Far After Gold (22 page)

Flane as she first saw him in the slave market of Dublin, with his corn-gold hair sweeping his shoulders and then on the jetty at the steading; the bathing place, the touch of his lips and his hands roaming over her body. Her body, his, entwined, rolling, heaving — Emer sat up, shuddering, her palms cooling the heat from her face.

She groaned and buried her face in her palms. It was better she did not think of Flane, for in escaping from the steading, she was forcing him to make a choice. On the third day, Oli would tell Flane she was going to Snorri Longnose. Flane would then have to decide if he followed her, or married Katla.

Emer struggled to her feet and continued her journey, but her mood of quiet optimism gave way to resignation. The faint trails disappeared, the bracken tugged at her skirts and walking was a struggle.

The sun had slipped down the western sky by the time she stared out across the silver glitter of the sea. Hidden somewhere out there was her island home. Turning to the south, she gazed across the folds of purple mountains toward the distant hump of land that might be Skye. Mountains were strange, changeable things with personalities of their own. Earlier in the day she had walked beneath a line of jagged peaks; but now, from this direction, she looked back on a smooth cone with a rocky plug at its summit.

She sighed, recalled Oli’s instructions and faced away from the sun. The land ahead of her was flatter, but covered in scrubby trees and once among them, it would be difficult to recognise landmarks of any kind. The smoke of Snorri Longnose’s settlement should appear soon on the northern skyline and as she walked, she sent up small, heartfelt prayers that Snorri would be friendly, and that he might have a ship going south to Skye.

He might turn out to be mean and avaricious, or as remote as Skuli Grey Cloak. He might put her on a ship for the Dublin slave market, or keep her for his own amusement, but she had to take that chance. Contemplating such choices as she  navigated her way through boggy patches and around prickly gorse bushes, life with Flane Ketilsson seemed less terrible than it had a day or two ago.

He’d made it plain from their first meeting what her rôle in his life would be, and he’d given her no reason to think things would change. The second day she’d discovered that he expected to marry Katla, but that was understandable. He would take every chance he could to better himself. Tales of the Vikings spoke of them as rough, violent men who roved the sea and took whatever they fancied. If such men wanted more than one woman, who was to stop them?

Emer’s people followed the teachings brought to the islands after the Roman conquest, and they allowed a man only one wife. Other bedfellows were forbidden. Yet he had not been unkind to her. He’d protected her, and seemed fond of her. But that hadn’t stopped him wanting both the leadership of the steading and Skuli’s gold. Marrying Katla had been the easiest route to achieve his aim.

Flane must have thought she would be glad of his protection and fit into the periphery of his life without a murmur of protest. And then there was Katla. She loved him, too. With a jolt, Emer realised that in one short sentence she had admitted to loving Flane. She studied the sloping hillsides and the rocky, tumbling streams, but could not ignore the truth. She had grown to care for Flane, and his insistence on marrying Katla hurt.

Tears threatened, but she forced them back. She would not weep over a man who might choose to stay with Katla. Misery crept over her at the thought of never seeing him again, so acute she stumbled and came to a halt in the middle of the valley with tears trickling down her face.

Through the soft twilight of the cool northern summer, Emer caught the faint sound of hounds on the wind, and hesitated. She glanced back over the way she had come. This was her second night out in the open and so far there had been no sign of pursuit. The sound of hunting dogs was not what she wanted to hear. The hair on the back of her neck lifted as she squinted through the soft blue haze. Clumps of trees and bushes crowded the stream that wound through the centre of the meadow that covered the valley bottom. Nothing moved but a pair of crows crossing the darkening sky.

The sound of the dogs was very faint. Oli’s tale of the man who had not returned once the hounds had been set loose was making her imagine things. Shaking off her fear, she faced north again. She had walked steadily for the best part of two days, with only the briefest of rests, and Snorri Longnose’s camp couldn’t be far off now.

A mournful wail rose and hung on the air. Emer shivered; she hadn’t been mistaken. Someone had set the hounds loose, and they were somewhere behind her, following her trail. They could have been trailing her all day, and would certainly move faster over the ground than she could. A cold trickle of fear ran down her spine. She set her jaw and walked on as fast as she could.

