THE BARBARIAN KING (BOOK ONE)

Scotland 875...

Zahra struggled as the men that held her dragged her to the stake. The whole village had come out to watch her burn. She fought hard, her heels dragging in the dirt. An illness had swept through the village, and three of their elderly had fallen victim and died. The popular belief was that Zahra had cast an evil spell and stolen their lives.

This had not been the first time the villagers had accused Zahra and her family of witchcraft. Five years ago, the very same villagers had burnt her mother as a witch. Having accused her of seducing the men in town. Zahra had only been thirteen at the time, just a child. She had never known her father, and with her mother gone, Zahra was left with only her grandfather to raise her. Forced to grow up far too soon, she had lived her whole life in a little one-room hut on a small farm outside the village walls. She had done her best not to interact with the villagers, but from time to time, she had to go to market both to sell their vegetables and to procure things she needed.

Perhaps her isolation had made the villagers suspect her more. When she heard the men coming for her, Zahra had slipped into the woods and ran for her life. She could hear the villagers behind her. The hounds were barking as they tracked her through the brush. There was no place she could hide; nowhere she could run. The closest clan was McCollum, but they and the McGregors had been feuding for generations. They would offer her no asylum.

She had been running hard for an hour when they overtook her surrounding her like they would a wild animal. She had fought, scratched and bitten, but they eventually overwhelmed her and dragged her back to McGregor castle. The villagers that had stayed behind had erected a stake in the center of the courtyard. There was a raised platform where Lord McGregor and his tubby wife watched the scene playing out before them. The whole village had gathered screaming profanity at Zahra as the men hauled her to the stake. Her grandfather was in the crowd, restrained from assisting the only family he had left. There were tears in his eyes. He had lost his only daughter and could not bear to lose Zahra too.

The men climbed the piled wood up to the tall, thick stake, and forced her back against the pillar. They pulled her arms behind her, and with a thick braided rope, they tied her to the stake. Zahra could not move as she looked out over all the hateful faces. She remembered the day her mother had burnt, the nauseating smell, the way she screamed in agony as the fire reduced her to bone and ash.

Her heart was beating wildly. She could not believe she was about to die. The village monk stood at her feet, the Holy Scripture in his hands. “Confess your sins, My Child, and unburden your soul. Make your peace with God.”

“I have committed no sin.” She shouted. “‘Tis you who will be judged for what you do here today.”

“Burn the witch!” A woman screamed, and his Lordship nodded. The man holding a torch in his hand stepped toward the stake. His dark eyes cruel as he smirked pleased with his task. Zahra watched with fear in her heart as the torch lowered to light the wood at her feet.

Suddenly he jerked, and a shocked expression claimed his face. He looked down at the dagger sticking out of his chest. He dropped to his knees and fell over dead. The torch rolling along the ground and stopped just short of the pile of wood and kindling.

Zahra looked to her left and saw an army of barbarian warriors swarm the courtyard taking on the McGregor warriors as the villagers fled for their very lives. Over on the platform, Zahra watched a handful of warriors charge the Lord and Lady taking them prisoner. His Lordship pulled his sword, and before he could swing it, the barbarian in front of him ran him through. Her Ladyship dropped to her knees, cowering and pleading for her life.

A strong autumn breeze blew around her and Zahra looked down at the still-lit torch as the flame flickered and licked at the wood. Her heart almost stopped when the flame jumped from the torch to the firewood, lighting the fire that would take her life. Zahra struggled against her bonds, trying to free herself. Her legs bound; she tried to move her feet as the fire crawled up the wood inches from her slippers.

Materializing beside her as if by magic, a barbarian warrior swung his sword and in one powerful swing, cut the ropes that held her to the stake. His hand closed tightly around her wrist. He tugged hard, pulling Zahra from the fire and threw her to the ground.

Thanking her lucky stars, Zahra looked up to see the man that had saved her life looming over her like the spectre of death. He was tall and broad, easily the biggest man she had ever seen. He was covered from head to toe in fur and leather. Atop his head a horned helmet. Beneath that, a mess of long golden hair and frightening ice blue eyes that looked like they could pierce her soul.

He crouched down and grabbed Zahra by the arm, hauling her to her feet. He forced her toward the parish, where all the villagers were being herded. Those that did not die were forced into the church. It had all happened so fast, and the doors were shut, locking them all inside.

