The Heathen and the Abbess
by Isobel Rowan
The abbess Katie Janeway put an index finger and thumb to her lips and blew out a shrill whistle. "Cast!" she ordered.
The tan and white dog unfurled around the small but expanding throng of grey sheep. He barked at the heel of his charges all the way around until the small herd was a tight knot beside the craggy hill.
"That'll do," the abbess said.
The dog stopped instantly, its pink tongue hanging out of its panting mouth.
She pulled the black headpiece of her habit close around her face against the North Sea wind that knifed her. Then she pulled out a salted strip herring and she chewed it slowly.
She glanced at the abbey, with its small chapel and cloister. The gray walls reflected white in the noon sun. She squinted, making out two figures on horseback riding from her home. In the time she finished her bit of meat and hard tack, the horse riders were upon her.
She cupped her eyes and watched the men in fine linen tunics and boiled leather dismount. The taller man was swarthy with Celtic symbols etched at his left temple.
"Good day, abbess," the man said.
"Good day to you, Ragnar Mac Chakotay," she said. "And you, Thomas." She nodded to Chakotay's thin and pale companion. Then she turned to the dark man. "What can a poor nun do you for the clan chief of Locke Mor?"
"We were raided a few nights ago by the northern heathens."
"Vikings," the abbess whispered. "We remember them well. They are the ones who killed my bishop and burned the cathedral to the ground," she said.
Chakotay glanced at Thomas and then back. "We have all suffered under their scourge."
"Aye," Thomas replied.
"Are there injured then?" the abbess asked.
Chakotay shook his head, his lips person gravely. "This raid was brutal. They either slaughtered the men or took the women."
The nun's gray eyes glittered in anger. "What then, pray thee?"
"We captured a woman."
"A woman?"
"Have you heard of a berserker?" Thomas inquired.
The abbess commended the dog to move their sheep closer to her. Then she turned to the men. "The mindless warriors who kill without reason who imbibe the blood of their victims before they begin another spree?"
Thomas nodded.
The abbess eyes unfocused and she glanced at the ruins of the toppled walls mere yards from her chapel on the isle of Iona in northwestern Scotland. "They were the ones who slaughtered the priests and carried every secret chalice, communion cup, censor and monstrance from the very altar of the church." She could see the flames of church linens from so long ago. She'd just arrived at the abbey from her native Ireland. It was a wonder they had not been raped and carried off across the sea.
Her eyes widened. "But the berserkers are all men!" she exclaimed.
Chakotay shook his head. "No longer."
"How do you know?"
"We have captured one, a berserker whose breasts are the best disguise if she is really a he," Thomas said, licking his lips.
The abbess frowned but looked at the clan chief. "What do you want from us?"
"She's chained to a post in the middle of the settlement. She's gravely wounded but will not let us tend her. She will die if you do not intervene, mother."
She broke and one vowel, but she be damned if she break another. "I'll need someone to turn the sheep," she said.
Before she even finished speaking, Chakotay gestured to Thomas, who whistled and ordered the dog to lead the sheep away. The dog complied and Thomas tipped his hat to the abbess.
X X X
At Locke Mor, the settlement of Clan Chakotay, the abbess rode astride the Clan chief's warhorse, her black robes flapping behind her. Muddy paths led from the outside of the thatched roof houses to the center like spokes on a wheel.
The abbess lifted her robes, her cross jingling a bit as she followed the Clan chief to the center. She exhaled sharply at the sight of the woman berserker. When she saw the Clan chief, she stood to her full height, towering over nearly every man and woman in the village. A wound at the right temple began to bleed afresh, covering the previously dried blood down her cheek. She wiped futilely at the gushing flow with the dirty sleeve of her tunic. The flow was so copious her eye was rendered useless and she began to jerk her head side to side to watch for enemies that breached the perimeter of her chained reach. The chain was tied to a leather collar that stretched a few meters to a center stake. She nearly stumbled in the mud when she tried to lunge at a child who stepped forward to hurl pebbles at her.
She growled at the boy and she swatted most of the small rocks away with her right hand. Her left arm she kept very still against her stomach. Another child stepped up and the berserker but the thick mud trip to run up and she fell, grunting loudly. The crowd laughed and she snarled at them in a guttural language of her kind.
"Chakotay," the abbess pleaded. "Please for the love of all that is holy, stop this!"
"The wench killed quite a few of my men," Chakotay said.
The abbess swiveled her head and studied the Celtic knots etched into his face. "You didn't bring me here to watch her die," she said quietly.
"No," he whispered.
X X X
When the men of the clan had left, the abbess summoned food and beer, which were brought by Sister Bell Anna.
The younger sister handed the abbess a clay cup of beer. "She looks like a bloody tower of braided hair and swollen breasts," she said in Latin.
The abbess gave the younger nun a chiding look. She took the cup and offered it to the prisoner. "Hello," she said in Gaelic. "It's beer."
The berserker narrowed her eyes in menace.
