The warrior grumbled into the drink that was suddenly set before him. Morag gave Ingrid a quick nod in thanks.

"My bones ache," stated Olaf. "A storm is coming. A big one."

"A storm at this time of year means an early winter," noted Morag, raising her eyebrows at Ingrid.

The Viking woman brushed her dark hair from her face as she stepped toward her father. "And an early winter means an end to war. For a time."

He nodded at her. "I want you and Lady Morag to check the provisions."

"And those outside the keep," questioned Morag, "who in the past have relied upon my father's charity when times were lean?"

"The new lord of the keep shall honour his obligations to those who till the soil, Lady Morag. I'll need your advice on that when the time comes."

She nodded and smiled.

"Father?" called out Ingrid. Olaf turned back to his daughter. "You know the cessation of battle will only last as long as it is too cold to fight. Spring will come and the southern king will summon his armies again."

"Only after planting, Ingrid. This fickle southern king must feed his belly like the rest of us. That will give us time," he replied.

The warriors in the room went quiet and turned to their chieftain, waiting on his next words. However, Olaf merely shrugged and left.

Chapter 18: Ingrid's Plan

Winter did come soon, and it hit hard with a raging wind. Streams and ponds froze. Sleet and then snow fell, covering everything in a treacherous icy glaze. Morag found the antics of the Viking warriors comical as they waddled about the courtyard trying to keep their feet underneath them. It snowed for three days, and then the temperature plummeted.

Everyone was kept busy. Olaf had the keep prepared for winter, although a little too late. While the buildings were insulated with straw and mud, the roofs were cleared of ice and snow. Morag was puzzled that he also had the area around the walls cleared of snow, but not ice. Until the Viking chieftain explained he did not trust the southern king to stay entirely benign throughout the winter months.

Some tenants came to the keep, begging additional food and materials from the new lord. Morag's advice was heeded, and no-one left empty-handed, although Ingrid glared at many of the petitioners. The days were very busy for Morag.

And what little free time she had, she spent alone in the chapel. She had much to beg forgiveness for. And someone had to pray for her father's soul. The weeks passed and winter grew more harsh, unusually so. Morag thought it might be a sign from God. Perhaps the failings of the king and her own weaknesses had brought a punishment upon these lands. Morag prayed all the harder, begging forgiveness, but knowing all the while that she could not bring herself to hate these Godless Viking invaders. They were people, and they feared and loved and hated just as any Christian did.

It was a great surprise to Morag when the doors to the chapel were thrown open one day, interrupting her prayers. She watched as Ingrid stared into the room suspiciously.

"So this is where you talk to your God?" she asked, sarcasm in her voice.

"God is everywhere and hears every prayer, but this chapel is His house." Morag considered the other woman's recent overtures of friendship. "In truth, Ingrid, only a priest may talk to God, but I pray to him all the same and ask for forgiveness of my sins."

"Sins!" Ingrid snorted. The Viking woman strolled in, considering every candle, every decoration. Her eyes focussed upon the altar where a small amount of silver could be found. "Your God takes payment like men, it seems."

Morag shrugged. "Usually one's prayers to God are considered to be private, Lady Ingrid. Among Christians, it is very impolite to interrupt someone in prayer."

"I'll inform my father that the best time to strike at the Christians is once they've put their knees to the ground, Lady Morag." Ingrid chuckled. "However, it wasn't battle tactics or religion I came to discuss with you."

Morag's eyes narrowed. "Then...?"

Ingrid took a deep breath, then let it go. "I have thought about the problem that my father has, and the one that you have."

Morag's heartbeat quickened. Had Ingrid learned of what passed between Olaf and her in the woods?

"I have suggested that my father declare a...I believe you call it a tournament."

"A tournament?" asked Morag, making the sign of the cross, then rising to her feet.

"My father is sending out messengers. They will travel to the neighbouring lands and some will return to our homeland. A large number of eager young men who wish to demonstrate their prowess at battle will be descending upon us early in the spring. There will be fighting and prizes."

"I don't understand."

Ingrid gave her a surprised look. "These men will also bolster our defences. The southern king will be very hesitant to attack while so many warriors friendly to my father are about. His hesitation will prevent a war. As time passes, his nobles will be less and less eager to cross blades with my father's men. Commerce will replace ambush and killing. The immediate danger to us will vanish soon enough."

Morag stared at Ingrid in confusion. "You really think that will stop the king?"

"He is already weak. He lost the battle last fall, and so we are here. His generals will find excuses not to raise an army."

Morag nodded in agreement. From the little she knew of court politics, the king did have a weak grasp on power and it had likely been weakened by the loss that Ingrid had mentioned. It made sense to her that he had roused an army at the first opportunity, knowing that to delay would give his followers time to assess his leadership and conspire. "And what do I have to do with this?"

"Snorri has been ignoring you," pointed out Ingrid. "I know his ways. He has little interest in women. And you are not the type to seduce him."

Morag's eyes opened wide. She had actually decided to begin a seduction, although mourning her father's death took precedence. Perhaps she had been putting Ingrid's brother off for too long.

"The tournament with its battles and competitions will fire Snorri's blood. With you as first prize for the champion-"

"I'm a prize?"

"Oh, do not worry. Snorri will win. He always wins. There is no-one as strong or fast." Ingrid was thoughtful for a moment, which did nothing to soothe Morag's shock at becoming a prize to be handed off to some blood-covered brawler. "He will win, and you will be his. And as his passion for the fights rise, so will he rise for you. There will always be that bond between you, that he fought to claim you and you are his."

Morag's mouth opened, but she could not think of what to say.

"It is my gift to you, in payment of the debt I owe you. You have given me a father, and now I give to you my brother as your husband. Snorri will not ignore you as he has with other women thrown in his way. You will bear him mighty sons to follow in Snorri and Father's rule and pretty girls to be sought by eager young Viking princes."

Silence filled the chapel. Ingrid's smile slipped off her face as she did not receive the immediate gratitude that she had expected.

Morag debated the plan in her mind. It made sense, but would Snorri win? Was he really the toughest and best Viking warrior? Ingrid was confident about that. Was that just a sister's overconfidence in her older brother? Yet, Olaf had agreed to the plan so obviously he, too, thought it set in stone that Snorri should win.

Morag bowed low. "Lady Ingrid, I thank you for this plan which both brings me a husband and also ensures the king will not attack the keep and kill us all."

The smile grew again upon the Viking woman's face.

"And," added Morag, "among all the young men who show up for the competition, I am certain that some will be swayed by the daughter of Lord Olaf. You and I shall work together to find some Viking prince for you."

"Don't offer me up as a prize, Lady Morag!" exclaimed Ingrid with a startled look upon her face. "There is no man who seeks my company, certainly no-one of Snorri's fighting ability!"

Chapter 19: A Surprise in the Cellar

A month later, frigid cold had taken hold over the land, making the snow crunch like dried leaves underfoot. Even within the walls of the keep breath came out in a cloud and hovered in the stillness. Braziers were lit in every room, and the residents-both Viking and southerner-huddled together and rubbed their hands in the warmth.

The chapel, unvisited by all but Morag, had grown far too cold for prayer services, and she took that as a sign that her duties to her father's memory and her penance were completed. She now set her eyes on Snorri. The Viking warrior continued to seem unconcerned and incurious about her, even with the promise of battles for her hand.

Then two Vikings took sick and, since all were confined to the keep, the other residents worried about a plague sweeping through their ranks. Neither Ingrid nor Morag had seen anything like this illness; the stomach pains and vomiting had come on very suddenly in both men and the pair grew weaker despite the unceasing care of the ladies. They spoke often of their worst fears, although in hushed tones.

It was while they were standing outside the sick room and discussing the unlikeliness of recovery for their two patients that one of the manservants came forward, bowed nervously, and waited for permission to speak.

"The way he eyes you, Morag," noted the Viking woman, "makes me believe his words are for you alone. I shall tend Thorri and Lars."

Morag wiped her brow and lifted an eyebrow at the middle-aged man who waited impatiently while Ingrid went back into the sick room.

"Ah, mistress!" he began, opening and closing his hands nervously. "I went down into the deepest recesses of the storeroom. Down in the cellar?" Morag nodded. "I found Stephen. He was dead. Stabbed through the heart!"

"Dead?" she asked. "Someone killed him?" Her mind immediately pictured a Viking, drunk and angry, stabbing at poor old Stephen who had been sent to recover some bread, or perhaps a bag of flour.

"Yes, mistress!"

"Take me there!" she demanded, although she wondered if this servant might be mistaken. Could Stephen be the latest victim of the sickness that threatened to sweep the keep? Plagues had happened before, but none since her birth.

She was led down corridors until they reached the kitchens. There, servants and cooks made way for Lady Morag as she passed through the room. Stairs took her down into the cellars where the stores were kept. A lantern, ready and held by a boy at the base of the stairs, was handed to her, and she was then led through dark passages and past piles of produce, stacked and stowed in barrels, boxes, and sacks. Eventually, murmuring ahead told her that she was nearing the scene. Then, a small group of servants parted, revealing Stephen's body.

Morag knelt and examined the corpse. Stephen was on his side, but a drying pool of blood showed that he had been lying face down. Blood was upon his shirt, over his heart. There was nothing else that leapt to her eye.

"So, not a victim of the illness," she said aloud, without thinking.

"Might it have been a Viking?" asked one of the women.

Morag looked up at the frightened faces around her. "And how would a Viking have passed through the kitchen unnoticed? And why kill him here, if it was done by those who rule this keep?"

She was satisfied by the nods of those around her. Who had killed this man? And why?

"What had he been sent down here for?" Morag asked.

A cook's helper stepped forward. "Some fowl, mistress. A few hours ago, I believe." The woman would not look her mistress in the eye.

"And yet..." Morag looked about. "I see no fowl stored here in this dark corner. There are only barrels of mead."

Other eyes were suddenly averted from hers.

"So, perhaps he took advantage of being down here alone and had a sip of mead?" she offered. "My father would not have punished a servant for doing so, as long as he kept his wits about him. But Lord Olaf might not be so accommodating." Her eyes flashed at the onlookers, as both a reminder and a warning. "Take care of the body," Morag commanded.

She stood and brushed the dirt from her knees. A strong odour filled the chamber, one that she had not noticed at first as her nose had been assailed by a variety of fragrances as she passed through the kitchen and stores. The smell of mead was to be expected if Stephen had been sneaking a sip. Usually, the barrels were taken up to the keep unopened, but something troubled her.

Morag shrugged her shoulders and watched as several men reverently lifted Stephen's body and carried it away. Where was Stephen's cup? She searched the floor with her eyes. Would he not have pried open the lid, dipped a cup into the drink, and then drank? When he was attacked the cup would have dropped and should then be visible. Unless, she thought, he used his hand to bring some mead to his lips. She shivered at the thought of the unwashed servant dipping his hand into mead that she, too, had once consumed.

The remaining servants followed her out of the cellars. As she stood in the kitchen, the cooks shouted at the others to get on with their work. The lord of the keep and his men would want food and drink; men always seemed to want food and drink. Morag left to find Ingrid and tell her the news.

She was astonished to encounter Snorri as she turned a corner.

"Lady Morag," he greeted her, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Snorri! What are you doing here, son of Olaf?"

He gave her an embarrassed look. "I'm actually lost," he whispered to her. "I've spent my life in longhouses, and the twisting stone tunnels of this castle have confounded me on more than one occasion. Where am I?"

She smirked, then concealed her mirth until Snorri laughed aloud at his own predicament. "The kitchens are a little way down this passage. May I fetch you something, Snorri? Or would you like to escort me to your sister? I have something I wish to speak with her about."

The towering warrior nodded to her. "Then, let us go and find Ingrid. I am surprised at how well the two of you get along now," he said as they walked. "In fact, I'm surprised at the change in Ingrid."

"She is grateful that I brought your father back to the keep, when I might have left him for dead and flew to other lands."

"And why did you return, Lady Morag?"

"Olaf needed me...I mean Lord Olaf needed me. And he's shown me nothing but kindness, Snorri. As have you." She tentatively placed her hand upon his arm. "And I must watch over my people."

"I have spoken to you of my intentions. My father seems to be still pleased with the idea of our union, but-"

"But?" she prompted.

"This tournament in the spring troubles me. If Father is set on our union, then why go to the trouble of the tournament? Why offer you up to the victor?"
Morag bit her lip. How much should she say? Would Snorri resent his sister's schemes?

Ingrid's voice sounded from down a hall on their right, and Morag released Snorri's arm.

"I am sorry, but I have most urgent business with your sister, Snorri. May we talk later?"

"Any time you wish, Lady Morag." Snorri yawned. "Unless I am occupied with more important matters."

Morag blinked at him as he walked away. He would be a most inattentive husband, she thought, unless she did something about it. It couldn't hurt to use her own enticements upon Snorri, could it?

"Morag!" called out Ingrid, as the Viking woman marched down the corridor toward her. "There are the strangest rumours...!"

"A servant is dead! Murdered!" answered Morag. She looked about furtively.

Ingrid's eyes narrowed. "Tell me."

Morag detailed what she had been told and what she had found in the cellar. Ingrid did not seem surprised at the death, yet clearly was surprised that the man had been killed with a weapon.

"This Stephen was not struck down by one of my own people, then? It must have been one of yours...but which one?"

"Ingrid, could not one of Olaf's warriors simply have stabbed him?" asked Morag, feeling somewhat defensive.

The other shook her head. "A Viking would not have struck so secretly, especially one of Father's men. Is it possible the servant simply dropped dead and fell on his own knife?"

Morag pondered that. While people often did drop dead for no apparent reason, she suspected that there were causes and these causes were just not readily evident. "No one suspected him of illness, or of any strange behaviour. He simply passed down into the cellars for..."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "You hesitate? And I had thought we were becoming as sisters, Morag!"

"I am sorry." She took a deep breath. "Stephen was sneaking a drink of mead when he went into the cellar."

Ingrid smiled and nodded. "We have the same problem with our own thralls. Men are fond of their drink, whether lord or thrall."

"It didn't seem to be illness. He certainly seemed fit enough, despite having lost his life."

Ingrid tapped her chin, in a way that was oddly reminiscent of Olaf to Morag's eye. "It is indeed a mystery, but it is of no real import if one thrall slays another-"

"Lady Morag!" shouted a servant running down the hall. The woman glanced at the Viking woman. "Lady Ingrid! There is something amiss in the great hall!"