Zahra spotted her grandfather in the small group of survivors and quickly went to him. There was blood dripping from his scalp, where he had clearly been hit with something hard, perhaps the hilt of a sword. “Oh, My Child, thank the heavens, you are alright.” He said, hugging her tight.

“Are you alright?” She asked, worried about his head.

“I will be fine, Child.” He reassured her.

“They are going to burn us alive.” A woman cried out in fear as she and two others beat on the wooden doors trying to open them. The windows were too narrow and high to crawl out of. They were effectively imprisoned.

Though barbarians were known for burning the villages they sacked, Zahra did not believe that was their intention. Why save her from one fire to kill her in another? No, they were here for something else entirely.

***

Cain mounted the stone steps to the high-backed chair at the head of the main hall. They had taken the castle and surrounding village with little effort. His men now filled the castle hall awaiting instruction. Reaching the seat, Cain removed his helmet and handed it to Finn, who stood to the side. Finn had been a trusted friend and confidant to both Cain and his father. He was older than Cain by a decade, but he fought as good as any man. His flaxen hair and long beard hid much of his windblown face.

Cain took a seat, his hands resting on the finely carved arms of the chair. “Has my father arrived yet?”

“The men have taken him upstairs. They have made him comfortable.” Finn said, tucking Cain’s helmet beneath his arm. “Her Ladyship.” Finn introduced the surviving lady of the manor. She was a stout and dumpy little thing with long dark hair and crow’s feet around her dark eyes. She had an air of undeserved confidence that came with wealth and privilege. Demanding respect she did not earn. To him, she was nothing. Her title and breeding meant not a thing to him and his men. The title meant nothing if it was not earned.

He had earned his station in life through blood and sweat. He broke his back and fought his way to where he was. His father might have been king, but that meant nothing, even Cain had to prove himself time and time again to earn the loyalty and respect he now commanded.

“Why have you attacked us?” Her Ladyship demanded.

“Do not speak to me in such a way.” Cain barked harshly, making the fat woman jump. “Your life means nothing to me, and I will have you killed.” He warned, not appreciating her tone. He was the next king, and he would not be spoken to with such arrogance from an undeserving foe.

She instantly tensed up and then she curtsied and bowed her head respectfully. “Good Sir, I beg you to tell me what it is you want from us.”

That was better. “I have heard tales of the McGregor witch.” She looked up, stunned. “I seek an audience with said witch.” She looked surprised.

“We-we burnt her this very day.”

No, they had not. They may have meant to, but in the chaos, Cain had cut the witch from the stake himself. She had been younger than he had expected. He had expected an old crone but had found a vibrant, beautiful woman instead. Her long dark hair was black as night, and her eyes were dark and enchanting. Her body was small and curvy. He could see how she could easily bewitch a man.

“She has escaped the fire, and you will bring her before me.” He waved his hands, and two of his best men stepped forward to retrieve the witch. Wray was a big man both in height and girth. As tubby, as he was, he still moved with speed and stealth. He was an accomplished fighter that held both the respect and admiration of their people. Like most of his men, he was hairy with a long mess of tangled blonde locks and a long beard kept tidy by two long braids.

With him, Mani, a younger warrior, but one who had proven his worth on the battlefield time and time again. Unlike most of their clansmen, Mani had dark hair and even darker eyes. Most men in his place bleached their hair blonde with lye but not Mani. He presented himself the way the Gods had made him.

Both men took the noblewoman and ushered her out of the hall. Cain could not wait to speak with the witch. He had come so far to find her; she had best have been worth the journey.

***

Zahra stood on one of the pews to look out the narrow window at the quiet village outside. The entire village was emptied; anyone that survived the attack had been locked away in the church. They now knelt before the altar praying for salvation. Zahra could see no point in prayer. Prayer was not going to drive the barbarians from their land.

“What do you see?” Her grandfather asked, looking up at her.

“Nothing.” She answered, honestly. “It’s completely abandoned.”

“What are they waiting for?”

“I do not think they mean to kill us.”

“What do they mean to do?” She wished she knew.

Zahra stepped down from the pew and paced the floor, ignoring the glares from the other villagers. To the devil with all of them. They wanted her dead, and for all she cared, the barbarian hoard could send them all to their maker. All she cared about at this point was her grandfather’s fate and her own.

The whole parish came to their feet when the doors of the church opened. Appearing in the doorway were two barbarians being led by Lady Madison McGregor. She was a vicious older woman who personally went out of her way to make every other woman’s life a misery. It was jealousy, really. She had not liked the way her husband had looked at the staff. Perhaps even taken a few to his bed.

