Idunn's Apples

Deciding that it would be wise to arm herself, Morag grabbed Olaf's battle-axe in both hands and hefted it onto her shoulder. The weapon was heavy and pained her. However, she gritted her teeth and prepared to defend herself and the injured Viking.

"Horses!" came the man's gasped exclamation. The beasts whinnied in fright at the nearness of the stranger.

"I am armed and will defend my property from thieves!" declared Morag, in a less than imposing voice. She bit her lip at how feminine and helpless her words sounded.

"Morag MacLint!" said the man as he circled the horses. His eyes were wide in surprise. It was that same priest who had come to collect her before the Vikings had arrived. He wore a travelling cloak and sturdy boots, but otherwise was attired in coloured garments and jewellery as befitted one of noble birth.

"Father, what are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously, not lowering her axe.

He eyed the weapon. "The same as you, hiding from the Vikings." He glanced to Olaf's still form. "And you have managed to slay one! Bless you, daughter! Doubtless the heathen dragged you off into these woods to force himself upon you and then kill you, child. And you managed to surprise and kill him!" He turned back to Morag, his eyes glittering. "God will not condemn you for this, daughter. Especially"-he raised an eyebrow-"if I pray for your soul."

"I am less worried for my soul than my immediate safety, Father." She tightened her grip upon the axe.

The priest looked about full of fear. "Are there more about? Was there a gang of them?"

"No. He's the only one." Morag wondered again what the priest was doing there. "The others chased after some men who'd laid an ambush upon them."

"Ah," said the priest, nodding. "I was with the king's men! You may put down the weapon now, daughter. I am here to offer you my protection again. I have no doubt that you've suffered terribly under these beasts." He nodded toward Olaf.

"They were king's men?"

The priest walked around her, bringing him closer to the Viking upon the ground. "Yes, child. The king decided that now that the main force had returned to their northern homes he would root out those who had taken holdings in his lands. I must confess, I urgently pleaded on your behalf that your father's domain be one of the first cleared of these heathens so that a rescue of his only daughter, a loyal servant of his majesty, might be arranged." He eyed Olaf. "Have you checked his body for valuables?"

"Father, I think it would be best for you to leave."

The priest stared about in fright once more. "I hear nothing! Did you see something in the woods just now?"

"I mean...surely the Vikings are searching for a man of your importance, and they have no respect for the church..."

The priest crouched to better examine Olaf. He reached out toward the still form.

"Stop!" shouted Morag. "Don't touch him!"

"Daughter, this is becoming tiresome. Put down the axe."

The priest stood. After noting Morag straining with the weight of the weapon, he darted forward. Morag lifted the shaft to bring the blade down upon the approaching man, but he was too fast. His hands wrenched the axe from her grip, then tossed it aside. She backed away until she nearly stumbled over the protruding roots of a tree.

When she turned back to the priest, he had a long dagger in his hand. "You are coming with me this time, girl!"

"No!" she shouted, backing away further until she was stopped by a wide and roughly-barked trunk. "I know what you want!"

The priest moved to her quickly and smoothly, almost seeming to float in his large, dark travelling cloak. The tip of his knife played with the knot on the front of her travelling gown.

"I have grown most tiresome of you, daughter." He grabbed a handful of her hair with his left hand. "You just don't comprehend your situation. I am a powerful man. I can protect you from both Vikings and cruel men faithful to the king. However, I must gain something in return." He cut the knot with the blade and Morag put a hand to her chest to prevent the fabric from opening. "This is not so different from a marriage, and I can pray for you every night. I will keep you fed and safe, and you will serve my needs."

"No! You're vile and-"

The priest pressed the tip of his knife against her cheek. He shook his head. He smelled of incense, mould, and urine.

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over the two of them. Olaf's hands gripped the priest by the neck and squeezed.

"You shall not harm her! Vermin!" spat out the Viking chieftain.

Morag was shocked by the sudden vitality the older man showed, but was quickly dismayed as she watched the priest slowly turn in his attacker's grip. The knife was swung around at the Viking, but missed. She could see Olaf was not squeezing tight enough to strangle the priest, and soon enough the man would be facing the Viking and could stab at him easily. Realizing the priest no longer held a handful of her hair, she grabbed the priest's arm, keeping the man from rotating toward his attacker.