Both women lifted their skirts and ran along the passage as fast as they could. They swung around a corner, proceeded through an open door-narrowly missing a couple of servants as they backed out of the room with horrified looks upon their faces-and came to a sudden stop.

Vikings throughout the chamber were collapsing to the floor. Some had grabbed at their own throats as if fighting off an unseen strangler, while others clawed at the air while they gasped weak breaths.

"Father!" screamed out Ingrid as she launched herself across the hall, leaping over the bodies of her countrymen.

Morag's heart shrivelled at the memory of her own father's recent death. She sprinted after the Viking woman and found her cradling Olaf's head in her lap. The Viking chieftain was whispering something to his daughter.

"You're ill, Father! No more mead for you!" cried Ingrid, tears running down her cheeks.

"The mead!" exclaimed Morag. Ingrid threw her a dreadful look. "Stephen was drinking the mead!" She cast her eyes around the room and noted that there were flagons and goblets of mead everywhere. "They've all been drinking the mead!"

"Poison?" asked Ingrid. "Someone has poisoned the mead? But we've all had some-"

"Yes! But we rarely drink as much as the men, and the servants usually drink less!" Morag knelt down beside the Viking woman and took Olaf's hand into her own. "He is yet warm. The Lord has not taken him! We have time, and let us pray to God it is sufficient..." Morag jumped up and dashed from the room before Ingrid could ask which god.

Chapter 20: Morag's Recipe

In fifteen minutes Morag had returned to the great hall carrying a cauldron. Serving women followed her, each armed with a wooden bowl and a ladle or spoon. Ingrid stared in disbelief. Morag set the cauldron down by Olaf and collected some of the foul smelling brew in her own ladle. Ingrid wrinkled her nose at the odour.

"What-?"

Morag bit her lip. "You must trust in me, Ingrid."

The Viking woman took three quick breaths, glanced fearfully at her father, then nodded. Morag cupped her hand beneath the ladle and brought it to Olaf's mouth. Ingrid spied various things floating in the greasy brown liquid, but she could not guess what they were. Morag pried the Viking chieftain's mouth open and emptied the disgusting concoction into his mouth.

Olaf swallowed. Then his body shook twice.

"You may wish to turn him onto his side, Ingrid." Morag backed away a little. "And perhaps you may want to face him away from you."

Ingrid followed her instructions. Suddenly, Olaf's eyes flew open and he vomited forth a large volume of liquid. He shook weakly a few more times, and with each tremor more of his stomach contents left him.

"The poison...?" asked Ingrid.

Morag smiled at her, then turned to the serving women. "A single spoonful should be enough, but attend the man you treat. Do not leave him until the spasms have ceased." The women collected some liquid from the cauldron then hurried off in different directions.

"Morag? What is happening?" asked Ingrid.

"When I was but a girl, I once decided it was time to cook my father a meal. I was too stubborn to accept any help from the cooks. My own father, being the noble man he was, smiled and ate the stew I had set before him. One spoonful was sufficient to make him purge his stomach. I have never forgotten my recipe. Let us hope that it takes the poison with it."

There was a thunderous sound from Olaf's abdomen. Ingrid looked down at her father with a wrinkled nose again.

"Ah," said Morag uncomfortably, "my stew leaves the body in every way possible. We'll have a fair amount of laundry to do before the day is out."

Olaf's eyes opened again. He slowly focussed upon Morag and smiled. "Brunhilde, I do not feel well."

"All will be well, Olaf," she responded, placing her hand upon his cheek. "Rest."

The Viking chieftain smiled and closed his eyes. Soon he was breathing slowly but with a steady rhythm.

"Thank you, again." Ingrid put her hand over her father's heart. "It beats strongly."

Morag's cheeks pinkened.

"So you've taken the role of my mother before, have you?" the Viking woman asked quietly.

Morag's heart pounded in her chest. How much did Ingrid know?

"I suspected as much. He mistook you for my mother after his injury, did he not? And you spoke as her and told him I was not to blame for her death?"

Morag kept herself from sighing in relief. "He actually blamed himself for her death. I told him that I forgave him when he mistook me for Brunhilde. I thought it was for the best, Ingrid."

Ingrid reached out with her open hand. Morag hesitated, then placed her hand in Ingrid's. They both looked about the room. Many of the other men were ridding themselves of the poison just as Olaf had, but some were lying motionless.

"There will be much to do, Morag. Perhaps you should tend my brother, while I care for my father."

Morag nodded, then left to find Snorri. The chieftain's son had not been tended yet, and she cared for him personally. His youth and great vitality appeared to give him a greater resistance to the poison, for from past experience Morag knew that he drank heavily. Snorri gave her a brief smile before he fell asleep, leaving her to ponder how she was going to carry the large Viking to his sleeping chamber.

Chapter 21: In Bed with Snorri

It took four man-servants to carry Snorri to his chambers and place him gently upon his bed. Morag sent them away, then began to strip the Viking of his soiled clothes. He was weak and did not awaken as she struggled at the chore. Realizing he was not going to awaken, Morag used her full strength and pushed and pulled Snorri until she had him lying naked on his side.

She wet some cloths in a bucket full of water left by a servant. These were used to wipe the Viking clean. Then, she pulled a lit brazier over to his bed and stoked the coals until waves of heat filled the room.

Morag sat upon the bed, exhausted, with Snorri atop the blankets an arm's reach away from her. Her eyes wandered across his wide shoulders. She pursed her lips. Her eyes drifted down to his chest. He was not overly hairy, but what he did have formed the sign of a cross from nipple to nipple and down his rippled abdomen until...

She averted her eyes, but the memory of his member dangling limply from between his legs stayed in her mind's eye. She had never really seen a full grown man naked before, and this one was certainly insensible to her presence. She turned back and examined him curiously.

It was strange to her that such a small and innocent looking appendage upon men should be the talk of the married women in the castle. Even many of the maidens had spoken of the mysteries of a man's body, and now here was one for Morag to satisfy her curiosity.

Her eyes continued down Snorri's body. His thighs were thick and strong and his legs were covered in the same blondish hair that was atop his head, upon his chin, down his chest and crowned his member. She stared at him again, this time memorizing every detail she could. He had described himself as indifferent to women, so as his wife she might never again get an opportunity to run her fingers over his smooth skin and the hard muscles beneath.

She stretched out her fingers and caressed the hair upon his chest. It was almost wiry. And the skin beneath was warm. She put her palm flat upon him. His flesh was hard, as if beneath his skin it was steel and not the simple clay of other mortals. After a glance at his face to ensure he was still sleeping soundly, Morag let her hand wander across his chest and then down over his abdomen. She told herself that she would not touch him in any indecent place, but the Tree of Knowledge beckoned and, soon enough, her fingers were cradling his flaccid manhood.

How strange, she thought. This gets pushed into a woman, and yet surely it would twist and turn rather than be thrust into a small opening, at least until it hardens to such a state that Olaf's had in the woods. There was extra skin at the end of the penis, and it took both her hands to roll it back carefully. The head was slightly shrivelled but appeared larger than the shaft, and more red. The colour reminded her of lips and she almost dropped him.

After a glance at his face again, Morag shifted her position so that she could explore him further. She parted his legs ever so slightly, then reached in and gently coaxed out a wrinkled sack of flesh. The source of his seed, she realized. But why did it feel like two shelled eggs beneath the skin?

Snorri murmured. His arm lifted and reached out. Suddenly, Morag was pulled against him, front to front. She tried to lift his arm, but was still tired from her earlier exertions and could not get sufficient leverage. Next she tried to squirm from his grasp, but that appeared to rouse him from his sleep. How would she explain this to him? Morag stilled and, very soon after, Snorri quietened and resumed his slow and steady breaths.

She lay alert and aware of every point of contact between them, especially where her fingers still touched Snorri's manhood. Thoughts raced through her head. Was he really awake? Was this a ploy to have his way with her? Since he was to be her future husband she saw no sin in complying with his lusts. Yet, he seemed to be genuinely asleep.

After a while no plan of escape came to her, and her eyelids grew heavy. She tried squirming away again, but in his sleep Snorri merely tightened his grip upon her. He murmured something unintelligible and her fingers felt movement. To her great surprise his manhood was moving! She licked her lips in anticipation. Surely he would soon awaken and she would then submit to his desires. Despite his claims of disinterest in her, this could be the beginning of a passionate romance!

He hardened and stretched further, poking her in the abdomen. She pushed with her hands and his manhood slipped down between her legs. She rolled her eyes. "Snorri?" she whispered. "Snorri?"

There was no response from him. His appendage continued to push at her dress, folding it between her thighs. Now her own desire was rising, but she could not think of how she might remove her clothes to enjoy the feel of him against and then within her. She tightened her hands around the shaft, hoping it would rouse him. Yet he did not stir.

How is this possible, she wondered? How can he grow so large and not awaken? She dwelt on these thoughts for several minutes before she realized that his manhood was now shrinking to its earlier size. Suddenly, Snorri's arm lifted and he rolled away from her to lie upon his back. Morag remained where she was. If she waited, would he roll back? She lifted her skirt until it was around her waist. When Snorri did roll back she would offer no resistance; in fact, she might even help him satisfy his lusts.

Yet, several minutes passed and Snorri did not roll back. His member continued to shrink and soften until it dropped between his legs and disappeared from her view.

Morag rolled onto her own back and rested her hands upon her stomach. She felt full of unspent energies.

There was a sound at the door. Feigning sleep, she slowly tilted her head until she spied Ingrid standing in the doorway with her hand over her mouth. Morag threw her skirt back across her legs and sat up suddenly.

"Take your time, Morag," Ingrid whispered. "We'll talk in the morning." She backed away, and Morag noted the smile upon the Viking woman's face shortly before she closed the door to Snorri's bedchamber.

Morag collapsed back upon the bed, mortified. Not only had she been giving in to her lustful nature, she had been caught doing so. And nothing had actually happened! She wasn't sure which troubled her more.

Chapter 22: An Inopportune Visitor

The following morning Morag snuck from Snorri's room. After briefly refreshing herself in her own bedchamber, she went down to the great hall to eat breakfast. The chamber was empty aside from a few snoring Vikings and a handful of idle servants. The smell of vomit and other bodily wastes was strong. Her nose wrinkled at the memory of yesterday.

Before she stepped off the last step, the servants had collected around her.

"Are they leaving?" asked a man eagerly.

"Are they all dead?" asked a woman, who seemed less than eager that this should be the case.

Morag raised her hands to stop further questions. "Some have died from drinking the poisoned mead, but many are still alive. Lord Olaf still rules here, although it may be a few days before he is strong enough to exert his will. The great hall should be thoroughly cleaned, and the windows thrown open so fresh air may chase out this stench."

The servants bowed to her.

"And I would like breakfast," she added. "Although, I am sorely tempted to eat in the kitchen with all of you." She surveyed the room. Those Vikings she could see that laid upon the floor appeared to be merely sleeping. "What of the dead?" she asked.

A woman bowed. "Removed to a storage shed by the horse's stalls, Lady Morag. Stephen rests there, too."

Morag nodded her head. "Let them rest there until Lord Olaf decides what to do with them. These Vikings have strange customs and may not be happy with a good Christian burial."

"We sometimes bury our dead in barrows, Lady Morag," called out Ingrid from the top of the stairs. The servants hurried off. "Some, particularly warriors and lords, are burned, whether at sea or on land. A lucky few have a female thrall accompany them to Valhalla."

Morag's eye opened wide. "The poor woman is burned alive with her master?"

Ingrid shook her head. "She is seeded by the dead man's companions, then strangled and stabbed through the heart. Her body is burned."

Morag put a hand to her own throat.

"You grow so pale..." Ingrid stared in amazement. "You don't think that would have been your fate if my father had perished, do you?"

"I am in his power, and with him dead who would protect me?"

Ingrid passed by her and went to her place at the main table. She lifted a goblet and dumped its contents upon the floor in disgust. "Those women are volunteers, who wish for a better life in Valhalla than they have been given in Midgard, Morag. They often have unhappy lives here and for a chance to be the companion of a powerful and revered warrior in the afterlife they are willing to submit themselves. If you asked to be my father's companion the rest of us would be very surprised."

Morag relaxed a little, then took her own seat at the main table. "We still are not used to your ways, Lady Ingrid."

"I think after what you did yesterday you need only refer to me as Ingrid, and I would be deeply honoured if you called me sister. I am once again in your debt. And..."

Morag waited but Ingrid turned her head away and said no more. "Is there something amiss?"

The Viking woman faced her, but would not meet her eyes. "When my father awoke he forgot that you had been there to treat him." Ingrid's shoulders slumped. "I let him believe that it was me that saved him. I have been touched by his favour and now covet it above all else."

"I shall remain silent until you decide to tell him the truth, Ingrid, but keep in mind that we both saved him." It troubled Morag that another had taken credit for her deeds, but she understood that Ingrid had been estranged from her father' affections for most of her life and she could not think harshly of the woman's desperate need for his love now.

Food was brought to them and they ate heartily. The servants opened the windows, then brought snow and ice in to scour the great hall. The two ladies ate in silence, deep in their own thoughts.

"I heard their questions, Morag," advised Ingrid.

"It's natural that they should wish the new lord, the invader, to depart and leave behind the masters that they have known all their lives, Ingrid. Please find no fault in them."

"It is natural that thralls should be ruled by their betters." The Viking woman went silent as a serving woman came by to remove the breakfast scraps, plates, goblets, and knives. Ingrid watched the woman's back as she left the room. "Was it one of them?"

"That poisoned the mead? I don't know, but we shall have to find out who it was before that man strikes again." Ingrid raised an eyebrow at her. "This is my home, and it is one thing for a brave lad to enter and challenge the Viking lord, and another for some skulking assassin to slip poison into food and drink that anyone might ingest. I mean to protect my people as best I can, and Stephen was slain by the poisoner."

"We could question all the servants. I'm sure a few beatings will open mouths," noted Ingrid.

"A beaten child will point out another, whether they were accomplices or not, simply to avoid a second beating. Grown men are little different, Ingrid. I have little trust in such confessions."

"Who would have free access to the cellar, and to as potent a poison as was used?"

Morag shook her head. "I have no knowledge of poisons, and do not know who would among the servants. Would any of the other Vikings-?"

"Not a one." Ingrid leaned back. "A fine mystery. I suppose we had best question each servant"-she eyed her companion reluctantly-"although without resorting to beatings."

