"Ready, Da?" Sacha tugged and plucked at his coat until it sat right on his thin frame.

"I dunno, sweet child. Mayhap a night by the fire—"

She tutted him, and he sighed. "I bathed for this, I have this beautiful dress, and Bjorn is announcing to the village that he has asked to handfast." She laughed, wrapping her arms around her father's waist for a squeeze. "To think we may never go hungry again, Da."

"A worthy dream." He smiled and pulled her threadbare cloak around her. "We shall feast this eve, and let tomorrow bring what it must."

She kissed his cheek and skipped to the door, too excited to stand still or to wait any longer. As she swung the door open, she gasped and stumbled back. Bjorn stood there with his fist raised. In soft leather breeches molded to his thighs, and a dark blue woolen tunic clinging to his broad shoulders, his pale hair glowed in the moonlight, but none of that mattered more than his smile. He lunged forward and scooped her into his arms.

"Sacha, ye're as beautiful as when I last saw ye, lass." He smacked a loud kiss on her lips.

Warmth flooded her to her toes in her worn slippers at his sweet compliment. "Yer saw me but hours ago, Bjorn."

His blue eyes darkened with the same intensity they had carried when he had sprawled his body across hers. He spun her out of his embrace to clasp Da's forearm. "Tis a wonderful eve, good sirrah."

After he ushered them out the hut and along the path to the village hall, he kept a steady conversation of nonsense among stolen kisses. The sky had never been so rich a deep blue, the stars as twinkling and cheerful. She found the crisp breeze refreshing against her flushed cheeks and snuggled into Bjorn whenever he threw his arm across her shoulder.

After their 'swim', she had wanted to hurry to Greta to share the news, but she had daydreamed the time away when Bjorn had finally left her to ready for the Yuletide. Imagining Greta or Katla's expression when Bjorn announced the handfasting, was sweet and kept Sacha's spirits high.

A large bonfire burned in the center of the village, its warmth tempting folks to linger and chat for a while. Through the open doors of the hall, music and laughter spilled down the stone steps, calling all to join them. This night, there was no sadness or suffering, just good food, ale, and kinship.

Da abandoned them for his friends inside, sharing an ale and a laugh with a carefreeness she hadn't seen in a while. Drawing her gaze from him, she smiled at Bjorn who stole a quick kiss.

"Here ye are." Greta bounced across the cobbled stones to loop her arm through Sacha's. "Good eve, Bjorn." Using her hefty weight, she ushered a struggling Sacha through the doors and into the hall.

Sacha moaned, "I was busy."

"Och, aye, I have eyes, Sacha, along with everyone else." Shoving her onto a bench, Greta kissed her mother's cheek before slumping beside her. "The way he looks at ye, twas but a matter of time afore he gathered his balls to ask." Greta gripped Sacha's upper arms and forced her to twist on the bench. "Well, did the lad?"

Sacha grinned, bubbly joy tripping out of her, but all she could manage was a laughing, "Aye."

Greta squealed and silenced those around them. Not paying attention to their good-humored or judgmental expressions, she poured honeyed ale into the cups on the table. "Is he announcing it this eve?"

Sacha nodded again, then sipped her ale, savoring the warm, sweet flavor. She wanted to remember this eve forever; Bjorn claiming her in front of the villages, and Katla's expression when he did so.

Many stared at Sacha, their gazes trailing the too-tight dress hugging her curves. Women whispered behind their cupped hands when she danced past them or served her father a platter of food. Through it all, she scanned the hall, seeking Bjorn's handsome face, his warm smile, and his rich laughter. His father, Chief Orn, thumped his shoulder, and impatience twitched her fingers, threatening to spill her second cup of ale she had nursed for the last hour.

She frowned, twisting one dark braid around a finger. If he was having doubts, or worse, his da declined his request, she would leave this cursed village and drag her da with her.

