Chapter Eight

Rothgar bolted around the bend in the pathway and stopped short. Odaria stood in front of the ruins of what once had been a thatched cottage. “How could they? Why?”

His stomach lurched as he stared at the burned-out cottage. A fire. Just like the one that had destroyed his home three years ago …

“Chester?” Odaria darted inside before he could stop her.

He caught up with her in the main room. The air was thick with the smell of charred wood and embers. He coughed a few times and held his breath as he glanced at the remnants of Odaria’s home. The main structure still stood fast. The wooden supports were scorched but not burned all the way through.

Odaria shrieked as she looked up at the main beam. He scowled and tried to see what had shocked her so. Something black was stuck to the wood. A dagger protruded from the center of it. What was it?

“Chester.” Odaria reached up to touch the singed remains, then jerked her hand back at the last second. “I canna touch him. Get him down. Take him down from there, Rothgar.”

Him? What did she mean? He was about to ask when he spotted bits of orange and white fur near the edge of the dagger. It was the body of a cat, although he could barely recognize the four paws and tail.

Odaria yanked on his left arm and turned him to her. “Why? Why did they do this? Why him?” she shouted, then burst into tears.

He draped his arm around her shoulders and led her outside. She didn’t need to see this, and the stench of burned wood and scorched flesh was turning his stomach. He sat her down on a rock several feet from the cottage and knelt in front of her. “Shh, shh, I’m here.”

She struggled to speak through her tears. “Chester was a good cat. Why did they do it? He never hurt anyone.” She clutched his arm. “Pray, fetch him. I canna leave him there.”

“I will. Stay here.” He swept a lock of black hair away from Odaria’s face and kissed her cheek. “I will take care of everything.”

He reentered the cottage. Odaria was right. The fire had been no accident. The villagers had burned down her home and killed Chester on purpose. Bastards. The utter silence and stillness in the air surprised him. It seemed as if time had stopped. He listened for the sounds of birds chirping in the distance or the bleating of a sheep, but all he heard were Odaria’s sobs.

He took his time and looked around. A sleeping area was partitioned off to the left, and a small iron pot lay near his feet next to a broken ceramic jar. This little cottage had been a cozy haven at one time, much like his home before it had burned to ashes.

“Don’t dwell on it,” he muttered as he walked to the center beam.

A thick wooden dagger suspended the cat in midair. He placed one hand on Chester’s ribs for support and yanked the dagger out. The stiff, burned body dropped into his outstretched hand. He shuddered. Chester was a big cat, nearly the size of an infant. He fought the urge to throw up. The smell of singed hair, charred wood, and the memories of his own tragedy sickened him. He picked a piece of burlap off the floor and wrapped Chester’s body in it.

He carried the bundle outside and knelt next to Odaria again. She took Chester from him and cradled him in her arms.

“My sweet baby. What did they do to you?” She sobbed as she rocked Chester. “He always slept with me at the foot of the bed and kept me warm at night. He was—”

“I’m sorry, Odaria.” He stood up quickly. He had to leave. Now. He couldn’t bear to hear her sobs of anguish. They reminded him of his own. “I’ll return in a moment.”

He walked around the side of the ruined cottage and nearly gagged. The unmistakable stench of rot assaulted his nostrils. “By Thor’s wrath, what now?” He followed his nose, and the smell of death led him down a small hill. His stomach lurched at the sight in front of him.

Odaria’s goats and sheep had been slaughtered and left where they fell. Flies buzzed around their gaping throats and sightless eyes. The villagers had failed in their attempt to rid the isle of Odaria, but they had succeeded in destroying everything she’d owned. He spotted a small spade lying on the ground. As he picked it up, a light rain began to fall.

He carried the spade to the front of the cottage and glanced at Odaria. She sat hunched over Chester’s body, crying. His heart went out to her. Everything she had ever loved in her life was gone. He silently vowed to make it all up to her the moment he brought her home.

He sat on the ground and stuck the spade into the soft earth. The first spadeful of dirt carried him back three years. His past was never settled. It kept finding new ways to haunt him. Today was no exception. He let the painful memories wash over him as he dug Chester’s tiny grave.

Three years ago, he had returned from a long journey only to find his cottage burnt to cinders. The two people he loved most on earth were dead. One marital indiscretion in six years had wiped out his beloved family.

His fellow villagers had tried to console him, but it was no use. His cottage had caught fire the night before, with Gretta and Rurik trapped inside. The men had dug Gretta’s grave, and he’d held on to his son’s body much as Odaria clung to Chester’s now.

He pitched a rock out of the way as he dug, and he groaned as the rain came down harder. Why must it always rain at the worst times? What he wouldn’t give for one peaceful day on this godforsaken isle. He measured the depth of the hole with the spade and resumed digging.