When the abbess took a step closer, she proffered the cup to her again. "Beer," she said in Latin this time. When the abbess was within striking distance, the berserker lunged and knocked the cup away. It hit a wooden post and shattered, the amber liquid joining the black muck beneath her feet.
Bell Anna snorted. "It appears, mother, that the heathen doesn't know Latin or Gaelic."
The abbess stepped back out of reach. The berserker yanked her chain taut and growled again. Her blackened fingers were just out of reach of the abbess, but close enough to allow the nun to see the dried blood and mud under her fingernails.
"You didn't know either language when we took you in," the abbess said to her companion.
"Latin was useful," Bell Anna said with a shrug, one that was not evident under her habit. "And similar to Castilian."
"I'm grateful you never tried to kill me when you came to the cloister," she said with a wry look.
"I thought about it, mother," she said sheepishly.
"Ah, so today's confession day then," but the abbess kept her leery eyes on the blonde specimen who paced in a circle. When her chain would get too coiled to walk, she would reverse directions.
"She thinks we are the enemy," Bell Anna said, watching the heathen continue to pace around the pole. "She believes she will die here, just as I did."
The abbess stopped and turned to watch the tan sister with the sharp nose. "Did you believe we were your enemy as well?"
Bell Anna grimaced. "If your father abandoned you here, wouldn't you think that?"
The abbess spared a moment to look at her companion gravely. "Only if we had been unkind to you."
"Discipline always appears to be a cruelty to the uninitiated," Sister Bell Anna said thoughtfully.
"If it's any consolation," the abbess said. "I am grateful you remained with us, since our cloister is so small."
"Nearly non-existent," Bell Anna said more accurately.
"I prefer the description of 'small.'"
"Iona Abbey likely doesn't even merit a mark on the Holy Father's maps," Bell Anna said.
The abbess lifted a brow, unable to argue with the logic of the younger woman. But logic had its limits, she thought to herself.
The abbess turned her attention once again to the very tall woman who continued to regard them with eagle eyes.
"What is your confession, mother?"
The abbess smiled, still enjoying the sinewy lines of the heathen's long legs. "This creature is stunning, more beautiful a woman than I've seen in quite a while," she said. She turned a crooked grin on the sister beside her. "Forgive any offense."
Bell Anna pursed her lips. "Nothing to forgive if I do not fancy you either," she retorted.
The abbess accepted the acerbic reply from their latest novice. She could not afford to turn any sisters away, especially not one who attended her work so diligently.
The abbess licked her lips, her eyes locking with the unforgiving gaze of the heathen. "And I would keep her in my bed, if I could."
The heathen lifted her chin, giving the abbess yet another feature to admire. The berserker's strong chin was nicely dimpled.
"You have not made that particular confession in years," Bell Anna said.
The abbess looked a little embarrassed. "Not since Ireland," she said. "And not since the two sisters remaining to me preferred the company of men." She lifted her brows to the white veil that covered her forehead. This time Bell Anna had the humility to blush.
Finally the older nun spared a moment to study her younger counterpart. Her dark tan had not faded in the years she'd come to them. Recognizing the guilt, the abbess nodded. "I did not believe that I was wrong," the abbess said.
When Bell Anna's courage evaporated, the abbess returned her attention to the heathen. She was standing in the center, swaying briefly as if she were ready to collapse. But the abbess could see that she was steadying herself on the post with a braced knee. "Let's begin again, Bell Anna. Another cup."
This time, the abbess took a swallow from the cup of beer and then offered it to the prisoner. The heathen's remained dangerously still and the abbess slowly inched closer. "Beer," she said in Latin. "Good."
Within the tall woman's reach, the abbess hand that held the cup began to tremble. But the abbess stared unblinkingly at the woman. Finally, the berserker took the trembling cup with both hands and allowed the abbess to remain within close quarters.
The abbess revealed her palms to the wounded warrior. "May I untie you?" she asked in Latin. She inched closer, slowly lifting her hands to the leather collar at the woman's neck. Slowly she undid the complex knot and grimaced to see the angry red burn underneath. "You must be in so much pain," she murmured.
The collar fell to the mud and the abbess called for some salve. The opaque ointment smelled of strong herbs and the heathen jerked away. The abbess reached a reassuring hand to her uninjured shoulder.
"For the pain," she said. She blew on the woman's neck. The action caused the berserker to close her eyes briefly and sway. And then she grabbed the abbess by her arm. She muttered something in her language but the abbess cooed some soothing words in Latin. "Come," she said, leading her to a small hut. "Let me help you."
X X X
Inside a small, round hut, lit by several torches, the abbess led the tall Viking inside and gestured to a pallet covered in furs. "I must see your wounds," she said.
The heathen stared at her, unmoving and unsure.
So the abbess began to unbuckle the woman's chain mail tunic. But the move brought an immediate response. The heathen grabbed the abbess' thin hands and growled something in her language. Then she lifted a chin at the younger nun and appeared to repeat herself.
"I believe the heathen objects to my presence," Bell Anna said.
