Storm Maiden (36 page)

Gently, he lay her down on the bed furs. His
shaft was hard against her thigh, but his fingers felt light and
caressing. He touched her all over, then let his lips follow where
his fingers had gone. Fiona cried out as he knelt over to nuzzle
the inside of her knees, then moved his mouth higher. Wantonly, she
spread her thighs, urging him to taste her, to use his mouth to
ease the tormenting ache inside her.

The harsh skin of his unshaven jaw met her
tender flesh, and his tongue fluttered against her wet opening. Her
hips moved upward, seeking fulfillment. Fire whirled inside her,
but it was not enough. She wanted him to fill her.

Reaching down, she tangled her fingers in
his thick wavy hair and lifted his head. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please.”

He raised his body to cover hers, but did
not enter her. Instead, he strewed kisses over her breasts, then
licked her neck and along her jaw. Fiona whimpered.

At last his lips melded to hers, and with a
shuddering groan, he entered her. Fiona cried out, overcome by the
wonder of their bodies joining together. Rays and ripples of
delight swept through her as he thrust with slow, deep strokes. She
hovered at the brink of ecstasy, then fell into the chasm beyond.
As the waves of her peak died away, he continued to move inside
her. Unbelievably, she climbed the heights again, exploded with
rapture, and still felt his relentless rhythm rocking her throbbing
flesh.

She heard her own voice rise in rasping,
wordless cries. Her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. Hot,
white light filled her, then all was still.

They lay together, their bodies slick with
sweat, their hearts beating a frantic tattoo. In moments, Dag fell
asleep beside her. Fiona sighed, the tension inside her returning.
She reached out to caress his face, feeling his heat and life. He
was so precious to her. How could she bear to lose him?

She began to cry, silently at first, then
with muffled sobs.

Dag woke.
“Macushla,
beloved—what is
wrong?”

Fiona shook her head. How could she tell him
what she felt? Even after she returned to Eire and fulfilled her
vow, a part of her would always be missing.

“ ‘Tis nothing,” she said, stroking his face
again. “Only that you please me so much.”

Dag frowned into the darkness. Fiona seemed
so unhappy. What was it that troubled her? Did she fear the sea
voyage or what they would find when they returned to her homeland?
And why had she been hesitant to make love? It worried him, this
tension he felt in her. Mayhap he should explain all of his plan,
that he meant to claim her father’s lands and rebuild
Dunsheauna.

But what if she argued against it? He had
neither the time nor energy for conflict with her. He must keep his
goal clear in his mind and be confident of success or he would
never convince other men to take the risk with him. It was as he
had said—she would have to trust him.

The golden light of sunset gilded the
surrounding hills and cast long, eerie shadows across the broad
valley where the
Thing
would be held. Fiona’s breath caught
as she surveyed the multitude of men and tents gathered beside the
gleaming lake. ‘Twas like the fair at Cashel, she thought, only
mayhap even bigger.

“How long will the meeting take?” she asked
as she walked beside Dag. Sigurd and the other men had taken off
down the pathway, obviously anxious to join their countrymen, while
Dag remained behind to guide the horses.

“I cannot say. We might reach a decision in
a few hours... or a few days.”

Fiona tensed. Her time with Dag grew shorter
and shorter.

Seeing her ill-ease, Dag reached out with
his free hand and touched her shoulder. “There’s nothing to fear. I
won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

Fiona could not meet his eyes. Dag thought
she feared his countrymen. He had no idea her anxiety and dread
came from the thought of leaving him. “I will not forget my
promise,” she said. “I will be the most obedient thrall at the
gathering.”

They reached the Viking encampment, and Dag
guided the horses to an area where there were several other
horsecarts. Fiona helped him unharness the horses and put out feed
for them, then he went off to meet the other men.

Fiona gazed around, taking notice for the
first time of the other people near their camp. Most of them were
young warriors left to care for the animals while the older men
held their meeting, but Fiona noticed with surprise a woman sitting
in an ornate chair by one of the carts. Around her hovered two
young thralls. As Fiona watched, the seated woman sent first one
thrall, then the other, scrambling for something in the cart. They
presented the items to their mistress with a bow, then backed
away.