"Let me go, girl! The Viking-!"

The priest twisted suddenly and his fist caught the side of Morag's head. Pain exploded in her temple. Stunned, she released the man's arm. The knife flashed, cutting into her.

As she fell to the ground, she heard a beastly roar of rage. Looking up at the combatants from where she lay nearby, it was clear that the priest's neck had been snapped by Olaf. The Viking shook the priest, then cast aside the body. He grimaced and hunched over, sheltering the arrow wound in his right side, then bent down to Morag.

"I was so afraid he'd killed you, Brunhilde! Are you hurt?"

"A scratch..." She felt under her blouse and winced when her fingers pushed open the small cut upon her right breast. "It's just a scratch, Olaf. It's not even bleeding that much. But you-!"

"I'll be all right," he replied. He tenderly undid the strings upon her blouse and opened it. After examining the cut, he nodded his head and smiled. "It's a small cut. A pity about the dress, though. I'll find you another gown." He stared into her eyes and at first he seemed surprised and unsure, then his face relaxed and he smiled warmly. "I think I deserve a bit of a reward for saving you, wife."

Morag quickly pulled her blouse closed. "The arrow?" she reminded Olaf. "You're badly injured!"

He shook his head. "What arrow, beloved? I've a headache, but nothing worse. I guess he must have hit me from behind and dazed me." He reached down with a hand and gently pulled the fabric of her blouse from her fingers and opened it again, revealing her breasts. "And why so suddenly shy, Brunhilde? Aren't you the very woman who told me she'd happily walk about naked if that pleased me?"

"I..." Morag thought quickly. She didn't want to lose her virginity to anyone but her future husband, but Olaf had been so kind to her and was still deeply saddened by the death of his wife so many years earlier. Also, the man who was most likely going to be her husband had made it clear to her that he had no interest in her as a woman. Would this be her only chance of being with a man? And if it was, could she find a better man than Olaf after she was married?

The Viking chieftain bent down and placed his lips over the cut on her right breast. He kissed her tenderly and briefly. Morag swallowed. Perhaps there was no use in telling him no, she thought, for he was much stronger than she and he was lost in a delusion where he thought she was his beloved and long-lost Brunhilde.

He pushed her blouse open more and his lips found her nipple. He sucked and tickled her with his tongue. Her heart began to beat too fast and she felt almost faint. She grabbed his head and pulled his face against her chest. Olaf sucked strongly, and Morag felt as if everything she was could be sucked out of her and into him through her breast.

Yet, part of her soul reminded her of the impropriety of what she was doing. She must stop! Olaf must stop! But, had not Snorri said she could have other men? What if Olaf got her with child? A quick marriage to Snorri would conceal the fact the child was not his, and he would likely be content to learn that he did not need to trouble himself and lay with her for the first little while in their marriage.

Olaf's mouth moved up her chest to her throat. His weight settled against her side. Her hand was wet.

She stared at her wet hand in surprise as Olaf's kisses covered her cheek. How had that got wet? She remembered that her fingers had been in his hair and...the priest must have struck him a blow just as Olaf had suggested. Her mind dizzy with passion, Morag was grateful that the mystery of blood upon her hand was so simply solved. She turned her face and kissed Olaf eagerly and hungrily, forgetting what she'd been thinking about.

Her skirt lifted higher and higher up her thighs. Dimly, she wondered how that could be, but it was happening and she didn't care if her clothing was moving of its own accord somehow or if Olaf had lifted her dress and was now spreading her legs with his hand.

She grunted in confusion as their lips separated, then hummed happily as they kissed again and she felt his weight upon her. The desire to engulf him consumed Morag. She bent her legs and spread her thighs, then reached her hands down his back and pulled at him. Something pushed against her, between her legs. It felt smooth, hard, wet, and so right, and she was losing herself in Olaf's kisses upon her cheek, her throat, her lips. It was all too much and Morag gave in to the confusion and allowed Olaf to do as he pleased. She was busy enough experiencing so many wonderful new pleasures.

Something pushed apart her lower lips and she felt sudden fear. "Be gentle, please," she pleaded, wondering if he'd listen.

