The Northman's Last Kiss *RetitledOriginally titled 'The Northman's Bride'

Chapter 1

1178-Baltic Sea

Chapter 1- Plague Ship

To die and never see the blue sky again was unacceptable.

Priella Miriam Bava Spoleto pounded her fist on the cabin door. "Please! Anyone, Please!" Her voice raspy, hands raw, her strength draining, yet she wouldn't surrender. She was a Spoleto and Spoleto's never quit. Until she drew her final breath, she would fight for her freedom. "Please. I beg you, let me out."

She banged her forehead against the door and sunk down to the floor, her nightgown billowed up around her like a fluffy cloud.

Krips, she missed fluffy clouds. She sucked in fresh air from the gap between the floor and the door.

The cabin was ripening with the stench of death as the morning sun warmed the cell. The small porthole offered her no reprieve from the smell of decay, and the breeze filtered across the bodies of the three nuns. They had died one after another over the last three days...Mimi was the only one left-for now. The pestis was sure to be in her bones crawling to the surface to take her in another night or two...God have mercy, not more than two long black, stench filled nights.

Her imminent demise created the need to brush out her hair and to dress in her most beautiful garment. The nuns had sold all her gowns at the last port. All that remained of her once proud wardrobe was this nightgown. Fitting that her corpse was found in it, or burned in it. Beautiful pure white, crisp linen with fringed lace cuffs and neckline, her sister Amelia's finest creation, the silk white ribbon an added gift from her sister Celine. She wanted no scavenger to have her cherished garment. She would be buried at sea or burned in it. No one would be stupid enough to plunder the fine garment off a plague corpse.

"Have mercy! Is anyone out there? Is anyone still alive?" She yelled through the crack. Plague must have taken them all. Would the ship drift out into the Baltic Sea forever, or would she crash first on a northern shore? Would she be dead by then?

She turned back to gaze with fear at the pile of bodies. She'd used every last blanket and head covering to wrap the nuns up as best that she could. She may have resented her ordained jailers, but she did not hate them. They were misguided souls, not villains like their master, Father Richelieu. Was the priest dead? He bloody hell better be or she would be glad to do the honors. Locking her down here to suffocate before a slow, putrid death had been the feather in his cap. Well priests don't wear caps but if they did, she was sure the old swine would have worn a pompous one.

Bang, bang, bang.

The flesh from her knuckles tore away. "Curse you all, you sadistic dogs! I hope you had a long, vomitus demise. Was this part of your lecherous plan, priest? Where was God to save you? Didn't imagine God was the type to sell virgins to decrepit old men for a purse of gold. See who the fool is now!" Her throat burned from her day of screaming and pleading.

She sipped sparingly on the lemon-flavored water her sister had smuggled into her cabin. It was the last remembrance of her dearly loved home Corsica. She knew there were several crates of lemons and figs stored in the hold-if she could only get out of this foul box she would gorge on them and bask in the sun until she died.