Another tiny body, another small grave. He had insisted on digging Rurik’s grave and placing him in the earth himself. No other man would touch his only child, the firstborn son who had never grown up to run or play. Rurik’s final resting place hadn’t been much larger than this one. He had only been three months old when he’d died.

Tears mixed with rainwater dripped down his cheeks, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Odaria didn’t deserve this, and neither did her poor cat. They had done nothing wrong. As he finished digging the grave, he bowed his head and said a quiet prayer to the gods. A moment later, he walked to where Odaria sat rocking Chester in her arms.

“I dug a—”

“I know.” She glanced at the muddy spade in his hand. “Thank you. You must think it foolish of me to cry, but Chester was my only friend. He was all I had after my mother—” Odaria burst into tears, and a sudden downpour soaked him to the skin.

He gazed up at the sky. Heavy gray clouds seemed to hover over the cottage. Was it possible that Odaria’s tears drew down the rain?
He knelt on the wet earth and wrapped his arms around Odaria. “I do not think you are foolish. You loved him, and now he’s gone. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you love.” He closed his eyes as the tears he’d kept buried for three years threatened to spill over.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and stood. “Come, let’s lay him to rest,” he said, making his voice sound as gentle as possible.

Odaria rose. “I wish you could have met him before. Do you like cats? Most people do not.”

“Ja, as long as they earn their keep and do not steal food off my table,” he said, hoping his words would soothe her. Gretta had hated cats and refused to let them anywhere near their cottage. She threw rocks at them and called them filthy flea carriers. He had never formed an opinion about them one way or the other, until now.

He led Odaria to the small grave. He looked away as she laid Chester’s body in the hole and lovingly adjusted the burlap around his burned tail. It was almost too much for him to bear.

“Good-bye, Chester. I love you,” Odaria said, then began covering Chester’s body with dirt.

As he looked around, he spotted the heather he’d picked for Odaria lying a few feet from the cottage. She must have dropped it when she saw what remained of her home. He walked over and picked it up, then carried it back to where Odaria was working.

The grave was filled in, and Odaria was stacking large rocks on top of the mound of earth. She had stopped crying. The rain had also subsided, but a gray mist and dark clouds still loomed overhead. Odaria spotted the heather in his hand and nodded. He bent down and placed the flower across the grave.

“Thank you, Rothgar. You have been a comfort to Chester and me. I’m grateful for what you did for us. Not many men would have helped so.”

“I only wish there was more I could do.” He stared at the cottage. Nothing could be salvaged from it. “The goats and sheep are—”

“I expected that. Brennan wouldna keep anythin’ of mine alive. He’d believe it to be hexed or cursed in some way.”

“We ought to return to the village and—”

“Nay. Go without me. I wish to stay here.”

“You should come with me. I would feel better knowing where you are. I can keep—”

“I’ll be fine.” Odaria whirled to face him, the gold flecks in her green eyes shimmering.

Instinctively, he took a step back. He’d seen the same look come over her when she had attacked Brennan. Odaria wasn’t merely saddened over her loss; she was furious.

“I have private matters to attend to. Go back to the village. I shall be fine.”

“Odaria, why don’t you let me—”

“Go!” She closed her eyes. “I do not wish to become angry with you. I merely wish to be left alone.” She looked at him. “Pray understand this.”

He nodded. There was no sense in trying to argue with Odaria. She had lost everything, and she was entitled to her privacy. Sadly, he understood all too well what she must be going through.

“I’ll go back to the gathering hall and wait for you to return.” He touched her shoulder and wasn’t surprised to feel heat radiating from her body. “Be careful, and try not to be long, lest I worry.”

She rested her hands on her hips. “There is no need to worry about me. Worry instead about those who dared to commit this terrible deed.”

Rothgar studied the crude map of the village that Sig had drawn for him. He made a line through the building representing the church. Yesterday, after hearing Odaria talk of being held in a chamber beneath the church, he thought that Brennan might have hidden Orvind there. A complete examination of the building had proven him wrong.

All the cottages in the village and in the outlying areas had been ransacked and searched from top to bottom. Every barn and storage place had been torn apart, and yet there was no sign of Orvind or any of the other missing Nordmenn. Where in the name of Valhalla had Brennan hidden them?

A heavy rumble of thunder shook the gathering hall. He stood and looked out the window. Thick, black clouds blocked out the late-afternoon sun. A big storm was brewing. He frowned and rubbed his beard. Strjonsey was haunted or cursed or both. Strange storms rose up and capsized their sturdy ships; rain appeared from nowhere; mad villagers tried to burn an innocent girl alive … It was no wonder why Odaria desperately wanted to leave this place.

