Storm Maiden (14 page)

Yet, despite her delicacy, there was a
fierceness about her he had never seen in a woman before. She had
defied him repeatedly, dared to demand her freedom. Even her
attempt to barter with her body was an act of daring rather than a
concession to the power he held over her.

Her courage both tantalized and frightened
him. She was a slave and she must yield to him. If she did not, he
would have to break her spirit. The thought repelled him.

She turned suddenly and, seeing him, gasped.
For a moment, he observed fear in her eyes, then the shield of
anger was drawn once again. She spoke in low, furious voice that
left no doubt as to her indignation.

Without thinking, Dag reached for her. She
went rigid. He gripped her arms fiercely, wanting to kiss her, to
bury his frustration in the lush warmth of her body.

She jerked away and spoke, her voice bitter
and resentful. He met her green, cat-like stare.
Yield,
he
told her silently.
Yield and I will think of a way to spare your
wretched pride.

Tension rose like a mist between them, and
he was vaguely aware of the laughter and gibes of the men. He
thought of making her submit to his much greater strength then took
a deep breath instead. He had tried force, and it had not worked.
There must be some other way to gain her compliance.

He stared at her awhile longer, then turned
away and made his way back to the prow where his brother stood.

“What a stupid wench,” Sigurd proclaimed.
“To ask you for her freedom and a share of your booty. Did she
really imagine you would return her to Ireland and restore her
position as princess?” He snorted derisively. “I’ve never heard of
a Norseman freeing a foreign slave. She is lucky you let her live,
let alone deal with her so kindly.”

Dag considered his situation carefully. By
the customs of his people, the woman was his property. As long as
he owned her, he would be responsible for her behavior, and he
could see she would never submit easily, but continually test him.
He must rid himself of this intolerable burden, but how? He
wouldn’t sell her to Brodir, nor any other man.

The solution came to him like a bolt of
lightning from Thor’s domain. “I’ve decided,” he told Sigurd. “I
will not sell her, but will make a gift of her to your wife,
Mina.”

Sigurd gaped at him. “Why would you do
that?”

“I told you, she is not suitable as a bed
thrall. What other use is there for her except as a noblewoman’s
servant?”

Sigurd frowned. “Earlier, you argued for her
life, saying that you intended to earn gold with her. Now you want
to give her away. You make no sense, brother.”

“You said that she was mine to do with as I
wished. This is what I have decided.”

It was obvious to Dag that his brother
wasn’t pleased with his decision. After regarding him with narrowed
eyes, Sigurd announced, “I refuse the gift. I want no part of what
is between you and the Irishwoman.”

Dag fought back his frustration and tried to
sound reasonable. “She would be a gift to Mina, not you. You
wouldn’t have to deal with her at all.”

“But I will be charged with defending her,
won’t I? I don’t want the trouble of protecting her.”

“It wouldn’t be such a hardship, Sigurd. No
man would dare to molest her if they knew she belonged to your
wife, and I would be doing you a favor by providing Mina with a
skilled seamstress.”

“
Nei,
I won’t allow it. You may order
her to help Mina around the steading if you wish, but don’t involve
me.”

Dag frowned, dissatisfied with his brother’s
answer. If it became known that Sigurd wouldn’t protect the
Irishwoman, she would be subject to all sorts of abuse by the other
men and he would still be forced to take responsibility for her.
His plan to rid himself of her had failed.

“There is another way, Dag,” Sigurd
suggested slyly. “You could always beat her until she learns
meekness.”

Dag gave his brother a hostile look. Sigurd
threw back his head and roared with merriment.

“Halvveis Fjord,” Sigurd announced, pointing
toward the distant coastline. “The tide’s running fast and the
wind’s from the northwest. Another league or so and we’ll take the
sail down and row in.”

Dag nodded. In only a short time they would
arrive at Engvakkirsted. He should feel pleased and excited, like
the other men. Instead, there was a grinding unease in his belly.
He blamed the Irishwoman. Ever since he’d set eyes on her, his life
hadn’t been the same.