"Sister, would you mind?"
"Do you think she means to separate us and then overwhelm you?" the younger asked.
The abbess smirked at the woman who held her hands tightly. "Am I so weak, Bell?" she inquired softly. "Did I not save the three of us from the last attack on the abbey, when poor Father Augustus was killed?"
Visions of fire and shouting bearded men with horn helmets flashed across Bell Anna's memory and she shuddered at the thought of the abbess wielding a sword at two Viking demons ready to whisk them away. "No, mother. Never weak."
"I'll be well," the abbess said. "Please, go ready the horses."
X X X
With Sister Bell Anna gone, the heathen collapsed to the pallet and muttered something. The abbess offered another cup of beer and began to remove the woman's garments. She leaned back against a post and seemed to indulge the woman. With the chain mail removed, the older nun saw the gushing blood from the tunic. She pulled the cloth from the shoulder, revealing a long gash just under the woman's creamy breast.
"Oh, you poor dear," the abbess whispered in Latin. "You poor creature. Please lie back so that…" The abbess tried to show the woman what she wanted, but in the end, she was reduced to pushing her shoulders down.
The blonde warrior watched everything the older woman did: when she cleaned the wound beer, she sucked in air, but she never cried out. When she applied the poultice, she winced but did not complain. Instead she studied the face over hers.
For her part, the abbess continued to whisper nonsense, knowing that the creature was illiterate of tongue. "You are far too beautiful to be fighting," the abbess said in Latin. "You should be in paintings that adorn the most visited palaces on earth. We should sing sagas to your beauty.
"The Greeks would have carved a marble statue to your lovely body," she said, as she wrapped her torso to keep the poultice in place.
The abbess rinsed a clean cloth in beer and began to wipe the blood from the woman's face. Hidden under the crusty fluid was another wound that began to bleed again. "Oh, my darling," the abbess said. "Another wound so deep."
When she leaned forward to kiss the weeping wound, the Viking became very still but she did not stop her in anyway. "I will have to sew this closed," she said. "It will hurt, but if I use small stitches, it will not mar the majesty of your bright face."
The abbess smiled down at the questing sky blue eyes, letting her hand graze the dimpled chin. "Drink more beer," she said. "It will dull the pain."
The woman dipped the empty cup into a barrel of beer and offered it to the woman, who accepted it. She drank several more cups and finally hiccupped.
The abbess touched a finger to the woman's full lips. "That's it, my darling. You are almost ready." She offered two more cups and only when the woman was about to close her eyes did the abbess full out a needle and thread. The woman's eyes widened and she bolted up, shaking her head emphatically.
Her guttural language was impossible to understand, the abbess lamented.
The older woman cupped the Viking's cheek and cooed. "Shh, my darling," she said, always in Latin. "Shh. The wound will not heal of itself."
The woman backed herself into a corner, her eyes looking at the needle in terror. The irony that a needle could make this woman cower when all of the swords in the village could not was a wonder.
The older woman crawled forward. "It's okay, darling," she said.
Bell Anna stuck her head into the hut. "Mother, are you well?"
The heathen threw the cup at Bell Anna's head, who ducked it.
"All is well, sister," the abbess said. "Please leave us be."
"Don't hurt her," Bell Anna said with a sharp finger pointed at the prisoner.
The Viking shouted something, an invective perhaps. The veins of her throat corded and the abbess struggled to keep from recoiling from the anger herself. She ran a hand down the woman's bare arm. "Shh," she whispered. She leaned down and cooed into the woman's ear. "Shh."
Only then did the heathen become still again.
The abbess' lips grazed her lips across her cheek and hovered near the woman's own mouth. "Shh, my darling," she said. Their gazes locked and Katie Janeway tried to fill her eyes with all the ridiculous feelings she already felt for this strange woman. "I won't hurt you," she said. "I promise thee." Then she touched their lips together. To her surprise the woman returned the all-too-brief kiss. Then she went limp.
"That's it," she said. "Let me attend your wounds."
And so the abbess was able to sew up the large gash at her right temple and a small starburst of a wound at her left ear.
X X X
Sometime later, the abbess emerged from the small hut, stretching her back. Sister Bell Anna and the clan chief found her quickly.
"Will she live?" Chakotay asked in common Gaelic.
"She will need our care, Chakotay," the abbess said in the same language. "I want to move her to the cloister."
He shook his head. "No, she will remain here."
The abbess did not ever care for the word, Bell Anna knew. She'd given often that first summer she was brought to this remote northern isle. But was she cunning enough to get her way with the Clan Chief.
"She's wild," the abbess said. "You cannot tame her."
"She's a woman," Chakotay said. "She will fill our village with children."
"Your children?" the abbess inquired, already knowing the answer.
He lifted a chin. "Aye, my children. Should I remind the abbess that the heathen Vikings took my wife and sons, cutting them down in front of me?" He pointed to a spot across the village. "Over there."
The abbess shook her head. "Then let us ensure that she is healthy, Chakotay. When she is ready, we will return her to you."