His kisses grew softer and the pressure upon the delicate flesh between her legs eased. As his hard, wet member slid slowly in, her body was given time to adjust. Morag shifted her hips to delay the push, then relaxed and felt a brief pain. It was followed by the most wonderful sensation of filling that she had ever known. Her legs squeezed his thighs, then she reached lower to pull him in deeper when her hand brushed against a narrow wooden shaft in Olaf's side.

He pulled back from her, wincing. "I'm sorry," he breathed quickly, "a sudden spasm. Maybe an old wound. It'll pass-"

"I'm so sorry, Olaf. I forgot the arrow..."

However, he was already struggling to remain conscious. Olaf's arms gave out suddenly and the weight of his body pushed the air from her lungs. Morag squirmed until much of his weight was upon her side and she breathed in great gasps of air. After several seconds of no movement from the Viking, she decided that he must be asleep again. When his manhood began to slip out of her she gently shook Olaf to try and awaken him, but he did not stir.

"Olaf?" she whispered. Morag was torn between letting him sleep and waking him so that they could continue, if possible. As he fully slid out of her, she voiced a frustrated sigh.

They lay together for several minutes, before she decided that she had best remove herself from his embrace and dress. There were others about and if the priest could encounter them then anyone might. And, more troubling was the idea that the priest might not be dead.

It took a great deal of effort to slowly extricate herself from under the large Olaf, especially as she was worried that she would again aggravate his injury. Once she was free she mended her blouse and adjusted her skirt, then pushed Olaf over so that he was lying upon his back again. His arrow wound trickled blood, but it did not seem much worse. What troubled her was the drying blood in his hair. Her mind was clear enough now to remember that the priest had not struck him, so where had that injury come from?

She wandered over to the horses where she noticed bright red upon a large stone. Had he fallen upon this when he collapsed off his horse? She looked back at the injured Viking. Then his delusion was due to the head wound. How long would he suffer from it?

Chapter 14: Lost in a Dream

Olaf was alert when he woke later that same day. He was concerned over his companion's apparent tiredness, but to Morag's dismay he still referred to her using the name of his dead wife. She decided it was best to play the role if it meant getting him to the keep.

"We have time for another roll in the moss, Brunhilde," suggested Olaf, pulling Morag to him. "What say you?"

She placed her hands upon his chest and pushed him away. "We must return to the keep, Olaf. There are enemies about!" She pointed again to the priest's body.

"And you say he attacked us and that I slew him?" asked the Viking, scratching his beard. "In truth, I don't remember any of it. I know we came out for a ride and a picnic and your father was not too happy about the idea, but you persuaded him that you were perfectly safe with me." He chuckled. "I cannot believe he was fooled as to our intentions, Brunhilde."

"Look, Olaf, we have to get back to the keep! You're injured!" She pointed at the arrow in his side.

The Viking looked at it in surprise. "By Hela! When did that happen? Was it the priest?"

Morag rolled her eyes. "We must get back to the keep! Everything will be explained to you there." He reached for her again, but she fended him off. "And you can come to my chamber whenever you wish. I'll submit to you every night from now until the End Days, only we must go to the keep!"

"What is this keep you speak of? You father's long house is just down the fjord..." Olaf paused and looked about. "The floor of these woods seems strangely level. And these trees...!"

"Please, Olaf! Get atop your steed and let us go to the keep!"

He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. "Fine, Brunhilde. But first..." He leaned down and kissed her lips. Morag had intended to make the kiss a brief one, but once their lips touched she melted onto his broad chest. Passions flared within her, and she wished desperately that Snorri had shown her a fraction of the hunger that this much older man had shown. One of his hands reached down and explored the curve of her bottom. She hummed approval and almost forgot his injury again.

At last she pulled away a little and Olaf took the opportunity to whisper to her. "You know, we could lay down over there, Brunhilde. Another hour or two won't matter."

"No!" She pushed him away very firmly. "We must be on our way! If you love me, Olaf, you must be on your horse and we must ride to the keep now!"

His shoulders slumped. "Very well. But, I will take you up on your offer and sneak to your chamber every night until your father agrees to give you to me."

He walked over to the horse and mounted after a brief and painful pause. Then he reached down and helped Morag atop her own steed, unsuccessfully concealing his grimace as he did so.

She sighed in relief and let him hold her hand for a few seconds. Then they rode through the forest. Morag kept a careful watch for warriors, for both Vikings and the king's men.

