I would like to thank my wife for all her support and help, and Lady Ver for her thorough editing and insightful comments. Any remaining grammatical and spelling errors are solely my responsibility.
This story borrows from history, but takes place in a time and place that never existed.
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Prologue
She woke with the realization that a change was coming to her life. A glance out her bedroom window revealed knights and soldiers waiting impatiently in the courtyard below, the nobles' horses shifting nervously in anticipation of the coming battle. Morag glanced with dissatisfaction at the reflection of her pale face framed by her long, unbrushed blonde hair, before dashing out of her room. Servants ducked out of her way as she flew down corridors and stairways until at last she stopped at the double doors leading from the inner keep to the courtyard. She took a deep breath, smoothed her green gown, then pushed the doors open.
"Morag! Come to see me off after all, have ye?"
She knew that he'd be waiting for her arrival just so he could play the forgotten sire. "Father! I've caught you trying to sneak away from home!" She glanced at the assembled warriors and realized that some of the knights were considering dismounting due to her presence. She shook her head. "Stay atop your steeds, gallant knights! I know how difficult it is to move about in your armour."
Morag and her father embraced. "Beware Lord Argent over there, my dear," he whispered in her ear. "If I should not return, he will doubtless press his suit."
Her eyes darted around the courtyard, noting that many of the young and unmarried men had turned her way. Morag picked out Lord Argent immediately in his gold and crimson tunic, atop the largest horse in the assembly. He had twice before attempted to acquire her, as she thought of his clumsy manner of courting. He had spoken eloquently enough on the economic benefits of a union between himself and the daughter of Lord MacLint but had never sought to woo her in any traditional sense. In fact, Morag had found it contemptible how the man had never even addressed her by name or title on any occasion, preferring to speak of her less so than he did his horse or his other beasts. She and her father had kept a civil tongue on both occasions, although both had been sorely tempted to make an un-Christian response.
"He has been bending your ear?"
Lord MacLint sighed. "He speaks often of my age and what will become of my lands should I fall in battle." He caressed her cheek, then tousled her hair. "I would have preferred an amorous and lust-filled wooing, one that would have had you smiling in mischief, rather than his business-like approach. If something should happen, Morag-" her father's eyes softened "-know that your happiness is all that you should strive for. Do not act purely from duty and obligation. I would give anything for your lasting happiness-"
"I shall count the days until your return, Father." Morag knew her father well enough that once he spoke of such things he would lose his tongue, being unsure of what to speak of next.
Several men helped lift Lord MacLint onto his horse. He thanked them, then looked down at his daughter. "God willing."
As the small army left the courtyard, Morag noted the many stares back in her direction from men probably wondering who would protect her if her sole living relative should perish in the coming fight against the Vikings. Among the knights there were a few calculating glances her way. Argent's was the most calculating, though she knew from experience that the man respected her father a great deal. Morag thought as she met Argent's eyes that his greedy glance was the most passionless as well.
Chapter 1: Cast Aside
"And what of the girl?" asked the fawning advisor. At a harsh look from his king he bowed his head and placed his right hand on the lush robes over his heart, covering a fine gold medallion as he did so. "I mean no disrespect, sire, but Lord MacLint was a brave and loyal servant to you." He raised his eyes and caught the shrewd stare directed his way. "Surely some small protection can be provided for his only daughter, a lovely young woman by all accounts and the last in his line?"
A deep sigh hinted at the sovereign's frustration and exhaustion with political scheming. A page entered the room, opening the door long enough that the sounds of revelry in the grand hall filled the room the two men had retreated to.
"They are barbarians!" The king lifted the crown from his head and examined it carefully in the flickering candlelight. "My kingdom must survive, and if one woman must be left to her fate, then so be it! It matters not who her father was, nor how bravely he fought against the Vikings, that I must now make peace with. Perhaps if MacLint had fought better his daughter's virtue would now be safely protected by the man and his retainers."
"Yes, sire," offered the advisor. He, too, had fought against the Vikings in that final battle and he once again thanked God that he had survived the slaughter so that he might shelter his own wife, mistresses, and children. Lord MacLint had voiced little liking for the king's close circle in the past, often having referred to them as scared children hanging around their mother's skirts. It was a simple matter for the advisor to think of the dead warrior unkindly.
"Sire!" reminded the young page. "Your guests...request your presence that the arrangements may be concluded as soon as possible. They claim to be eager to see what fertile lands have been ceded them."
The king nodded and then left the chamber to share the entertainments with his once-enemies and now-allies, leaving the advisor alone to finger the gold-filled pouch that had been slipped to him by Lord Argent. He pondered whether Argent would demand the return of the gold coins or consider it payment for future efforts toward his acquisition of MacLint's lands and daughter. The Vikings were likely to find entertainment enough in her from what he had heard, but surely Argent was pragmatic enough to ignore the girl's knowledge of the forbidden fruit?
Chapter 2: An Unsought Reward
Olaf sat back against the wall and surveyed the scene before him. His son-strong, young, and fresh from his first battle-was wrestling two men and being cheered on by the bulk of those who had chosen to fight under Olaf's banner. Snorri had acquitted himself well, killing at least a dozen men and showing no fear. Even when an axe blade had sliced his shoulder open, he had kept fighting. The Viking father nodded in satisfaction; Snorri would be a leader of men just as he had been. Those who had followed Olaf would follow his son just as readily.
Olaf turned, noting his daughter's raven hair as she went from man to man speaking words of praise and encouragement. These were his best captains, and she was wise enough to keep her trim figure in their view. She would find a powerful and respected husband, just as her honey-haired mother had done. Olaf had no fears for her future.
Thvaldi staggered across his field of view, an arm around a willing young woman. He'd been drunk since the battle, or perhaps just before it began. Olaf chuckled.
Life was good. He'd answered the call for battle, summoning a large force of Vikings to his command. They'd fought well and the battle had been won. The southerners had fought just as well, but only the living enjoyed the spoils. Did these Christian men fight on in this Heaven they believed in?
A young woman, comely enough and about the same age as his daughter Ingrid, sat down upon his knee and handed Olaf a horn of mead. He gave her a smile and a squeeze, then took a long drink. Times were good, although if all-seeing Ingrid spotted this maiden with him she'd fall upon him harder than the worst winter storm. Thankfully, her back was to them and she was far across the celebration in this southern king's castle.
Instead, Gunderr the Lucky approached him.
"Begone, girl! Olaf and I have something to discuss," the leader of the Viking force commanded. He sat down heavily beside his old friend.
The maiden pouted at Olaf, seeking permission to stay and enjoy his company. "Off you go, little one," said Olaf, giving one of her breasts a gentle squeeze. "Come see me after we're done and you can help an old man out of his armour."