"Do you swear it, mother?"
She placed a hand over her heart. "I swear it."
X X X
The next day they rode the hour's journey to the cloister of Iona in a wagon borrowed from the clan chief. Bell Anna drove the two horses while the Viking remained intoxicated and safely ensconced beside the abbess of Iona Nunnery.
"She doesn't look too wild to my eyes," Sister Bell Anna said, after they'd cleared the village many miles back.
The abbess looked down at the sleeping heathen, nestled against her breast. "Looks are deceiving, sister," she said, stroking the woman's face gently.
"How will you keep the Clan Chief's bloody hands off of her when the time is right?"
"I won't worry until I need to," she said. "Maybe he'll forget."
Sister Bell Anna laughed. "Thomas said he never forgets."
X X X
They arrived at the cloister for the noon meal. Sister Kes had prepared a small meal of leeks and onion soup and bread cakes. Another man from the village was dining with her, when the abbess swept into the dining hall. The man and the diminutive Sister Kes jumped up from the table.
The abbess stared at the man and at the hand that only seconds ago had been holding Sister Kes'. "Good day, sister," the abbess said. "And to you sir."
The man was as tall as the diminutive sister and he offered a pudgy hand to the abbess. "Hello, mother," he said. "I'm a merchant, Bartholomew Neelix, at your service. I trade furs," he said. "I work his Mr. Chakotay by traveling in and out of Scotland."
The abbess watched her sister carefully before asking: "And you are here for what purpose?"
"Oh, I brought Sister Kes some wool. She's a knitter," he said.
"I have never seen you here before," the abbess said suspiciously.
"Oh, I usually visit the two weeks before the full moon."
"When I am tending the sheep," she said pointing to the summit of the nearest highland.
"Exactly!"
"Neelix!" Sister Kes groaned.
"When I am indisposed," the abbess stated, revealing for the nebbishy man the error of his admission.
"Ah, yes," he said. "Well, it is coincidental."
"Then you are the source of many of our blessings," the abbess realized. "The extra wood for fires and the onions."
"Yes!" he and Sister Kes said simultaneously.
The abbess regarded her wayward sister with an indulgent look. To do anything else would be the height of hypocrisy, she knew. "Very well," she said. "We have need of black wool and white linen."
He smiled. "I believe I have some in my wagon."
He left and Sister Kes seemed to brace herself for the unfurling of the abbess' anger. But it never came. Instead, the abbess asked the sister to help her get their new guest from the wagon to her cell. "Where is Sister Bell Anna?" Kes inquired, as they walked outside. She could see Neelix rifling through the contents of his wagon, which sat by the gate.
"She is taking care of the horses," the abbess said.
X X X
With Neelix' help, they managed to get the Viking woman to the abbess' own quarters. The room was large but gloomy and sparsely furnished. A lamp burned low beside the bed and a fire roared in the fireplace. The Viking woman settled down to the bed and sunk into a deep sleep again.
When Sister Kes turned to go, the abbess called her back. "Be sure to abstain from intimate relations in the middle of your cycle, sister," she said. "We cannot afford to have children running around this cloister and proclaiming our indiscretions."
Sister Kes curtsied. "No, mother," she whispered. Then she leaned in and kissed the woman on the cheek. "Thank you."
"Tell Sister Bell Anna the same!" she called back.
"I will!" echoed through the hall.
Katie Janeway turned to the figure in her bed. She began to disrobe and performed her ritual cleansing before joining her, dressed only in a simple white shift. She laid a hand on the woman's forehead and sighed relief that no fever had set in. Then she cocooned herself in and drifted to sleep.
X X X
When the abbess awoke, she found two sky blue eyes studying her. "Good morning," she said in Latin.
The reply was a guttural one, but there was no angry tone this time.
The abbess smiled at her and was surprised to see a small smile in return. She laid a hand on the woman's forehead. "You feel well," she said.
She lifted to elbow and urged the woman onto her back. "Let me see your wounds," she said. She reached over the woman and turned the lamp up. Then she smiled down at the woman, who was staring at her intently. She caressed her check and then tipped her chin one way to allow her to see the wound at the ear. "Better," she said. Then she tipped the woman's chin in the other direction and carefully studied this wound closer. "Much better."
Then she sat up and shoved the covers down and made lifted her own arms, urging the woman with gestures to do the same. She lifted her hands above her head and Katie lifted the woman's shirt just enough to see the poultice under her right breast. She lightly felt it and lifted a corner. "It should be changed," she said.
She undid the wrap and removed the poultice. Katie studied the wound. "I believe it has stopped bleeding, darling," she whispered happily. "That's half the battle. It certainly is."
She reached for another one she had pre-prepared and left by the bedside. She adjusted the shirt, leaving it covering the ample breast as she placed it over the wound. When she went to wrap the poultice, the heathen lifted her shirt to her chin and her twin breasts—both tipped in the purest honey—called to the abbess. Her hand froze in mid-wrap. She glanced down at the luscious, heaving points and licked her lips. "You're very beautiful," she said in Latin. "Is that what you want to hear?"
