Idunn's Apples

"Yes, what is it?" they asked in unison, prompting a shared glance and a smile from both.

The man removed his cap. "There is a visitor at the gate, an old man strangely dressed in an outlandish way-"

"A stranger? A Viking?" asked Ingrid.

"None of us know him. He does not look like your kinsmen, Lady Ingrid."

"Bring him here," she commanded.

"Wait!" shouted Morag, as the stable hand turned to follow the orders that he'd been given. "Ingrid, he could be a king's man sent to check on the outcome of the poisoning. Or, he could be a brigand, hoping to be hired on by Lord Olaf."

"And in either case if he should spy the lack of healthy Viking warriors about the keep it could bode ill for us," agreed Ingrid. "We cannot simply send him back out to the freezing cold. An honest visitor is treated with honour and dignity."

"Can you wake your father? And rouse as many Vikings as possible? Men who can be trusted to hide their weakness while a curious and observant visitor is amongst us?"

Ingrid nodded. "You entertain our guest and see what you can learn from him. I'll see to the rest."

Ingrid left the table, hiked up her skirt, and ran up the stairs. Morag sent the stable hand off to open the gate for the visitor, then summoned another servant to collect her cloak so she might meet the man in the courtyard. Ingrid would need time to prepare their ruse.

Chapter 23: An Impossible Quest

Wrapped in her lush, fur-lined cloak, Morag was still shivering in the cold as she waited in the centre of the courtyard. A cruel wind blew down and swirled about, lifting painful slivers of ice and snow from both the ground and the stone walls.

Many of the servants kept to braziers and small fires scattered outside of buildings, or had found duties to keep them occupied inside and out of the frigid cold. There was a delay at the gatehouse. Bound up in furs and cloaks as everyone was, many of which were coated in a silvery frost, it was impossible for Morag to tell who was who until an arm pointed in her direction and one figure using a large walking stick-a staff perhaps-came ambling toward her.

She waited patiently, trying to give Ingrid as much time as possible to prepare for the visitor. "Greetings to the keep of Lord Olaf," she said with a small curtsey. "And who has come to visit us on this cold winter's day?"

The man looked up at her, revealing the face of a mature man, though not one yet in his middle-age. He was handsome enough, and his eyes searched her carefully. "A simple visitor sent to try your patience, lady, nothing more. May I be allowed in out of the cold?"

"In a moment or two, sir. You did not answer my question."

"Strange hospitality, lady," said the man, tilting his head so he could look meaningfully at the door to the inner keep. "I am no brigand or thief, if that is what you fear. Although, I trust that with a keep full of armed Vikings you have little fear of hedge robbers. May we go in? It is not polite to keep one waiting out in this freezing wind."

"Very well, sir."

Morag led him to the door, then paused before opening it. She struggled to think of some further discussion or line of questioning that would delay their entry but came up empty-handed. She pushed open the door and stepped inside. A servant hurried to her and took her cloak and gloves. A second approached the stranger, but he merely waved the man away then shook himself to free his own cloak of ice and snow.

"Follow me," she advised. Morag led him slowly across the entryway, then pushed open the doors to the great hall. To her relief, a half dozen Vikings sat within, all by Olaf, and the lord of the keep appeared alert although somewhat put off by this unexpected visitor.

"Lady Morag?" called out Lord Olaf. His voice faltered but she thought it only audible to one who knew him well. "Who has come begging for a place by the hearth?"

Morag bowed to the Viking chieftain. "He would not give his name, though I asked."

The man brushed past her and approached the main table. "I have come seeking courtesy, food, and warmth, as any stranger may demand of a lord. Have you forgotten your ways, Lord Olaf? Do you now cast out guests to die in the snow?"

Morag's brow furrowed at the unexpected brashness of this stranger, but the Vikings seemed almost embarrassed by the words. Ingrid leapt to her feet.

"I shall set a place for you and pour fine honey mead into your drinking horn, stranger. My father did not raise me to be discourteous to visitors." She waved to a pair of serving women who ran forth and placed meat and bread upon the table across from Olaf. Then she lifted a jug from a platter and stood by, waiting for the man to sit and eat.

The stranger nodded, then slowly made his way to the indicated place and sat. Ingrid lifted a horn from the table, filled it from the jug, and handed it to the man. He nodded to her and took a long drink. He emptied the horn then set it beside his plate. He then sampled the food and ate some of the bread and meat.

