The Viking by Marti Talbott

to calm down, but her rage only increased. “Ye held me in yer arms and swore ye would never let any harm come to me. Then to cover our sin, ye convinced me to marry a man who never once believed Kannak was his.”
    “He could not have known for sure. ”
    “Aye, he could. ”
    “How? ”
    “He did not desire me.”
    Macoran blinked repeatedly and brought a hand up to rub his brow. “Not even on yer wedding night?”“
    “Did ye expect him to that night after what happened? ”
    “I suppose not. But later , when…”
    “Not ever. He sought his comfort elsewhere and our marriage was never consummated.”
    Suddenly unsteady, Macoran had to take a deep breath. “I had not imagined that.” He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. “I imagined the opposite and wanted to kill Eogan that night and every night since.” He tried to take her in his arms but she moved out of his reach. “Jirvel, each time ye came to the village, ye seemed happy and after a while, I convinced myself ye had forgotten our love. But I had not forgotten and seeing ye happy without me nearly did me in.”
    “Then I pity ye, but not enough to give over my daughter. Tell me now ye will not marry her off to a lad she could never learn to love. ‘Tis a fate worse than death.”
    Macoran tried to gently touch the side of her face, “Am I never to be forgiven?”
    She turned her face away, “Ye have a wife, go home to her.”
    That enraged him and he gritted his teeth. “Ye are not the only one who was forced into a loveless marriage.” He took hold of her waist, jerked her to him and wrapped his arms tight around her. “All these years I have thought of nothing but ye. My heart cries out for ye and my arms ache to hold ye. Dinnae deny me this once.”
    As much as she wanted to, she did not yield to his embrace. “Promise ye will not take Kannak.”
    He drew in another deep breath and slowly let it out. “I see now I owe ye at least that much.”
    Finally she leaned into him put her arms around his waist, closed her eyes and let herself remember how it once was. Many a year passed and all she had were vague memories of his warmth and his strength. For a while, she let the years dissolve away, but when he tried to kiss her, she pulled back. “We have sinned enough, ye and I.”
    “I still love ye.”
    “If ye love me, ye will stay away.”
    “Ye know I cannae. I must visit every farm when I ride the land.”
    “Then dinnae ride the land so often. Yer nearness be torture for me.” Tears started to well up in the rims of her eyes. “Ye stayed away all these years. Please, please dinnae make me suffer now.” She picked up the pail of water and walked away.
    Stefan was not yet old enough to completely understand the love between a man and a woman, but he could not help but pity the man Jirvel left standing alone on the bank of the river even if he did wear Anundi’s sword. He looked to be in just as much pain as Stefan felt over losing his father. Perhaps they were the same. Perhaps it is the loss of love that hurts so very much. He watched Macoran gaze aimlessly across the water until at length, the laird walked away.
    *
    Agnes Macoran might appear to be a frail woman on the outside, but inside she was as strong as the jagged rocks on the shore – and she was filled with wrath. She was painfully thin, a skinny malink longlegs her husband called her when she was out of his presence. Her blond hair was also thin, she had a long hook nose and brown eyes that appeared to be set a little too far apart.
    She often walked barefoot along the edge of the ocean hoping the Vikings would come back. The sun was high in the sky and if she would let herself, she might enjoy watching the steady rhythm of the water rushing in and then withdrawing. But she loved her mystery too much to let any sort of pleasure interfere.
    Agnes was the wife of a laird, mistress of an entire clan and she hated every one of them. She hated their red hair,