Bjorn met her gaze and threw an arm across Chief Orn's shoulders. He dipped his head to speak in his ear. Orn jerked, with horror contorting his face. When he spoke, spittle flew from his mouth, and his cheeks burned red. He scanned the hall until he settled his gaze on Sacha. He stiffened and hatred poured from him, with his lips curling in disgust.

He stormed to the center of the hall, shoving Bjorn aside. The chatting dwindled after Orm glared at Harek until the poor man lowered his flute on a warbled note. Rubbing his barrel chest, he spread his cheeks in a grotesque and unnatural smile. "Tis an eve to share blessings, to thank the gods for a year of plenty among friends and loved ones. And to whisper words of remembrance for those no longer with us."

The villagers cheered, raising their mugs of ale to the ceiling. The lit sconces shimmered yellows and golds off their happy faces.

"I need yer aid on a request my laddie has made." He gestured with his fingers, and Bjorn staggered forward to stand beside his da. "I have received many complaints about a certain lass, and this eve, Bjorn has proved the rumors true."

Bjorn's face paled, and he met Sacha's gaze across the crowd. He nudged his chin at the doors as if to urge her to flee. She shook her head. Whatever Chief Orn had to say, it had to be to her face.

"Sacha Alrikdottir."

The crowd parted, granting her unhindered access to Bjorn and his glaring da. She wiped her palms on her dress and pushed off the bench, squeezing Da's hand as she passed him. Drawing in slow, calming breaths, she fought for control, and to quell the rising panic churning the roast boar resting like an anvil in her belly. Her skin prickled warnings she couldn't understand and didn't know how to heed. Catching Katla's knowing smirk, Sacha squared her shoulders and stepped into the clearing.

She bowed her head as a sign of respect. Good or bad, she didn't need to alienate Chief Orn.

"Is she not the image of her ma?" He pinched her chin with a harsh touch. Dread slithered down her spine, and her stomach flip-flopped. "Och, and in that dress?" Orn chuckled, but the sound of it lacked joy.

Fear merged with the dread, and she thrust out a hand to capture Bjorn's, needing his strength. Orn yanked her closer, placing himself between them with his fingers squeezing her wrist numb. She whimpered and the fiery agony of his grip forced her to hold herself still.

"Have I not been an understanding chief? Have I not ignored Katla's incessant nagging?" He smiled to soften his hard words, receiving a few chuckles for his effort. "Yet, despite my kind nature, Sacha has bewitched my Bjorn, dressing to entice, and convincing him to handfast with her."

"Bewitched?" Da rose to his feet, swaying from the amount of ale he must have consumed. "What are ye implying, Chief Orn?"

Orn met and held Da's gaze for a time. "That the rumors are true."

The hall gasped as one before chaos shifted between disbelief, agreement, and denial.

"Nay!" Bjorn lunged for Sacha at the same time Orn spun her out of his reach.

"Aye!" Releasing her, Orn gestured with his fingers, and two men gripped Sacha by her arms, holding her in place. "Bewitched, lured, seduced, as witches are want to do."

"Nay, I love her." Bjorn struggled against the men gripping his shoulders and arms.

"Och, this love is too sudden to be real, laddie." Orn patted Bjorn on the chest.

"Tis not sudden, Da. I have loved her since we were bairns."

Sacha's breath caught at the warmth of love swelling inside her. She blinked past the tears to smile at Bjorn.

"She has bewitched ye for that long?" Orn's face paled. "My apologies, Ma Katla, I should have heeded yer warnings."

"Nay, my Sacha is no more a witch than Katla is, Chief Orn." Da stumbled forward, but someone grabbed his shoulders and settled him onto a bench, lest he fall.

"The evidence speaks for itself, Alrik. As chief, I must protect the village."

Da vaulted up from the bench only to be thrust down again. "Then we shall leave."

Orn paused in thought, with a nudge of his head at Katla to keep quiet. Silence gripped the hall, dread contagious as it spread to Greta and her kin, watching in stunned horror as the situation unfolded.