Madison looked around the small church. When she spotted Zahra, she pointed right at her. Zahra’s heart almost stopped when the two men stalked toward her. “No!” Her grandfather cried, trying to protect her only to be struck down.

“Grandpa.” She cried out, struggling against them as they took both her arms and dragged her out the door. “Let me go.” She hissed as one man held her, and the other barricaded the church doors shut.

They ignored Zahra dragging her kicking and screaming toward the castle. What could they possibly want with her? She was hauled into the main hall and brought before the young man in the head seat. His fur cloak draped over the back of the chair, his horned helmet on the floor at his feet. He would have been handsome with his golden mane, and rugged features, were it not for that commanding almost cruel look in his bright eyes.

Suddenly she recognized him. Those eyes, they were the same eyes that had stared at her by the man who had cut her from the fire. The two men that had brought her in forced Zahra to her knees before the barbarian king. Taking a fistful of her dark hair, they pulled, forcing her face upward to look at their leader.

“The witch, My Lord,” Madison said proudly.

“I am not a witch.” Zahra snapped.

“Liar!” Madison growled. “She is not to be trusted. She will cast an evil spell on you and your men. You should kill her. Kill her now!”

“You will not tell me what to do.” He barked, silencing Madison instantly. His grasp of their language was remarkable though his accent was distinctive. A Norsemen if she had to guess. He then turned his attention to Zahra. “So, you are the McGregor witch? I confess I was expecting someone older.”

“I am no witch,” Zahra repeated. She hated that word.

“No?” He asked thoughtfully.

“No.”

The man sighed and waved his hand dismissively. “Then you are of no use to me. Kill everyone and burn the village.”

The man behind her drew his dagger and placed it to Zahra’s throat, prepared to carry out her sentence. “No, wait!” She pleaded. “I am a witch; I am.”

“She admits it, kill her.” Madison hissed.

He came to his feet and stepped down, crossing the small space to where Zahra kneeled. “Do not play with me; I am not fond of games. Be you a witch or not?”

If it saved her life, she would confess to anything he wanted to hear. “Yes, I am a witch.”

He reached down and took her hand, helping Zahra to her feet. “Come with me.” He instructed and turned to leave the hall. Zahra followed close behind, surrounded by three men. Two were the men that had brought her to the castle, and the third had been standing by the chair like an advisor. They walked quickly through the castle and up the winding stone steps that led up to the private chambers.

She could not guess why they were going to the private chambers. There was nothing up this way. “What do you want of me?” She asked as they reached the upper level.

“I want your skills, Witch.” He said, leading the way down the hall. They stopped outside a closed door. He pushed the heavy door open, and they went inside. As he stepped out of the way, Zahra found an older man lying in bed, pale and sickly, barely awake. At his bedside, a young man perhaps even younger than her. No more than sixteen, a boy really, but a man by their standards. He was dressed in leather armour and heavily armed as any one of them. His hair was long and blonde, but his face was smooth and told his age.

The man in the bed was older than the rest of them. His hair was long but grey, as was his beard. His face was lined by many years. Like the others, he wore a set of leather armour, but it was ill-fitted. He was tall but thin, so very thin, almost boney. His eyes were shut but shadowed and sunken. He was drained of any colour except for the crimson stains on his lips. He was terribly ill.

Zahra watched as his blue eyes fluttered open for a moment and looked at her. In those weary eyes, she saw a proud man reduced to a weak husk. Suddenly he began to cough. A deep cough coming from the chest. He coughed so violently his whole body shook from the effort. His hand trembled as he lifted a handkerchief to his mouth to wipe away the blood he had brought up. His lungs rasped with each struggled breath as though his lungs were filling with blood and other fluids. He was drowning from the inside out.

“Heal him.” Their leader demanded.

Zahra looked at him with surprise. “You must be kidding.”

“I assure you I am not.” He said flatly. “Heal him.” He repeated.

How the hell was she supposed to do that? What did he expect from her magic? Then it hit her. That was why he was looking for a witch. Zahra was way in over her head. She could not heal this man any more than she could control the weather. However, she could not tell them that. She had to play her position until she could find a way to escape.

Zahra looked over the man in the bed. The best she could do was make him comfortable, but she could not save him from his fate. “It will take time.” She lied. “I cannot cure him overnight.”

Their leader looked Zahra dead in the eye. “If he dies, you will as well.” He warned her with a hard look. “Now, if there is anything you should need, any one of my men would be happy to fetch it for you.”