He lit a whale-oil lamp and sat back down. Poor Odaria. She’d been through so much in her young life. How could he ever make it up to her? The wind howled, rattling the shutters. Where was Odaria now? Should he go look for her? He didn’t want her to be out alone in the storm. Damn that Brennan, why did he always cause such trouble for her? After all, he was her—

The door burst open and Haraldur ran into the room. “Rothgar, you must come to the church at once.”

He sprang to his feet. “Has Orvind been found?”

“Neinn,” Haraldur answered, tugging his tunic sleeve. “It’s her, that witch of yours. You must stop her.”

He followed Haraldur outside and glanced at the sky. It was nearly as black as night. The wind whipped in from off the sea, pelting him with bits of sand. He winced as the rain stung his face like needles. “What in the name of Thor is happening?” he shouted to Haraldur as they ran to the center of the village. In all his years, he’d never seen odder weather.

The wind blew stronger, nearly knocking him off his feet as he and Haraldur made their way to the church. A brown cloak blew past him, followed by debris from the campsites. Everywhere he looked, Karnik’s men were clustered in small groups, trying to hold down their tents or keep their cook fires from flying away. They clutched whatever they could find to keep from being blown over or drenched with icy-cold rain. He thought he heard screams in the distance, but he couldn’t be sure. The wind howled so loud that he could barely hear Haraldur shouting next to him.

“None of us dare go near her for fear of our lives.”

The rain and wind grew more powerful as they approached the church. He stopped several yards away and stared at the sight before him.

Odaria stood facing the church with her arms outstretched. She wore a long-sleeved crimson dress and had a dark brown cloak pinned around her shoulders. The wind billowed the cloak behind her like a sail. Where had she gotten those clothes? Everything she owned had been burned up in the fire.

A peal of thunder boomed so loud that he was momentarily deafened. He saw Odaria’s lips moving, but he couldn’t make out her words. Even so, he had a good idea of what she was doing. He followed her gaze to the church, where the villagers hung suspended in the nets.

The villagers screamed for help as the ferocious wind battered the nets against the sides of the stone church. A slice of white-blue lightning lit up the sky. Was Odaria causing this? Could she have such powers?

“The witch is making it rain seawater,” Haraldur exclaimed as a torrent flooded down onto them.

Rothgar licked his wet lips. Indeed, the rain was salty, but it tasted more like tears than seawater. A chill ran down his spine. This was no ordinary storm.

A crash of thunder rattled his heart in his chest, and he looked around. Most of Karnik’s men were staring at Odaria and clutching the silver Mjollnir pendants around their necks. If they didn’t believe in Odaria’s magical powers before, they certainly did now.

Karnik struggled against the wind and approached his side.

“Order her to stop this before she kills us all,” he shouted above another roll of thunder.

He nodded. He still wanted to question the villagers, and for that reason alone, Odaria needed to stop. The villagers would be of no use to him if they were dead. He watched in astonishment as the nets bounced off the sides of the church. The villagers were being battered and beaten as if they were twigs.

He moved to Odaria’s side. Although he could reason with her, he doubted if even he could make her stop if she didn’t want to. As he got closer, he could hear her speaking but couldn’t decipher what she said. Was it an ancient Pict tongue or a special language witches used for spell-casting?

Thunder drowned out her words, but he knew she was cursing the villagers again. What would Odaria do to the people who had taken everything from her? If she killed them all, he’d lose all hope of ever finding Orvind.

“Odaria!”

She held her right arm out, blocking him from coming any closer. The wind died down to a low howl. “Do not come near, Rothgar. I wouldna want to hurt you.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. The gold flecks in her eyes glowed with a light of their own. “Allow me to do what I must.”

The wind increased again as she focused on the villagers. “Those who defiled my home and betrayed me to Brennan shall face my wrath. I’ll see they are punished for their crimes.”

Rothgar watched helplessly as the nets smashed against the sides of the church. A bloody rain dripped down the walls. Now he knew why Odaria had insisted on having some time alone. She wanted to handle her problem in her own way.

Karnik grabbed his upper arm and spun him around. “Do something. Make her stop.”

He glanced into Karnik’s brown eyes and saw a flicker of fear. Karnik was scared. All of his so-called brave warriors looked like frightened children. Odaria might destroy everything and everyone on the isle, but deep down he knew that he was safe from her wrath.

“There is nothing I can do,” he replied. “Stay on her good side, lest I beseech her to direct her powers at you.” He chuckled at the look of terror on Karnik’s face.

The wind and rain suddenly stopped. Rothgar turned in time to see a bolt of lightning strike the top of the church. The purple-pink flash sent all of Karnik’s men yelling and scrambling for cover.