A man dressed in the garb of one of the stable hands stomped into the great hall, kicking ice and snow from his boots. He looked up toward Morag and Ingrid. "My ladies!"
"Yes, what is it?" they asked in unison, prompting a shared glance and a smile from both.

The man removed his cap. "There is a visitor at the gate, an old man strangely dressed in an outlandish way-"

"A stranger? A Viking?" asked Ingrid.

"None of us know him. He does not look like your kinsmen, Lady Ingrid."

"Bring him here," she commanded.

"Wait!" shouted Morag, as the stable hand turned to follow the orders that he'd been given. "Ingrid, he could be a king's man sent to check on the outcome of the poisoning. Or, he could be a brigand, hoping to be hired on by Lord Olaf."

"And in either case if he should spy the lack of healthy Viking warriors about the keep it could bode ill for us," agreed Ingrid. "We cannot simply send him back out to the freezing cold. An honest visitor is treated with honour and dignity."

"Can you wake your father? And rouse as many Vikings as possible? Men who can be trusted to hide their weakness while a curious and observant visitor is amongst us?"

Ingrid nodded. "You entertain our guest and see what you can learn from him. I'll see to the rest."

Ingrid left the table, hiked up her skirt, and ran up the stairs. Morag sent the stable hand off to open the gate for the visitor, then summoned another servant to collect her cloak so she might meet the man in the courtyard. Ingrid would need time to prepare their ruse.

Chapter 23: An Impossible Quest

Wrapped in her lush, fur-lined cloak, Morag was still shivering in the cold as she waited in the centre of the courtyard. A cruel wind blew down and swirled about, lifting painful slivers of ice and snow from both the ground and the stone walls.

Many of the servants kept to braziers and small fires scattered outside of buildings, or had found duties to keep them occupied inside and out of the frigid cold. There was a delay at the gatehouse. Bound up in furs and cloaks as everyone was, many of which were coated in a silvery frost, it was impossible for Morag to tell who was who until an arm pointed in her direction and one figure using a large walking stick-a staff perhaps-came ambling toward her.

She waited patiently, trying to give Ingrid as much time as possible to prepare for the visitor. "Greetings to the keep of Lord Olaf," she said with a small curtsey. "And who has come to visit us on this cold winter's day?"

The man looked up at her, revealing the face of a mature man, though not one yet in his middle-age. He was handsome enough, and his eyes searched her carefully. "A simple visitor sent to try your patience, lady, nothing more. May I be allowed in out of the cold?"

"In a moment or two, sir. You did not answer my question."

"Strange hospitality, lady," said the man, tilting his head so he could look meaningfully at the door to the inner keep. "I am no brigand or thief, if that is what you fear. Although, I trust that with a keep full of armed Vikings you have little fear of hedge robbers. May we go in? It is not polite to keep one waiting out in this freezing wind."

"Very well, sir."

Morag led him to the door, then paused before opening it. She struggled to think of some further discussion or line of questioning that would delay their entry but came up empty-handed. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. A servant hurried to her and took her cloak and gloves. A second approached the stranger, but he merely waved the man away then shook himself to free his own cloak of ice and snow.

"Follow me," she advised. Morag led him slowly across the entryway, then pushed open the doors to the great hall. To her relief, a half dozen Vikings sat within, all by Olaf, and the lord of the keep appeared alert although somewhat put off by this unexpected visitor.

"Lady Morag?" called out Lord Olaf. His voice faltered but she thought it only audible to one who knew him well. "Who has come begging for a place by the hearth?"

Morag bowed to the Viking chieftain. "He would not give his name, though I asked."

The man brushed past her and approached the main table. "I have come seeking courtesy, food, and warmth, as any stranger may demand of a lord. Have you forgotten your ways, Lord Olaf? Do you now cast out guests to die in the snow?"

Morag's brow furrowed at the unexpected brashness of this stranger, but the Vikings seemed almost embarrassed by the words. Ingrid leapt to her feet.

"I shall set a place for you and pour fine honey mead into your drinking horn, stranger. My father did not raise me to be discourteous to visitors." She waved to a pair of serving women who ran forth and placed meat and bread upon the table across from Olaf. Then she lifted a jug from a platter and stood by, waiting for the man to sit and eat.

The stranger nodded, then slowly made his way to the indicated place and sat. Ingrid lifted a horn from the table, filled it from the jug, and handed it to the man. He nodded to her and took a long drink. He emptied the horn then set it beside his plate. He then sampled the food and ate some of the bread and meat.

Morag raised her eyebrows at Ingrid and nodded to the jug of mead she held. The Viking woman merely smirked and gave the stranger a thoughtful stare.

"You must understand, stranger," began Olaf, rubbing his beard thoughtfully, "that I am a man who only lately took control over these lands, and the local king has indicated he does not fully...appreciate what I offer with my lordship. We are wary because we must be so."

"It is wise to be cautious, Lord Olaf," said the stranger between chews. "And you have followed tradition and welcomed a stranger to your table as your manners demand." Morag noted that his eyes darted around the room, taking everything in.

"And yet you have not told us who you are, nor why you are here," reminded the Viking chieftain.

The stranger nodded. Then he threw back his hood, revealing a head shaved bald on its top in the fashion of some Christian monks. "I know of your legends and beliefs, Lord Olaf. I have heard the story of how Lord Odin visited various people and those who did not welcome the stranger to their home were punished, while those who were most courteous were rewarded." He wiped his hands upon his traveling cloak. "I'll take another drink of honey mead, if your pretty daughter is willing to favour me."

Ingrid frowned, but poured into the drinking horn again when it was held before her. Then she hurried around the table to stand beside her father. She raised her eyebrow at Morag, and suddenly the southern woman understood that this had been a test of the man's purpose, for no-one who knew of the poison plot would so freely drink the mead in the keep.

The stranger laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, lady. Odin sought favours of a different kind than I speak of."

Ingrid looked about in embarrassment. Morag walked around the table and stood on Olaf's other side.

"It's her that I've come for," nodded the monk.

Morag's mouth dropped open. What kind of people were these Vikings that their rules of hospitality allowed a stranger to demand the intimate company of an honourable woman?

Ingrid sputtered. "And you shall not have her either!"

"Calm yourselves, ladies. I do not seek the charms of either of you, although, I freely admit that your loveliness makes my vows of celibacy seem less appetizing than they once did." He stood and removed his cloak, sprinkling the table with water as he did so. "Sister Lianna has sent me here to retrieve her niece."

The room went silent.

"I have no aunt, brother. Why have you really come?" asked Morag suspiciously.

He stared at her for a few seconds. "Sister Lianna is the sister of your father, Lord MacLint. She took the habit before you were born, to escape a bad marriage from what I have heard. Prior to your father's departure and unfortunate demise he sent a letter asking her to take responsibility over you and to protect you. Word passes slowly, and now I am here under the urgent request of Sister Lianna to remove you from this keep before the Vikings reach it."

Morag raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "Word passes slowly."

Olaf turned toward her. "Do you deny his words and call him liar?"

"I...I believe my father did mention the name Lianna once. It was several years ago, and I took it to be the name of some old acquaintance. Perhaps...I cannot say that he is lying, Lord Olaf."

"I am not lying, Lady Morag. I have no proof but my word, I'm afraid. Sister Lianna mentioned to me that she has never set her eyes upon you. However, I find myself in a much more difficult situation than I anticipated before I set out." He leaned back and eyed each one of the Vikings in the room. "If you wish to leave with me, Lady Morag, I doubt I have the ability to force the matter with the master of the keep."

"You could return to your king and declare that the girl is held against her will by cruel Vikings," offered Olaf. Morag stared at him in surprise.

"And that would still not free Lady Morag, should you choose to hold on to her, Lord Olaf," answered the monk. "And, I know that while the Limping King is not the most able of generals, he does have an army and is summoning more to him even now. My king would not appreciate the bloodshed that would come from such untruthful words."

"And how do you know those words to be untruthful?" asked Ingrid, suspiciously. "You seem to know much of what occurs here."

"I'm no spy, if that is your concern, lady. Lady Morag greeted me outside the walls of the inner keep and I saw no Vikings until I entered the great hall. She easily could have fled with me and none but her loyal servants stood in our way. The stables were at hand, containing more than a couple of horses judging by the sounds and smells. Lady Morag chooses to stay. However, she does not avail herself of an opportunity to leave when it presents itself." He folded his hands upon the table. "My quest is in danger of failing."

Morag and Ingrid exchanged a look.

"How long do you intend to stay?" asked Olaf.

"As long as it takes to complete my quest, Lord Olaf."

"And yet you believe she stays of her own will."

"Yes. You may think me a fool, but I have sworn an oath to her aunt that I will do everything I can to bring her niece safely to her.

"She is free to go," stated the Viking chieftain, to everyone's surprise.

"Father?" asked Ingrid.

"She is?" asked the monk in disbelief.

Morag bit her lip. "If I leave now, I will leave the servants unprotected, monk."

"Please, Lady Morag, call me Brother Jacob."

"My people need me," she reiterated. "I can't leave now."

"Then," the monk said, glancing at Lord Olaf, "with the permission of the lord of the keep, I will remain until Lady Morag has walked out of this keep beside me or it has been firmly established beyond all doubt that my quest is fruitless."

Olaf stared at the monk. Then he rose to his feet, slowly. Ingrid, in a too-visible show of support, grabbed his arm and helped to steady him. "Then you shall stay as my guest, Brother Jacob."

Chapter 24: Sharing a Bed Again

A couple of days later, Morag spied Snorri heading in the direction of his sleeping chamber. She found a window showing the darkness outside the keep, and hurriedly combed her hair with her fingers while considering her reflection. She smiled, and was pleased with what she saw.

Her soft shoes struck the stone floor with an unusual volume as she walked along the hall. A Viking warrior walked toward her, then respectfully backed against the wall to allow her to pass. Morag nodded in acknowledgement, then continued on her way. Two serving girls approached. Morag's cheeks warmed. They curtsied, then stepped aside while keeping their eyes on the floor.

She could feel their eyes upon her back and could hear their faint giggles as she left them. They knew where she was going, and it burned her up inside to have the servants gossip about her intrigues. Her hands closed into fists. She nearly whirled upon the girls in a fury, but this would not serve her or Snorri. Far better that she should be serene and ladylike as she went into his chamber.

And then she was there. The portal stood before her, an impossible barrier made of oak. Morag breathed deeply. She glanced this way and that down the corridor. In the distance there were footsteps, great thumping ones that could only belong to a large man. She debated whether it was wiser to wait patiently outside Snorri's door until the interloper departed, or to knock and hope she was taken inside before she was observed.

Her hand rose and she rapped once, very lightly.

The footsteps came closer. Morag glanced nervously toward the sound, staring at the bend in the corridor around which some Viking warrior would soon come. Snorri's door opened suddenly.

"I thought I heard a bird's peck upon the door, lady!" he exclaimed.

"I..." Morag hesitated as the sound of footsteps drew closer to the turn in the hall, "I have come for you, Snorri." There was a shadow of movement. She pushed her way in quickly, and Snorri closed the door.

"And why have you come to visit my chamber?" he asked, with an air of great indifference. He was clothed in a simple shirt and breeches and ran his hand through his uncombed hair.

Morag wrung her hands. Would the Viking in the hall be coming to visit Snorri? "I thought that perhaps you were readying for bed-"

"And I was," he offered, waving a hand at the unkempt blankets strewn across his bed. "But I thought we had discussed an arrangement, Morag?"

She rushed forward and straightened the blankets. "I am here to serve and ease you to sleep, Snorri. Is that not what a wife does?"

He nodded once. Then he pulled his woollen shirt over his head revealing a large muscular chest. His leggings came off next, and Morag's eyes wandered over to him more than once as she readied the bed for him. At last he stood nude beside the bed. She sighed quietly as she remembered his earlier statement about being uninterested in women. She lifted the covers and he laid himself down.

"Have you any idea who put the poison into the mead, Morag?"

"None. Ingrid and I have wracked our minds and come up with nothing."

Snorri clasped his hands behind his head and grinned at her. "If the villain strikes again, more may die."

"I know it. Much blood could be spilled. Your father can only keep the men in check for so long, especially when they are being struck down by an unknown foe." She sat upon the bed. "You do not seem afraid, Snorri."

"All men die," he said with a shrug. "I would prefer it happen in battle, so the Valkyrie would come and carry me to Valhalla, but the Norns have all our fates sewn up and what happens, happens."

"You sound like that monk," she said, laughing.

"I like him," Snorri admitted. "He has no fear. And he doesn't insult us when we refuse to be doused in water."

Morag stood. She stared at Snorri. Her hands rose to the front of her gown, beneath her throat. Delicate fingers tugged at strings, opening the fabric until it was loose enough that she was able to slide it over her shoulders and down. He watched as the dress slowly slid the length of her thighs and disappeared from his vantage point.

"The nights are cold, Snorri."

"You're welcome to share my bed, Morag. Two will keep it warmer than one."

She slipped between the sheets, then cuddled up against him. Warily, she lifted her right leg and put it over his. Then she stretched her arm across his chest. Surely he could feel every inch of her pressed up against him? Yet, he did not move. Nor did he push her away.

She waited patiently, hoping that his ardour would rise. Minutes passed. Snorri's breathing slowed. Beneath her arm, his heart beat also slowed. He snored.

Morag bit her lip in frustration. Surely any other man would have taken her by now! Remembering what had happened when she had once before shared his bed, she waited. Should she reach down and coax his member? Would Snorri awaken enough to roll over onto her and thrust?

Indecision kept her still long enough that she, too, soon fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 25: Another Unexpected Visitor

Morag and Ingrid strolled down the hall as they whispered about possible culprits. Neither had come up with anything concrete, but there had also been no further poison hidden in the food. If the poisoner had fled, who had it been? Everyone seemed accounted for.

They rounded a corner when Morag spied Brother Jacob talking with the cook. She and Ingrid froze, desiring that none should hear their conversation, though Morag waved at the monk to join them. She frowned as she spied the cook grab the man's arm to keep him from answering her summons. Had that woman forgotten her place as a servant?

"...biding his time. Don't you agree?" asked Ingrid.

Morag stared at the raven-haired woman in confusion. "I'm sorry. My mind was afield." She turned to the monk. "Brother Jacob!" she summoned him urgently.

The cook, pushing a grey strand of hair away from her face, glanced at the monk then whispered a last few words. Shaking his head, the monk came and joined the two ladies of the keep.

