Page 9 of The Bewitched Viking

She cocked her head, trying to understand how a seemingly intelligent man—well, leastways, not a drooling lackbrain—could give credence to dark magic.

“You must needs understand that the Norse lands are harsh and wild, especially the far north of Norway where I live. ’Tis vastly different from Britain, even up here in Northumbria,” he explained. “There are times during the summer when there is continuous daylight, and times during the winter when there is continuous darkness. In a land where darkness is a fact of life for long periods of time, ’tis easy to appreciate how my people have a superstitious bent. Out of the deep forest, down from the mountains, up from rivers and fjords they believe that the magical creatures come: the hulders, the nisser, the fosse-grimmer, the nøkker. Witches are naught, compared to this. Oh, I forgot. There are also the elves, the dwarfs and the trolls.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully at the last word. “These are not all bad beasties, though. Some of them are quite playful, spurred by our god of mischief, Loki.

“Further, I wouldst tell you a tale of King Harald Fairhair. An intense loathing for wizards and magic did my grandsire have, despite the fact that one of his sons, Ragnvald Rettlebone of Hadeland, practiced such. In the end, he ordered his other son, Eric Bloodaxe, to kill his own son. Eric did not only that, but killed eighty other wizards as well, for good measure.

“So, yea, I believe in the black arts.”

“Humph!” It was all nonsense, as far as Alinor was concerned. But then a sudden thought occurred to her. This fierce warrior could fight off her brothers with a swat of his hand, if he so chose. What if she went to the Norse lands with him, for a short time, just till her brothers gave up on their latest matrimonial efforts? Wouldn’t that be a way of solving both their problems—the Viking would fulfill his promise to deliver a “witch” to remove the curse, and she would escape a fourth wedding?

“Unhand me, Viking,” she said then, looking down to her arm, still pinioned to the chair by his long-fingered grasp. “I would hear more of your mission. Exactly how long would it be afore you could return me to Northumbria?”

“My duty ends once I present you to King Anlaf.”

She tilted her head in puzzlement.

“After the curse is removed, I’m fairly certain Anlaf would send you home with an armed escort, but by then the winter ice would have set in, I predict. So, I would guess you could be home by Easter.”

Fairly certain? Then his other words snagged her attention. “Easter? Easter? That’s six months from now. I can’t be gone for that long. What of the winter weaving? And the spring lambing? And the first shearing? I have more than a hundred sheep to care for here at Graycote.” She gave him a fulminating glower, then concluded, “’Tis impossible.”

“You have no choice, my lady.”

Well, we shall see about that. I don’t want to take drastic measures, but I will if you force my back to the wall, Viking. “Tell me again. Exactly which high Viking personage am I accused of cursing?”

“Are there so many?”

Are there so many? Alinor repeated snidely in her head. “No, there are not. I cannot remember even one.” She paused as a quick flash of memory came to her. “Except …oh, surely you do not refer to that Viking assault on St. Beatrice’s Abbey last year?”

He nodded. “’Twas King Anlaf of Norway.”

Her forehead furrowed with confusion. “I thought Haakon the Good was king of Norway.”

“Well, yea, my uncle Haakon is the all-king of Norway, but there are many minor kings. My cousin Anlaf is the chieftain or low-king of a region in Trondelag.”

“Your uncle…your cousin? Kings?” she sputtered.

“At last! Now you understand.”

“Understand? Why, that brute—your cousin—was about to rape Sister Mary Esme.”

He shrugged. “And you put a curse on him.”

“I did?”

“And waved the magic veil?”

“Which magic veil?”

“The Virgin’s Veil. And, by the by, do not forget to bring the blue veil with you. Anlaf will want to see it when you remove the curse.”

Alinor crossed her eyes with frustration. “That blue veil was my headrail, and I was not waving it. It fell off my head in the tussle to get the barbarian off of Sister Mary Esme.”

“You jest.”

“And another thing, I may have cursed the man, but I did not put a curse on him. There is a difference.”

“Dost thou try to befuddle me with words?”

That wouldn’t take much.