Storm Maiden (32 page)

He looked up and met Brodir’s gaze. The
crude Norseman had said naught during the discussion of Fiona’s
future, but the satisfaction on his face was evident. He meant to
destroy Fiona; he would not rest until she was dead.

Dag rose quickly, intending to rouse Fiona
and hasten her from the longhouse before she could see the hatred
and fear in his sword brothers’ eyes. He had to shield her from
their misguided loathing.

“Dag.” Sigurd stood and motioned his brother
away from the group of men. “I would have told you the news myself,
but I was busy convincing the jarl that the Irishwoman intended no
harm. ‘Twas not easy arguing that she be spared. In doing so, I
have paid my debt to her for Gunnar’s life. From now on, the woman
is your responsibility, not mine.”

“I thank you for your aid,” Dag responded
stiffly. “Tell me, though, who carried the tale of Fiona’s advice
to the jarl? Was it you?”

“
Nei.
Mina did not mention the matter
to me. She counts Fiona as friend; she would never have betrayed
her.” He shook his head. “At this moment, my wife lies in bed
weeping for the injustice done to Fiona, as if she did not have
enough to grieve for.”

“Who, then?”

“Ingeborg. She meant no harm either, but she
can be simple- minded at times. She went to her husband with this
plan to wait two more years before conceiving again. After three
babes in three years, she is keen to have a rest from childbearing.
Since they have not yet had a son to train in his profession,
Velund found the idea unacceptable—and Fiona’s advice
dangerous.”

Dag thought of Ingeborg with her yellow
braids and her calm, round face. Why should she be forced to carry
another child when she was already so busy with her three girls? It
was the women who took the risk in childbearing—why should they not
have what control they could over their future? Obviously, he did
not share the concerns of his sword brothers. He would not want
Fiona to bear him a child unless she wanted to.

He thought of that now, wondering suddenly
if Fiona had used such a potion to kill
his
seed. The idea
made him slightly uncomfortable, but he knew he could not condemn
her if she had made such a choice. It seemed heartless to try for a
babe when their own lives were so unsettled and uncertain.

“I’d better go to Fiona,” Dag told his
brother. “I do not want her to wander out into the longhouse and
unwittingly incur the men’s wrath.

Sigurd nodded and left him. Dag went to his
bedcloset, pausing before the door. He had made up his mind, and
the jarl’s recent decree only reaffirmed the inevitability of his
choice. He must get the Irishwoman away from Engvakkirsted. He
would take her back to Ireland, and if possible, start a new life
with her there.

Dare he tell her his decision yet? He had no
ship to make the journey, no means to make his plan come to pass.
Nei,
better not to arouse her hopes. He might yet fail in
his scheme.

“I would have you hurry,” Dag urged. “The
men have all left the longhouse. ‘Tis better if they do not see you
in the vicinity of their womenfolk.”

Fiona sighed and began to collect her
belongings. When she had woken to find Dag gone, she had not been
alarmed. She had dressed leisurely, humming as she did so. For the
first time in weeks, she had felt at peace, part of her grief and
shame lifted. She had told Dag the truth of their first meeting,
and he had not turned from her. Instead, he had held her tenderly
much of the night and loved her with a thoroughness that left her
body deliciously replete.

But now there was a new difficulty to
overcome. As soon as Dag entered the bedcloset, he told her of the
jarl’s harsh, unfair pronouncement. She was to be driven from the
long- house, banished from contact with the women of Engvakkirsted,
excepting the female thralls. She was not only a slave, but an
outcast. Angry curses against the Norse race sprang to her lips;
but seeing Dag’s troubled face, she had not spoken them. She would
not blame him for the ignorance of his kinfolk.

“ ‘Twas not Mina who let slip your advice to
her, but Ingeborg,” Dag said. “She does not always think before she
speaks.

She thought it would be wonderful to be able
to plan when her next child would be born; Velund thought
otherwise.”

Fiona nodded. She should have heeded the
warning voice which had reminded her that some knowledge was
dangerous to share. At least she knew Mina had not betrayed her. It
would have grieved her deeply to think Sigurd’s wife wished her
ill.

“I will take you to the slaves’ dwelling and
speak to old Sorli myself,” Dag said. “The slavemaster is not
heartless. He is something of an outcast himself; he treats the
field thralls with decency, knowing what it is like to be regarded
as less than a man.”