The points hardened visibly and Katie closed her eyes and moaned. "So heavenly."
She felt a hand stroke her cheek and then slip down to glide behind her neck. When she opened her eyes, their lips were nearly touching. She tried to resist, though not very diligently as she should have. When their lips met, the heathen said something unintelligible and Katie Janeway continued to hover over the woman's mouth, breathing in the foreign words.
"I agree," she whispered in Latin, though she had no idea to what she'd just assented.
When the woman took Katie's hand, control the abbess readily relinquished, and laid her palm on one of the breasts. Katie's eyes snapped open and she tried to pull away, but the Viking held her neck close and palm still. She whispered something and though Katie was not sure of the exact words, the abbess took them for gratitude.
She relaxed, but not enough to allow their lips to join again. "You are most welcome, darling," she said. "But you are too sick for dalliances of any kind."
But the heathen was insistent, until the abbess stared into the pools of sky blue. "Trust me," she whispered while maintaining a resistance being lowered onto the divine body beneath her.
Slowly, the heathen woman abandoned both points of contact and fell back. She whispered something and then her stomach growled.
The abbess smiled. "I believe that is the universal language of peace," she said. "I am hungry as well. Hungry," she repeated while patting her own belly.
She helped the woman up, who swayed slightly upon standing. She helped the heathen dress and then she dressed herself in her usual black and white habit before they both descended to the kitchens.
X X X
When the heathen was well enough, the abbess assigned her Sister Bell Anna for instruction in the small, hot kitchen. The dark gray blocks were covered in animal fat and black cinder, making it gloomier still.
Sister Bell Anna handed a cast iron kettle to the tall heathen woman, who went by the name Sigrun. "It's your job to fetch the water from the cistern," she said, shoving the kettle into the woman's chest.
She accepted it with an "oof" and a glare. She shook her head and handed it back to Sister Bell Anna.
"Are you going to fight me again today, heathen?"
The woman touched her own chest. "Sigrun."
"I'll call you Sigrun when you obey!" Sister Bell Anna punctuated the last word with the kettle to the tall woman's chest.
Sigrun dropped the kettle and it made a loud, ringing clang. Sister Bell Anna covered her ears while Sigrun ignored it. She touched her chest again. "Berserker," she said.
Sister Bell Anna rolled her eyes. "Berserkers eat, don't they?!" she shouted in Latin, as if that would make the woman understand.
Sister Bell Anna pointed to the still vibrating kettle. "Pick it up and get the bloody water!"
Sigrun shook her head once and crossed her arms.
Sister Bell Anna's face darkened and, without a second thought, she jumped onto the tall Viking and started pounding her head. The Viking backed into a greasy wall, crushing Bell Anna between it and herself.
The sister growled and began to pull the Viking's long braids. The berserker batted at the woman on her back, landing a hard blow every second or third time. She whipped about, trying to throw the smaller woman from her back but only succeeded in knocking all of the plates and cups from the table with a loud thud.
The abbess appeared in time to see Sigrun ram Sister Bell Anna up against another wall. "That hurts, you crazy—!"
"Sisters!" the abbess thundered.
Panting hard, both women froze. Bell Anna slid from the taller woman and they both turned to face her.
"What is the meaning of this?" she bellowed, gesturing to the disarray of pots, plates and cups on the floor. "You could have been set yourselves on fire!"
The kitchen fire blazed in the oversized fireplace.
"This crazy heathen will not heed me, mother! I've tried to teach her about cooking! But all she does is point at herself and say 'berserker.'" She sneered the last word.
Sigrun nodded and repeated the word in reference to herself.
When Bell Anna was about to start another round of complaints, the abbess held up a hand. "Enough," the abbess said. "I'll finish here. You go spin the wool."
Bell Anna glared at the Viking, but finally obeyed. "Yes, mother."
When they were alone, Sigrun continued to stare at the abbess, who continued to survey the disaster. She put her fists on her hips. "You must learn to work with everyone, Sigrun," she whispered.
The blonde studied her but remained quiet. The abbess sighed and began to pick up the pots. Even before she'd reached the first one, Sigrun had already begun to help. She moved with alacrity, replacing the utensils and gathering the kettle in one hand in short order.
She lifted the empty kettle and said something in her language.
"I suppose you'd like some company?"
Sigrun looked hopeful and smiled when the abbess gestured to the outside door. "Let's go," she said.
They walked together, with the abbess speaking nonsense, talking about the rain and their dwindling stores of food. Sigrun did not respond in any way, she just walked side by side with the abbess happily.
On the way back from the cistern, they saw several warhorses in the courtyard and they were met inside the courtyard by the Clan Chief, Thomas and several other warriors. "I see my bride's health is back," he said in Gaelic.
The abbess foisted the kettle of water and set it to the ground. "Hardly back, Chakotay," she said. "Or do you believe that I enjoy carrying this heavy kettle of water when a much younger woman could do so easier?"