"My apologies, Ladies Ingrid and Morag," he said with a deep bow. "Noreen was quite insistent that she should know of the fate of her husband, but I was unable to tell her anything definite."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow at Morag.

"Her husband fights still for the king," the blonde woman explained. "She doted over him when he was here, and cried often after he left with my father. She was sent word but once, detailing how he had survived the battle where my father was slain."

"She should be off with him!" declared Ingrid.

Brother Jacob smiled beatifically. "She does indeed wish to join him, as would any wife. However, even though I have visited the king's camp in the last several months I could tell her nothing of her husband's condition or whereabouts."

"Enough of this, Brother Jacob," chided Morag. "Ingrid and I wished to discuss something with you." She glanced at Ingrid.

The Viking woman took a deep breath. "You must remain silent about what we are about to tell you, monk. Shortly before you arrived, someone poisoned the mead."

"And they slew a servant who had discovered the poisoning," added Morag.

The monk raised his eyebrows in alarm. "The very same mead you offered to me when I arrived?"

"A test," stated Ingrid coldly, "to determine if you knew something of the plot and had come to see its effects. Think nothing of it."

The monk rubbed his throat thoughtfully. "Then...you wonder if I have learned anything of the poison since my arrival?"

Morag nodded eagerly. "Some may think it safe to confide in you, forgetting you are not a priest."

He shook his head. "No-one has said a thing to me of slipping poison into any food or drink. I have been told of the poisoning, but had thought it a distant event."

"Lady Morag!" interrupted a servant. The three turned to the old man. "You are summoned to the great hall by the master of the keep."

They hurried away, as the messenger left to return to his post by the gate. In the great hall were a small number of Vikings playing at wrestling and throwing rune stones. Olaf stood by an elderly man dressed in patched furs and leathers.

"Lady Morag!" called out Lord Olaf. "Do you recognize this man?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Indeed I do, Lord Olaf! He is Gerald, husband to the woman who was my nursemaid when I was but an infant." She turned to Gerald and took his thick mittens in her hands. "Gerald! Is Gaweena well?"

The elderly man bowed to her with great difficulty. "She is not well, Lady Morag. I fear she is dying!"

"I must go to her!" declared Morag, belatedly looking toward Olaf for permission. He was grim-faced, but nodded. "We shall leave as soon as I have packed, Gerald. Please, have some warm food and drink while I prepare."
She escorted him to a table, then bade him sit. As serving women brought him meat and bread, Morag sent a thankful smile toward Olaf, then left the chamber. Ingrid hurried after her.

"Morag!" she panted. The other slowed to allow her friend to catch up to her. "How is it that your nursemaid does not live in the keep? I would have thought your father desired to keep such a trusted servant close by."

Morag pushed the door of her chamber open and went in. "Gaweena was going to stay here in the keep, but one day a handsome farmer caught her eye. Gerald and she were married a short time later and she left us. They have been together since I was but a girl, and their union never produced any children that survived." Morag threw some clothes into a sack. "Gerald is old and unable to care for the farm alone. I must go with him and tend Gaweena."

Ingrid sat down upon Morag's bed. "She left behind a life in the keep for the drudgery of a farm?" She shook her head. "Love makes us fools who follow our men whither they go."

Morag froze in place. "What did you just say?"

Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "That love makes women fools..."

"...who follow our men wither they go." Morag slowly folded a couple of extra blankets as she thought.

"Morag?"

"I think I know who poisoned the mead, Ingrid. She had opportunity and reason. We must speak to her before I leave."

"A woman?" Ingrid stood suddenly. "A woman poisoned the men? But...the cook! Her husband fights for the Limping King, who is no friend of my father's. Then it is a plot to kill us all, so you may claim this keep and the lands in the name of your father!"

Morag scowled. "Old agreements and vows would be cast aside. They would not allow a woman to keep such a gem. I would be married off, or sent to a convent. Then a trusted member of the king's inner council would be named lord of these lands. But the cook was not thinking of politics when she poured the poison into the mead. She was only thinking of her husband." Morag tied up the end of the sack. "The Limping King cannot allow Vikings to remain within his kingdom, even though he freely gave this land to your father. She knew that her husband would be part of the force sent to reconquer these lands once the Viking king returned home. And to save him, she has tried to rid this keep of its new overlord."

"I shall deal with her!" growled the furious Viking woman.

"No, Ingrid. The cook shall leave with me, and she shall leave this place unharmed." Ingrid opened her mouth to argue. "Peace! The cook shall go to her husband and pass on information that her plot failed. The Limping King will hear that the Vikings are still strong, and his heart will leave him. He will not attack your father until he regains his courage, and that shall take many months. By then, the tournament will have drawn many warriors from near and far and the king dare not attack when there are so many at hand to draw sword and axe against him."

"Fair enough, Morag." Ingrid suddenly laughed and shook her head. "Your mind works like my father's. You are far too subtle for Snorri!"

"As I am finding out, Ingrid." Morag lifted the sack off the bed with some difficulty. "But it won't hurt Snorri to have a clever wife."

Ingrid folded her arms across her chest and held her tongue.

Chapter 26: An Abrupt Goodbye

Olaf and Brother Jacob stopped Morag before she left the inner keep. Ingrid cast a thoughtful look in the direction of the kitchens, then grabbed Morag's hand in hers. They shared a determined smile.

"Lady Morag! I am sending Brother Jacob with you. He may know of some healing arts. I will accept no argument in this matter."

Morag bowed. "I will appreciate the company, Lord Olaf," she lied. "I also ask that the cook accompany me to the home of Gerald and Gaweena."

"A good idea, Father!" added Ingrid quickly. "You do remember the quality of Morag's cooking!"

Olaf's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he glanced from Morag to Ingrid. "Very well." Olaf put his hand on the monk's shoulder. "I have your word that you shall return Lady Morag?"

Brother Jacob looked surprised, but recovered quickly. "You have my word to do exactly that, Lord Olaf."

Morag turned to a servant. "Bring my travelling garb!" Then she turned to Gerald, who was leaning upon a walking stick, and Brother Jacob. "We will depart soon. Ingrid and I will fetch the cook." She turned to the Viking chieftain. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness, Lord Olaf. I will re-"

"Enough!" he said gruffly. "The old man can barely stand any longer! Get what you need and get going!" He turned about and stomped away, leaving Morag to wonder at his uncharacteristic abruptness.

Ingrid spoke: "Monk! Inform the guards that they are to prepare a sledge for Lady Morag."

Brother Jacob bowed and left. The ladies ordered Gerald to wait where he was, then headed down to the kitchen. Soon enough, the pleasant odours of food filled their nostrils and the clamour of kitchen work filled their ears. They stepped into the large room together and surveyed the scene before them. Workers were everywhere, bustling about, preparing food, tasting, and performing an assortment of tasks lost on Morag and Ingrid.

"Noreen!" called out Morag. A few kitchen workers halted and turned to the two ladies. "Noreen!" she called out again. The cook remained as busy as most of the other servants.

"You are far too gentle, Morag," noted Ingrid. She took a deep breath. "EVERYONE STOP!"

Every soul turned to the two ladies. Many were fearful.

Morag cleared her throat. "Everyone but the cook is to go down into the stores! Right now!"

Shuffling reluctantly, the workers went down the stairs one by one, until only the cook was in the room. She scowled, then looked nervous. Morag noted how Noreen kept one hand concealed from their view.

"Noreen! You served my father for many years, haven't you?"

"Yes, lady."

"And you were always loyal and hard-working."

"Yes, lady."

"And for this, I give you your life." Noreen stared at the two in confusion. "I am leaving the keep to care for my old nursemaid, and you are departing with me. You will bring any remaining poison with you."

"Poison?" The cook eyed Ingrid warily and tensed. "I don't know what you're saying, lady."

The Viking woman took a step forward. "If you stay, then I shall punish you once Lady Morag has left the keep. Some of my people died from your poisoned mead!"

"Vikings!" spat the cook.

"You have two minutes, Noreen," stated Morag. "Then I leave and my protection leaves with me."

The cook took a few quick breaths, then relaxed. "This is no trick, Lady Morag?" Her question was answered with a cold stare. "Very well. I will ready myself for a journey." She removed her apron.

"And inform the kitchen staff that they may resume their duties," added Morag.

Once out of the kitchen Ingrid grabbed Morag's arm. "What if she has already put some more poison in another meal?"

"It will take her many hours to reach a place of refuge, Ingrid. Her footprints will be easy to follow in the snow."

"You don't seem in a forgiving mood, Morag."

"She was careless in her use of the poison and in killing Stephen. While I don't like the deaths, she could easily have slain many. I give her this one chance and no more."

Chapter 27: Dismissal

Morag had steadfastly refused to sit in the sledge, leaving it for her clothing and the foodstuffs she had taken from the keep. The going was slow, with all four slipping and sliding upon the ice at times. And when there was no ice, there was deep snow. Brother Jacob seemed to be having the least trouble travelling, and he often helped the others through difficult stretches.

Gerald tapped his stick against a snow column that stood waist high. The click echoed across the silent snowy mounds, and was only answered by some distant raptor's cry.

"This marks the edge of my land, Lady Morag."

"I remember this place, although I have not visited in more than five years. Stop the sledge!" she commanded. Everyone stared at her in surprise, though they followed her order.

"Noreen, this is where we part. You are to go west if you wish to meet your husband. It will be a long and tiring journey, but at least you won't die under a Viking axe."

"Thank you, Lady Morag! You must come with me! The king will care for you!"

Brother Jacob began, "I think, perhaps, that Lady Morag would be safest-"

"The king," she interrupted, "is no friend of mine or my father's. He will take one look at me, then hand me off as a reward to some unmarried noble whom he seeks as an ally. I am not going to be a bag of silver in the Limping King's treasure chest."

The cook stared at Morag for several seconds. "Where is your loyalty for your own people-?"

"My loyalty?" shouted Morag. "Where is the king's loyalty to my father, who died protecting the king's lands? My inheritance was handed off to a Viking chieftain to ensure the Limping King remained in power! I could have fled with that damned priest, but I stayed to protect all of you as best I could!" She waved her mitten in front of the cook's face. "Do not dare speak to me of loyalty until you have given up as much as I have! I have lost a father, my inheritance, my title, my entire life!"

The cook opened her mouth to argue the point. Then she glanced at the two men, both of whom now stood beside Lady Morag. Noreen shook her head in disgust and stormed away into the snow.

"My pardon, Lady Morag," said Brother Jacob in a soft voice, "but times have been difficult for everyone. Should you have spoken to her so? Surely she shall relay your words to the king."

"She poisoned men and women. It was not just Vikings that died at her hand, and she never spoke once of remorse." Morag turned to Gerald and Brother Jacob. "I am better rid of that loadstone. I show what mercy I can to those who trespass against me"-she put her mittened hand upon Gerald's shoulder-"and I reward those who have acted in good faith."

Chapter 28: Heart to Heart

"It has been three days, Lady Morag," noted the monk. He ran his hands across his tonsured scalp. He had just come in from outside and despite the cold, he was sweating from his labours.

"Unused to chopping wood, brother?" She glanced at him and smirked. "I would have thought that monks enjoyed the hard and honest labour of good, simple folk.

"Gaweena is dying, and her husband will likely follow her soon after."

Morag frowned. "I know. They are so close, and neither has anything else to live for."

"Your arrival and tender care has done much for their spirits. Do you recall how Gaweena brightened when she recognized you?"

"It warms me still." She stared into the hearth and watched the flames dance for a few seconds. "She is my last link to my past, brother. I feel as if all the doors are closing behind me, leaving only a foreboding portal before me."

"You fear marriage to Snorri, the son of Olaf?"

"I fear it will not be as blessed as I had long dreamed marriage would be."

Brother Jacob sat heavily in a chair and warmed his hands by the fire. Morag poured him some hot broth and handed it to him. "My thanks, Lady Morag." He took a couple of spoonfuls. "Your cooking is improving...somewhat."

"It is not that bad, is it?"

"Brother Jerome in my abbey believes that food must be a penance, as our hunger is another form of lust that we must deny. I am inured to far worse." He took a couple more spoonfuls for good measure and grinned at her. "Perhaps you have forgotten, Lady Morag, but I have another option for you."

"My aunt?"

"Would it surprise you to know that Lord Olaf spoke to me privately, and in that conversation beseeched me to take you away to your aunt?"

Morag set her sewing down upon her lap. "It would." She turned and transfixed him with her eyes. "You would not be deceiving me so that you could complete your quest?"

"No." He took another few mouthfuls of broth. "He made me promise to return you, but to where he did not specify. And, he interrupted you when you were about to vow to return to the keep."

"I will return to the keep. My people are there and they must be protected from the Vikings. If Lord Olaf were to die...there would be no-one else to watch over them."

"I had hoped that you would see reason." Brother Jacob set down his empty bowl. The spoon clattered noisily as it slipped and fell upon the stone floor. "I will return to the keep with you, then." He retrieved the spoon and examined it for a second.

"You had best return there on your own. I am staying to care for Gaweena and Gerald."

The monk stood and stretched. "Then I stay, too. These chores give me time to dwell on great matters of religion, and perhaps I will think enough to become an abbot or a bishop." He gave her a smirk, then set his blankets near the hearth and settled down for sleep.

Three days or three months, Morag was determined to care for Gaweena and her husband as long as necessary. The distance from the keep gave her time to think about what went on there and her future with Snorri. Perhaps he would be thinking on her now that she was absent?

A murmur in the next room warned Morag that Gaweena was awakening, however briefly. She set aside her sewing, lifted the candle, and left the monk alone in the chamber. Gerald was sleeping, but Gaweena had awakened and was staring about in confusion.

"Hush, Gaweena," whispered Morag, kneeling beside the old woman's bed. "I'm here."

"Morag?" asked the woman, trying to focus her eyes on the younger woman. "I awoke and everything was dark."

"It's night. Brother Jacob has settled down to sleep. Gerald is resting peacefully beside you here."

"Oh, Morag! I fear I'll be leaving you! And you'll be all alone in the world..."

"Not alone. My aunt sent Brother Jacob to recover me from my father's keep."

"Your aunt!" scoffed Gaweena with unusual strength. "That woman was never interested in you! She left immediately after your birth, even though your mother had just died. If she wants you now, then it's only to serve her glory. She turned her back on the world...and you were just a newborn babe!"

"Then you have met her!"

