Free Cum For The Viking by Virginia Wade Page A

“Yes.”
    “You’ve been wrong before.”
    “Lady Abbot tricked me with false
questions, Lora. She was playing games. I’m never wrong.” She muttered under
her breath, “That woman will get hers soon enough.”
    “I wish you’d stay.” I swung my legs
over the bed.
    “Take what vegetables you can from
the garden. Kill the chickens. Eat well, my dear. Food will be scarce.”
    “Did you have a dream?”
    “Men are coming. The sea will be
filled with red sails. Go to the woods when this happens. Stay there as long as
you can.”
    Fear lodged in my gut. “How much time
do I have?”
    “A day, maybe. Perhaps less.” She
came to the bed, touching my face. “You’re the most beautiful girl. You’re my
salvation. Your father, God rest his soul, would’ve been proud of the woman
you’ve become. I’m proud to be your mother. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused,
but it is as it should be.”
    I grabbed her hand. “Don’t go.”
    “I must.”
    She folded a small crust of bread in
a cloth. “Use the rest of the wheat. Fortify yourself.”
    “I will.” I hugged her. “Will I ever
see you again?”
    She smiled sadly. “No.” Her gray gown
hung loosely on her thin frame. A brown cloak went over her shoulders, and
leather slippers were on her feet. “Heed my words, Lora. They’ll come to pass.”
    “Yes, mother.” I followed her out,
the wind catching my hair and a biting cold lashing my face. I watched her walk
down the path, her figure growing smaller and smaller. “Goodbye,” I whispered.
    I spent the day gathering vegetables,
making bread, and slaughtering the chickens, which I cut up into a stew. I
would feast tonight. It was almost a shame to waste all this food on one
person. The wind drove the rain against the side of the house, dampening the
clay, water leaking in. The smell of moist earth assailed me along with the
tantalizing aroma of chicken stew. I ate until my tummy bulged, satiated on the
nourishing supper. Then I heated water and prepared a bath, using a cloth to
wipe myself clean. I would wash my hair afterwards, dunking my head in the
bucket. When this task was complete, I sat before the fire, warming my bones
and drying my hair, using a wooden comb to remove the tangles.
    A scratching on the door garnered my
attention. This was followed by a soft, “Meow.”
    “Vincent?” I opened the door, a gust
of freezing rain wetting my face. “Where have you been?” The black cat rubbed
against my leg. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks. He looked well fed, which was
astonishing. “You naughty cat. What mischief have you gotten into?”
    “ Purrrr …”
    He sat before the fire and began to
preen himself, licking his black, lustrous coat. I joined him, scratching
behind his ears. “I’m so glad you’re back. I won’t be alone now.”
    “ Purrr …meow…”
    He slept in my bed, curled up next to
me, keeping me warm. A noisy seagull woke me the next morning, and I dragged
myself from the bed to light the fire. I ate a bowl of soup, filling my belly
to capacity. Then I dunked the bread into the mixture and ate that as well. The
gale had died down, the rain stopping for the moment. Wrapping a cloak around
myself, I left the house to check for damage. I might have to repair the leaks
before they worsened. A mist lingered, the fog so thick I could barely see five
feet before me. Remembering my mother’s words, I wandered towards the cliffs to
look down into the harbor, although, with the fog, I doubted I would see
anything at all.
    The invigorating cold roused my
spirits. I loved this walk. On a clear day, the beauty of the ocean stretched
out as far as the eye could see, but today the mist had yet to lift. I sat on a
rock near the cliff edge and listened. It was eerily quiet. I lingered for more
than an hour, the air chilling me thoroughly, and waited. There was a part of
me that knew once the fog cleared, I would see my mother’s vision. I feared
this, yet I understood it was my