The ground was not her friend tonight. Boggy patches waited to trap her and enforced detours slowed her progress. She made her way carefully up through the higher reaches of the steep, boulder-strewn valley and the smell of a hearth fire came to her on the breeze. The faint tang of wood and peat promised a welcome if only she could reach it before the hounds ripped her to pieces.

The yips and yelps grew steadily louder, and her heart knocked against her ribs. Without conscious thought, she moved faster and faster until a stone tilted under her foot and she fell. Shaken, she forced herself to take care, to go more slowly. A twisted ankle would mean she could not walk and then the dogs would find her.

Emer used her hands to help when the slope grew steeper. Darkness fell. She looked up, panting. The rising hill blocked the moonlight, leaving the way ahead in darkness. Over to her right, a rock face rose sheer into the sky. Behind her, she glimpsed the long, winding ribbon of the river, glistening where the moon caught it. She saw movement and fear gripped her throat in the same moment, for there, running through the valley, she saw the flickering, moving shapes of the hounds.

She turned and plunged blindly on, scuttling from rock to rock, feeling her way with her hands. Her chest grew tight, sweat sprang on her skin and her muscles ached with effort. Chest heaving, she looked over her shoulder. The leading hound leapt to a rock and paused, scenting the air. Emer whimpered, and the dog let out a yowl of excitement. It leapt to the ground, less than fifty paces away from her. Snatching a breath, Emer turned and ran. There was no time for caution now.

Running uphill in the dark was a risk, but she was almost at the brow of the hill. When something shifted under her foot, she cried out in dismay. First her knee and then her shoulder hit the ground. Rolling over, she slid down a steep slope in a spatter of loose stones. She scrabbled at the grass and slipped into cold rushing air.

She landed on her back with a bone-breaking thud. Dazed and shocked, she stared at the dark sky above her, and then remembered the dogs. She couldn’t breathe. Pain gripped her midriff and her lungs didn’t work. Shutting out rising panic, she tried again, and a little air whispered through her throat. With each tiny intake of air, the constriction eased. Drawing in shallow, shaky breaths, expecting the rush of paws and the hot breath of the dogs, Emer knew she must get up, and run.

Intending to push herself up from the ground, she stretched out her hand, and—Oh, dear Lord! Her fingers encountered empty space on her right. There was nothing there. She lurched back, away from the drop and her shoulder collided with the rock. Her fingers found the raw edge and the spume-misted drop into the sea.

The smooth black shape of the cliff rose above her, and cut across the indigo greyness of the sky. The pale head of one of the hounds appeared, snuffling the air. It whined and backed away. Another came with tongue lolling, then turned aside.

Groping, she explored her rocky shelf, and found nothing more than a few strands of grass and loose pebbles caught in the cracks. Cold, salt-laden air swirled around her, and not far away she could hear the soft shush of the sea. Chilly air breathed against her skin.

Bruised, shocked and a little dizzy but otherwise unhurt, she gazed across the bay. The moonlight picked out Snorri’s settlement, snug beside the river and a pale beach nearby. It wasn’t far away and she wanted to reach it so very badly.

It didn’t seem fair that after walking so far, she was trapped in a cold shadowy darkness that denied her any sight of her prison. Sweat dried on her skin and left behind a sticky dampness. The dogs whined anxiously and milled about somewhere above her head. She wondered how long they would stay. If they went back to their keeper, then come daylight she might find a way of escape the rocky ledge. If they stayed, then she would starve to death here on the cliff with seagulls pecking at her.

She would have done better to stay with Flane. The thought came out of nowhere and startled her. If she had stayed with him, she would be safe in his bed at the steading. Better than starving to death out here in the windy darkness. He had charm, and seemed fond of her. Would it really have mattered if he didn’t marry her?

Emer looked up. A dog peered over the edge of the cliff, and froth from its jaws floated down and narrowly missed her face. The dog was a long way above her. She would likely die here, and for what? Was her pride really worth her life? Well, it was too late now. The chance with Flane had gone.