“’Tis your head I wish to take, Brennan. Spare the lives of your followers, and confess your sins. Those who stand loyal to you shall be punished. They will beg for a merciful, quick death.”

Odaria raised her arms over her head and started chanting in her odd, Picttish tongue. The wind whipped up again, this time even stronger than before. The gale sent tents toppling, and a roof from one of the cottages went flying into the air. Hailstones the size of rocks dropped from the black sky. One of the nets filled with screaming villagers spun around in the wind and slammed hard against the church. The people in the net were instantly silenced.

Rothgar watched as a bolt of blue lightning struck the ground next to the church, setting fire to the grass and brush. The wind fanned the orange flames higher, surrounding the church in a ring of fire. All of a sudden, he realized what Odaria was doing. She intended to burn the villagers as they had tried to burn her.

The panicked villagers screamed and prayed for God’s mercy.

Odaria lowered her arms to her sides. Her black hair billowed behind her as the wind carried the deadly fire around the church.

“Odaria …” He reached out to touch her dress sleeve, then snatched his hand back. Heat radiated off her like a hot coal.

She glanced into his eyes as she strode past him. “It needed to be done.”

Odaria pressed the cool cloth to her forehead and closed her eyes. Her skin sizzled, and her blood boiled in her veins. She dipped the cloth into the bowl of water on the dressing table and ran it over her bare breasts and stomach. The cold water did nothing to soothe her.

A wave of sadness overtook her, and she bowed her head. Poor Chester. He had deserved better. Although nearly three hours had passed since she and Rothgar had buried him, she still felt as if the dagger had been driven deep into her own heart.

“Why me? Why did this have to happen? What did I do wrong?” She slid the wet cloth up her legs and blinked back stinging tears. She had nothing now. No cottage, no cat, nothing except the few clothes she’d hidden away in the cairn.

The door burst open and Rothgar stormed into the room. She squealed and clutched the bedclothes to her torso, hiding her nakedness. “Get out. What are you doing, breaking in like so?”

Rothgar slammed the door behind him. “Do you have any idea what you have done?”

“Aye. I did exactly what I wanted.” She sat on the bed and turned her back to Rothgar.

“We barely contained the fire and … What are those marks on your back?”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glanced at Rothgar. “A gift from Brennan and his noble, God-fearing villagers.” Now, more than ever, she wanted to feel Rothgar’s strong arms around her, comforting her. She longed to have him hold her, but she was naked. He would get the wrong idea.

“Tell me of it. What did Brennan do to you?”

“I was held prisoner, bound naked to a cold stone slab. They burned me with candles, froze me with icy water, starved me, beat me, and never let me sleep. They were trying to make me confess.”

Rothgar knelt on the floor and drew her into his arms. She resisted at first, then relaxed against his wide chest. She was safe here.

“They cannot harm you now. What did they wish you to confess to? Being a witch?”

“Nay. I never denied that.” She rested her head against Rothgar’s shoulder. “Brennan wanted me to confess about the bearn, but I wouldna. He said he’d spare my life if I told what I’d done.”

“What bairn?”

She took a deep breath and toyed with the silver pendant hanging from Rothgar’s neck. “A couple wishing to have a child came to me for help. The last three bearn she carried died inside her or came out dead. I brewed a potion that would help keep the little one alive and well until it could be born.”

She paused, recalling Enide’s and Simon’s nervousness on the day of the birth. “’Twas a long and troublesome birthing, quite painful and bloody. When the bearn finally came out, it wasn’t right. The face was malformed, it cried all the time, and it couldn’t suckle. Simon blamed me. He said the child was a demon and that I’d cast a spell upon them. He claimed I’d poisoned his seed and rendered his wife incapable of bearing more children.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I swear to you, Rothgar, I did nothing to harm them.” She looked down and bit her bottom lip. “After that, everyone in the village started spreading rumors about me. They said I caused their goats to stop breeding, soured the milk, and made the men go soft inside their wives. It was horrible. The same people who used to come to me for help and healing threw rocks at me when I went into the village. Brennan ordered me punished for the curses I’d laid upon them.”

Rothgar nodded. “People were quick to forget the good you did.”

“Aye. Brennan went about filling the villagers’ heads with his foul lies about me and me mother. He preached all sorts of rot in that wicked, lying church of his. Nobody dared cross him, especially when he swore to rid the village of the witches.”

“How did you learn this?”

“Me mother told me … before she vanished.” She sniffled. “She said Brennan was preaching against us because we still followed the Old Ways. She warned me that soon it wouldn’t be safe for us to stay here.” She sighed and caressed Rothgar’s thick biceps. “She said we’d have to leave soon, before Brennan got us.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

She swallowed hard. “Because me mother disappeared. She went into the village one day and never came back. There was no way I could leave without her.”