Sacha bit her lip to silence her cries at the injustice of it all. A lifetime of Katla's cruel words streamed across her mind, along with images of her future. She struggled harder against her jailers, unable to restrain the tears streaming down her cheeks. Casting glances at Da and Bjorn, she pleaded with her eyes for help.

"Cease!" Orn wrapped his fingers around Sacha's neck and yanked her into the middle of the clearing. "I will not jeopardize my sanity by allowing her evil to spread to other villagers. I am a better man than this."

The crowd murmured in agreement. Greta's brother held her back, with everyone ignoring her calls for fairness until tears silenced her. Fear twisted her beloved face.

"Ye sentence sweet Sacha to death because of yer inability to face a harridan. Who truly rules this village?" Finn, Greta's da, climbed onto a bench to be seen and heard.

"She has bewitched ye and yer kin with her sweet smiles. Do not be a fool." Katla raised her chin in challenge.

"Yer viper tongue has chased many a man, woman, and wean from Eskil." Finn threw out his arms. "Tell me when the lass cursed yer piglets, when did she summon demons, how did she seduce a man from his wife's bed? Let the death of this lass not rest on Katla's words alone."

Folks nodded and waited, glancing between each other as they searched for confessions. Sacha did the same, scanning faces she knew.

"Luta Brandottir?" Katla faced the crowd and many lowered their gazes, not willing to draw the older woman's notice.

"Nay, Eskil cannot hear from yer closest friend, Katla." Greta glared at her brother who refused to release her. Sacha loved her for her determination and inner fire.

"The lassie has the right of it." Bjorn added his voice to hers.

Sacha narrowed on the most familiar faces. "Frida, I helped ye birthed yer bairns. Blann, when ye broke yer arm, who nursed ye, bathed ye?" She twisted, still trapped by Orn's jailers. "Abi, when yer ma was sick, did I not spend nights at yer house? Yer ken me, Eskil, have since I was a wean. I haven't changed. I am the daughter of Alrik and Thora, and no matter what Chief Orn or Ma Katla says, my ma was beautiful, sweet, and kind."

"How would ye ken? Ye killed her when she birthed ye." Katla's sneer twisted her craggy features.

"My da says so, or are ye calling him a liar?" Sacha nodded when Katla pinched her lips. Accused of being a witch was as bad as being called a liar, and the old woman knew it.

Orn raised his hand, asking for silence. "As to the handfasting, my answer is nay."

"Da!" Bjorn struggled, almost dragging his jailers a horse-length before they dragged him to the straw-lined floor. "I have lain with her; Sacha Alrikdottir is mine."

Orn swung his palm and cracked Bjorn's cheek. "Wheesht! As to Sacha's witch ways, I shall make my decision on the morn." He flicked his fingers and the jailers dragged her from the hall. "Lock her in the woodshed."

"Nay!" Screaming, she yanked her arms and dug in her heels, but her slippers found not traction and she skidded along. Da stumbled behind her, pleading with Orn for mercy and asking Sacha not to lose faith. Thrown inside the woodshed, she bounced off the stacks of wood and slid to the cold hard ground. Pain burned her palms from grazing her palms, trying to halt her descent. In the light of a jailer's torch, the shed showed as half-empty, which was odd with winter on the way.

Da thumped on the closed door, and in the darkness, Sacha froze. Snakes and rats hid in the sheds as the cold crept across the land. Anything could be imprisoned with her. Sucking in a silent breath, she listened around Da's voice. Nothing skittered or slithered. A thump drew a yelp from her, scattering her heartbeat.

"Da?"

"I am here, lassie." Shuffling followed as if he sought a comfortable position. "When Orn releases ye, we will have done with this village."

"Aye." Tears slipped free, those she could allow free reign, but she couldn't wail, sob, or whimper. Either would alarm her da, and worsen his guilt. Biting her knuckles, she cried, wallowing in the wave upon wave of sorrow, anger, and despair bombarding her senses.