“And what if it is you that I need?”

“Tell my men, and someone will fetch me.” He said, heading to the door with the three that came up with him leaving the boy with her.

“What is his name?” She called after him. She may as well know the man’s name.

He stopped in the doorway and looked back at the bed. “He is Regin, my Father and King.” He then looked at the young boy seated by the bed. “Erik, here will assist you.”

“And who do I ask for when I wish to speak with you?”

“I am Cain; this is Finn, Mani, and Wray. Any one of them would be happy to help should you need it.” With that, the four men left the chambers pulling the door closed behind them, leaving Zahra with the boy and her patient.

Zahra was not sure what to do at this point, but she had to do something to justify her usefulness until she could get away. Zahra took a seat at the foot of the bed and thought. She did not even know where to begin. She supposed cleaning him up was a good place to start. “I will need some warm water and some clean rags.” She instructed Erik. The boy just stared at her. She could not tell if he simply did not understand her or if he resented having to take orders from her. “Chop-chop,” She said, clapping her hands to hurry him along, “the water will not fetch itself.”

Erik rose from his seat with annoyance in his bright eyes, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he glared down at her. He was bigger than he had first looked, Norse must breed giants. Without a word, he walked past her and headed for the door in long strides. When he left the room, she breathed easier. Alone Zahra came to her feet and walked over to the oak wardrobe in the corner. This chamber had been his Lordship’s, and she was sure she would find a nightshirt to change her charge into. The cotton garment would be far more comfortable than the armour he was presently wearing.

She brought the garment to the bed and draped it over the back of the chair Erik had been sitting in. Zahra pulled back the blankets and began to unbuckle the thick straps that held his armour on. It was proving more difficult than she would have thought. He was heavy, and she found it imposable to undress him. Why would they put a dying man in armour? It was ridiculous.

Erik returned with a cauldron of water, which he hung in the lit hearth to warm. Tied to his belt, a sack of clean rags which he tossed on the foot of the bed. “Help me.” She ordered straining to sit Regin up enough to remove his armour and tunic. Erik came to the other side of the bed, and with both hands on Regin’s shoulders, he lifted the older man into a seated position. With his help, Zahra stripped away the layers until he was topless. Erik laid Regin down, and Zahra felt awkward at what they had to do next. Unlike her countrymen who donned colourful clan specific kilts, the Norse wore trousers, and at that moment, she had to take Regin’s off.

Zahra paced a moment, trying to get up the nerve to fully undress him. She could not; it was not proper. “Take off his breeches.” She ordered, waving her finger at Regin.

“No way.” Erik snapped, looking as awkward as she felt at the moment. Neither one of them felt right taking off Regin’s pants, but it had to be done. Fine, she would do it; she had to wash him anyway. Zahra timidly reached for his belt and unbuckled the thick leather she then took the sides of his trousers and shimmied his pants down his legs looking the other way as she did it. She draped the blanket to cover Regin, offering him his modesty as she pulled off one boot and then the next before removing his trousers completely.

Once he was undressed, Zahra took the water from the fire and brought it to the bedside. She dipped a rag and gently washed away the grit and grime from the road. She gently washed his face and upper body. When it came time to do the lower half, she looked up at Erik, who shook his head no. He just stood back and watched as she cleaned the king. When she was finished, Erik lifted Regin enough for Zahra to pull on the nightshirt she had found earlier. Then he laid him back down.

Once she was done her cleansing task, Zahra walked over to the small table and picked up a comb. Knelt by the bed, Zahra carefully and patiently ran the comb through his long hair and beard working out the matted mess of tangles. Nothing made someone feel better than some personal grooming. Though it would not cure his ailment, it might make him feel better if even for a bit.

Returning the comb to the table, Zahra decided she had done all she could at the moment. Zahra headed for the door, but Erik stepped in front of her blocking her exit. “Where do you think you are going?” He demanded, looking down at her.

“I am done for the moment I wish to speak with Cain.”

“I will fetch him.”

“I am capable of finding him myself.”

Erik put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Sit down. You are going nowhere.”

“You cannot hold me hostage.” She snapped.

Erik shoved her into the chair by the bed. “I said, sit down.” She was offended that he thought he could manhandle her in such a way. “I will fetch Cain. You wait right here. Do not move.”

“Oh, I would not dream of it.” She snapped sarcastically, but if she had to, Zahra would wait for this boy to summon Cain.