Beyond the Sea Mist (6 page)

The bitterness in his voice was evident. Recalling her harsh words at their first meeting, she knew she must try to make it up to him. She smiled at him. “I thank you for your kindness, sir. It does you credit. But...” she couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice, “...please hurry. I don’t know how long it will be before Croa discovers we’re missing.”

Their gazes met and she let him see just how terrified she was, how close to utter despair. He nodded and a fierce expression came over his face. A moment later, he returned to the ship, grabbed a mooring line and used it to scramble back on deck.

* * *

She was here. She’d sought him out.
She’d smiled at him.
Magnus felt a glow of pleasure as he climbed back on the ship. The image of the Irishwoman’s face seemed etched upon his vision. Even when her demeanor was haughty, she was a lovely maid. But when she smiled—by Freya—then she was truly beautiful. A sight to haunt a man for the rest of his life.

Which is exactly what would happen if he didn’t find a way to aid her. If she fell back into Croa’s clutches, he’d never see her again. And when she thought of him it wouldn’t be with a smile on her face, but an angry scowl.

Sobered by his dark thoughts, he made his way to where Sigurd and the rest of the crew were sitting on their otterskin bedsacks breaking their fast. Sigurd must already have done some trading, for the men were eating cheese and fresh bread rather than the usual fare of flatbread and salted fish. Magnus’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the food, but he pushed the yearning aside and crouched down near Sigurd.

“You certainly work fast, Magnus,” one of the men chortled. “We’ve only been here a night and already you’ve got a wench asking after you.”

Magnus ignored the jest and spoke to Sigurd in low, urgent tones. “The woman’s situation is desperate. She and four other women were stolen from their homeland and enslaved. They’ve escaped their captors for now, but if they don’t find a place to hide, they won’t long remain free.”

Sigurd grunted. “Are you suggesting we take them aboard?”

Magnus nodded. “I’d take full responsibility for them.”

“Who’s their captor?”

“Croa Ottarson.”

Sigurd’s blond brows shot up. “Not a man I want to cross.”

Magnus felt his body grow rigid. He’d feared Sigurd would be reluctant to get involved. Recalling the dread he’d seen on the woman’s face, he went on, “But these women have no one else to turn to. Their families have all been killed. They’re completely alone and at Croa’s mercy.”

“And so you think I should offer them shelter on my ship?”

Almost breathless with hope and dread, Magnus nodded.

Sigurd shook his head. “That would be no different than if I broke into one of those warehouses and took a pile of hides or a bale of wool. I would be stealing from another trader, a merchant of my own race. I can’t do that. I have my reputation to consider. When I travel to a foreign port, men there must say, that is Sigurd Hrolfson. He drives a hard bargain but he’s a fair and honest man.”

Magnus’s spirits plummeted. He’d feared this would be the captain’s response. Even so, he tried again. “These are well-bred gentlewomen who’ve fallen into unscrupulous hands. What if it were your sister or mother who was so cruelly enslaved?”

“Such a fate would never have befallen my sisters or my mother. They all had strong husbands to protect them. If the men responsible for these women failed to keep them safe, then it’s inevitable they end up as thralls. It’s the way of world. The strong always prey upon the weak.”

“Even so, I—”

Sigurd put up his hand. “You won’t sway me, Magnus. I’ve a duty to my crew. I must consider their safety above that of a group of foreign women.” His expression softened. “Don’t look so grieved. If these females are all as young and fair to look upon as the one standing on the dock, they won’t have difficult lives.”

Magnus got to his feet, mentally cursing himself. He should never have approached the Irishwoman, never pretended he had the means to aid her. She’d come all this way for nothing.

But as Magnus returned to the side of the ship, another thought came to him. What if he hid her away in the one of the warehouses until Croa gave up searching for her and left Dublin? The captain must know someone who had a warehouse near here.