"Aye." Gaweena hesitated and breathed raspily. Morag didn't want the woman to tire herself out, but she did desire more information about her sole living relative. "She spurned a wooer, then took the habit. You mother was very ill while she carried you, and your father wrote many letters begging his sister to join us and help if she could. Lianna was ever aloof and distant. A cold stone cell in a cloister suits her well." The old woman reached out for Morag's hand. "It would not suit you, Morag. You were always one with a friendly smile and a compassionate heart. Do not go to your aunt!"

As the old woman drifted back to sleep, Morag removed her hand and stood. She turned and stared, as if into the other room where the monk now slept. What future did she have with her aunt? She felt no urge to don the habit and serve Christ. There was even more reason now to foil the monk's quest.

"Morag," whispered Gaweena. The younger woman leaned close as the elder whispered in her dream. "I remember when your father found your mother...hair the colour of sunshine...she was lost and confused...bad storm...brought her back from the coast and cared for her...if only we'd known where she came from or...her family...you'd be safe with them..."

Morag backed away from the beds. Her mother was a foundling? How had she not known that? She had been lost and confused? Found on the coast after a bad storm? Who was she? Blonde hair was unusual among Morag's people, but not rare. Generations of occasional mixing with Vikings had...Morag put a hand to her mouth.

Chapter 29: Death

As winter continued, Gerald took sick. Brother Jacob, showing surprising skill at carpentry, built a frame and bed, and they laid Gaweena's husband upon it. Husband and wife were close enough to hold hands if they wished, but both were too weak. Morag knew that it was simply a matter of time.

And as winter winds diminished and the snows and ices melted as if they had never been, Morag found herself dreading the coming of spring, and yet she did not know why. There was something of a trap ahead of her and she disliked having her fate decided by others.

Gaweena passed on during the first day that it rained non-stop. Gerald died a few days later, and the two were buried side by side in the cold mud near their cottage. It was hard work, and Morag shared in it no matter what Brother Jacob said to her. At last, the monk said some words in Latin and everything was finished.

Morag spent a quiet and thoughtful day drinking in Gaweena's home with her eyes and running her fingers over everything that Gaweena had once touched. There was no-one to inherit. The farm would go to weed, the animals would starve, and the house would slowly decline until it was little more than rubble. Children and grandchildren of neighbours would wonder who had once lived here, Morag thought sadly. Gaweena and Gerald would soon be nothing but a dim memory amongst the eldest of their neighbours, and then not a soul would know of them.

Such was life, she thought. "Even if I were to bear children, to their children I would be but a memory, and to their grandchildren I would be unknown. Our lives are so fleeting. Almost as if they have as little meaning as those of a field mouse or butterfly."

"Everything has a purpose," reminded Brother Jacob from behind her.

Morag nearly jumped. She had forgotten he had followed her into the house. "Yes, everything has a purpose. And yet, the purpose is lost on us all. We are such shallow creatures, although we think ourselves lords of the world."

"If you are determined to marry Snorri, then perhaps that has a purpose: a bridge between his people and ours. Think on the future, Lady Morag. You will bear him strong sons and beautiful daughters, and yours will be the face they think of throughout their lives. You can mold them into good Christians and-"

Morag laughed, too loudly. "You think of conversions? Your true purpose is laid clear, monk."

He put his hands out in a gesture of surrender. "If you mean to return to Olaf's keep, then I will escort you there. It is time for your life to continue on."

Morag nodded. "Pack your belongings and some food. I will tend my clothes. I put myself back under the Viking chieftain's power."

Chapter 30: The Contests Begin

Driving the sledge through the muddy paths back to the keep was far more difficult than pushing it through the winter snows, yet Morag and Brother Jacob kept at it until men rushed forth from the keep to take their burden.

Both were welcomed back, by Vikings and servants. It was made clear to them that Olaf had been in a foul mood since they had departed, and the arrival of competitors for the tournament had done nothing to improve his temperament. Morag went in search of Ingrid. She found the raven-haired Viking woman talking quietly with a rather proud-looking young Viking warrior. The two parted abruptly, and an embarrassed Ingrid embraced her blonde friend.

"Snorri has been indifferent to your absence, Morag. I am sorry to tell you this."

"I had hoped he would grow fond of me once I was not at hand, but that is the way of your brother." Morag looked around to be sure they were unheard. "But, tell me of your father. Why do so many whisper about his foul mood?"

"I do not know," admitted Ingrid, although Morag sensed that her friend had a very strong suspicion regarding the cause of the change in Olaf. "I have tried much to cheer him-"

"And who was that handsome warrior who spoke quietly to you?"

A smile lit up Ingrid's face. "Sigurd, son of King Gunderr. He arrived three days ago and pays me much attention."
"A Viking prince came for the contests and has now found his own prize," observed Morag. "I am very happy for you, although I wish that Snorri would shower such attention on me."

"Do not envy me. The contests begin in four days. Snorri's blood begins to fire, and once he is victorious I am sure you will have no doubt that he is as passionate as any other man." Ingrid's eyes opened wide. "Four days! I had forgotten how close it was! We have much to do, Morag!"

And Ingrid had not lied. There were decorations to be placed about the castle, feasts to prepare for, lodgings to be found, visitors to be greeted, and an assortment of other tasks that the two ladies split between themselves. For Morag, there was no time to talk with Snorri, who spent much of his time practicing in the muddy courtyard. Nor did the opportunity to speak privately with Olaf arise, and the scowl upon his face when he first noticed her return convinced Morag that there was something amiss.

A space beside the keep was set aside for the various contests. Morag quickly lost track of those who would be competing as there were so many Viking warriors mulling about. These newcomers were more rowdy than Olaf's men, and Morag had to frequently skip around sudden fist fights. Food and drink was being consumed in vast quantities, and Morag grew to fear that Olaf would be left with nothing aside from the stone walls of the keep.

On the first day there was axe throwing and wrestling. Snorri acquitted himself well, defeating opponent after opponent. Ingrid gasped aloud when she spied her would-be lover enter the contests. Morag squeezed her hand in sympathy, for entering the contests meant a man was vying for Morag. An enormous young and seemingly hostile Viking, unknown to Olaf and his people, nearly threw Snorri during the final wrestling bout, but Morag clapped her hands gleefully as Olaf's son was at last victorious. The hungry look he gave her as she declared him the champion of both axe throwing and wrestling sent a thrill through her.

The second day consisted of spear throwing and lifting timbers. Snorri bested all others when he lifted a trunk so massive that it dwarfed every man on the field. Spear throwing, however, was won by the large, nasty-looking Viking, and as Morag declared him the victor, he announced that he was Prince Ragnar, son of King Thrum of the Burning Skull. A hush went over the crowd. Olaf stood, grim-faced, and politely welcomed Prince Ragnar to the proceedings.

Ingrid nudged Morag and then whispered to her that King Thrum was a deadly rival of King Gunderr and a man who held great ambitions in his heart. The appraising look that Ragnar gave Morag sent a chill through her. That night, the two women ate well away from all others and discussed the events of the day.

The third day began with Olaf announcing the names of those who had qualified to fight for the hand of Morag. Ingrid's face echoed the concern that had eaten its way into Morag's heart: Snorri's victory no longer seemed assured. However, Snorri's name was on the list, and as champion of three events no-one was surprised to hear his name included, but Sigurd, Ragnar, and five others were also declared to be eligible. The contestants were paired off, then fought each other until one man admitted defeat, was too badly injured to continue, or was slain.

Snorri handily wielded a double-edged battle-axe and, after nearly splitting his opponent in two, was named victor. Sigurd and Ragnar also won, the latter cutting his man down in one stroke of his broadsword. The fourth winner was a dark-haired man with a patch over one eye. Morag judged him to be slower and weaker than the other combatants, but his age and evident experience more than made up for the difference.

A break was declared by Olaf, He had servants offer food and drink to those present. Snorri was grinning wickedly and staring at Ragnar. Morag nudged Ingrid and pointed out how Sigurd only seemed to have eyes for the daughter of Olaf, despite his inclusion in the contests.

The Viking lord urged the ladies to go to each of the combatants and speak to them. Morag decided to first visit the man whose name she did not know. He nodded at the two ladies as they approached, then bid his friends leave the three in peace.

"And what is your name, warrior, and where do you come from?" asked Ingrid.

The man looked at Morag, then turned his remaining eye to Ingrid. "Thvalkun, Lady. And I sell my sword wherever there is need for a strong right arm."

"And why do you vie for my hand?" inquired Morag. The look he gave her made her shift from foot to foot nervously.

"If I win you, it will be no small prize I claim. You are fair, just as the messengers had said." He drew his sword, narrow-bladed and a hand-length longer than a broadsword. "But take no offence when I tell you that I did not enter these contests with the intent on making you my wife. I mean to impress Lord Olaf with my skills, or any other visiting lord who chances to watch my battles."

Morag and Ingrid bowed to him. "I believe," spoke the daughter of Olaf, "that you have already impressed my father with your skill at arms."

They left his presence, suppressing giggles. When they were sufficiently far that he could not hear them speak: "I hope, dear Morag, that you will not think less of your charm when these mercenaries show little interest in bedding you."

"I must admit that it is refreshing to find another man who does not find me worthy of pursuit. I had begun to think your brother, alone amongst all men, thought nothing of me." Morag pointed to Thvalkun's next opponent. "Let us go and talk briefly with Ragnar."

"Very briefly," suggested Ingrid.

The two made their way over to the tall Viking. He and several other angry-looking men were whispering conspiratorially until Morag and Ingrid approached.

Ragnar nodded at them, silencing his companions. "Go back to Olaf. I have nothing to say to either of you."

Ingrid turned on her heel, but Morag's anger was stirred. "You have nothing to say to the woman whose hand you are attempting to win?"

Ragnar threw back his head and laughed deeply. His men echoed his mirth. "Of what use is talking to a woman?" He pointed a finger at her. "I will have you, and you will bear me sons. If you talk too much, I'll cut out your tongue."

Morag turned her back and joined Ingrid, trying to ignore the laughter behind her. "I hope that your brother cuts him from groin to crown, Ingrid!"

"Have no fear for Snorri's ability!" she replied, taking Morag's arm in her own. "We haven't seen his best yet!"

The two walked on to Sigurd, who was eating some food alone. The ladies looked about curiously.

"I have no stalwart companions. I came to Lord Olaf's domain alone."

"A brave man then," considered Morag.

"Or foolish," he argued. "My father is a great warrior and a leader of men, but I would prefer to carve my own place from the world." He glanced contemptuously in the direction of Ragnar, who was still laughing. "There are those who seem strong but who must surround themselves with men like shields around a longboat."

"And yet you are here, in a strange land, competing in these contests..." noted Ingrid.

"With the hope of winning a wife."

Ingrid's face went blank. Then she turned and stormed away.

"What ill words have I said to your mistress?" asked Sigurd, confused.

"My friend has been offended," remarked Morag, lifting her chin in the air, "and I must share those sentiments. I wish you luck in the coming battles, but I will not cheer for you." Ignoring Sigurd's protestations, Morag hurried after her friend.

Ingrid was already with Snorri when Morag arrived. Olaf's daughter seemed somewhat cheered.

"And what has lifted your spirits, Ingrid?" she asked.

The Viking woman smacked her brother upon his back. "Snorri faces that deceitful rogue, Sigurd, this afternoon. The man will learn what it means to offend the sister of Snorri!"

The son of Olaf clapped his hands together. "Now I need no longer hold back. First I will strike down the man who insults my sister, then I will fight Ragnar, son of the vile Thrum."

"And then you win Morag, brother," pointed out Ingrid. "Will that not be the greatest prize of all?"

He eyes flashed as he considered Morag in a way that he had never looked at her before. He nodded his head. "I will cut down my enemies and the enemies of my family, and then I will put the prettiest Valkyrie upon my knee so she may hand me food and drink!"

"That's all?" asked Morag, eager to hear a more lurid description of Snorri's intentions.

Ingrid laughed. "Give him his food and drink, Morag. When he's done with that he'll carry you to a quiet spot in the hall and make you his."

Morag blushed at the thought of Snorri and her engaging in lovemaking while others partied about them, but if that was what it took to make him more of a husband...

A messenger approached Snorri. "Sir, your father bids you ready for battle! And you ladies must join Lord Olaf!"

Ingrid pulled Morag away before she could wish Snorri luck. People were everywhere, but cleared a path for the determined Viking woman until, at last, they reached Olaf's side. He gave them a brief smile, regaining some of his pleasant demeanour that had been missing for several weeks.

Snorri entered the muddy corral from one side and Sigurd from the other. They saluted each other with their weapons, then crouched down and slowly drew together. It was clear that Snorri was the stronger and more rugged combatant, but Morag doubted that Sigurd had made it this far on luck alone. A sudden rush from the Viking prince raised a cheer from those watching, but it ended as a feint. Snorri leapt forward and swung his double-bladed axe in a wide chop that had little hope of causing harm, but Sigurd ducked and poked at his opponent with his sword. The two performed this dance for several minutes, testing each other out.

Then, there was an unexpected clang of metal upon metal. Morag was surprised to find the two trading blows and parrying each attack over and over again after such a cautious beginning. A smile crept across Ingrid's face.

"What is it?" whispered Morag.

"That dog will not outlast Snorri. The longer this keeps up, the sooner my brother ends this fight."

And, true enough, sweat broke out on Sigurd's brow and bare arms. His arm faltered on one of his parries, and Snorri stepped forward to press his attack. The Viking prince was now on the defensive, and at times was barely averting a killing blow. The watching crowd leaned forward eagerly, anticipating a bloody end.

Sigurd went down upon one knee. Snorri raised his axe overhead to deliver a killing blow. Then both Morag and Ingrid covered their mouths in surprise as Sigurd found new strength and vigour. He slammed himself into Snorri's chest, forcing Olaf's son to back away quickly. Morag watched in horror as Snorri's face twisted in pain and he then went down on one knee. Sigurd's sword stopped inches from an exposed throat.

"Lord Olaf? Am I the victor?" called out Sigurd. "I have no desire to kill Snorri. I'd much rather fight by his side!"

Olaf turned to the two ladies. Morag nodded hurriedly, eager to see Snorri freed from this doom. Ingrid cursed under her breath.

Snorri glared at his victorious opponent then his shoulders drooped. Sigurd let the tip of his sword fall to the mud. He leaned heavily upon it and caught his breath, then he lifted it free, turned and approached Olaf and the two ladies.

"I fear my plan has been undone, Morag," whispered Ingrid. "I am sorry I ever thought of this contest!"