How different her emotions were now. No elation, burgeoning love, even though Bjorn had tried to defend her, to save her. Katla's poison had corrupted Orn's heart and, therefore, his mind. Bjorn had no power against his da.

Her da's snores peppered the air, and when another thump rattled the wooden frame of the hut, it didn't startle her. The door swung open, and da's motionless legs blocked the opening. Orn's jailers grabbed Sacha and yanked her out. She twisted to see if Orn had killed Da, but another snore put her at ease.

"Allow a witch to remain in my village? Does everyone take me for a fool?" Orn laughed, and when it dwindled, he shared a smile with his ma, Katla. "Bring her."

His jailers dragged her, and no matter what she said, screamed, or struggled, they ignored her. When she saw the stake rising from a woodpile, she fought harder. He had prepared this, emptying the woodshed to fuel this madness, as if he had known Bjorn would handfast with her, as if he had seen them by the pool. Disgust, fear, despair, all dark and potent, slithered and coiled around her innards, freezing her.

The jailers caught her arms and tied them behind her, pinning her to the stake. They yanked on the rope hard enough to cut into her wrists, and she winced, keeping her arms still to minimize the pain.

"I am not a witch." Glaring at Orn, she let her hatred seep through. No more could she respect a man who couldn't think for himself. "Ye're as daft as yer ma."

A jailer handed him a lit torch, and the reality of her situation settled her panic. She gaped, flicking her gaze between Da asleep in front of the woodshed, Orn's smirk, and the flickering flames of the torch he held high.

The absence of the villagers, along with the sounds of reverie carried on the evening breeze, told her this was in secret. Tomorrow, if Finn questioned her death, Orn could make up any story explaining his decision.

She bit her lip, silencing her eagerness to beg for her life. He wouldn't listen, hadn't heeded a word Finn had spoken, and doing this at the witching hour was laughable.

"I, Orn Hlodvirsson, Chief of Eskil, accuse ye of witchery. Do not speak, lass, for I shall not listen to yer sorcery." He tossed the torch onto the wood which had spent months drying inside the hut. It burst to life without further encouragement, creeping like rippling water toward her. She tucked her heels against the stake, watching the fire spread, voracious and greedy.

The heat grew as the fire neared, forewarning her of what was to come. A scream bubbled up her throat, but she forced it down, not willing to give Orn the slightest bit of satisfaction. A whimper slipped out as the flame's fingers reached out for more kindle, and caught the hem of her new dress.

The heat was unbearable now, and it felt as if steam swept across her blistering skin, lashed by a wind that came out of nowhere to aid the fire's path. Katla stepped from the shadows to stand beside Orn. A wicked smile contorted her old face, her hatred, and eagerness for Sacha's death clear.

"If I be a witch..." Sacha forced the words through her clenched jaw, the agony ramping and seizing her muscles as the fire licked up her legs. "I curse ye, Katla, ye and yer kin for generations. Let Valhalla never hear the name of Hlodvirsson, and let Hel turn his back on ye." She laughed, as her tears spilled and her blood boiled. "Nothing ye touch shall grow, and all ye meet shall hate ye."

Katla paled but she raised her chin as if she didn't fear Sacha's words.

Bjorn stumbled toward the village center, yanking on his breeches as he yelled her name. Pain twisted his face, and when he reached her, he tried to lunge into the flames to save her.

Sadness, as dark and cold as Katla's heart, pierced Sacha. She had cursed her beloved, and had she been a witch, she might have regretted it.

"Bjorn, my love." Agony spread, darkening her vision, circling her as smoke rose to suffocate her. She coughed, unable to breathe, even when she raised her chin to the skies.

"Sacha!" Bjorn's voice filtered through the crackle and hungry roar of the fire. She dipped her head one last time to feast on the man she had admired and loved for so long.

Then, with blessed mercy, she succumbed to the sweet, painless bliss of darkness.