She hugged her knees and rested her chin on her kneecaps. Life was a strange thing, but death would be even stranger. A dog whined, another answered. They were as puzzled as Emer. They weren’t used to their prey disappearing over the edge of cliffs.

Emer looked up at the sky and wondered if the dogs would really have torn her limb from limb. She shivered. The breeze was colder here in the shadows above the sea, and she no longer had the exertion of walking to keep her warm. Wrapping her long skirts around her ankles, she wished for warmer clothing, and snuggled her hands into her armpits.

It was all very well to declare that she would rather die than give in and accept Flane’s offer, but she hadn’t really expected to be tested. Part of her wished she had given in. Chastising herself for such weakness, she shut her eyes. At once, a vision of Flane, poised on the wooden platform of the bathing place, intruded on her thoughts. She would never see him again, clothed or unclothed. She would never dare put her hands on his shoulders, touch her lips to his or feel that strange, alarming frisson of excitement run through her whenever he happened to walk by.

Hot tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She stared wildly upwards, and blinked rapidly, but the tears still fell. She let them, since there was no one to know if she cried or not. It wouldn’t do her any harm, but crying and self-pity never did anyone any good.

The tears calmed her. When they subsided except for an odd hiccup or two, she found herself thinking of Flane once more. Was it only two days ago, or three, that he had made love to her in the bathing place? Passionately, and with deep feeling. At the thought, pangs and quivers unsettled her.

She had been foolish enough to believe that afternoon had changed things for him, but all he really wanted was exactly what had happened in the bathing place. Older women warned young girls often enough that men wanted only the pleasure of the bed place. She had thought them cynical, and vowed it would never happen to her.

She remembered his tenderness, his concern that he should not hurt her. She was grateful for that, and the many times he had protected her from the worst Katla had ordered, fought Gamel on her behalf and no doubt kept other men away. It dawned on her just how much he had protected her in the last few days, and how much of a nuisance she must have been for him. She remembered how magnificent he had looked when locked in battle with Gamel. But for Flane, that horrid man would have raped her. Nausea rose in her at the mere thought.

Odd then how bedding Flane proved to be so very different. Doing intimate things with Flane did not make her feel sick. Quite the contrary. Such thoughts made her blood run warmer, faster and —

Had someone shouted, or had she imagined it? She blinked, cocked her head and listened, but heard nothing. The cold had stiffened her limbs. If she fell asleep there was a good chance she would roll off the ledge. What if she never saw daylight again? Oh, Flane! Where was he now she really needed him?

Above her, the dogs snuffled and whined. One of them barked, but gruffly and only once. They were not alarmed. From the sound of it, they were pleased. Locked in some stiff, cold limbo that was neither sleep nor waking, Emer wondered if she was dreaming.

A clicking noise drifted to her in the silence and she recognised the sound of a horse’s hoof against stone. It might be the kennel boy, come to find his charges. “Get down! Down, boy!”

She knew that voice! Surely that—fired by hope, Emer prayed she was right.

“Help me!” Her voice came out as a pathetic squawk. She coughed, cleared her throat and called again, louder. “Oh, please, help me!”

The world filled with silence. Even the dogs stayed quiet. She heard the murmur of waves far below, and the faint whisper of the wind as it breathed across the grass above her head. The jingle of a horse’s bit was unmistakable and she pictured the animal shaking its head when someone put a hand across its nose. Emer peered up anxiously. She opened her mouth to call again when a dark shape appeared against the sky at the top of the cliff.

“Be careful,” she cried. “It’s dangerous! Please don’t slip. Will you help me?”

She couldn’t see. Surely it was Flane? The figure moved and moonlight found and lit pale hair that shone like silver.

“Emer? I can’t see you! Where are you?”

She couldn’t keep the relief out of her voice. “I’m here! Below you! I fell. Please can you help me?”

“I’ve been looking for you all day.”

“I’m sorry. I should have been at the other longhouse by now.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m cold. I’m so glad it’s you.” She was surprised to hear herself say the words, but she couldn’t lie. Already she was confident Flane would somehow get her back up the cliff even though he sounded tired.