Walpurgis Night (12 page)

She sipped at it carefully.
“Nay.
It merely takes some adjusting to the taste, and the way it burns.”

Much conversation and laughter occurred during the meal.
Henrik
translated some of the jests so she could share in their amusement, though in truth, many of them made little sense to her. Nonetheless she tried to smile and be gracious. With
Henrik’s
help in translating, his father asked about her and the town, her family, how long she’d been a healer and how she’d learned it.

He expressed sorrow to learn she had no parents or other relatives then stunned her by telling her, through
Henrik
, that she must consider himself and his sons as her family. Should she ever be in need of anything, any help he could give, she must come to him.
Fianna
was touched by the obvious genuineness of the offer. There was some comfort in knowing she could believe in that promise and call on it if needed. She thanked him in turn for it.

The most difficult and most precious part of the evening, though, was being close to
Henrik
, talking with him, accepting morsels of food from him, watching him eat and drink. It might well be the last time she did so. Whatever the dagger might have shown, she had doubts she’d see him again after the morrow. She stored each view of him, each action,
each
expression to be a comfort to her when he was no longer present. But otherwise she tried to bury the sorrow deep within. These people deserved better from her than morose acceptance of their hospitality.

She believed she succeeded, as no one seemed to notice anything amiss. Whenever she met a set of eyes around the table, the owner would smile at her, often saluting her with an upraised cup or piece of bread. She tried to acknowledge the greeting in like fashion.

The meal lasted far into the night with courses being brought one at a time and allowed to settle somewhat before the next appeared. By the time it ended,
Fianna
was so full she could barely move and so tired
she
could scarce keep her eyes open. She felt lightheaded and dizzy as well, probably from the mead.

People finally began to rise and filter out.
Henrik
saw how sleepy she was getting and excused them both from the table, saying goodnight to his father. She was so woozy by
then,
she barely remembered making the trip from the longhouse to
Henrik’s
home. Nor did she recall later how she’d gotten out of her clothes and into bed.

She woke in the morning with
Henrik’s
arms around her and a feeling of dread anticipation hanging over her. This day she would leave and likely never see him again. Though he hadn’t said when he would go, she imagined he wouldn’t delay long now that his time had arrived. It was spring, as well—a good time for setting out on long journeys.

Before they rose, he held her and made long, slow, sweet love to her. As if he needed to memorize each inch of skin, each move, he stroked her up and down with infinite patience and gentleness, touching every sensitive spot, kissing her all over until the need he could always rouse was screaming for unity with him. She stroked him as well, filling her senses with the feel of his flesh and hair, the scent of his body, the sound of his low moans of pleasure. She savored each one as a treasure to be guarded.

When he moved over her and filled her, she kept her eyes open, drinking in the sight of him as the exquisite pleasure tightened his features. She watched his face, hoarding the love she saw there. He slid into the final, stretched moments of highest tension before it let go with the release of his seed into her. Only then did she close her eyes. His last powerful stroke drove her over the edge as well, sending her to that soul-shattering place of jolting, shuddering joy.

Afterward they lay together quietly for a while. Neither of them wanted to move and end their final moments of private connection, but eventually the increasing light forced them into action.

They dressed quickly and broke their fast on warm porridge ladled from a large pot simmering in his father’s house. Then the two young men who’d been with
Henrik
at the equinox festival arrived, dressed in riding gear and weapons. They’d brought
Henrik’s
horse along with them.

Before they left,
Ranulf
emerged from the other room, standing shakily, a man and woman positioned on either side of him for support. With
Henrik
translating, he added his thanks and reiterated the promise for himself that she could at any time ask him for help and it would be granted. She kissed his cheek and warned him to take care and not try to do too much until he was stronger. Then she went outside with
Henrik
to the horses.

Fianna
had an alarming moment of
déjà vu
when they lifted her onto the horse behind
Henrik
, but she wound her arms around him and held on tight all the way back to town. The trip didn’t take nearly long enough.

Their journey through town to Marla’s house again attracted attention, but no one followed them. When they reached the place, all of the men dismounted, but only
Henrik
accompanied her inside. Marla wasn’t there, and
Fianna
was absurdly grateful since it gave them one last private moment for their farewells.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her, but only briefly. “I know not when I’ll be setting out,” he said, “but I hope it will be soon. Do not forget, though, if you have trouble or need anything, you can go to my father for protection.”

“I won’t forget,” she promised. “I won’t forget you either.”

“Nor will I forget you. However far I sail, you will always ride with me in my heart.”

“And you will have a home here in mine always.”

He turned quickly and walked out the door. She watched him go directly to his horse, mount swiftly and ride away.

Chapter Twelve

The days were long, the weeks endless. Time moved slowly through the next fortnight, as thought it were a frozen river struggling toward the sea. Without
Henrik
her life seemed without purpose, without interest, without anything to hold her attention. She treated the sick and wounded, attended the dying, helped Marla with a difficult birth. None of it seemed to have the importance to her it held before. Where once this work had been the way she found value and purpose in life, now it seemed empty. Not that the intrinsic worth of her efforts had changed, but she had learned how much more there was to life. Having discovered the possibility of a soul-deep connection with another human being, its withdrawal left her with an aching hollowness inside.

And through it all ran the need to make a decision that would affect the course of the rest of her life. The choices were few and none of them excited her. Her thoughts continually turned to
Henrik
and what he might be doing at the time. She could almost picture him at the helm of his ship, sailing the waters, looking for new lands. She wondered what it felt like to be on a ship on the ocean.

