Love's Second Sight by Darragha Foster

Author:Darragha Foster [Foster, Darragha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Published: 2012-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

At Gott Bay, Ivar’s men had left the body of their captain laid out on a makeshift pyre. Not a one of them knew Ivar’s funereal desires. Those details were left to the priest. The priest who held reign over their right to vengeance against Brigit for the killing of Ivar.

Ivar’s priest had informed the Rus sailors there could be no retaliation against Tiree for Ivar’s death, for Ivar had raped Brigit, and she had killed in self-defense. The law of the island was the law to be obeyed in this case. “Only Olaf himself can order retaliation. And he’s not here. Forgive Ivar his transgressions and forgive Brigit for the action she took in her own defense.”

“She offered herself to Ivar, Priest. He had no need to rape her. Ivar liked the ladies too much to ever ruin his chances of bedding one for sport. Ivar was not a rapist!” Rurik, Ivar’s first mate, exclaimed.

“Nevertheless, the Irish servant of the Jarl suffered a grievous rape and beating while in the company of Ivar. You cannot tell me Ivar’s anger with Lady Thorgunna could not have been a catalyst to violent behavior on his part. I know Ivar better than you think,” the priest responded. “Now, row me to the ship. I need to pray. On the morrow we’ll decide how to commend Ivar’s remains to God.”

“Row ’im out,” Rurik ordered. A young Rus lad with bright blue eyes, a bad complexion and long, unruly straw-yellow hair snapped to action, offering the priest his strong arm for support as the old man climbed into the skiff.

Ivar’s sailors, never men to pass on an opportunity to drink, sat by a fire on the beach, guzzling large quantities of beer, toasting Ivar. Toasting Norway. Toasting Brigit for her strength. Toasting the possibility that Ivar’s seed now grew in that fine, strong woman. Toasting the passing of their friend with beer that would have been paid for out of the king’s own purse—but was now gratis thanks to Thorgunna, who made the gesture only because Ivar was kin to her father. The sailors could now pocket the silver the king sent for the brew, and collect their portage costs as well once in Norway.

So drunk on Tireean Gold and the amount of coin in their coffers, the Rus, not a one of them, took note when the body of Ivar, stone cold and still for hours, moved.

A soft moan escaped Ivar’s lips, followed by little bubbles of spit and blood. Then a hand and arm moved. His eyes fluttered open.

I am alive, he thought.

For the most part, yes, replied a voice within Ivar’s thoughts.

“God?” Ivar stumbled to ask aloud, finding the sound of his own voice the most wondrous song he had ever heard.

“For the most part, yes,” replied the voice, now fully audible.

Ivar turned his head to face the direction from which the voice came.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am your new friend. The Irish bitch poisoned you, then smashed a rock against your head.

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