"Why don't you make her do it then?"
"Because it would tear her wounds open," she explained simply. "She is healing but she needs more time."
Chakotay narrowed his eyes. "You are trying to keep her from me?"
The abbess sighed. "If you give her more time then I can also train her to be a wife and not a warrior."
Chakotay considered that. "Fine," he said. "You have another moon. But after that, she's mine."
Chakotay and his men left, leaving the two women to stare at the cloister gate for a long moment. "Don't worry, Sigrun," the abbess said in Latin. "If you don't want to go with them, we'll think of something."
X X X
That night, in the abbess' cell, the pair changed into their shifts and the abbess examined the woman's wounds. She slipped the shoulder strap down and removed the poultice. She examined the angry red scar. "It looks well, but you'll have a scar," she said. The abbess had grown accustomed to talking to the woman in Latin, and never expected a response.
When she went to replace the shoulder strap, the Viking stilled Katie's hand. She kissed the woman's knuckles gently and then guided her palm to her breast. She moaned when Katie touched her nipple through the fabric. Katie closed her eyes and left the hand there, stilling herself for long minutes. But she couldn't control her breathing. She was beginning to pant.
"You feel divine," she whispered to the concerned expression she witnessed. Then she smiled in reassurance. But only until she pressed their lips together did she feel the younger woman relax. "But I should not touch you so."
The woman sat up and pulled her shift from her body, revealing a shapely body blessed with buxom fullness and a slim waist. Katie's eyes widened as the lamp light played across the woman's curves. She tried to swallow and she moaned. "I can only withstand so much temptation," she prayed.
The Viking gently pushed Katie's shoulders down until she was lying back. She continued to smile as a hand snaked up the long shift. When she reached her goal, Katie inhaled sharply and Sigrun's mouth descended on hers. The kiss started out light, just as her fingertips grazed the tips of her breasts underneath. Sigrun's hot tongue swiped Katie's lips and opened her mouth, nearly startled by the demanding tongue that explored her wantonly. Meanwhile, she palmed the woman's small breast and kneaded them in rhythm to the flicking of her tongue.
When Katie began to writhe, Sigrun sat up and pushed the woman's shift up. She gazed at the tawny tips and muttered something before her mouth descended on one.
Katie's hands circled Sigrun's head and pressed her close. "Oh, yes, yes," she whispered in Latin. "Lovely perfection."
Sigrun's lips began to wander down and Katie began to thrash. "No, darling," she whispered. "I need you here and here." She tried to shove Sigrun's hand down, but the Viking woman resisted.
When the woman's lips grazed her triangle of hair between her legs, Katie became alarmed. "What are you doing?" she shrieked.
Sigrun smirked before parting the legs. When she leaned in to kiss the woman's moist lips below, Katie inhaled sharply. "You can't kiss me there! It's—"
A long swipe of her tongue along the seeping seam made Katie cry out. "Saints preserve me!"
Sigrun parted the lips to find the throbbing button the size of an acorn. She kissed it lightly causing Katie to buck. "What are you doing to me?" she cried helplessly.
When Sigrun's lips fastened to the throbbing acorn, Katie began to buck wildly on the bed. "Dear God, don't stop!"
Katie held Sigrun's head to her, spreading her legs as wide as they would go, while the heathen sucked on her. When she inserted two fingers, Katie's eyes rolled back into her head and her mouth fell open with a long, low growl of release. "I love you!" she cried as she came with a thunder.
Sigrun began to suck her acorn in short bursts, milking the contractions until the last. Only when Katie threw her arms against the bed did the woman stop. She kissed the lips again, and then the woman's thigh before crawling back up. The Viking placed her hands on either side of the abbess and looked down at her. The nectar around her mouth dripped onto Katie's cheek and she opened her eyes. She smiled and reached up to tuck a braid behind the woman's ear.
"Only a heathen would know to put her mouth against a woman's sex," she whispered.
Sigrun smiled before lightly kissing her mouth.
"I am salty," she said, smacking her own lips to taste herself.
Sigrun said something before she laid down, spreading her arms and legs. Katie took that to mean she was offering herself and the abbess was certainly not going to waste the opportunity. She descended ravenously first on the heaving breasts.
Sigrun moaned and arched her back, trying to offer herself to the abbess. But Katie kept the kisses light, as she grazed her fingers along the woman's finely muscled torso. Sigrun grunted something and yanked hard on Katie's arm, trying to stretch it to the apex of her legs. Katie laughed quietly against a swollen nipple. "Very well," she whispered, after blowing on the wet tip.
She let her hand sweep southward until she found the soft curls. There her fingertips meandered past the downy wool until Sigrun growled. Finally, Katie let a fingertip slip just so into the honey and Sigrun whimpered. Katie bit down hard on a nipple when she slipped two fingers fully into the woman in one swift motion.