Olaf motioned for Morag to stand beside him. However, to everyone's surprise, Sigurd walked up to Ingrid and knelt before her.

"I trust I have redeemed myself in your eyes, Lady Ingrid. I have but one fight left to claim you as mine." Ingrid simply stared at him in shock.

Olaf cleared his throat. "Sigurd, son of King Gunderr, the winner of these contests wins Lady Morag."

Sigurd jumped to his feet. "But the messenger said the prize was the lady of the keep...that would be your daughter, Ingrid!"

"There are two ladies," stated Olaf. "Morag is the prize. And you are one step closer to winning her!" The Viking lord sent a disappointed look toward Snorri, who still knelt in the mud. "The next battle will begin in one hour!" he announced. Then he stormed away.

Chapter 31: Conspirators

"I don't know what to say!" declared Sigurd.

Morag and Ingrid both stared at him impassively. Servants hurriedly left their vicinity, tramping across the muddy courtyard to be away from a potentially explosive confrontation.

"Ingrid is very upset," pointed out Morag, in as calm a voice as she could muster. "Surely you must see the cause is that you have been wooing her while planning to claim me?"

"I did not know!"

"You must have known!" shouted Ingrid. "How could you not?"

"The messenger simply said the lady of the keep was to be the prize for the victor, and when I arrived here you matched the description!"

"What description?" asked Morag. Ingrid stared briefly at her friend's long blonde hair.

"The lady was described as a great beauty! A jewel among women! How was I to know there was a second lady?"

"Then you really thought you were fighting for me?" asked Ingrid. "My father named Morag more than once!"

Sigurd grabbed the Viking woman's hands. "Of course! I thought of nothing else! And if your father named another, I was deaf to it!"

"Then, your course is clear. You must remove yourself from the contests," suggested Morag.

Ingrid shook her head. "That would never work! Father would fear that it was a weakness on Sigurd's part...that he was afraid to face Ragnar."

"I could steal you away..."

Morag was shocked by the idea, but Ingrid considered the notion. "Stolen from under my father's nose? That would show great courage and daring!"

"Then," said Morag, taking a quick look about to ensure there were no eavesdroppers, "you must leave immediately. The next battle is about to begin and no-one will be looking for you until after it is finished. That should give you some time to get away. I will say something to Olaf to put him at his ease."

"And what of you, Morag?" asked Ingrid. "There is no-one to defeat Ragnar. That brute will claim you."

"With Sigurd leaving suddenly, surely that will count as a forfeit. Snorri will be able to face Ragnar!"

Sigurd's eyes narrowed. "I don't like putting you at risk like this. Perhaps I should fight Ragnar, and then explain to Lord Olaf that I only desire his daughter. You can then take a husband of your choosing, Morag. There are enough here to choose from."

"No, Sigurd. You and Ingrid must leave now! All will be well." The two looked ready to argue further. "Go! Or I shall call Olaf and tell him of your plot!"

Chapter 32: The Final Contests for Morag

Morag pushed her way through the crowds to stand beside Olaf.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked gruffly.

"Somewhere about," she answered, letting her eyes wander as if she were searching for Ingrid. "Who do you think will win the fight?"

"Ragnar. There is little doubt." Olaf closed his eyes and his shoulders drooped. "And Snorri is out of the fight. Sigurd will not last a minute against that brute. Pray to your god that Sigurd's arm is quick and strong." The Viking lord pointed to the massive warrior who was now entering the fighting area. Morag looked across the muddy clearing and her heart fell as she noted Thvalkun and how small he appeared against the son of King Thrum. She doubted the fight would last long enough for Ingrid and Sigurd to flee very far.

Ragnar waited for no announcement. He simply charged across the clearing, waving his double-bladed battle-axe in one hand. Thvalkun dodged the swing, then somersaulted across the mud to bring some distance between the two combatants. There was another attack by Ragnar, and another dodge by his smaller opponent.

Ragnar let loose with an animal roar. "Fight me! Or are you a woman that you run every time I draw near?"

"To defeat me you must strike me, Ragnar," said Thvalkun with a grim smile.

Ragnar charged again. This time his strike hit his opponent's sword, forcing the older warrior back. Ragnar swung high. Thvalkun ducked. Ragnar swung low. Thvalkun jumped. It appeared as if the two were evenly matched. Yet, Morag could see that Thvalkun was simply delaying the inevitable and Ragnar knew it.

"Strange," said Olaf beside her, "I was sure that Sigurd would be here watching his next opponent. He seems the type to study his enemy before engaging him."

"Oh, he's probably somewhere about," said Morag with an air of nonchalance.

However, Olaf gave her a thoughtful stare. "What do you know?"

"I? What do I know?" She turned back to the battle. "I know that Thvalkun is never going to win unless he tries to actually hit Ragnar."

Olaf grabbed her arms, squeezing them too tightly. "What do you know?"

Morag realized there was no use in keeping up the pretence any longer. Olaf was too clever. "Ingrid and Sigurd have run off." The change in the Viking lord's expression alarmed her. "Don't go chasing off after them! They'll be very happy together!"

"They've doomed you!"

"What?" She followed Olaf's eyes to Ragnar, who was coming closer and closer to Thvalkun with each attack. "No, Olaf. With Sigurd departed, Snorri can re-enter the contest. He can defeat Ragnar. He can win..."

Olaf released her arms. "Snorri can no longer fight, Morag."

"What do you mean?"

"He injured his leg in the battle with Sigurd. A stone hidden in the mud. A twisted ankle, while off balance. It doesn't matter, now. He cannot fight the next battle."

"But..." Morag turned and stared at Ragnar. The massive Viking had a cruel smile upon his face as he now played with his foe. Thvalkun was barely avoiding each attack, but for some reason the much larger man was not going in for the killing blow just yet.

Then, Thvalkun's sword was knocked from his grasp. Ragnar swung his axe high, spun around and brought the blade up between his opponent's legs. There was a spray of scarlet and a scream of anguish, as in the blink of an eye Thvalkun was nearly cut in half. Ragnar laughed as the corpse fell back into the mud. His followers rushed out onto the battlefield to congratulate him while the crowd was silent. Eventually, all eyes turned to Olaf and Morag.

"Bring out my next victim!" shouted Ragnar to the sky. "I'm eager to send the next man to Hela's cold embrace! Then I'm going to plough her field," he declared, pointing at Morag, "until she's dead to the world!"

Olaf cleared his throat. "There will be a one-hour break!"

"No, old man!" challenged Ragnar, pointing a finger at Olaf. "The next fight will go on now, or I will claim my prize!"

He strode toward Olaf and Morag. Olaf pushed Morag behind him. Ragnar stopped immediately in front of the Viking lord and looked down upon him. The two glared at each other, while Morag wondered if she should simply run.

"She belongs to me, old man!"

"No." Olaf looked over those watching the exchange. "Sigurd has...left with my daughter Ingrid. That means his victory over Snorri is nullified!"

"Then bring out your son, old man! I'll cleave him in two like I did that weakling!" Ragnar's followers laughed uproariously.

"Snorri was injured in the battle against Sigurd!"

"Then I am the victor! And that girl belongs to me!" Ragnar reached around Olaf to grab at Morag.

"No!" shouted Olaf.

"What are you going to do, old man?" asked the massive Viking, taking a step back away from the Viking lord.

"I challenge you, Ragnar, son of Thrum. If you win, my lands are yours."

"No!" shouted Morag, but she was ignored.

"Agreed!" Ragnar said, laughing triumphantly.
"NO!" shouted Morag again.

Ragnar turned and headed for the centre of the fighting area, while shooing his followers away. Olaf turned to one of his men. "Give me your sword." The man handed his lord the weapon.

Morag clutched at Olaf's arm. "You'll be killed, Olaf!"

"Then the Valkyries will come for me, and I'll raise a toast to you in Valhalla."

He shook off her hand, then slipped between two posts and entered the battle area. Olaf shook his sword arm, then swung the broadsword in brief arcs.

"Are you ready to fight, old man?" called out Ragnar.

"Any time you are, son of Thrum of the burning ass!"

Ragnar's eyes were flame as he charged at Olaf, knowing his older opponent would not be capable of dodging and weaving as Thvalkun had done. However, as he swung his axe across Olaf's shoulder, the Viking lord used the sword to deflect the axe up enough that he was able to duck under the deadly blow. Then, before Ragnar could recover from his attack, Olaf performed a quick chop towards his younger opponent's midsection.

Ragnar backed away quickly and put a hand to his chest. He pulled it away and glanced at it, but there was no blood.

"I could have told you I hadn't cut skin and bone yet, you young pup!" taunted Olaf. "Anyone with any battle experience would have known right away!"

Morag's heart leapt to hear such bravado come from Olaf's lips. Did he actually have a chance of winning? Would that mean she would then belong to him? She momentarily forgot about the battle as she remembered the passion the Viking lord had shown months earlier in the woods.

Morag shook her head, clearing her thoughts, in time to see Ragnar launch another attack. The blade came down in a wide arc and Olaf side-stepped it, although just barely.

"You're slow, old man!"

Olaf grinned and grabbed the shaft of Ragnar's battle-axe with his free hand. He raised his sword, but his opponent was swifter. A punch sent Olaf reeling.

"Olaf, DUCK!" screamed Morag.

And he did, just as Ragnar's blade cleaved the air where his head had been. Olaf swung wildly at the younger man's legs, but he danced back out of reach. After a quick shake of his head, the Viking lord seemed himself again.

Ragnar came in again, and again the axe blade swung high in a wide arc. Olaf side stepped, but the attack was a feint. Ragnar swung the flat of the blade against Olaf's shoulder, sending the older Viking stumbling away. His sword slipped from his fingers and Morag nearly screamed.

The younger man rushed forward and prodded Olaf back as the older Viking struggled to regain his grip with fingers suddenly grown clumsy. Ragnar laughed as he prodded Olaf a second time.

"Olaf! Beware!" shouted Morag, sensing that Ragnar was readying for the killing blow. Others in the crowd also shouted out.

The sword fell to the mud as Olaf stretched his arms out to recover it. Ragnar prodded him back once more, then began his turn. However, Olaf rolled forward into the mud as Ragnar turned his back to him. The sword was suddenly in his hands, and as Ragnar's axe blade narrowly missed the kneeling Viking lord, Olaf swung as hard as he could at his opponent's knee.

Ragnar's axe rose high in its arc, then flew out of his grasp. The young Viking screamed in agony, and many turned away as his lower leg separated from his thigh. Olaf grunted as he rose to his feet. He looked at the shocked Ragnar in disgust, then punched him in the face.

The followers of the son of Thrum rushed toward Olaf and the prone Ragnar.

"OLAF!" screamed Morag in warning.

The Viking lord raised his sword at those approaching. "If you come to drag this dog away, then do so. But if you come to seek revenge against me, know that I will not be so merciful to my next opponent."

Some of the men glanced at Ragnar as he pleaded for help with his eyes, then they turned and ran. Two lifted Ragnar by his arms and began to drag him away.

"I will have vengeance upon you, old man!" screamed Ragnar.

"Wait!" shouted Olaf. "Is the fight still on then, pup? Is it to the death then, pup?"

Ragnar went silent. The surging crowd rushing to congratulate Olaf hid him from Morag's view. "To the keep!" she shouted. And the call was soon echoed, but she rushed ahead of the group. There was much she had to ready for Olaf. Her heart was light. Despite his age, she knew Olaf would be an attentive and affectionate husband, and a woman of her age could bear such a man many sons.

Chapter 33: Celebratory Feast

Morag had the servants ready as the great hall filled with Olaf, his limping son Snorri, and their followers. She held back those with the food and drink until the jovial lord had greeted several men, clapped a few more on the back, and then taken his usual seat at the head table.

"Go!" she ordered as men began to look about for the celebratory meal. She smoothed out some wrinkles in her blue dress, the one that she considered to be most comely, then went out to take her seat beside Olaf.

He gave her a brief smile then turned away to share a joke with the neighbour on his right. Morag ignored Snorri on her own left, but it was apparent that the son of Olaf was in a foul mood. She trained her eyes upon Olaf and caught herself up in the confidence and good spirits he was so full of following his victory. She could see his eyes still darting from warrior to warrior; he was still thinking of how to use this to his best advantage. The younger men that had followed him to this keep seemed to hold him in awe, while the more experienced warriors seemed rejuvenated in their souls. Olaf's surprising victory over the once impressive Ragnar had cemented his reputation as a great warrior, despite his age.

His eyes glanced to her and, before she could look away, he turned to devote his attention at her. "You're not eating, Lady Morag! This is a time for celebration!"

There were a chorus of cheers from those nearby, although the younger Vikings added in some sexually suggestive comments that she chose to ignore.

"I wait for my lord to take a bite and a drink before any sustenance passes my lips."

Those nearby went silent at her tone. Olaf laughed, but it died quickly.

"Bah! You are free from my offering you up as a prize to the victor, Lady Morag!" He took a swig from his drinking horn, then pointed at Snorri. "You are free to wed my son, despite the fact that a twist of fate stole away his glorious victory."

Snorri slammed his drink down upon the table, but did not look to his father.

Morag put her hand upon Olaf's arm. "I agreed to the terms of the contest, Lord Olaf. I now belong to you."

Olaf laughed again, but none laughed with him. "You cannot be serious, girl!" He looked around him, at the faces of men who wished they were in his shoes at that moment. "You're as young as Ingrid, and I shall not take you as wife! If you will not have Snorri, then I'll find you another husband."

"You have found me a husband, my lord. And I am happy to submit to him, for he is a great warrior, a wise man, and he risked his life for me. I could ask for no greater husband." She raised her goblet to him. "I shall bear you many children, my lord. Snorri and Ingrid will have many brothers and sisters." Then she drank.

Many of the older Vikings sitting nearby raised their goblets and horns and shouted out their congratulations. Olaf was nonplussed. Morag merely smiled contentedly as she daintily picked at the food before her. Her eyes rarely left Olaf as she ate, but he did not look her way for the rest of the meal.

Chapter 34: Generation Gap

Morag had left the great hall early. There had been a few comments behind her congratulating Olaf on acquiring such a young and beautiful wife that made her pause briefly on the stairs, but Olaf's shouted orders for the speakers to shut their mouths had stiffened her back and set her on her way again. When she came to a certain stone passage, she paused and thought. To go left would be to accept that he would not be her husband. She would retire to her own chamber, and Olaf would eventually marry her off in some political alliance. A voice in her head said he would find her a good man. To go right would be to go to Olaf's sleeping chamber, and to prepare herself for her first night as his wife.