He glanced across the deck. Even from a
distance, he sensed her turmoil. ‘Twas no wonder, with Brodir
slavering after her like a starving dog after a choice carcass. Dag
longed to throw the leering bastard over the side of the ship, but,
of course, he could not. To warn Brodir away from his prey implied
Dag cared for the Irishwoman’s feelings. That was unthinkable. She
was merely a slave, after all.

“Brodir shows a great deal of interest in
the Irishwoman.” Sigurd spoke from his station near the rudder. “It
might be wise to sell her to him so he won’t cause trouble.”

“I don’t fear Brodir,” Dag responded.

“ ‘Tis not only Brodir. This ‘cat and mouse’
game he plays has aroused the other men’s interest in the woman. I
fear conflict will arise over her sooner or later.” Sigurd gave Dag
a warning look. “I mislike a woman sowing dissension among my
warriors, but the jarl will be even less tolerant. He once lived in
Jomsviking
camp, where they ban women from the settlement
altogether. If the woman causes trouble at Engvakkirsted, Knorri
will either order her put to death or sold.”

Dag sighed. Sigurd always seemed eager to
remind him of his alternatives, none of which pleased him. If only
there were a way to keep the woman safe, and yet somehow be rid of
her.

His earlier scheme returned to him. Giving
the Irishwoman to his sister-by-marriage seemed the perfect plan.
She would see that the woman was kept busy and out of his way.
Mina, with her kind heart, would also seek to protect the woman
from abuse. If only Sigurd would relent.

Dag let his gaze again stray to the
Irishwoman. She stood below the ship’s curving prow, gazing off at
the misty landmass, her face full of foreboding. Fighting off his
feelings of sympathy, Dag vowed that his responsibility for her
would soon come to an end.

Fiona gazed over the bluish-gray waves with
trepidation. Since sunrise, a landmass had been visible off the
ship’s starboard side, and from the excited atmosphere among the
men, she could easily guess they had reached the cold, uncivilized
realm of the Northmen.

She cast a quick glance back to the
foredeck, catching a glimpse of the ugly Viking who had grabbed her
the first day on the ship. She looked away quickly and drew the
ragged cloak more tightly around her body. The man seemed to watch
every movement she made. He didn’t speak to her or dare to come
very near, but his lustful intentions were clear.

Always as he stalked her, he kept an eye out
for Dag, as if assessing how far he could go before the
bronze-haired Viking would interfere. So far, Dag had done nothing.
He might shift his position so he could better observe Fiona and
her tormentor, but he took no action against the foul-visaged
Northman. Sigurd had warned her that his brother was all that stood
between her and brutal rape, and Fiona could not help wondering
what would happen to her when they arrived at the Viking
settlement. Dag would not be able to guard her every moment
there.

Sigurd’s harsh voice startled Fiona from her
gloomy musings, and all at once, the deck of the Viking ship became
a blur of activity.

The warriors, who had spent the sea voyage
in the quiet pursuits of gaming and repairing weapons, abruptly
came to life. They retrieved oars from the underdeck and shoved sea
chests into place near the oar slots along the ship’s steep sides.
Dag and several other man went to work on the huge mast projecting
up from the middle of the ship. Within a short time they had taken
down the sail, then let down the collapsible mast altogether. Two
dozen men took seats on the sea chests, pushed the oars through the
oarholes, and began to row. Fiona watched in amazement; before her
eyes, the ship had turned from a sailing vessel into one powered by
men’s muscles.

She was further awed as Dag and the other
men continued their strange tasks. She moved past the mast to
better watch as they dragged the huge, carved wooden head of a
snarling beast out of the forehold and affixed it to the curved
prow of the ship. Then they retrieved a large number of decorative
shields from the storage compartment and, leaning over the ship’s
sides, fastened the shields at regular intervals along the
hull.

Fiona’s heart skipped a beat as she wondered
if they were going into battle. She scanned the ocean’s horizon
thoroughly but saw nothing except the endless shimmer of waves and
the blue-gray shape of land on their starboard side. Gingerly
making her way across to the side of the ship, she peered intently
at the nearing landmass. She saw no sign of enemy ships approaching
from that direction either. Was it really possible the Viking’s
rigged their ship with such frightening gear for a peaceful landing
in their own harbor?