Sigrun arched her back and pumped her hips. "Oh, my," Katie murmured against the tip as she matched the woman's writhing rhythm of ecstasy, in and out, in and out. When Katie's thumb brushed the special spot, Sigrun came with a shout in Latin on her lips: "I love thee!"
When the heathen's ardor had faded, Katie painted the woman's breast with her own juices. "Did you mean to say those words, I wonder?" she whispered, not really expecting an answer. "Or where you imitating me?"
Sigrun stilled the woman's hand and lifted it to her lips. "I love thee, Katie. I have loved thee from the first."
Katie sat up and stared at the sated woman, the light from the lamp flickering across her cheeks. "You speak Latin," she said, in almost a question.
"I could not hide it from you," she said. "Not anymore, not after this."
"But how?"
"Because I am a heathen?"
Katie flushed and nodded.
"I was a shield maiden in Allemania," she said. "We fought many Saxons there and they spoke this language and their priests also. It was required that I learn it."
"Why did you deceive me?" Katie asked.
Sigrun sat up and pulled the woman close. She allowed it, but it was because she waited for the reply. "Because I planned on returning to my people."
"And now?"
Sigrun cupped Katie's cheek, letting her thumb graze her lips. "I want to stay here with you."
Katie kissed the thumb. Then Sigrun replaced her thumb with her own lips. "May I stay?"
Katie pushed the woman back to the bed and showed her the answer over and over again, all night.
X X X
Several weeks later, the nuns and the heathen began their breakfast in silence. It was only after the abbess had consumed a bit of tea and honey could anyone speak. "This morning, I want Sigrun to accompany Bell Anna to tend the flock."
The pair glared at each other and then Sister Bell Anna objected. "She learns better with you, mother," she said.
"Perhaps, but the new abbot is expected any day. I must prepare his cell."
"Bell Anna is a poor instructor," Sigrun said.
"Or perhaps you are a poor pupil!" she retorted.
"Enough!" the abbess said. "See to your duties."
The two sisters marched out of the kitchen after cleaning up after themselves, leaving Katie and Sigrun in peace for a blessed moment. The abbess laid a hand on Sigrun's muscled arm. "Will you try to get along with Bell Anna?"
"For you, yes," she said, leaning in to capture the woman's lips. "Yes," and another kiss. "Anything," and another kiss.
Katie placed a single finger on the forward marching lips. "If we don't stop here, then I fear we shall never complete our duties."
"Duties," the Viking jeered and she stood up from the table. "Will my duties bring me to your cell tonight?"
Katie leaned back and took in the woman's full voluptuous height. "Most assuredly, love," she said with a crooked smile.
X X X
"No!" Sister Bell Anna snarled. "You must whistle and then issue the order."
"But they are dogs," she said. "Can they not tend the sheep without us?"
Bell Anna slammed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and howled her anger. It echoed across the misty highlands. "You are infuriating in any language," she said.
"I am not intending to be difficult, Bell Anna," she said.
"Sister Bell Anna."
"But we are not kith or kin."
Bell Anna rolled her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. "Let's just begin again. When you issue a command you must whistle—"
"You still have failed to explain this reasoning?"
"Argh!" she shouted to the sky.
"If I am to learn adequately, then—"
Bell Anna tossed the shepherd's crook to heathen, who watched it fall to the ground. She looked up, tipping her head to one side. "You must figure this out yourself," she snarled. "I will leave you to it."
Sister Bell Anna marched back to the cloister, leaving the heathen by herself.
X X X
The mile hike down had expended the frustrating energy that Sister Bell Anna had around the crazy Viking woman and she was rewarded with the sight of Thomas, who was racing up on his warhorse. She stopped by the gate for him. He ground to a halt, but did not dismount.
"You can't stay the night?" she inquired saucily.
Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but watched the nun sway her hips and he was silenced for a full minute. He finally slammed his eyes shut. "Listen to me!"
"What?" she asked testily. "What could you possibly have to tell me that would be of interest if you cannot share my bed tonight?"
"Chakotay is coming for Sigrun," he said. "He has the abbot in tow. He means to marry her when he arrives."
"Joseph and Mary!" Sister Bell Anna cursed. "I hate that woman, but the abbess…"
Her eyes met her lover's and understanding passed between them. "They are lovers," he said.
"Please don't speak of it," she said, rushing to implore his leg, the only part she could access on his horse. She allowed her forehead to touch his knee. "But yes." She looked up. "How did you know?"
"I believe I heard them that one night…"
Sister Bell Anna's shoulder shook, but she remained attached to the man's knee. "Please don't speak of it again," she whispered. "The village would not understand."
"Chakotay would not understand," he said.
She lifted her eyes, the size of twin moons at the sudden realization that he could destroy the cloister and slaughter all of them. "Thomas," she implored. "This is the only real home I have ever known. That any of us have ever known."
He reached out and touched her habit-covered head. "I know, Bell," he said. "That's why I'm warning you. Go tell the abbess."
X X X
The abbess was kneeling in the chapel, light spilled through stained glass painting reds and golds across the altar, when Sister Bell Anna found her.