“Did you look for her?”

“Of course. I searched every bit of the isle. I asked everyone in the village if they had seen her, and naturally, they all lied to me. They claimed not to know where she was. But I knew. I knew deep down that someone, most likely Brennan, had killed her. I could feel it. Then when I touched one of her dresses, I knew I was right.”

She fell silent for a minute, then continued.

“One day when I was on my way home from getting water, Brennan and some other men grabbed me and hit me on the head with something. I woke up naked and tied to a stone slab in the church. Brennan had the sick bearn with him. He told me to confess to bewitching the demon child and hexing the village. If I did, my life would be spared.”

“What happened next?”

“The child was weak and barely cried anymore. Brennan …” She broke off and swallowed hard. “He killed it. Right in front of me. That madman put his hand over the baby’s mouth and nose and smothered it.” She sobbed and clutched Rothgar closer.

“Shh, shh, I’m here.”

She cried for a few minutes, then felt Rothgar gently caress her bare back. The touch of his warm hands on her tender skin settled her. She wiped her eyes and looked at him.

“Brennan told everyone in the village that I’d killed the child and was caught carrying the corpse home to use in a spell. They believed every lie he told them. I refused to confess to his crime and swore I would find a way to punish him for what he’d done. After a fortnight, he decided that I should be burnt to rid the village of my evil.” She paused. “Then you came.”

Rothgar nodded. “I see why Brennan deserves to be punished. I know you wish to break his head open, but I need him to tell me where Orvind is hidden. I cannot allow you to harm him or the others.”

Odaria toyed with a tuft of chest hair that curled out of Rothgar’s tunic. “Aye, I know. But after what they did to Chester … I had to do something. I couldna let that go unpunished.” She arched an eyebrow. “Karnik’s men put out the fire?”

“Ja. We had to, else the entire village would have burnt up.” He frowned. “You frightened the wits out of Karnik’s men. I never saw a group of grown Nordmenn so scared. How did you do it?”

She shrugged. “I went to my secret place and thought about all that was done to me. I said a few spells and invoked the gods and goddesses for help. When I stood before the church, I let loose with all the feelings I had.”

“Ja, but how do you make these things happen? Storms, wind, and rain appear from nowhere. Objects hurl themselves about on their own …”

“I’ve always been able to. If I lose me temper and get angry, things crash around me. But if I focus my thoughts and want something bad enough, I can direct my rage. I feel a powerful rush surge through me, and I get boiling hot. Then I go into a daze, and I barely know what I’m saying. The words come from inside me, and things happen as I will them. Afterward when I cool down, I feel so tired.” As she rubbed her temples with her fingertips, the wool blanket slipped down, exposing her breasts. She tried to cover herself, but Rothgar held her wrists.

“Let me admire you.” He pulled away from her and sat back on his heels.

Although she was a bit embarrassed, she felt no need to shield herself. She trusted Rothgar like no other. Before she knew what was happening, Rothgar’s warm mouth covered her left breast. A flash of desire coursed through her, and she groaned.

He suckled her gently, then twirled his tongue around her nipple. The sensation of his mouth working against her flesh sent her senses reeling, and she longed for more. A low moan escaped her throat as he increased the pressure on her breast.

She wrapped her arms around Rothgar’s head and held him to her, arching her back as he devoured her. Her lustful feelings from this morning resurfaced, and she willed him to ease her back onto the bed and make love to her.

After a few minutes, Rothgar moved away. “I thought that would make you feel better,” he said with a wink.

She smiled. “Aye. I do. I’m tingling everywhere, but it isn’t enough.”

Rothgar stroked her cheek with his forefinger. “Then lie back. I will make you feel things you’ve never dreamed of.”

Odaria lay on the bed and closed her eyes. Her entire body felt prickly, and her heart thundered in her chest like a drum. What would Rothgar do next? Would they make love? He was the only man who had ever sparked these desires in her. It felt natural to give herself to him.

She felt a slight chill as Rothgar tugged the wool blanket away from her lower half, exposing her. A tremor of fear rippled through her. “What happens now? I dunno how to do this,” she whispered.

“Fret not, my little witch. We will not make love now. I wish to save that pleasure for tonight.” He chuckled. “But I know how to give you the same pleasures of lovemaking while leaving you intact.”

“How could—?”

She gasped as Rothgar leaned over her and suckled her breast again. The feel of his wet mouth moving against her sensitive skin made her feel dizzy. What could be better than this? Her skin quivered as Rothgar trailed kisses down her ribs and stomach, inching lower with each kiss. What was he doing?

His strong hands massaged her calves, sliding upward until he rubbed her knees, then her thighs. His kisses went lower, tickling her until he reached her lower belly. She moaned and squirmed on the bed. This delightful teasing and touching was something she’d never expected. How did Rothgar know how to make her feel so weak and vulnerable?