Fiona’s ears pricked up. “Why is he an
outcast?”

“The code of a warrior is a harsh one. To
die in battle is considered the only worthy fate. Sorli is
crippled; his shattered sword arm never healed. Some men consider
him less than a man because he can no longer fight.”

Fiona pondered this, thinking it likely that
Brodir was one of those who condemned the slavemaster. The thought
of another disabled warrior came to her mind. “What of the jarl?”
she asked. “He is scarce fit to do battle, yet his word is law at
Engvakkirsted.”

“That is Sigurd’s doing. All the warriors
know that it is really my brother who rules the steading. But he
honors Knorri and will not see the old jarl’s authority
usurped.”

It was strange to think of forbidding Sigurd
as being protective of a feeble old man. “Why does Sigurd care so
much for Knorri?” Fiona asked.

“Our sire died in a raid when we were boys.
There were those who would have murdered us for Engvakkirsted’s
wealth. Knorri protected us until we grew to men.” Dag shook his
head. “You cannot know my brother as I do. Like everyone else, you
see only the harsh, rational warrior. But I suspect when Knorri
dies, Sigurd will weep like a brokenhearted boy.”

“You brother loves you, too,” Fiona said
softly. “I think he would do anything to protect you.”

“That is why we must do everything we can to
convince him that you are good for me rather than ill. We need
Sigurd on our side.”

Dag’s intensity when he spoke of his brother
worried Fiona. The two Norsemen were obviously close. She did not
like to think that she had come between them. Ties with your close
kin were important. She, who had lost so many of her loved ones,
knew that truth.

When she had gathered her few possessions,
they set out for the slave dwelling. “It pains me to think of you
dwelling here,” Dag said as entered the crowded, poorly built
structure. “If I had my way, I would dress you in jewels and silks
from Mikel- gard and have body thralls wait upon you from dawn to
dusk.” He smiled at her ruefully. “But all is not hopeless. While
the weather is warm, I will find a place for us to bed down
together. You are still my thrall; the jarl has no authority to
keep me from enjoying one of my possessions.”

Fiona smiled back at him. It no longer
angered her to hear him speak of her as his slave. If she remained
his captive, she was a willing one.

“Dag, what word do you have of the
Agirsson-Thorvald feud? I trow I am too busy to learn the latest
news.” A vigorous man with skin aged to leather grabbed Dag’s arm
with his healthy left one. “I heard that Sigurd set a watch. Is
there real danger?”

“I don’t know,” Dag answered. “A watch seems
a wise precaution. It has been quiet in the valley for years; I
fear the peace cannot last.”

The man—who Fiona assumed to be Sorli—nodded
emphatically. “Too many men would rather play coward and burn out
their neighbors in the stealth of night than meet a foe in battle.”
Seeing Fiona, the man paused in his philosophizing. “Is this the
Irish wench? I heard she was a
volvcu.
”

“
Nei,
not a
volva,”
Dag
assured him. “I have bedded her; I would know if she knew
witchcraft.”

Sorli nodded. “Spooky-looking though, she
is. Never have I seen such black hair, nor eyes so green.”

“Well, you’d best get used to her. She’s to
live in the thrall- house.”

Sorli’s eyes widened. “What nonsense is
this? I don’t need some cunning-faced vixen distracting the field
thralls from their work.”

“She speaks Norse and still enjoys my favor,
so you’d best take care in how you talk about her.”

“If she enjoys your favor, why are you
bringing her to me?”

Dag’s face grew grim. “The jarl has banished
her from the longhouse. The warriors mislike her foreign ways and
fear their wives being exposed to her.”

Sorli frowned and looked Fiona up and down,
as if expecting to find she had two heads instead of one. “The jarl
suspects her of witchery, so he burdens me with the wench,” he said
sourly. “As if I did not have enough to worry about with the
harvest not yet in and the butchering ahead of us.”

“She is not a witch,” Dag repeated. “Give
her a chance, Sorli. She is clever and hardworking, although I
would not have her do strenuous outdoor work. Her value lies not in
brawn or endurance, but in her quick mind. Find some tasks for her
that will not damage her beauty.”

