3 comments/ 6626 views/ 17 favorites Idunn's Apples By: nicecthulhu 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. Idunn's Apples 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. Idunn's Apples 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." 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!"