Her head swam with passion as Rothgar gently parted her thighs. Her belly tingled, and a warm heat spread between her legs as Rothgar stroked her there. What was he … ?

A pounding on the door shattered their intimate mood. “Rothgar?”

He groaned and shouted something at the man on the other side of the door.

“Who is it? What does he want?”

“Sig. I’m needed downstairs right now,” he grumbled and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry. I know how much you were enjoying it.”

She felt her face flush as she sat up and covered her breasts with her hands. Rothgar was right. She had enjoyed his gentle kisses and the feel of his hands all over her body. Would he continue his affections tonight?

Rothgar pointed to her dress that lay crumpled in the corner. “Put that on and come downstairs. I may need your help. Sig says they have news about Orvind.”

Rothgar followed Sig downstairs. He hated to leave Odaria when they were both so aroused, but it could not be helped. His duty came first. “What is it?”

Sig entered the main room. “See for yourself.”

A leather belt and a gold earring lay on the table. Rothgar picked up the belt and examined it. The circular spirals tooled into the leather told him that it belonged to a Nordmann, but was it Orvind’s? He turned to Sig. “Where did you find it?”

“In a field of grass on the far side of the isle.”

He frowned and glanced at the three other men with Sig. Nils, Erik, and Leif were young and devoutly loyal to Karnik. He wasn’t very fond of them.

Sig cleared his throat, then continued. “There was something else. There’s a—”

Sig’s words froze on his lips, and he took a step back. The men with him moved to the fireplace, their eyes open wide.

“What in the name of Thor is wrong with you?” He looked where they were staring. Odaria stood on the staircase, watching them.

“You’d be wise to rid yourself of the witch, Rothgar. She’s put a hex on the village,” Erik muttered.

He glared at Erik. “Is that what you were told? Who is spreading these lies?”

“It’s not a lie,” Nils said. “Haraldur told me what happened in the village while we were searching for Orvind. There was a powerful storm here, but not a drop of rain fell where we were. That girl is dangerous. She’ll get us all killed.”

Odaria came down the stairs and stood at his side. “What’s happening? What are they saying? ’Tis about me, isn’t it?”

The men backed away, casting her wary glances.

“Who do you think raised the storm that wrecked Orvind’s ship?” Leif asked. “It was that one.” He pointed at Odaria. “And she’s conjured us here to—”

“Shut your mouth. That’s enough.” He looked at Odaria. “These grown men are afraid of you because of what you did at the church.” He gestured at the table. “Sig brought these objects back from the other side of the isle. Touch them, and tell me what you see.”

Odaria shook her head. “I’m not certain that I can. I’m drained from before.”

He looked at Sig and the other men. He was losing what little control he had over them. Karnik’s men were afraid of Odaria and didn’t like her hovering around him. Their relationship was going to cause problems for everyone. But was Leif right? Had one of Odaria’s storms capsized Orvind’s ship? It seemed possible.

“I have done favors for you today. Now try and do as I ask, little witch.”

She nodded. “Aye.”

He watched as Odaria closed her eyes and shook her left hand a few times. A moment later, she trailed her fingers across the belt, then flinched and pulled back.

“You saw something …”

“Nay.” She shook her head. “I told you, I’m tired and—”

“What have you seen? Tell me.”

“Nothing. It was dark. Cold.” She shivered. “It looked like a gra—” She stopped and bit her bottom lip.

A grave? A chill settled over him. Was Orvind buried alive? Or was he long dead?

“This is foolishness, Rothgar,” Erik said, stepping in front of him. “Having the witch touch objects accomplishes nothing. She does not divine from them. She is tricking us.”

“Quiet.” He wouldn’t listen to such nonsense from Erik. He was one of Karnik’s men, and his motives couldn’t be trusted. Karnik was eager to leave the isle and didn’t care about finding Orvind. All Karnik wanted was to sail off and raid so he could bring home more treasures.

He looked at Sig. “What else did you have to tell me? You started to say there was something more.”

“We spotted ruins near where we found the belt. There may have once been dwellings on the far side of the isle. We didn’t explore. We thought you’d want to see them for yourself.”

Ruins? Could Orvind be held prisoner in an abandoned village?

“You will take me there now.” He gave Odaria a quick kiss on the forehead. “I must go with Sig and search where they found the belt. Go upstairs, lock yourself in, and rest until I return.”

To his surprise, she didn’t protest.

“Aye, I need to sleep. I’ve had a long day,” she replied as she headed for the staircase.

He followed Sig and the other men out of the gathering hall.