Sorli gaped at him. “You want me to protect
her? To pamper her like a house thrall?”

“Not only that, but keep her away from the
warriors. I fear they might threaten her if they find her
alone.”

“And why should I do these things for you,
Dag Thorsson? What payment will you make me?”

“Whatever you like. Surely there is some
comfort or luxury I could provide to sweeten your existence.”

Old Sorli frowned and scratched his stubbled
jaw. “I would like a new bed. Not merely a soft pallet, but a real
box bed with rope supports and a straw mattress.”

“Done,” Dag answered. Fiona gaped at him,
wondering where he meant to procur a bed for the slavemaster. Only
Dag, Sigurd, and Knorri slept on box beds; the rest of the steading
made do with sleeping sacks on benches or pallets on the floor.

“You may return to your work, Sorli. I will
help the woman with her things.”

The old man nodded and strode off. Fiona let
Dag lead her into the dark, smoky thrallhouse. “Where will you get
a bed?” she asked.

“I hope to make an arrangement with Ranveig.
He can build other things than ships. If all else fails, I will
give Sorli my bed.”

“You would do that for me?” Fiona asked
softly.

Dag leaned over to kiss her. “
Ja
.
That and much more. You are precious to me, Fiona.”

Fiona sighed as she stored her belongings
under the pallet she had been assigned in the thrallhouse. Things
between her and Dag had never been better, but the future still
appeared grim. She was an outcast among the Norse, and that would
never change. Could she live this harsh, lonely life, even knowing
she had Dag? And what of her plan to return to Eire? How could she
forsake her vow?

She brought her hands to her temples, trying
to ward off the headache her mental turmoil caused. A low, ugly
laugh behind her brought her sharply back to her reality. Fiona
whirled.

Brodir stood in the low doorway, his brutal
countenance livid with hatred. “Murdering wench,” he growled.

Fiona went rigid. Where was Sorli when she
needed him?

Brodir’s thin lips contorted. “You killed
Sigurd’s babes with poison. I know it, and soon everyone at
Engvakkirsted will learn the truth. Then the jarl will order you
killed. Before you die...” Brodir moved closer, his hot, foul
breath scalding Fiona. “I will have you,
Ja,
have you for my
pleasure.”

Her heart had fair stopped. Fiona took a
deep breath, then stepped back and tried to get a grip upon her
nerves. “I did nothing of the sort. The babes came too early; there
was no hope they would live. Mina or any of the other women will
tell you that.”

“But why did she go to childbed so soon?”
Brodir taunted. “Was it not because you have been giving Mina
poison for weeks?”

“
Nei
!”

The Viking smiled a hideous smile. “The
women tell me that you made Mina a special mixture to drink each
morning. Of course it was poison.”

“
Nei,
it was dragonwort, an herb
meant to strengthen her body and prevent the babe from coming. It
did not work; but with some pregnancies, there is nothing that
does.”

“Do you expect anyone to believe you?”
Brodir sneered. “You are a witch—a devious, corrupt Irish witch.
And soon the jarl will know it.”

Fiona found herself shaking. There was no
way to argue with this man. He twisted the truth into a lie. She
could only hope he did not succeed in convincing the others.

“Sigurd does not believe I harmed Mina, and
he has told the jarl so. Your threats are for naught.”

At the mention of Sigurd, Brodir’s face grew
even more menacing. “Sometimes Sigurd is a fool, but he will see I
am right, in the end. Then he will urge the jarl to condemn you.”
He moved closer. “You will burn; but before that, I will have you.
Your pale, perfect skin will be covered with bruises and welts ere
you leave this life.”

“What happens here?” a man’s voice called
out. Fiona jerked away from Brodir as Sorli poked his head into the
dwelling.

“What are you doing, Brodir?” Sorli asked.
“You know Sigurd has ordered you to keep away from the women
slaves. He won’t see the jarl’s good thralls ruined by your
viciousness. And this one...” He moved beside Fiona protectively.
“She has the jarl’s nephew’s favor. You will answer to Dag if you
touch her.”

“Dag is not here,” Brodir taunted. “What
would you do to me, old man. Would you hurt me with
that?”
He pointed to Sorli’s withered arm, eyeing it with repugnance.
“You’re not even half a man!”