She periodically ran into
Artur
, Jerrod and
Keovan
, occasionally as a group, more often singly.

When she met them together, they glared at her but made no effort to stop or interfere. Clearly someone had warned them about their behavior and they’d taken the admonition to heart.

Each of the men sought her out on various occasions and attempted to woo her in their individual ways.

Jerrod boasted of his strength, his stamina,
his
future expectations of being important in the town. He wooed her with promises that he’d protect her from all dangers and build her a home that would make her the envy of every woman in town.

She thought of
Henrik’s
size and strength, his ability to lead the men of his town. No one could ever protect her half as well as he could.

Artur
reminded her again of the size of his equipment and swore he would satisfy her sexually as no other man could.
Fianna
fought down the temptation to laugh, but knowing it would be cruel as well as impolitic, she managed to keep her face in order and listened to him with an expression of mild interest.

Keovan
again offered the necklace, as well as satins and laces and leather for fine clothing and dreams of future riches.

Henrik
was off chasing adventure and riches, perhaps not gold or silver, but experience, knowledge, new sights and sounds. For a moment she visualized herself on the boat beside him as they sailed into the harbor of a strange and grand city unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

Even Walter, the blacksmith’s apprentice, came to her one day while she was out in back of the house, digging in the garden. The big, hulking, awkward young man took the shovel from her and made short work of turning the dirt. She brought him water and food in thanks. He smiled, but when it came time to make his pitch, he was too abashed to say even a word. Instead he took her hand and sat, looking at her with large, pleading eyes. He finally stood up and moved to leave, clearly frustrated and unhappy with himself. She stopped him and thanked him. Her smile and kind words turned his attitude around, and he left, humming softly to himself.

Of the four choices,
Fianna
felt Walter might be the best. Though he was slow of thought and speech, his heart was good. He wouldn’t repulse her. She might manage to live with the rest.

She wished there were more choices. Never before had she thought of the town as too small, too constricting, but now she felt
its
collective will wrapping around her and squeezing.

More and more she thought about
Henrik
and longed to be with him, whether here or off sailing the world.

But she was a healer with important work to do. The town needed her.

The town would exile her did she not choose to settle down with some young man. The town valued its peace above her talent for treating the sick and injured. Perhaps she might as well have chosen to go off with
Henrik
on his adventuring.
If he would have allowed it.

Too late to think on such now, though.
He’d surely have already set off.

Time moved too slowly most of the time as the empty minutes and hours dragged. Yet it sped all too quickly to a day when she’d have to make a decision and face the consequences of her choice.

It arrived before she was prepared to face it. Though she knew what her choice would be,
Fianna
still felt no joy or enthusiasm for the prospect of embracing it and committing to it.

On that final day while others made excited preparation for the May Day celebrations on the morrow,
Fianna
kept to herself, working in the garden and organizing her herbs.

Artur
, Jerrod and
Keovan
each sought her out to make one last attempt to woo her and discover whether he was her choice. She gave none of them any encouragement nor did she discourage them. She listened to their speeches, nodded, smiled for them, but told them nothing. When
Artur
tried to steal a kiss, she kept herself still and unmoving until he realized she would not be cajoled in that way.

Night fell at last and a bonfire was lit in the town center. Musicians warmed up their instruments and fell to playing happy, dancing melodies. Food and wine were passed around.
Fianna
stood at the side of the town square, away from the bulk of the crowd, and watched, unable to join in the revels.

After a while Alfred and a group of the town’s most influential people stepped up to the dais where the musicians played. When Alfred raised his hand, the music stopped. Drawn by the sudden cessation, people turned to see what was happening. Laughter and conversation died out. A hush spread over the gathered group.
Fianna’s
heart began to pound faster and harder.

“We have an important piece of business to take care of this evening before we can return to the celebration,” Alfred announced to the crowd. “Some weeks ago, a young woman of this town was made aware that she was causing a disruption to our peace and unity. She was told that on this night she would have to make a decision in order to keep the harmony of our town.”

He waited a moment, clearly enjoying being the center of attention. “
Fianna
, daughter of
Eislinn
, come forward.”

She drew a deep breath and moved toward the dais. Her legs felt rubbery, and she wondered that they held her up. She passed Marla. The woman gave her a nod of support.

As she walked into the space in front of the dais that had been cleared for her, she noticed that the candidates for her hand were pressing forward as well.
Artur
, Jerrod and
Keovan
pushed through the group to be near the front. Walter stood nearby, watching patiently.

Alfred raised his voice again. “
Fianna
, have you made a choice?”

She had to clear her throat to get rid of the lump in it before she could answer. “I have.”

Chapter Thirteen

Another group of men was also making their way through the crowd toward her.
Tall, fair, two of them very blond.
Norsemen.
One of them looked like… Was it possible? Her breath caught again when she recognized
Henrik
, accompanied by a recovered
Ranulf
and the two other companions who’d been with him at the previous bonfire. Surely
Henrik
should have left by then. Why was he here?

Alfred had waited for her to continue, but when she didn’t, he prompted, “Who is your choice, then?”

A possible answer occurred to her, but it was so absurd, so truly ridiculous, she hardly dared even consider it. Still…

“May I have a moment to ask a question?”
Fianna
requested. “It will not take long.”