Morag raised her eyebrows at Ingrid and nodded to the jug of mead she held. The Viking woman merely smirked and gave the stranger a thoughtful stare.

"You must understand, stranger," began Olaf, rubbing his beard thoughtfully, "that I am a man who only lately took control over these lands, and the local king has indicated he does not fully...appreciate what I offer with my lordship. We are wary because we must be so."

"It is wise to be cautious, Lord Olaf," said the stranger between chews. "And you have followed tradition and welcomed a stranger to your table as your manners demand." Morag noted that his eyes darted around the room, taking everything in.

"And yet you have not told us who you are, nor why you are here," reminded the Viking chieftain.

The stranger nodded. Then he threw back his hood, revealing a head shaved bald on its top in the fashion of some Christian monks. "I know of your legends and beliefs, Lord Olaf. I have heard the story of how Lord Odin visited various people and those who did not welcome the stranger to their home were punished, while those who were most courteous were rewarded." He wiped his hands upon his traveling cloak. "I'll take another drink of honey mead, if your pretty daughter is willing to favour me."

Ingrid frowned, but poured into the drinking horn again when it was held before her. Then she hurried around the table to stand beside her father. She raised her eyebrow at Morag, and suddenly the southern woman understood that this had been a test of the man's purpose, for no-one who knew of the poison plot would so freely drink the mead in the keep.

The stranger laughed. "You have nothing to fear from me, lady. Odin sought favours of a different kind than I speak of."

Ingrid looked about in embarrassment. Morag walked around the table and stood on Olaf's other side.

"It's her that I've come for," nodded the monk.

Morag's mouth dropped open. What kind of people were these Vikings that their rules of hospitality allowed a stranger to demand the intimate company of an honourable woman?

Ingrid sputtered. "And you shall not have her either!"

"Calm yourselves, ladies. I do not seek the charms of either of you, although, I freely admit that your loveliness makes my vows of celibacy seem less appetizing than they once did." He stood and removed his cloak, sprinkling the table with water as he did so. "Sister Lianna has sent me here to retrieve her niece."

The room went silent.

"I have no aunt, brother. Why have you really come?" asked Morag suspiciously.

He stared at her for a few seconds. "Sister Lianna is the sister of your father, Lord MacLint. She took the habit before you were born, to escape a bad marriage from what I have heard. Prior to your father's departure and unfortunate demise he sent a letter asking her to take responsibility over you and to protect you. Word passes slowly, and now I am here under the urgent request of Sister Lianna to remove you from this keep before the Vikings reach it."

Morag raised an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "Word passes slowly."

Olaf turned toward her. "Do you deny his words and call him liar?"

"I...I believe my father did mention the name Lianna once. It was several years ago, and I took it to be the name of some old acquaintance. Perhaps...I cannot say that he is lying, Lord Olaf."

"I am not lying, Lady Morag. I have no proof but my word, I'm afraid. Sister Lianna mentioned to me that she has never set her eyes upon you. However, I find myself in a much more difficult situation than I anticipated before I set out." He leaned back and eyed each one of the Vikings in the room. "If you wish to leave with me, Lady Morag, I doubt I have the ability to force the matter with the master of the keep."

"You could return to your king and declare that the girl is held against her will by cruel Vikings," offered Olaf. Morag stared at him in surprise.

"And that would still not free Lady Morag, should you choose to hold on to her, Lord Olaf," answered the monk. "And, I know that while the Limping King is not the most able of generals, he does have an army and is summoning more to him even now. My king would not appreciate the bloodshed that would come from such untruthful words."

"And how do you know those words to be untruthful?" asked Ingrid, suspiciously. "You seem to know much of what occurs here."

"I'm no spy, if that is your concern, lady. Lady Morag greeted me outside the walls of the inner keep and I saw no Vikings until I entered the great hall. She easily could have fled with me and none but her loyal servants stood in our way. The stables were at hand, containing more than a couple of horses judging by the sounds and smells. Lady Morag chooses to stay. However, she does not avail herself of an opportunity to leave when it presents itself." He folded his hands upon the table. "My quest is in danger of failing."

Morag and Ingrid exchanged a look.

"How long do you intend to stay?" asked Olaf.