Magnus turned around to ask Sigurd, but before he could approach the captain, there was a commotion on the quay. Magnus rushed to the side of the vessel and watched in horror as a group of men surrounded the Irishwoman. She spat at her captors, and one of them grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back. Magnus clenched his hands at his side, breathing hard. It would be so easy for this brute to kill her.

The next moment, one of the women who had been hiding behind the nearby warehouse came rushing up, screaming in the Irish tongue. The plump, red-haired wench launched herself at the man who had grabbed the princess, and was immediately seized by one of the other warriors.

Magnus didn’t wait to see more, but hurried to his sea chest and snatched up his swordbelt. He hadn’t even gotten it buckled when Orm was beside him. “What are you doing?” the younger man demanded.

“I’m going to try and help her.”

“How? There’s a half dozen men down there, all armed to the teeth. Even you can’t take on that many at once.”

Oh, aye, I can
, some part of Magnus’s mind argued.
Right now I’m angry enough to take on a whole army
. As the image of the man jerking the Irishwoman’s head back flashed into his mind, the roaring rage inside him swelled out of control. Then he heard the hiss of a blade being drawn and was startled back to awareness.

“I can’t let you do this,” Orm’s pale eyes regarded Magnus with determination as he brandished his sword. “You saved my life last night. Now I’m going to do the same for you.”

Magnus scowled at him. “Step out of my way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What about me?” Skulli broke in. “If you want to get off this vessel, you’ll have to fight me as well.” He also had his weapon out.

Magnus gritted his teeth in frustration. He didn’t doubt he could defeat both these men, but the thought repelled him. Besides, by the time he got them out of the way, it would be too late to save the Irishwoman. “Put down your swords,” he told them.

He let his own weapon hang limply from his hand as the sense of defeat swept through him. After offering to aid the princess, he’d been unable to do so. It was galling to feel so powerless, so helpless.

But nothing compared to what the woman was enduring. Magnus made his way back to the side of the ship. He could see Croa’s lackeys leading the princess and the other women away. Where were they being taken? Back to that small storehouse? But, no, it appeared they were being escorted down the dock to another ship. Magnus recalled Bors saying he would be sailing with Croa when he left Dublin. Then he remembered Croa mentioning York.

Hope sprang again in Magnus’s breast. Croa still had to deal with the rest of the cargo off-loaded the day before. There might still be time to rescue the woman. If he could think of a plan. And if he could get on that ship...

Orm came up beside Magnus and punched him on the shoulder. “We’ll find you another pretty red-haired wench. I thought that one was too skinny anyway. I like my women with a little more meat on them. Something to grab onto while I’m—”

“No one of us cares about your taste in woman, Orm,” Skulli interrupted as he joined them. Then he spoke directly to Magnus. “As for you, you have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t muck it up over a wench.”

Magnus barely heard Skulli’s words. He was already imagining ways he might get onto Croa’s ship.

* * *

“Lady, are you well?” Brina whispered.

Ailinn gazed around the dark, smelly hold of the ship and a let out sigh. “Aye, well enough, at least considering our circumstances.”

“’Tis awful,” Brina agreed. “At least in the storage shed we had a candle to see by. But surely Croa doesn’t mean to keep us here very long.”

“You think not?” Ailinn remarked bitterly.

“This part of the ship is meant for transporting cargo, and perhaps livestock.”

“Aye, it does smell like dung,” Gormlaith said.

Ailinn gave a mirthless laugh. “Don’t you understand yet? That’s all we are to Croa—cargo. No different than a barrel of salted fish or a pile of hides.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” Ullach said. “Which is why you must be careful, lady. I was very frightened when that one man laid hands on you. I worried he was going to break your neck.”

Ailinn repressed the shudder Ullach’s words aroused. Her neck and shoulders still ached from the warrior’s rough handling. Clearly, she shouldn’t have spat at him and called him a pile of cow dung. From now on, if she wanted to stay alive, she’d have to be more careful.

“I wonder what happened to Cailin,” Ullach said.

“She ran away as soon she saw Croa’s men approaching,” Brina answered.

