The Viking and the Pictish Princess: The Rose and the Sword by Lindsay Townsend

Author:Lindsay Townsend [Townsend, Lindsay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Prairie Rose Publications
Published: 2020-11-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

A strange Christmas, or Yule or Winter Feast, Olaf thought, as he baited the fish traps in the loch. They had feasted well on the deer and drunk most of the crone’s new ale. Ever-generous, Eithne had given the sad-eyed mother—whose name, she had reminded him, was Fina—the pelt of the beast and the guts to the old hound that had survived the Gaels’ attack earlier that winter, but even so—Beneath the carousing and the careful prayers to King Christ and the spirits of the place there had been tension. He saw it in the set of his wife’s shoulders, in the way the whole croft would suddenly fall silent and still, listening like a small creature beneath the wings of a hunting owl, in the soft tears of the young widow Fina as she hugged the pelt and her babies.

We still have a long way to go and we have not even reached the hunger times of spring. We need more luck. He thought of his deception and wondered if it would be enough to make them some.

On a straw mattress beside the fire that night, alongside the others, he did not need to wait for Eithne to notice. The moment he bared his neck she leaned closer.

“Your torc, is it gone?” she murmured, touching his throat where the heavy gold had lately rested.

Olaf said softly, “Payment for the Viking mercenaries,” and whispered directly into her ear so only she would hear the next, “Part of the ruse, in case of other spies.” He pressed his flank against her, so she could feel the metal tied to his loin cloth. He had removed the torc when he had set out on his trip, hiding it away to give verisimilitude to the claims he had made earlier, in Conall’s hearing.

Eithne kissed him on his breastbone and her lips formed, “Our herald?” as she carefully did not mention Conall by name.

“With your elder.” Olaf placed a hand across his mouth so no one would hear or see his answer. For what seemed the hundredth time this season, he wished they were back on Maiden Isle, he and Eithne. We could leave here, let Constantine add to his territory, go to Ireland or south, even at a pinch to the English kingdoms.

He listened to the spitting fire, the gentle snores, and dismissed that day-dream. From what he had witnessed and learned, Mongfind was a spiteful piece. She had already allowed the Black Broch to be wrecked once, who knew how she would act against the survivors if he and Eithne were gone? This little gaggle of folk had accepted him, and he recognised every one, even the infants, if not yet all by name. And if one or two backed him and Eithne and yet also nodded respect to Constantine, could he complain? For a Viking, anything that was not a knife in the back or guts was a loose fellowship, if not true brotherhood. A wise man, like the god Odin, backs several horses in a fight.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.