"As long as it takes to complete my quest, Lord Olaf."

"And yet you believe she stays of her own will."

"Yes. You may think me a fool, but I have sworn an oath to her aunt that I will do everything I can to bring her niece safely to her.

"She is free to go," stated the Viking chieftain, to everyone's surprise.

"Father?" asked Ingrid.

"She is?" asked the monk in disbelief.

Morag bit her lip. "If I leave now, I will leave the servants unprotected, monk."

"Please, Lady Morag, call me Brother Jacob."

"My people need me," she reiterated. "I can't leave now."

"Then," the monk said, glancing at Lord Olaf, "with the permission of the lord of the keep, I will remain until Lady Morag has walked out of this keep beside me or it has been firmly established beyond all doubt that my quest is fruitless."

Olaf stared at the monk. Then he rose to his feet, slowly. Ingrid, in a too-visible show of support, grabbed his arm and helped to steady him. "Then you shall stay as my guest, Brother Jacob."

Chapter 24: Sharing a Bed Again

A couple of days later, Morag spied Snorri heading in the direction of his sleeping chamber. She found a window showing the darkness outside the keep, and hurriedly combed her hair with her fingers while considering her reflection. She smiled, and was pleased with what she saw.

Her soft shoes struck the stone floor with an unusual volume as she walked along the hall. A Viking warrior walked toward her, then respectfully backed against the wall to allow her to pass. Morag nodded in acknowledgement, then continued on her way. Two serving girls approached. Morag's cheeks warmed. They curtsied, then stepped aside while keeping their eyes on the floor.

She could feel their eyes upon her back and could hear their faint giggles as she left them. They knew where she was going, and it burned her up inside to have the servants gossip about her intrigues. Her hands closed into fists. She nearly whirled upon the girls in a fury, but this would not serve her or Snorri. Far better that she should be serene and ladylike as she went into his chamber.

And then she was there. The portal stood before her, an impossible barrier made of oak. Morag breathed deeply. She glanced this way and that down the corridor. In the distance there were footsteps, great thumping ones that could only belong to a large man. She debated whether it was wiser to wait patiently outside Snorri's door until the interloper departed, or to knock and hope she was taken inside before she was observed.

Her hand rose and she rapped once, very lightly.

The footsteps came closer. Morag glanced nervously toward the sound, staring at the bend in the corridor around which some Viking warrior would soon come. Snorri's door opened suddenly.

"I thought I heard a bird's peck upon the door, lady!" he exclaimed.

"I..." Morag hesitated as the sound of footsteps drew closer to the turn in the hall, "I have come for you, Snorri." There was a shadow of movement. She pushed her way in quickly, and Snorri closed the door.

"And why have you come to visit my chamber?" he asked, with an air of great indifference. He was clothed in a simple shirt and breeches and ran his hand through his uncombed hair.

Morag wrung her hands. Would the Viking in the hall be coming to visit Snorri? "I thought that perhaps you were readying for bed-"

"And I was," he offered, waving a hand at the unkempt blankets strewn across his bed. "But I thought we had discussed an arrangement, Morag?"

She rushed forward and straightened the blankets. "I am here to serve and ease you to sleep, Snorri. Is that not what a wife does?"

He nodded once. Then he pulled his woollen shirt over his head revealing a large muscular chest. His leggings came off next, and Morag's eyes wandered over to him more than once as she readied the bed for him. At last he stood nude beside the bed. She sighed quietly as she remembered his earlier statement about being uninterested in women. She lifted the covers and he laid himself down.

"Have you any idea who put the poison into the mead, Morag?"

"None. Ingrid and I have wracked our minds and come up with nothing."

Snorri clasped his hands behind his head and grinned at her. "If the villain strikes again, more may die."

"I know it. Much blood could be spilled. Your father can only keep the men in check for so long, especially when they are being struck down by an unknown foe." She sat upon the bed. "You do not seem afraid, Snorri."

"All men die," he said with a shrug. "I would prefer it happen in battle, so the Valkyrie would come and carry me to Valhalla, but the Norns have all our fates sewn up and what happens, happens."

"You sound like that monk," she said, laughing.

"I like him," Snorri admitted. "He has no fear. And he doesn't insult us when we refuse to be doused in water."