What of Snorri? She didn't care for him. He was not as clever and thoughtful as his father, nor had his indifference to her done anything to spark a longing for him. She thought of that one day in the woods, when Olaf had mistaken her in a dream, and she longed for his hands to be upon her again. He was a man who could match her wit for wit, who respected her, and who hungered for her-at least she hoped he hungered for her.

Morag turned right, and hurried toward the portal to the room that she would now share with Olaf. Thankfully, the door was not locked. She slipped inside and closed it behind her. The room was spartan, with no decorations to speak of. There was a large bed, one that had once been her father's, a closed chest, a table, and a single chair.

She examined the papers upon the table. Figures and letters showed Olaf had been busy. He was adept at determining the supplies necessary to feed and pay his garrison. The letters were from various local lords, indicating their reluctance at attending the contests and their dismay at Morag being offered up as a prize to the Vikings. Not a thought for her wishes! She scattered the pages upon the floor in a sudden fit of anger. Well, she thought, let them fume when they saw her upon Olaf's arm, a devoted wife with a child on the way!

Then, as with so many times before, her anger passed suddenly. She collected the papers from the cold floor and piled them back up on the table. The name of Argent caught her eye. Was Olaf plotting to marry her off to that man? She lifted the paper off the desk and began to read.

A full minute later she let the letter fall to the table. Olaf couldn't abide Argent's agreement, could he? The king's man had offered Olaf his military support, 'as a brother,' if the Viking lord consented to the marriage of Argent and Morag. She knew it would be tempting for Olaf. The Limping King was eager to rid his lands of the Vikings whom he had so recently embraced. An attack could come at any point this summer. For the small price of Morag, Olaf would have a powerful ally to hold the Limping King in check. Olaf and his people would settle in, would build their defences, and the Limping King would never get rid of them. And all for the cheap price of handing her over to one of her noble countrymen.

The door to the chamber opened suddenly.

"What, by Hela, are you doing here?" demanded Olaf.

Morag grabbed the letter from Argent and held it in her fist as she whirled upon the Viking lord. "And what schemes are you plotting with that treacherous and lecherous Argent? Am I to be sold off so that you won't have to fight?"

He seemed taken aback. "That's just a letter. I've agreed to nothing."

"Is that why, after winning me, you are so aloof? Is that why you didn't take me in your arms and-?"

"No!" Olaf removed his belt and set it and his axe by the chest. "Morag, you must understand that you are so young and I'm so old. I've seen things you cannot understand. Snorri is your age, but I'm-"

"Too old?" she shouted. "Were you too old to part my legs in the forest? And that with an arrow in your side-!" Too late, she realized she'd said the wrong thing.

"In the forest, Morag?" He rubbed his face with both his hands. "While I was addled, I took you? I didn't mean to!" He sat down upon his bed and seemed to lose much of his vigour. "I was in a dream and saw a vision of my dead wife. I'm sorry for taking your virginity, Morag."

"Well"-she opened and closed her mouth several times-"I'm not. I willingly gave myself to you, Olaf. And now, when you have the right to take me again, I learn you are plotting with a man who wants nothing of me but my lands!"

"No, it's not like that." Olaf sighed. "Argent sent me the letter, but I haven't replied. I've never met him and don't know about his intrigues or ambitions. To agree to anything with him at this point is a foolish thing."

"And you are no fool, Olaf." She came to him and put her hand upon his shoulder. "Do you want me, Olaf?"

"You are Ingrid's age!"

"You didn't answer the question." He turned his face away from her, making it clear to Morag that he would not answer her question. Also, that he was afraid to admit the truth. She reached up to her blouse and undid the laces. Before he turned back at the sound of the cloth sliding over her skin, she had slipped the dress down to her feet and stood before him naked.

"What are you doing, Morag?" He seemed surprised, and much less confident than he had before.

"I am offering myself to you as any good wife would, my lord. Come, take what I have to offer." She put her hands out to his arms, but she could not lift them.

Olaf stood, then bent down. He pulled her dress back up over her legs. "Put your clothing back on, Morag. You are too young and I am too old."

"I am adamant!"

"As am I, Morag." He pulled her dress over her hips, but she would not allow him to proceed any further. She crossed her arms.

"You have won me!"

"Snorri was supposed to have won you, Morag. The Norns put a stop to that, at least temporarily. I don't want you."

"You're lying, Olaf." He would not meet her eyes. "I will simply lie in bed beside you, night after night, until you give in to your lusts and take me."

"You will leave my chamber and return to your own or"-he struggled to finish the sentence as Morag lifted her chin at the threat-"or I will smack your bottom until it is red."

"If that is the form of your lovemaking, my lord, then I submit myself for your pleasure."

Olaf clenched his fists. "By Freya's tits! Can you not take no for an answer? I will not have you!"

"Because I am too young and you are too old?"

"Yes!"

"Despite the fact that you desire me?"

"Yes!"

"I see," she answered calmly. Morag stepped back and lifted her dress up and retied the laces below her throat.

"I didn't mean to say that, Morag."

"I know. I'm sorry that I have manipulated you, Olaf, but I had to hear from your own lips how you do care for me." As he opened his mouth to argue, she put her finger over his lips. "Hush! I accept that you care for me and want me. It explains why you fought Ragnar on my behalf. And I will leave your chamber, now, as you wish."

Olaf sighed deeply. "Thank you, Morag."

"However, I will do everything in my power to entice you and convince you that we will be husband and wife, Olaf. You have won me. I will bear you sons and daughters. And we will be very happy together." She leaned close to him and whispered: "This I vow, and this I will do, and no power in Heaven or your Valhalla will keep me from my course."

She leaned a little forward and kissed his lips. His arms came up, then stopped before he embraced her. She stood up straight and chuckled.

"Olaf, your words and that kiss have convinced me that we will be husband and wife."

A knock upon the chamber door made them both jump. Morag hurriedly checked that her dress was back on properly, while Olaf took a few steps away from her. He raised his eyebrows and pointedly looked at her and then the bed she stood beside. Morag smiled innocently at him, then sat upon the bed.

"Come in," she said.

One of the more mature Viking warriors opened the door. He glanced at Morag, then Olaf. "Your pardon for the interruption, Lord Olaf."

"Nothing was going on," the Viking Lord replied hastily.

"Not yet," added Morag with a knowing smirk.

"Ragnar has refused healing and is slowly bleeding to death."

"And you had to interrupt us for that?" asked Olaf angrily.

"In his delirium, he has spoken of an attack upon King Gunderr by his father. I had the impression that the attack was to commence while the contests were raging. Ragnar was upset that he was sent here, and would miss the real battle."

Olaf and Morag exchanged looks. Morag stood and Olaf spoke. "Take us to him, Bori. We would hear these things from his own lips."

Chapter 35: Given Away

It was a busy four days later, the very day that Ragnar at last expired, when Lord Argent rode up to the keep and was welcomed by Lord Olaf. Morag kept her distance from her countryman, intending that he would hopefully forget of her very existence. Olaf, Argent, and Snorri met behind closed doors, which, perversely, frustrated Morag greatly. She calculated that her frustration was due to the fact that each night, except the first, that she had tried to sneak into Olaf's bedchamber, there had been a guard who turned her away. And now another door was barred against her.

Unluckily, she was waiting outside, eager for any news, when the meeting ended and Argent exited the room. The tall lord spied her immediately. He strode over to her, grabbed her hand in his and kissed it. Then, without a word, he went on his way.

Not unhandsome, Morag considered as she watched Argent march away, but his cold gaze reminded her of Snorri. Lord Argent was a man who considered women to be simply tools.

Neither Olaf nor Snorri would meet her eyes or answer her many questions when they came out into the hall. And the Viking lord merely shook her off when she grabbed at his arm. Morag was left to fume about what deal might have been made with Argent.

It was after dinner had been finished that night that Olaf stood and called for everyone's attention.

"We are going to war!" he declared. "Thrum of the Burning Skull has attacked King Gunderr, back in our homeland!" Olaf waited for the cries of outrage to die down. "We do not know how the battle has fared, although we do know that Thrum has a large and powerful army. His berserkers are feared in many lands." He gave Morag a quick and worried look. "I have made a deal with Lord Argent. As the Limping King has attacked me, and as he intends to attack this keep, I have decided to strike out against him. Argent and I will lead our warriors against the Limping King's castle in four days!" There was a great deal of cheering that took a while to die down. Morag glared at Olaf, fearing she knew very well what kind of deal had been worked out. "After we have defeated the Limping King and placed Argent upon the throne, the new king will provide men and supplies as we sail back to our homeland and deal with Thrum once and for all!"

Morag stood. The mature Vikings went silent and stared at Olaf expectantly.

"And, pray tell, what deal did you work out with that scheming-"

The Viking Lord interrupted her. "Lady Morag will be wed to Argent once he is crowned king. She will be queen over these lands, and we Vikings will give up our claim here."

Morag closed her eyes and fell to her seat. She felt as if every fibre of her being had been torn into pieces. Olaf was giving her up. The pre-war party continued around her for several hours. Olaf tried to talk with her but she did not-could not-hear him.

Many hours later, as the great hall emptied of revellers who could manage to walk, Morag at last rose unsteadily to her feet and then made her way to her bedchamber. She did not sleep.

Chapter 36: Abed

A maid tried to rouse Morag the next morning, but she lay upon the bed with her eyes open and stared at the ceiling. She ignored the servant's imploring voice, and only moved, to turn her head briefly toward the door, when the girl left her bedchamber.

Morag could hear the work going on in the courtyard, far below. Steeds were prepared for a journey. Men shouted at one another. There was the brief clash of metal on metal, as an argument became serious or as two men engaged in ill-timed weapons practice. None of it mattered to Morag. Olaf was leaving, just as her father had all those months ago. He had given her up to another man. Traded away was more apt, she thought, traded away like some cow or plot of land.
At some unknown time later the courtyard went briefly silent, or at least as silent as it could become, filled with men and beasts as it was. She was tempted to venture to her window and look down to see what was amiss. However, Olaf's bellow to open the gates broke the silence, and soon the sounds of men and beasts departing from the keep was echoing through her room.

Morag licked her lips. How had she lost him? Was he more mercenary than she had been willing to admit? Or was the need for a military ally too great? Of what use was love in this world, when men's ambitions and fears turned it into heartbreak.

There was a tentative knock upon her chamber door. Morag ignored it.

"Milady?" called out a woman's voice.

"What?" demanded Morag, although her throat was dry and sore. How many hours had passed since she last ate or drank?

"The Vikings have left, Lady Morag. The keep is yours again."

The keep was hers again. But, it had never really been hers before. Her father had commanded it, as had his forefathers in years gone by. When he had died she had simply held it in trust for the next man who would claim it, and the Limping King-damn him!-had given it away to the enemy of her people!

She could not think of Olaf as the enemy, though. Nor would the Vikings be murderous killers in her mind; they were people with the same wants and desires as her own people. But who were her people? Gaweena's story had hinted that her mother was a Viking woman. So, Morag was of both people. Olaf was one of her people as much as Argent was.

"Milady? Are you unwell?" came the woman's voice from behind the door.

Morag sat up. The keep was hers, at least until Argent came to claim her and her father's lands, or the Limping King came to steal her away and offer her up to some favoured knight.

"I am well!" she declared. "Have all the Vikings left?"

"Every one, Milady."

"I will be in the great hall presently. Have all the servants and guards ready there. I must inform you all of what has happened and what is going to happen."

"Yes, Lady Morag."

Hurried footsteps leading away from her bedchamber door told Morag that she would have a few minutes respite to think through what she would tell everyone. They deserved to know what was coming and to have the freedom to prepare themselves as they saw fit.

If Argent and Olaf were successful, then the new king would come for her and he would likely place a trusted agent in charge of the keep and the surrounding lands. Would these lands remain hers as part of her dowry? Morag thought not. Argent had always been covetous of the fertile fields of MacLint. On the other hand, if the Limping King held his title and power, then he might seek to strike down the 'nest of rebellion.' That could mean an army bent on firing every home and killing every tenant. She had much to tell everyone and the time remaining to act might be short.

Chapter 37: Two Riders

Eight days later, no-one in the keep had heard a word of the rebellion. Most of the servants had stayed with Morag, intent on serving and defending the lady of the keep. She was most gracious with each of them, though she made sure that each did their duty.

A guardsman hurried into her presence, wheezing as he came. He kneeled before her. Morag broke off her conversation with the new cook to urge the elderly man to stand.

"Thank you, my lady," he wheezed.

"You should not have run all the way from your post on the wall. Why did you not send a youth to pass on the message?" Morag motioned for the cook to bring the guard a chair.

"Two riders approach the keep!" he breathed out. "Too far yet to see who they are!"

"Rest yourself, and have some food and drink if you feel the need, faithful guard."

Then, Morag rushed out into the courtyard, hiked up her skirts, and ran to the stone steps that led up the side of the keep wall. She climbed them as fast as she could, then found two other guardsmen standing atop the wall leaning on their spears and pointing out the approaching strangers.

"Two riders, Lady Morag. There!"

She shaded her eyes and peered into the distance. Indeed, two mounted upon horses, and they were approaching the keep at a leisurely pace. This could only mean one thing, she knew.

"Lord Olaf's plan has been successful. Send out word to everyone in the keep that we will be welcoming an emissary of the newly crowned King Argent, or the man himself!"

The guards were agog, but quickly overcame their shock and descended the wall, calling out the news to all within hearing. Morag continued to stare at the riders. Her future was now set before her, despite the unpalatable nature of that fate. She cursed: "Oh, that any should be born a woman and have no say in their own destiny!"

Chapter 38: Olaf's Fate

Olaf stood atop a small embankment that suggested to his experienced eyes the high water mark after some great flood. Looking out over his men, he nodded his head and looked forward to the coming battle against Thrum's forces. These were good men, seasoned warriors now. They would follow him into Hela's land to search out Baldur if he demanded it of them. He turned his gaze skyward and noted how the sun hid behind the grey clouds for yet another day.

"King Argent has given us arms and boats! He has given us provisions!"

A mild cheer went up from the assembled Vikings. Some were looking behind Olaf, and he turned briefly. Three riders approached the beach. They were in no hurry. One had the look of a Viking about him, while the other two wore long cloaks with the cowls concealing their heads, yet Olaf could see by their figures and movements that they were women. He shrugged and turned back to his men.