Fiona stared as the woman took down her long
braid and began to comb out her honey-colored hair, grooming
herself as nonchalantly as if she sat in her own bedchamber.

Shaking her head, Fiona turned away. When
Dag returned, she would ask him about the woman. For now, she must
see to preparing a meal.

It took her a long time to find enough wood
for a fire, then even longer to light it with a flintstone. Her
back ached and sweat trickled between her breasts by the time she
had fetched water from a spring that fed the lake and gathered
foodstuffs from the cart to make a stew. Despite her fatigue, a
sense of satisfaction filled her when the men of Engvakkirsed
returned and she was able to offer them something hot and tasty to
eat. She had fulfilled her role as a dutiful thrall.

The men talked animatedly as Fiona cleaned
and put away the cooking utensils. They obviously considered the
Thing
an exciting event. In between discussions of political
alliances, she heard mention of goods being traded and contests of
skill that would be held before the assembly was over. She decided
that the
Thing
was indeed much like the fairs of her
homeland, although women played a more important part in the
activities there. When the clans gathered in the summer at Cashel,
tents were set aside for the women, competitions held for weaving
and embroidery skills, and many merchants catered almost
exclusively to women’s tastes.

With surprise, Fiona realized that the
exotic woman and her attendants appeared to be the only other
females at the gathering. Her curiosity about the woman returned.
Who was she, some wealthy jarl’s wife?

Abandoning her tasks for the moment, Fiona
sought out Dag, who was helping Rorig set up the tents. “When we
arrived, there was a woman over there.” She pointed to where she
had observed the female grooming her hair. “She sat in a carved
chair, and there were thralls waiting on her. Do you know who she
is, Dag?”

He looked up. “What did she look like?”

“She has beautiful hair—the color of
well-aged mead. I saw her combing it, acting as haughty as a
queen.”

“Ah, that is Lygni’s bed thrall.”

“She is a thrall?” Fiona asked in
astonishment.

“Lygni’s first wife died last winter. I’m
sure he means to wed the woman as soon as she bears him a son.”

“Why did he bring her? I’ve seen no other
women here, excepting those who serve her.” Fiona said.

“Mayhap she wanted to come or Lygni thought
to impress the other jarls that he possessed such a beautiful
concubine.”

“You think she is beautiful?” Fiona felt a
sudden stab of jealousy.

Dag turned toward her, and in the fading
light she could just barely make out his teasing grin. “
Ja,
she is beautiful—and a sharp-tongued shrew. Believe me when I tell
you that I don’t envy Lygni his woman.”

Fiona was silent, wondering how often Dag’s
countrymen had referred to her with similar words.

When the tents were finally arranged, Dag
led Fiona inside the one they shared. He leaned down and kissed
her. “I must keep company with the other men this night. Sleep
well, Fiona.”

She reached for his tunic, pulling him down
for another kiss. “Do you have to go?”

“
Ja.
Much of the business of the
Thing
will be settled by men talking in small groups around
the fire. This is my opportunity to find a crew for our
journey.”

Fiona released him and sat back with a sigh.
He left the tent and she heard him talking to the other men.
Gradually the sound of male voices receded in the distance. Fiona
removed her outer tunic and snuggled under the bed furs.

Without Dag’s warmth, the bed was chilly.
She wriggled, trying to generate some heat. She felt restless and
edgy, torn by her conflicting emotions. For the thousandth time,
she reminded herself of her responsibility to her people. She was a
princess, and heir to Donall Mac Frachnan. She had a duty to return
to her homeland.

Turning onto her back, she stared glumly
into the darkness.

* * *

Dag walked back to camp, tense with
frustration. Thor’s fury! He had not thought it would be so
difficult.
Ja,
other young Norsemen were eager to go to
Ireland—to raid and burn! He’d gotten nowhere when he mentioned
settling there. Why could not other men see the real wealth of
Ireland wasn’t in the gold and jewels that could be plundered from
her monasteries and settlements, but in the isle’s rich green
fields and gentle climate, her good harbors and favorable sea
currents? His countrymen were fools if they could not imagine the
possibilities.

