Dubh-Linn: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 2) by James L. Nelson Page A

not his.”
      A dozen responses swirled through Brigit’s head. Argument, denial, feigned bewilderment, but she could see that each was pointless. Morrigan knew. Somehow, Morrigan knew, and what Brigit had thought a profound secret, Morrigan could now use as a bludgeon.
      The birth of her child seven months or so from her wedding date was a problem she had long see coming, even with her hurried courtship and marriage. She had already considered various solutions – claim the baby had come early, or that she had lain with Conlaed before their marriage. But each of these depended on Conlaed’s cooperation, which was not at all certain.
      “I have certain herbs, you know,” Morrigan continued in a low and conspiratorial voice, “that will make you lose the baby. It will be as if this never happened.”
      Brigit studied Morrigan’s face. Morrigan was a skilled in those arts. She knew the use of herbs, roots, berries and other medicines. She could heal and she could kill. Indeed, this very solution had crossed Brigit’s mind. Doing so, however, would have meant admitting her condition to Morrigan, and that she would not do. But Morrigan already knew, and was offering a way out….
      “Brigit,” Morrigan said, “I don’t want to see you disgraced. Let me help.” And with those words, all the uncertainty, all the doubt in Brigit’s mind shed away like a thin layer of ice, and under it, something steely and hard. Morrigan had no desire to help. At least not to help Brigit.
      “Get out of my chambers,” Brigit said, and she was surprised to hear the voice of Máel Sechnaill coming from her throat.
      “Don’t be a fool,” Morrigan said. “You’ll be shunned, you’ll be called a whore.”
      “Out.”
      “Do you think the bastard son of some fin gall swine will ever be considered the tánaise ríg ? Do you think his whore of a mother will ever be called ‘queen’?”
      To that Brigit did not respond. She and Morrigan held one another’s eyes, and their fury burned like the bonfires of the ancient druids. Then with a swirl of her cloak, Morrigan left the chambers.
      For a long time, Brigit stared after her, looked unseeing in the direction Morrigan had gone, while her mind went over and over what had just played out. She was happy. She was happy she had not stumbled into any trap that Morrigan was laying, happy that the life would continue to grow in her.
      But that decision, like any she made, carried its own dangers with it. She was happy. And she was alone, and she was very afraid.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Six
     
     
     
     
     
     
    I have wielded a blood-stained sword
    and howling spear; the bird
    of carrion followed me
    when the Vikings pressed forth…
                                         Egil’s Saga
     
     
     
     
     
    The Norsemen drew up on the ridge and considered the Irish shieldwall before them, the horsemen on the flanks. Even the berserkers had stopped short at the sight of so extensive and organized a defense. And now the two sides stood, looking at one another. The Irish archers in the distance tried their best to inflict some injury, their arrows flying overhead or thudding into the dirt at the fin gall ’s feet. On occasion a spent arrow would impale itself unenthusiastically on someone’s shield, but the Northmen paid scant attention.
      They were gathered in loose groups around their standard bearers, each to the ship in which they sailed, the master whom they served. Some were standing, some sitting. Wineskins were passed from hand to hand. In the field between the armies a nightingale sang, and another responded, an odd, incongruous sound.
      Once again, the leaders of the various bands gathered together to determine the best course.
      “I do not care for the mounted warriors,” Arinbjorn said. “We could break the shieldwall and send them running, but those on horseback can