Read Online The Viking's Woman by Heather Graham - Free Book Online
Authors: Heather Graham
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Elizabeth, Megan, and Daria. She would speak to him of the Tuath De Danaan, the ancient tribes, the honor of Irish hospitality, and the pride of their race. They might well travel far and wide, she assured them, but they could never forgetthat they were Irish. Their race was in their blood, a part of them, and it would be ever with them. The sound of the pipes would always tug upon their hearts, just as they would sense the banshee, the death ghost, in the wind. And in the forest, if they listened, they would know that the wee people played their games and tricks and that in the end it was the land that was sacred. Erin would spin her tales and legends, and the whole quarrelsome lot of them would be silent at her feet. Then Olaf would appear in the doorway and would seek to best her with sagas of Odin, Thor, Loki, and the rest. There had always been warmth in the castle at Dubhlain. Warmth and love.
Those scenes stayed with him as he tossed in his sleep. The great hearth, the hounds, and the land. Days when they rode to Tara to sit with the kings of all the land, days when his grandfather, Aed Finnlaith, ruled with justice and wisdom over the Irish. And days, too, when he had been sent into the woods. Sent to study with the colossally old Druid, Mergwin. Days when the wind had whipped and the thunder had roared and the old fool had stood out in the rain, lifting his arms to the heavens. “Feel it, boy! Feel the wind! Feel the hawk as it flies, and feel the earth as she lies beneath you. And remember, remember always, that answers lie not with other men but always within your own soul—you and the earth are as one.”
Mergwin had forced him to read. To study his scripts in Latin, Frankish, Norse, Irish, and English. Mergwin had dragged him through the rotting bogs and taught him which herbs drew poisons from the body, what mold could create a poultice to stop aman’s lifeblood from flowing away. The Druid had driven him hard, far harder than his brothers and sisters, and once he had protested, drawing himself up and telling Mergwin, “Cease, old man! I am a prince! I am the Spawn of the Wolf, grandson of the great Ard-Ri!”
Mergwin had surveyed him from head to toe and then had tossed the boy an ax. “Aye, Eric, you are all that you say. Therefore let the strength of your body match that of your conceit. Chop these trees, and don’t cease till the pile is high, for it promises to be a cold winter.”
He never knew quite why he obeyed the old buzzard, except that his mother loved Mergwin, and even his father sought out his advice.
The Druid was never wrong.
He had known when Emenia would die.
Upon his new-won bed in the seized manor house, Eric groaned and twisted around again. The Druid had tried to stop him when he was to sail away with his uncle. The days of his youth were past then, but Mergwin had come to the shore. His beard and his hair and his robes had flapped around him, and he had appeared much like a giant crow. But he had stood tall against the wind and had waited until he could speak with Eric alone.
“Don’t go,” he had warned him.
“Mergwin, I must. I have promised my uncle.”
“You are in peril. And I cannot warn you from where, or from what. Your heart, your soul, and your life are in grave peril.”
He remembered feeling a grave affection for his old tutor that day, and he had set his arm around theDruid’s scrawny shoulders. “I am a prince of Eire, Mergwin. I do not recant my word and, as my father before me, I must live in danger.”
Mergwin had argued no further.
And he had gone, and he had met Emenia, and his heart and soul had indeed been in peril. In his dreams he saw her beauty. He saw the supple, naked beauty of her flesh, her smile as she straddled over him. He felt anew the silken brush of her hair over his shoulders, sleek as midnight, shining. She knew where to touch a man, as if she were inside him, as if she knew just what he needed when and where and how. He saw the
Those scenes stayed with him as he tossed in his sleep. The great hearth, the hounds, and the land. Days when they rode to Tara to sit with the kings of all the land, days when his grandfather, Aed Finnlaith, ruled with justice and wisdom over the Irish. And days, too, when he had been sent into the woods. Sent to study with the colossally old Druid, Mergwin. Days when the wind had whipped and the thunder had roared and the old fool had stood out in the rain, lifting his arms to the heavens. “Feel it, boy! Feel the wind! Feel the hawk as it flies, and feel the earth as she lies beneath you. And remember, remember always, that answers lie not with other men but always within your own soul—you and the earth are as one.”
Mergwin had forced him to read. To study his scripts in Latin, Frankish, Norse, Irish, and English. Mergwin had dragged him through the rotting bogs and taught him which herbs drew poisons from the body, what mold could create a poultice to stop aman’s lifeblood from flowing away. The Druid had driven him hard, far harder than his brothers and sisters, and once he had protested, drawing himself up and telling Mergwin, “Cease, old man! I am a prince! I am the Spawn of the Wolf, grandson of the great Ard-Ri!”
Mergwin had surveyed him from head to toe and then had tossed the boy an ax. “Aye, Eric, you are all that you say. Therefore let the strength of your body match that of your conceit. Chop these trees, and don’t cease till the pile is high, for it promises to be a cold winter.”
He never knew quite why he obeyed the old buzzard, except that his mother loved Mergwin, and even his father sought out his advice.
The Druid was never wrong.
He had known when Emenia would die.
Upon his new-won bed in the seized manor house, Eric groaned and twisted around again. The Druid had tried to stop him when he was to sail away with his uncle. The days of his youth were past then, but Mergwin had come to the shore. His beard and his hair and his robes had flapped around him, and he had appeared much like a giant crow. But he had stood tall against the wind and had waited until he could speak with Eric alone.
“Don’t go,” he had warned him.
“Mergwin, I must. I have promised my uncle.”
“You are in peril. And I cannot warn you from where, or from what. Your heart, your soul, and your life are in grave peril.”
He remembered feeling a grave affection for his old tutor that day, and he had set his arm around theDruid’s scrawny shoulders. “I am a prince of Eire, Mergwin. I do not recant my word and, as my father before me, I must live in danger.”
Mergwin had argued no further.
And he had gone, and he had met Emenia, and his heart and soul had indeed been in peril. In his dreams he saw her beauty. He saw the supple, naked beauty of her flesh, her smile as she straddled over him. He felt anew the silken brush of her hair over his shoulders, sleek as midnight, shining. She knew where to touch a man, as if she were inside him, as if she knew just what he needed when and where and how. He saw the
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