Morag stood. She stared at Snorri. Her hands rose to the front of her gown, beneath her throat. Delicate fingers tugged at strings, opening the fabric until it was loose enough that she was able to slide it over her shoulders and down. He watched as the dress slowly slid the length of her thighs and disappeared from his vantage point.

"The nights are cold, Snorri."

"You're welcome to share my bed, Morag. Two will keep it warmer than one."

She slipped between the sheets, then cuddled up against him. Warily, she lifted her right leg and put it over his. Then she stretched her arm across his chest. Surely he could feel every inch of her pressed up against him? Yet, he did not move. Nor did he push her away.

She waited patiently, hoping that his ardour would rise. Minutes passed. Snorri's breathing slowed. Beneath her arm, his heart beat also slowed. He snored.

Morag bit her lip in frustration. Surely any other man would have taken her by now! Remembering what had happened when she had once before shared his bed, she waited. Should she reach down and coax his member? Would Snorri awaken enough to roll over onto her and thrust?

Indecision kept her still long enough that she, too, soon fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter 25: Another Unexpected Visitor

Morag and Ingrid strolled down the hall as they whispered about possible culprits. Neither had come up with anything concrete, but there had also been no further poison hidden in the food. If the poisoner had fled, who had it been? Everyone seemed accounted for.

They rounded a corner when Morag spied Brother Jacob talking with the cook. She and Ingrid froze, desiring that none should hear their conversation, though Morag waved at the monk to join them. She frowned as she spied the cook grab the man's arm to keep him from answering her summons. Had that woman forgotten her place as a servant?

"...biding his time. Don't you agree?" asked Ingrid.

Morag stared at the raven-haired woman in confusion. "I'm sorry. My mind was afield." She turned to the monk. "Brother Jacob!" she summoned him urgently.

The cook, pushing a grey strand of hair away from her face, glanced at the monk then whispered a last few words. Shaking his head, the monk came and joined the two ladies of the keep.

"My apologies, Ladies Ingrid and Morag," he said with a deep bow. "Noreen was quite insistent that she should know of the fate of her husband, but I was unable to tell her anything definite."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow at Morag.

"Her husband fights still for the king," the blonde woman explained. "She doted over him when he was here, and cried often after he left with my father. She was sent word but once, detailing how he had survived the battle where my father was slain."

"She should be off with him!" declared Ingrid.

Brother Jacob smiled beatifically. "She does indeed wish to join him, as would any wife. However, even though I have visited the king's camp in the last several months I could tell her nothing of her husband's condition or whereabouts."

"Enough of this, Brother Jacob," chided Morag. "Ingrid and I wished to discuss something with you." She glanced at Ingrid.

The Viking woman took a deep breath. "You must remain silent about what we are about to tell you, monk. Shortly before you arrived, someone poisoned the mead."

"And they slew a servant who had discovered the poisoning," added Morag.

The monk raised his eyebrows in alarm. "The very same mead you offered to me when I arrived?"

"A test," stated Ingrid coldly, "to determine if you knew something of the plot and had come to see its effects. Think nothing of it."

The monk rubbed his throat thoughtfully. "Then...you wonder if I have learned anything of the poison since my arrival?"

Morag nodded eagerly. "Some may think it safe to confide in you, forgetting you are not a priest."

He shook his head. "No-one has said a thing to me of slipping poison into any food or drink. I have been told of the poisoning, but had thought it a distant event."

"Lady Morag!" interrupted a servant. The three turned to the old man. "You are summoned to the great hall by the master of the keep."

They hurried away, as the messenger left to return to his post by the gate. In the great hall were a small number of Vikings playing at wrestling and throwing rune stones. Olaf stood by an elderly man dressed in patched furs and leathers.

"Lady Morag!" called out Lord Olaf. "Do you recognize this man?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Indeed I do, Lord Olaf! He is Gerald, husband to the woman who was my nursemaid when I was but an infant." She turned to Gerald and took his thick mittens in her hands. "Gerald! Is Gaweena well?"

The elderly man bowed to her with great difficulty. "She is not well, Lady Morag. I fear she is dying!"

"I must go to her!" declared Morag, belatedly looking toward Olaf for permission. He was grim-faced, but nodded. "We shall leave as soon as I have packed, Gerald. Please, have some warm food and drink while I prepare."