She glanced at the Vikings’ leader, Sigurd.
He still shouted orders, but he seemed calm, even pleased. Fiona
turned her attention back to the other men. While one group rowed,
the other men began to strip their upper bodies bare of the ragged,
filthy garments they had worn at sea and put on battle attire.
Fiona watched as they donned leather corselets, gleaming
breastplates, mail that shimmered like fish scales, and conical
bronze helmets.

Fiona shivered as her companions on the ship
were suddenly transformed into terrifying supernatural beings. Her
thoughts crept back to her last night in Eire, and she relived the
horror of seeing the monstrous Vikings prowling among the buildings
of her father’s palisade, their armor and helmets casting grotesque
shadows in the flame-lit night. She had almost forgotten: all
around were her enemies, depraved, bloodthirsty Vikings.

A quaver ran along her spine and cold sweat
broke out on her skin. Once again, she had to resist the mad urge
to hurry to the edge of the ship and throw herself over the side.
She closed her eyes and prayed for strength.

When she opened her eyes, her heart again
leaped into her chest. Dag stood facing her. The copper of his
mustache and long hair and the sun-glossed ruddy-gold of his skin
blended perfectly with the polished bronze surfaces of his
breastplate and helmet. He looked like a god—a fiery golden sungod.
Fiona stared, unable to take her gaze from him.

Spokes of white flashed through his azure
eyes, echoing the cold, frothy tumult of the sea. But there was
yearning within their frigid depths as well, an aching hunger that
made Fiona’s body respond with an answering shudder. For a moment,
she wanted to reach out to him, to caress the fierce, lovely lines
of his face and body as she once had. Then he spoke.
“Engvalkkirsted, “
he said.

Fiona’s heart sank. They had reached his
homeland. Now Eire was well and truly lost to her.

He turned away and nodded brusquely to the
nearest rower, indicating to the man that he would take a turn at
the oars. Fiona watched him, struggling to recapture her hatred.
The Viking had brought this despicable fate upon her. If not for
him, she would be safe in Eire and her father would be alive.
Ah, but you would be married to Sivney Longbeard,
her inner
voice added. She had sought to change her fate, and so she had.
Mayhap, as the pagan lore warned, it was wiser not to meddle with
the plans of the gods. What had she wrought by defying her father’s
wishes?

Bright sunlight reflected off the armored
shoulders of the rowers. Fiona took a seat at her place in the far
starboard quarter of the ship and watched the dazzling show of
Viking manpower. She didn’t want to look at the shoreline looming
ever nearer. She didn’t want to think about what was to become of
her.

The grunts and pants of the rowers soon gave
way to another sound, the dull thunder of the Vikings shouting as
their countrymen on shore came into sight. Fiona ducked her head,
determined not to face her future until she had to.

Dag leaned forward and concentrated on
rowing. Any moment Sigurd would give the word that they were close
enough to shore to let the ship glide to the dock. Then they would
wade in to greet their families and friends before unloading the
ship.

He wondered why he felt so grim. Was it
because, unlike Sigurd, he had no wife and children to greet him?
It had never bothered him before. He had been content to be home,
to see familiar faces and sights. Mina usually brought his dog down
to the dock, and Ulvi, the huge deerhound he had brought home from
a raid on the Orneys, would be waiting for him with furiously
wagging tail and slobbering, eager mouth. That had always been
enough of a greeting for him before this.

“Engvakkirsted! We’re home, men!” At
Sigurd’s bellow, Dag released his oar and stood up to peer at the
shore. His eyes scanned the crowded dock. He saw Mina and Ingolf
and Gunnar, Sigurd’s two boys, but there was no sign of Ulvi.
Frowning, Dag swiped at the sweat trickling down his brow.

Around him, men scrambled to retrieve their
choicest booty before wading in. Dag’s eyes went to the Irishwoman.
She appeared terrified. Her lips moved, likely in prayer, and her
eyes stared straight ahead, as if she could not bear to face their
arrival in his homeland. The sight of her irritated Dag. Because of
her, he had no spoils to carry ashore. As he had told Sigurd,
she
was the only treasure he had stolen from Ireland; and at
this moment, she seemed more of a burden than booty.