"See there," he said, pointing to the sun, "Baldur hides his face behind the clouds, just as he will in the last days! Some here have found this to be a bad omen. Well, I say it is a bad omen! For King Thrum!"

A great cheer went up. Olaf waited for the men to calm themselves.

"Thrum is a trickster! Thrum is a coward! Thrum strikes when he thinks others are weak! Baldur hides his face in shame that Thrum has followers who willingly commit his crimes! I tell you all"-he pointed at the crowd of warriors-"that Baldur will show his face again, and soon! The noble Baldur will be pleased to see an army sailing back to battle Thrum and his people! Odin and Thor will grant us wind in our sails! The skies will thunder as we clash with Thrum! The Valkyrie will watch us eagerly, unsure whether they want to collect our souls or sit back and watch the great deeds we shall do! Tomorrow, we sail home! And we say: death to Thrum!"

The crowd cheered and a great chant of 'death to Thrum' spread amongst the men. Olaf drank it in, smiling, urging them to greater and greater volume. He glanced back at the three riders and noted that they had stopped a short distance away. He frowned when he recognized the man as Prince Sigurd, son of Gunderr.

"Break out the mead!" he called to one of his captains. "I'll be in my tent," he said to them in a quieter voice.

He descended the embankment, then walked through his men, accepting slaps on the back and promises of bravery from the Vikings as he passed amongst them. He nodded and spoke quiet words of encouragement, but kept a wary eye upon the three riders who still sat atop their horses.

At last he went into his tent and stretched out on his sleeping furs. He was glad the speech had gone so well, especially after he had overheard some of the warriors discussing evil portents. Now they would all be discussing the coming glorious battle and the part each of them intended to play in it. These men would follow him back to their homeland and into battle against the most feared general of their age. Thrum's berserkers had no idea what storm was coming for them.

The sound of horses stopping outside his tent roused him from his thoughts. He placed his battle-axe within easy reach.

"You cannot go into Olaf's tent!" argued one of the old Viking's trusted warriors. There was a gasp of surprise. Then: "Lady Ingrid! I did not know that it was you!"

"I wish to speak with my father," spoke a woman who sounded so much like Olaf's long-lost, beloved Brunhilde that it made his heart ache. The fact that his daughter had returned to him soothed him greatly, as did the hope that his new son-in-law intended to join him in the coming battle. Ingrid had done well to capture the heart of Gunderr's son.

"You may enter, along with Prince Sigurd," acquiesced the warrior.

"Helena, see that the horses are tended to," commanded Ingrid, "and if any man accosts you, then tell them that you are my maid. They respect my father too much to anger me."

"Yes, mistress," spoke another woman, one whose voice was timid and quiet.

The opening of the tent was pushed aside and Sigurd stepped into Olaf's tent, followed by Ingrid.

"Well?" demanded Olaf, staring up at the two and sensing their nervousness.

"Will you not let us sit, Father?"

"Courtesy demands I make the offer, daughter." Olaf waved at the furs scattered upon the floor of the tent. "Say what you have to say."

Ingrid grew suddenly timid.

Sigurd cleared his throat. "Lord Olaf, in accordance with ancient law I have laid claim to your daughter, Ingrid. I have stolen her from you. She is now my wife. However..." the Viking prince hesitated.

"Father, do you still love me?" blurted out Ingrid.

Olaf chewed his lip for a few seconds. He picked up his battle-axe, bringing surprised looks to the faces of both of his guests. Sigurd's hand went to his sword. "Ingrid, I have always loved you, but perhaps I have not loved you enough. Do you desire this prince as a husband?"

"I do, Father!"

Olaf turned a stern face toward Sigurd. "I am not overly fond of those who steal what is mine, son of Gunderr. I could take your crime to the Althing and demand a judgement."

"And I would abide by that judgement, Lord Olaf." Sigurd chanced a look at Ingrid. "If that is what it takes to make peace between us, then that is what shall be done."

Olaf rubbed his beard in thought for a few moments. "Ingrid, I welcome you back. You ease the ache in my heart-"

"Which would be better eased by the presence of another, I think, Father." Olaf was surprised by the sly smirk upon his daughter's face.

"Speak no more of that!"

"I would not be Ingrid if I did not speak my mind, Father. Sigurd has been most courteous and most considerate to me. You should welcome him as you welcome me." She waited for a reaction from her father, but none came. "And you left behind the one person who could truly ease the pain in your heart. There is still time to ride to her."

"Speak no more of her! I have welcomed you, Ingrid! Sigurd has stolen you from me and, though he has returned you, he still possesses my only daughter! I see it in your eyes!"

"We should go," offered Sigurd.

"Be brave..." hissed Ingrid.

"He is brave, Ingrid. But, he is wise, too. Give me space and let my heart soften toward him."

Ingrid and Sigurd rose, delayed their departure for a second, then left Olaf alone in his tent. He wanted to break something. He wanted to lash out at the world, strike down whatever didn't please his eye and then rampage on and crush all of his enemies with his bare hands. How dare Ingrid bring up...! He stalked about the tent for ten minutes, then at last collapsed upon his sleeping furs.

He ran his hands over his face, then over his hair. A skin full of mead beckoned and Olaf drank deeply from it, then cast it across the tent, spilling its contents upon the ground. He was going back home! He was going to hunt down Thrum and his army and send them to Hela's cold embrace! If he died too...

Shaking his head, Olaf rose to his feet again. He set aside his weapons and began to undress, preferring to sleep naked with only the furs to keep him warm. A sudden thought occurred and he went to the tent entrance and stepped out as he removed his wool shirt. The guard there suddenly stood at attention.

"No-one is to disturb me until I say otherwise," Olaf commanded.

He glanced around at the warriors nearby. They appeared to be settling down for the night, some under blankets and some by fire pits. Others, restless due to the coming journey and the promise of battle, wandered the camp. Olaf nodded and ducked back inside his tent, closing the opening behind him.

He removed his leggings, then stretched out upon some furs. They felt soft against his bare skin. Struggling to find a comfortable position to sleep in, he finally half curled on his side and closed his eyes.

He had not been asleep for very long when a disturbance at the entrance awoke him.

"Father?" called out Ingrid, in the darkness.

"Yes?"

"I wished to apologize for my insistence earlier. Morag cares for you deeply, and I know you care for her"-Olaf grunted and rolled over to face his daughter-"but I will not dwell on the subject."

Briefly, the tent flap opened and another slim figure was silhouetted against flames. The closing of the tent left him in darkness again. His eyes did not adjust as well as they had when he was in his youth.

"This is Helena, Father," continued Ingrid. "I acquired her during the time that Sigurd and I were travelling. I give her to you, Father, to warm your bed and to offer what feminine comforts she can."

"I don't need-"

"You're a man, Father. You have needs. And she is comely."

"I'm tired, Ingrid."

"And she will help you sleep. You may send her back to us in the morning." Ingrid lifted and opened the entrance, then paused. This Helena was completely hidden within a large cloak. "She is most eager, Father." Then Ingrid slipped away, leaving the interior of the tent in darkness once again.

Olaf sat up. "So, Ingrid thinks you can offer me some entertainments, girl?"

"I will do what I can, Lord Olaf." The girl spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.

"Then come over here and set yourself down beside me, Helena," he suggested.

To his surprise, there was the sound of her heavy cloak falling to the ground. Then, two boots were dropped to the floor. He could barely hear her make her way through the darkness, but she seemed to have no trouble seeing where he was. The furs around him shifted and he felt the warmth from her body beside him.

"Remove your clothes and crawl under the furs beside me, Helena."

"I wear no clothing, Lord Olaf," she whispered to him. Her hand barely touched his chest, then she placed her palm directly over his heart. "Your heart beats wildly, Lord Olaf."

"There are better places for you to put your hands, Helena."

"In time, Lord Olaf. I want you to know that I understand I am simply a surrogate, that you may imagine me to be another."

"My daughter talks too much!"

"Hush."

Her lips were upon his. Their first kiss was slow and tender. Olaf's mind drifted to a dream-like encounter in a forest. He grabbed Helena by the shoulders and tried to pull her close, but she resisted.

"I thought you were here to submit yourself," he accused.

"Tonight, my body is yours, Lord Olaf." She leaned forward and whispered into his ear. "But we will take this slow and enjoy ourselves."

He shifted his hands down from her shoulders and cupped her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. She leaned forward and they kissed again. This time they stretched the kiss out. Olaf could feel her nipples hardening.

Even though the kiss ended, he continued to gently squeeze and knead her breasts. She sighed slowly, as her hand slid down his chest, across his abdomen, then at last found his groin. He was already hardening as her fingers wrapped around him.

"You seem to be almost as eager as I am, Helena."

She chuckled. Her fingers squeezed, causing him to harden and lengthen even more quickly than before. "I must admit that I find myself excited already, Lord Olaf."

"How excited?" he asked, as he released one of her breasts and reached down between her legs. She lifted herself slightly and he was able to slip a finger between her folds. Her wetness covered his digit.

He played with her, and she sighed and gasped as his finger slipped in and out of her. Finally, she sat down hard upon his hand.

"It's time," he noted.

"Uh-huh," she breathed.

Olaf cast away the furs covering him, reached around her back, then pulled her bottom to him. "On all fours, Helena," he commanded.

She nodded and obeyed. He went up on his knees and leaned against her bottom, rubbing his length between her cheeks and onto the small of her back. Helena was breathing deeply now, and the way she pushed against his hips, then pulled a little away, was driving him wild with lust.

"Lord Olaf...!"

"Yes," he answered, grabbing her hips and positioning himself directly behind her. He reached down to her wetness, found the opening with his finger then guided the tip of his member in. Helena froze in place and gave several quick half-breaths. Leaning forward, he slid in halfway, easily. She was so wet, but so tight.

"Oh, that's so good!" she cooed.

He reached one hand around to her breast and squeezed it. Her hand covered his, encouraging him to close his fingers again. Then she arched her back and turned her head around, her mouth open and searching. He leaned forward, pushing a little further into her, but managing to put his face next to hers. She kissed his chin, his cheek, then finally found his lips and sucked.

They stayed in that position for a short while. Her heart hammered in her chest; he felt it through the handful of soft flesh that was her breast.

It was the contraction around his member that broke their kiss. Helena's head and arms dropped to the furs, leaving her rump up in the air with Olaf embedded within her. He released her breast and grabbed her hips, pushing in as he did so. He was rewarded with a great groan of pleasure from his lover.

"Oh, Olaf! That's so good!" she said in one great breath.

He pushed in as far as he could go and she squeezed around him, then released. He pulled out, almost completely and then slowly eased himself back in. Helena's back lifted slightly as he did so, as if his member were straightening her out. As their pace increased, so did their breathing until eventually it came in gasps.

"Olaf! Olaf!" Helena managed to cry out before her face was buried in the furs.

"Oh, Morag!" Olaf called out, immediately regretting it, but he was too close. And as Helena let out a loud groan, Olaf plunged into her one last time and emptied himself into her womb.

He half collapsed upon her back, but reached around her to the floor to support his weight. Slowly his heart pumped less quickly and his breathing eased to a more normal rate. Helena, too, was relaxing after her own climax. He knew he couldn't stay on his knees for too long, not with his legs trembling as they were.

Olaf grasped Helena about her waist, keeping her pinned to his groin, then leaned over and collapsed upon the furs. He held her in place so that she was curled up against his front, with his member still inside of her. They lay that way for several minutes.

When he was almost convinced that she'd fallen asleep, she lifted her head then reached around and pulled his arm over to use as a pillow. She settled herself back down with a sigh.

"I'm sorry..." Olaf struggled for the words. "I shouldn't have called out..."

"Think nothing of it, Olaf," she whispered. "Can we sleep as we are?"

"Yes," he answered.

Chapter 39 Morag's Fate

Morag was already awake by the time Olaf opened his eyes. The sun shone outside, brightening the interior of the tent, and men were engaged in breaking up camp from the sounds that could be heard.

"What are you doing here?" he asked smiling, as if still half asleep.

She sat up. The furs dropped away from her chest. "I was Helena."
He folded his hands behind his head and smiled in a very satisfied way. Then he frowned. "You were to marry King Argent!"

"I didn't want to. I wanted a Viking husband." She tapped him upon his chest.

"There will be trouble..."

"There will be no trouble, Olaf." She shook her head and her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders. "Argent wanted my father's lands, and now he possesses them. He'll find some other lord's daughter to be his queen and all will be well. I left a letter stipulating that he was to manage my father's lands and explaining that I was not returning."

"You shouldn't have come!"

"Yes, yes, I know, dear Olaf." She rolled her eyes at him. "You're too old and I'm too young. Although I think you proved that a falsehood last night." She patted her belly. "Do you think your seed took already, or are we going to have to keep trying?" she asked flirtatiously.

Olaf sat up. "Look, Morag. I'll take you back to Ingrid and Sigurd. I'll order them to return you to Argent. You'll be queen of your people! I could never offer you anything like that!"

A crafty smile took hold upon her face. "It's too late for that now. Ingrid and Sigurd spent much of the night spreading the story that you sent them to steal me away. Apparently, it's an old Viking tradition. Now we've spent the night here in your tent, and all of your men think you've chosen me as your wife."

"They did what?" he roared.

"Oh, let your anger die, Olaf. It was my idea, so you've no cause to be upset with them."

"Your idea?" he asked, realizing that he had been out-thought by her.

"Yes," she admitted, "clever, wasn't it?"

A few seconds passed, then: "Yes. I never doubted your mind, Morag."

"I know. We're both thinkers, Olaf."

He laughed. "Now what, oh great plotter?"

"Well, when we leave the tent, we observe how well the loading of the boats is going. I will walk by your side, and everyone will know that you've claimed me. When we arrive in Midgard and you ready yourself for battle, I'll bring your shield and axe to you. And when you return victorious, I'll feed you and bring you to bed where we'll celebrate again."

He stared at her shrewdly. "You do have this all worked out, don't you?"

"Yes, Olaf. Now"-she pushed him onto his back, then lay atop his chest-"it is several hours before high tide. I had Sigurd check with some of your men last night. I thought we might try again to get me with child." She brushed his cheek with her fingers. "There is no guarantee that I already carry your child, so we'll have to enjoy ourselves as much as we can. Or, are you too old...?"

Olaf wrapped his arms around Morag, hugging her against him. "Too old? I'll show you who's too old!"

The end.