Ailinn nodded. She felt a little sick at the idea of the young woman being on her own in the rough settlement of Dublin. It seemed likely Cailin would suffer a fate even harsher than one Croa intended for them. They were all silent for a time. Then there was the sound of someone coming down the ladder into hold. Ailinn tensed with foreboding. She could hear the other women’s quickened breathing.

A bulky shape blocked out the faint light. A meaty hand reached out and grabbed Ailinn by the arm, squeezing cruelly. “Wicked, scheming wench,” Croa muttered. “You’re going to pay for the trouble you caused me.”

Ailinn experienced a wave of fear, then reminded herself that Croa was unlikely to hurt her. She wouldn’t be worth as much if her body was marked or damaged.

Croa leaned down so his face was near hers and his foul breath wafted over her. “I’d almost arranged to sell you to the King of Dublin. But once he heard you’d run away, he changed his mind. You’ve cost me dear, you scrawny little bitch!”

Ailinn was enraged. She’d never had anyone speak to her that way before. “You’re not fit to wipe my shoes, you fat Norse pig!”

To her surprise, Croa laughed. “I may be a pig, but I’m the pig who owns you.” He released her arm and grasped a strand of her hair instead, twining the lock in his fingers. “If I fancied pale, skinny wenches, I’d have had you long ago.”

His words made her stomach roil. Between gritted teeth she muttered, “Curse you, you vile beast!”

He tightened his grip on her hair, pulling the strand so tightly that tears welled in her eyes. “Curse you!” she cried again. She felt so trapped, so debased and defiled. “Blessed Jesu,” she murmured. “Please aid me.”

Croa laughed again. “Your puling Christian god can’t help you. He’s a worthless coward who’s always whining about peace and forgiveness.”

There was something to his words, Ailinn thought bleakly. The holy brothers did preach turning the other cheek to your enemies as Christ had. Perhaps she should call on the ancient deities her ancestors had believed in. The old gods, who represented the powerful forces of fire and earth and water. “I curse you, Croa Ottarson,” she spat out. “I curse you by the wrath of Morrigan, lady of death and destruction, by Balor of the evil eye and by Lugh, lord of sun and fire. May your balls wither. Your possessions burn to nothing. And...” She thought a second, trying to come up with an appropriate threat. “May your ship flounder in a storm send by Lir, the great god of the sea, and sink down into the cold, dark depths.”

Croa laughed once more. “A sorceress are you now, wench? I think not.” He paused a moment, then shouted up to the deck. “Thorvald! Get down here with those ropes.”

Ailinn inhaled sharply. She dreaded the thought of being bound. Surely he wouldn’t do that to her--would he? If he tied her wrists, it might mar her skin and make her less valuable. Unless he’d given up the notion of selling her as a bedslave. Perhaps he’d decided he would take more pleasure in punishing her rather than selling her for the highest possible price.

Her heart began to pound in her chest like a trapped bird. She thought of the young Norseman. If only she’d been able to reach him before Croa’s men found her. But nay, he was a hireling who possessed no property and had no real authority or power. He wouldn’t have been able to free her.

If only he hadn’t raised her hopes. She would never have tried to get away. How could she have thought they could escape from a settlement controlled by her enemies? Now their situation was worse than ever. She thought bleakly of the blue-eyed Norseman. He’d made her feel hopeful, but in the end it had all been a cruel lie.

It took much of the morning to off-load the blocks of soapstone, barrels of salted fish and beaver and sable pelts that made up the bulk of the
Waverunner’s
cargo. Sigurd inspected the goods to make certain they were undamaged, then assigned men to deliver them to the buyers he’d spoken to the day before. Magnus was chosen to deliver the soapstone to the local craftsman who’d purchased it.

As Magnus was loading the blocks of stone into a handcart, Orm came along. “I’d be happy to help you, Magnus. Although I’m not a bull ox like you, I could help guide the cart. The walkways here are treacherous. I’m sure you’ll need assistance in maneuvering such a heavy load.”