Chapter 15: Memory Returns

They were within sight of the high stone walls of the keep when Olaf reigned in his horse, forcing Morag to do the same to stay beside him.

"You're not Brunhilde!" he said in surprise. "But I should know you..." He peered at her suspiciously.

"Please, Olaf! Inside the keep you will have all the answers you want!" She wondered why no-one had ridden out to meet them as yet. "Your daughter awaits you within that sanctuary," Morag added, pointing at the gates.

"My daughter? You mean Ingrid!" He closed his eyes and rubbed his head with both hands. "Why is it so hard to remember?"

"You are Olaf, Viking lord of these lands. I am Morag. We rode out with a group of warriors to survey your new lands and-"

"And we were set upon!" He nodded his head. "There were arrows in the air, and I held my shield over you..." He reached down and felt the shaft protruding from his side. "Snorri and the others?"

"They chased after our attackers," said Morag with a shrug. How quickly the king's men had become 'our attackers,' she thought.

"And where did Brunhilde go?"

Morag stared at him in concern. He had seemed to be returning to his old self until that question.

"Ah." Olaf stared down at his hands. His jaw twitched. "She's been dead for many years now. I hope I didn't bore you with tales of a woman who went on to Valhalla when you were but a babe."

Morag sighed quietly, relieved that Olaf had forgotten their tryst in the woods. "Lord Olaf, we must go in to the keep. Ingrid awaits and can care for you and tend your injury."

"Yes." Olaf looked up and stared at the keep. "This is my future. Ingrid will care for me," he added in a tired tone.

Although Morag was elated that he finally seemed to agree with her, she was troubled by the way he did not quite ride so tall and proud in the saddle. It didn't seem to be a product of the arrow wound, or the blow to the head; she was sure it was something deeper that was stealing away his spirit.

They prodded their horses and cantered to the gate, which was opened before them by surprised guards.

"Fetch Lady Ingrid!" demanded Morag. "Her father has need of her!"

"Who dares give orders in the presence of both me and my father?" demanded the Viking woman from across the courtyard.

Morag dismounted quickly, splashing mud upon herself and others standing nearby. "Lady Ingrid! Hurry!"

The raven-haired daughter of Olaf frowned but did rush over to examine her father. She scowled at Morag after noting the arrow in the man's side and the dried blood upon his head.

"There is no time for discussion, Lady Ingrid!" exclaimed Morag. "I know nothing of the healing arts and brought him here as fast as I was able. Can you help him?"

The Viking woman appeared taken aback. "I know something of healing. You were wise to bring him to me."

Morag grasped Olaf's hand as two warriors eased him from the horse. "Lord Olaf, your daughter is here to take care of you." She then turned to Ingrid. "His mind has been addled by a blow. He sometimes forgets where he is." The Viking woman raised an eyebrow.

"Ingrid?" called out Olaf. "Sometimes I see so much of your mother in you."

Morag and Ingrid both froze. They exchanged looks. Morag's was one of curiosity, while Ingrid's eyes betrayed an unaccustomed vulnerability. Then, the Viking woman had the warriors carry her father deeper into the keep and Morag was left forgotten in the courtyard.

A maidservant rushed over to her and curtsied. "Mistress! You look a mess! Do you wish me to lead you to your bedchamber?"

Weariness suddenly made her arms and legs tremble. Morag looked gratefully at the older woman and nodded quietly. In short order, she was in her room, stripped, and then in bed asleep.

Chapter 16: A Visit in Her Bedchamber

The gentle tapping noise quickly became an impatient pounding upon the door, and it roused Morag from her much needed sleep. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her bed. "Yes?"

"Open the door!" demanded Ingrid.

Morag, still dazed and half-asleep, slipped out of her bed, padded across the floor, and unlatched the door. It was thrown open immediately.

"Do you always open your door naked, or were you hoping my brother would become enflamed with passion at the sight of your body?" said Ingrid quickly as she walked into the room, although there was a small smile upon her lips as she said it.

Morag swiftly closed the door, then climbed back into bed. She watched, slowly becoming more alert, as the Viking woman paced around the room. Her visitor seemed to be in a mood unlike Morag had ever seen before, all nervous energy and harnessed joy.

"Thank you for bringing my father back safely to me." Ingrid went to the window and looked out into a grey sky that was darkening.