Mayhap he would have had better luck if he
had approached one of the wealthy jarls. A man with several ships
might be more willing to risk one on an unknown venture. But he
dared not go to most of the older men for fear they would betray
his plan to Sigurd. He didn’t want to share his dream with his
brother until all was settled. He dreaded the thought of Sigurd’s
disappointment and hurt.

Dag sighed as he reached the group of tents
which marked their campsite. Tomorrow, he would try again. After
the games and contests and an afternoon drinking ale, men would be
zealous and primed for adventure. He would seek out the warriors
with the most to gain and the least to lose—younger men, landless
men—and convince them of the merit of his plan. He would find the
crew he needed, and the use of a ship.

Quietly, he crept into the tent he shared
with Fiona. He had no desire to wake her when he had no good news
to give her.

* * *

When Fiona opened her eyes, it was morning
and Dag was struggling into his clothes.

“You’re leaving again?” she asked
sleepily.

“The formal meeting of the jarls is today.
Both Sigurd and I will attend.”

“Why can’t Sigurd go alone? He will be jarl
after Knorri, not you.” Fiona knew she sounded peevish, but she
couldn’t help herself. If Dag succeeded in his plan, they would
have very little time together.

“Sigurd wishes for me to accompany him,” Dag
answered. “Two men can better represent Knorri’s interests than one
could.” He leaned over and kissed her warmly. “After this meeting,
the gathering will turn to fun and entertainment. There will be
contests between warriors this afternoon, then feasting and
competition between skalds tonight. We will be together then.”

Fiona nodded, still dissatisfied. They had
so little time. She wanted to spend every moment with Dag.

With the men gone, Fiona had few duties this
morning, and she took advantage of the fact, lying in the tent
until the sun was well up, then dressing lazily. After washing in
the spring, she went to the cart and found some bread in one of the
packs. She nibbled on a piece and surveyed the nearby campsite.

Lygni’s thrall sat on her carved oaken
chair, grooming her gleaming hair in the sunshine. Fiona watched
her for a while, then decided to approach. She could not help being
curious about this thrall who conducted herself like a queen.

Reaching the woman, Fiona cleared her throat
and greeted her in Norse. The woman did not pause in her task,
although her topaz-colored eyes flickered briefly to Fiona’s
face.

“My name is Fiona,” she continued. “I am
here with Dag Thorsson of Engvakkirsted.” The woman remained
silent. In exasperation, Fiona said, “Since it appears we are among
the only women at this gathering, I thought it might be pleasant to
become acquainted.”

The woman finally focused her gaze on Fiona.
“Dag Thors- son—is he a jarl?”

“
Nei,”
Fiona answered.

The woman sniffed disdainfully. “Then you
are a common thrall and it is beneath me to have speech with
you.”

Fiona went rigid. She would not stand for
this sort of treatment. “I was a princess back in Eire!” she
retorted hotly. There was a glint of interest in the woman’s
smoky-gold eyes. Fiona continued. “I intend to return to my
homeland as soon as Dag finds a shipowner willing to transport me
there.”

The woman laughed. “Is that what your master
told you? How amusing.” A hard look came over her face. “I would
wager my best jeweled comb that by the time your generous master
finds a willing shipowner, your belly will be swelled with his babe
and he will never agree to let you go.”

Fiona’s indignation intensified. “Dag
brought me here to the
Thing
for the purpose of arranging my
transport. I expect to leave within a fortnight.”

“A fortnight!” The woman threw back her head
and laughed uproariously. “Stupid Irish wench! Do you really think
your master will let you go?”

Fiona glared at the woman. “Of course he
will let me go. Dag is a man of honor. He would not make a promise
he didn’t intend to keep.”

The woman leaned over the side of the chair.
“Obviously, you have lost favor with your master and he means to
sell you off.” She tsked sadly. “The life of a bed thrall is harder
than it looks. You must keep your wits about you if you want to
keep your master interested and accommodating. Some women make the
mistake of appearing too eager and subservient, but men soon tire
of that. ‘Tis better to be scornful and difficult.”