"Mother," she whispered.
The abbess leaned into her clasped hands. "Could it not wait for a just a little while longer, sister?"
"No, mother," she said, hopping between her two feet nervously.
The abbess crossed herself and rose from her station. "What is the problem?"
"Chakotay comes for his wife," she shouted. Both women cringed at the echo that reverberated.
"Now? He comes now?"
"Yes, with the abbot, to marry them."
The abbess lifted her eyes to the altar in supplication. "Have we completed the garment?"
"Mostly," Sister Bell Anna said. "But Sigrun isn't going to like it."
"She will dislike sharing Chakotay's bed a lot more! Where is she?"
"I left her with the sheep."
X X X
The abbess and Sister Kes took their fastest horse and raced up the side of the mountain, the mist forming eddies in their wake. When the abbess found the sheep, she dismounted and called out to Sigrun.
"I am here," the woman shouted, beside a small fire.
The abbess inhaled sharply when she saw the Viking with a knife raised to kill a tender lamb. "What do you think you are doing?"
"Dinner," she said.
"You tend the sheep, Sigrun," Kes said.
"Not eat them!" the abbess added.
The blonde looked down at the bleating lamb under her knee. "But I am hungry and it is small," she said. "Your Saxon ways are baffling."
"I'm not Saxon," the abbess and Kes said together.
"Forget the sheep," the abbess said. "Listen to me, my darling." She grabbed the woman by the shoulders. "Chakotay comes!"
"For what purpose?"
"He means to claim you as his bride."
"I am berserker! I am Odin's bride! I live for the sword!"
"Perhaps among the Viking," she said. "But here in Scotland, you are a beautiful woman and he wants to marry you."
"I do not wish to marry him!"
"There may be away. Sister Kes, tend the sheep. I will send someone to fetch you."
X X X
Chakotay led the priest through the cloister gate. "The abbey used to be there," he said to an outline of charred rock that remained beside the main gate. "But the heathens of the north burned it to the ground. The abbess said they stole the chalice and communion cups."
The balding man in a black and white cassock crossed himself. "The holy Father said they burned the sacred scrolls."
"Aye, father," Chakotay said. "They did and more."
The priest shook his head. "Perhaps your marriage would be—"
"Hello, father abbot," Abbess Katie Janeway said, walking toward them from the cloister.
After introductions, the priest nodded approvingly at the abbess. "You have done a marvelous job maintaining this station for the Holy Father," he said.
"Thank you, father abbot," she said.
"I would see the rest of the cloister," he said. After Chakotay cleared his throat, he added hastily: "After we find this man's bride to be and send them happily along in the holy sacrament of marriage."
Katie's expression faltered and her heart was racing like a thousand horses in her chest, but kept her calm demeanor. "Please, father abbot. This way."
Inside the main hall, the abbess rang the dinner bell. Sister Bell Anna emerged from the kitchen, cleaning her hands with a towel.
"Sister Bell Anna, our father abbot."
The sister lowered her eyes and remained sufficiently humble for the man.
"Where is—?"
Sister Bell Anna gestured behind her and the foursome lifted their eyes to see a tall, gangly wall of black wool over white coif.
Katie Janeway smiled at the sight of the heathen in a nun's habit; Sister Bell Anna nearly giggled at the woman's exposed ankles. The habit was too short.
But Chakotay roared. "What have you done?!"
"Sister Sigrun wishes to atone for her life of violence and has requested to join our small cloister."
"Lovely," the priest said.
"No! Not lovely," Chakotay mocked. "She was to be my wife!"
"Now she has chosen another way, Chakotay," the priest said, using his sternest voice. "She will serve God the whole of her life. It is a blessed choice."
Chakotay rounded on the abbess. "You did this to her!"
The abbess hardened her face. "Now Chakotay, how can you say something so accusatory! If it is a blessed choice—as it most certainly is—that you should be happy that serves God now."
"What of my wife?"
The priest pat the man on the back. "God will provide in due time, Chakotay. In due time."
Chakotay stared at the woman's strangely angelic face, slightly tipped in humility. "What if I were to kidnap her?"
The new nun looked up and growled. The abbess stepped between them but it was the priest who spoke: "You would be ex-communicated! Cut off from God for eternity! Is this what you want?"
Chakotay glared at the abbess, who nodded gravely.
"No," he said finally.
"Be at peace and look for your bride elsewhere," he said. "I passed many clans in the south with many eligible women. Look there."
A furious Chakotay left without eating dinner.
X X X
Later that night, the nuns climbed to their cells. When the abbess arrived at hers, she opened the door and stepped in. "Oh, it was a long day," she said. She removed her coif, revealing her oddly shorn red hair. "Sigrun?"
The blonde Viking remained at the door. "Now that I belong here, do I still belong to you?"
The abbess' lips spread into a crooked grin. She reached out a hand and wiggled her fingers, calling the heathen in. "Here you are and here you will remain for the rest of your days."