A feeling of unease plagued him as he walked through the village. Right now, he thought it wise to keep Odaria away from Karnik’s men. Today’s frightening events had not warmed them to her. Not only were they tired of unending searches for Orvind, but they were becoming increasingly bitter toward her. He didn’t like it.

But was he doing the right thing by leaving Odaria behind? Although she had proven that she could take care of herself, she was weak now. If there was any sort of trouble while he was gone …

He looked over and caught Erik and Leif exchanging glances. Were the men plotting something against him? Even though he was a powerful jarl, his status didn’t automatically earn him the respect or obedience of Karnik’s men. Little by little, he was falling out of favor with everyone.

He cast a wary glance at Erik. Perhaps he should have brought Odaria along. At least she could have sensed if he was being led into a trap.

“Blessed gods, show mercy on me and let me find Orvind here.” Rothgar followed Sig over a rise and through a grassy field. The discovery of the Norseman’s belt in the abandoned Pict village had raised his hopes. Certainly Orvind would be found here, bound and gagged, hidden away in some forgotten cottage that hadn’t been explored.

He sighed. Orvind had to be here; he just had to be. Why else would the Fates have delivered this information to him? Perhaps the gods had finally decided to stop toying with him and grant him this one favor. Odaria said that Orvind had reached the isle. The forgotten village was close to the shore, and it would make a good hiding place.

His hopes faded as he came up over another small hill and spotted the abandoned village. He let out a deep sigh. It was in ruins. A light fog cloaked everything in murky grayness. A low stone wall surrounded what once appeared to be a large village. Rotted thatched cottages lay collapsed on the ground, swallowed by the knee-high grass and weeds.

He tried to shake off the damp heaviness in the air. Nothing moved here. There was no sound from anything alive, just the wind whistling through the deserted skeletons of buildings. The village had a thick, ominous feel to it. It felt like he was standing in a nightmare—only he was awake, and this was real.

His attention was drawn to a tall wooden beam that stood in the center of the old village. Its base had been scorched. The grass around it was black and charred. His mind flashed back to the bonfire on the beach and Odaria’s plight. Had Brennan tried to burn someone else?

The wind blew across the field, carrying the sweet, sickly stench of rotted flesh to his nostrils. He gagged and tried not to breathe.

He stepped over the crumbling stone wall and stood in the grass. Gray clouds blocked out the sun, and a chill washed over him. Restless spirits roamed here. For a moment, he imagined he knew what Odaria felt when she’d seen the drowning man in her vision. If she was with him now, what would she feel? What horrors could she tell him of this place?

“Do you smell it?” Nils asked. “It’s death.”

“Ja. Let’s split up and search. Look for any sign of Orvind. He may be tied up and unable to answer our calls.” He looked at Sig. “The man who finds him will be rich upon his return home. The reward offered is great.”

“But Rothgar, there’s no one here,” Erik said. “It’s abandoned. It’s a graveyard.”

“That may be.” He looked at Erik. “Are you such a coward that you fear a few ghosts?”

“Neinn, but—”

“Then get to work.”

Erik and Leif looked at each other, then headed for a cluster of thatched cottages.

He watched as Nils and Sig wandered off toward a large building. The cool wind blew around him, sending another blast of stench to his nostrils. Erik was right. This place was a graveyard. He didn’t need a witch’s powers to tell him that it was haunted.

“Rothgar, come here,” Nils shouted.

He followed the sound of his voice and raced over the small hills dotting the village. After a moment, he found Nils standing behind what once had been a building. He was gazing at the ground, his eyes wide.

“What is it?”

“A body,” Nils croaked out, then spun away, coughing.

“Who is it?” Sig said, rushing to his side.

Rothgar frowned and scratched his beard. “Not sure. There’s no head. But it was one of us.” He stared down at the body in disbelief. Someone had cleaved off the man’s head. Who would do such a vile thing?

As Leif and Erik arrived, he bent down to get a better look at the body. The corpse wore a dark red tunic. Only after studying it closely did he realize that the sleeves of the tunic were yellow. The top and back were stained red with blood. The man’s hands were tied behind his back, and someone had hacked off all his fingers.

“I don’t like this place. It’s cursed. We should go back,” Leif said, his voice trembling.

He straightened up and took a minute to gather his thoughts. Men from the Norse ship were brought here and killed, even tortured. But for what purpose? Revenge? Pleasure? Was this more of Brennan’s work?

He looked at Sig. “Keep searching. I want every bit of this village explored.” Each moment he remained in the village, his hope of finding Orvind alive faded. Yet he couldn’t ignore the feeling that Orvind was nearby—though perhaps only in spirit.

Rothgar swallowed the last bit of mead in his drinking horn, then slammed it to the table. From the moment he’d landed on Strjonsey, nothing had gone right. He was a miserable failure and a pathetic waste of a man.

