DREAM OF ME, sihtric & finan

7. this is my sin

CHAPTER SEVEN; this is my sin

Darkness had fallen, the land outside hard to see, and her hand shook as she pushed herself against the wall, finding strength as she heard the wails belonging to her baby, luring her closer and closer with every step she took toward him. The newborn in clear distress, her heart ached as she knew he must not of fed yet, her breast swelling in pain as the milk leaked, and though it hadn't been long since his birth, dried blood between her thighs and down her legs, staining the dress she wore, it had felt like eternity.

The pain after delivery had intensified as she had been made to climb out of her window, though it was ground level, her core had ached like no other. Her cries had been muffled by her own hand as she collapsed to the ground, her other grasping tightly to the dagger she swore to the Gods she'd use against the Saxons.

They had been kind, believing she wasn't a Dane, believing she was worthy for simply being Christian — yet this was their treatment to anybody different? She hadn't changed, but their judgement had rather quickly, hatred brewing like a storm, and they tore her son from her arms. She was going to make them pay, all of them.

They never locked the entrance door at night. It was a habit she had picked up on them failing to do, so she usually took to doing so, despite knowing a weak lock wouldn't drop a Danish raid if such was to happen. Tova regretted ever praying to her Gods for safety of this home, she wished Dane's had saved her and her son.

"Do not forsake me," She was whispering to herself as she hovered outside of the door, her crying child on the other side. She could hear the way Anne was trying to settle the babe, failing to do so. He wanted his Mother, he was demanding to be placed back into his Mother's arms and with that thought, she pushed the door open and held herself up.

Anger like no other formed in her, poisoning her blood, her insides, as she breathed, at the sight. A cross was atop of her son, a heavy looking thing for such a newborn, and he was near naked, water dripping from him.

What was this? Some sort of dark possession?

Whatever it was, her baby did not like it. He was trying to say as such, ignoring Anne's words as she spoke to her God, begging for forgiveness, for him to save this heathen — it took a moment for Tova to realise Anne was referring to her son as the heathen.

Heathen.

Her son was no heathen. He may have been born a bastard, for her and Sihtric had not yet married, but he was the definition of a miracle, a cure, a light to her that she now felt she understood what her Mother had always meant when telling her daughters that one day, when they had children of their own, the love was like no other.

He was bare hours old and she'd throw herself into the fire for him.

Anne's scream was cut short as Tova launched her entire weight forward, an angered battle-like cry leaving her cracked lips, the dagger pointed upwards and finding a home underneath Anne's chin, going right through to the top of her mouth. In the same moment, Tova's arm wrapped underneath her son and she tore him from the hold the dying woman had.

As she did so, her breasts ached with him so close, reacting to his quietening whimpers. But Anne's husband was storming loudly into the front room, one furthest away from where they had locked Tova in, believing it was best to be away in case Tova managed to get out — she had, just not in the way they had predicted she might.

Karlan's shout at the sight of his dead wife was nothing like that her own Father could possess. His sounded like a weakened man, like a dying cat, laughable to Tova's ears. Anything would be of them now, they had attempted to steal her son, willing to put him in danger all because she was a Dane.