A noise on the staircase caught his attention, and he turned in time to see Odaria come down the steps. Her hair was tangled, and she looked like she’d just woken up.

“What are you doing down here? It is late. You ought to be in bed.”

“I slept for hours after you left. Where did you go?” She sat in a chair next to him and glanced at the nearly empty pitcher of mead. “What are you doing sitting here alone in the dark?”

“What does it look like? I’m getting good and drucken.” He refilled the drinking horn and took a healthy gulp of mead.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” He banged his fist on the table. Odaria’s eyes widened, and he immediately regretted the violent action. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” He ran his hand across his face and rubbed his beard. He didn’t want to start an argument with Odaria. She was the only light in his miserable life.

Why was his world filled with nothing but troubles? The trip to the ruined village had been a waste of time. He’d spent two hours searching that foul place. And for what? Orvind wasn’t there. They had discovered the bodies of nine dead Norsemen, bits of hack silver, and a dagger. After exploring the village and the surrounding area, they had dug a mass grave with their swords and buried the men properly.

To make matters worse, Karnik had been waiting for him when he’d returned earlier this evening. Once again, they’d gotten into another heated discussion about their stay here. His men grew more restless every hour and longed for the sea and new adventures.

“Karnik and his men are sailing to Vestrey tomorrow, to raid,” he said. “Upon their return, they will hold a victory celebration.”

Odaria nodded, and he continued.

“After what happened today, Karnik’s men fear you, and they resent me for making them search for Orvind. The few men I trusted have been poisoned by Karnik’s talk of leaving to find gold and treasures. Even Sig and Haraldur are eager to sail off. To them, I’m nothing but a fool who has been entranced into staying here with you.” He poured more mead into his drinking horn. “I’ve failed again.”

“Why do you keep saying that? What happened when you left this afternoon?”

“We went to an abandoned village to search for Orvind. But it was for naught.”

“Why? Was there nothing to be found?”

“Neinn, little witch. We found death and ghosts everywhere. It is a good thing you stayed behind. You would have been ill if you had seen the bodies piled up.” He let out a long breath. “Orvind was not there. He’s not anywhere. Any idiot can see that this is a hopeless quest.”

“But you canna give up. What about Orvind? He’s out there somewhere waiting to be rescued. Force Brennan to tell you where—”

“You said yourself that Brennan is a liar. Even if he knows where Orvind is, do you think he’ll tell me? I’ve searched everywhere. Orvind might be dead and floating in the sea for all I know. I never wanted to come here, and now I’ll be heading home in shame, as a useless disgrace.”

He finished his mead and poured himself another. Getting drunk wouldn’t solve his problems, but at least he’d be able to sleep and not be haunted with terrible dreams tonight.

Odaria rested her hand on his arm as he brought the horn to his mouth. “That doesna sound like you, Rothgar. You do not give up.”

“Well, I have. I’m tired of fighting. I’m not the man I used to be.” He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I once was a fierce and respected warrior, bold in deed and word, much like you were today,” he said as he offered the drinking horn to her.

Odaria took a small sip of mead and handed the horn back to him.

“At home, I’m a powerful jarl.” He noticed her puzzled expression and explained. “A wealthy landowner and farmer. I’m on the king’s retainer and council. I collect his fines and dues and fight for him whenever and wherever he says. He sent me here to find Orvind.”

He sipped more mead and wiped his beard as some of the golden liquid dribbled down his chin. “Now I must sail home and report not only that Karnik’s have men betrayed me but that I’ve failed in my mission.”

Odaria covered his hand with hers and gazed into his eyes. From the way she looked at him, he knew she was smitten. She was sweet, yet she had a fighting spirit that he admired greatly. He’d never met another woman like her. Perhaps the gods had sent him here to find Odaria instead of Orvind.

“Why not put the drink down and come upstairs? You have had a long day, and a good night’s rest will—”

“I will not sleep a wink. My dreams will be plagued.”

Odaria scowled. “How do you know?”

“They always are when I dig graves.”

Odaria gasped and sat back in the chair. “Rothgar, must we speak of today’s tragedy? I wish to—”

“I was not referring to Chester,” he muttered, then swallowed another swig of mead. Right now, he didn’t care that it tasted too warm and bitter. If he drank enough, he would fall into a blissful stupor and not dream.

He glanced at Odaria and frowned. Should he tell her? Probably. After all they’d been through together, she deserved to know about his past.

“Three years ago, I dug a similar grave … for my son.”

“Your son?” She gasped. “You’re married?”

“I was. She died as well. Rurik was merely three months of age when I placed him in the ground.”

Odaria stood and walked behind him. She draped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry. How did it happen?” she whispered in his ear.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I killed them.”