Beyond the Sea Mist (11 page)

Put in those terms, his goal did sound impossible. But Magnus wouldn’t let himself think like that. He’d managed to remain near the Irishwoman. Now he had only to wait for a chance to free her.

“Have a care for yourself, Orm,” Magnus said as the two prepared to go their separate ways. “Although your skill with a knife is impressive.” He motioned to the dagger tucked into Orm’s belt.

“When you’re ‘a puny fellow’ you have to find ways to even the score.” Orm gave Magnus an affectionate punch in the shoulder and said farewell.

* * *

Magnus boarded the ship and looked for a place to stow his supplies. The opening to the cargo area was on the prow side of the mast, but on the other side there was a small hide shelter where the women would probably be moved before they set out on the voyage.

He made his way toward the hide shelter, carefully avoiding the rolled up sail and rigging. The deck was lined with large sea chests that were nailed down so they wouldn’t slide around if the sea was rough. Magnus went to the one nearest the shelter, and saw that some other man had already claimed it by laying his sheathed sword on top.

“Looking for a place to settle in?” someone called.

Magnus looked down the deck and met the gaze of a sturdy man with wheat-colored hair. Recognizing him as the warrior he’d talked to before boarding the ship the first time, Magnus knew a tinge of unease. Would this man remember all the questions he’d asked?

Magnus approached the man and nodded in greeting. “Magnus Gunnarson.”

“Asgar Ranaldson. I guess you decided to hire on with Croa.”

“Aye.”

“Good thing, too, or we’d be an oarman short. Lost another one just a bit ago. Heard about the fire, did you? And the attacks on the men?”

“Aye.”

Asgar nodded, looking thoughtful. “I don’t believe any of that nonsense about a curse either. If you ask me, some man set the fire and bludgeoned the two crewman to make Croa look bad.”

Magnus’s mind raced as he tried to think how to respond. “Does Croa have a lot of enemies?” he asked.

Asgar shrugged. “Any man with wealth and power is going to have enemies. No one’s using that sea chest,” he added, pointing to the one across from his.

Although this chest was farther down the deck than he would have liked, Magnus decided it would serve. He put down his bag of supplies and sleeping sack. Opening the bag, he began to take out his things and stow them in the chest Asgar had indicated. “I hired on with Croa because I didn’t want to return to Hedeby,” he said. “But I really don’t know what to expect as a member of Croa’s crew.”

Asgar nodded. “He’s said to be a harsh captain who doesn’t tolerate anyone questioning his orders, but he makes up for it by paying his crew very well. And he has the means to do so. This is a big ship, and the hold is filled to the top with valuable goods: casks of wine, crates of glassware, hides and grain.”

Asgar didn’t mention the women, and Magnus wondered if he knew about them. Asgar might have hired on after the women had already been loaded onto the ship.

“Most of the crew were newly hired here in Dublin,” said Asgar. “I’ll bet not more than a half a dozen of them have ever sailed with Croa before.”

“That seems strange.” Magnus continued to unpack his things.

“I was told that’s how he usually works. He’d rather hire men as he needs rather than keep a regular crew.”

“I would think that a regular crew would be more loyal than a group of strangers.”

Asgar shrugged. “Perhaps Croa thinks he pays so well that he doesn’t need to worry about loyalty. And he does have some men who’ve been with him a long time.”

More and more crewmen were boarding the ship. Asgar motioned with his head. “See that fellow over there, the one with the nasty scar on his face? That’s Hafgrim. He’s Croa’s right-hand man. Scarce ever leaves his side.” Magnus shot a glance in the direction Asgar had indicated. He recalled Hafgrim as one of the warriors who’d been with Croa the first night in the ale house.

“There’s another fellow who always seems to be around Croa,” Asgar continued. “I think he might be his nephew or other kin, although he doesn’t look like him. His name’s Thorvald. I’ll point him out to you when I see him.”

Magnus nodded.

Asgar’s expression grew rapt as he took in the length of the deck. “I’m pleased to be traveling on this ship. It’s a superb vessel. I can hardly wait until we’re out on the open sea. Then we’ll see what this beauty can really do.”

At this moment, Magnus found it hard to focus on the joys of sailing. His thoughts were all on the challenges ahead of him.

A little past mid-day, the ship’s anchor was raised, and men began to grab up the long oars stored on the sides of the vessel and fit them into the oar holes. Magnus did the same, then took his place on the sea chest he’d claimed. As soon as the order was given, he began to row, and the ship moved slowly away from the dock. As they glided down river, Magnus knew the thrill of beginning a voyage. But this time it was tempered by his unease over what would happen on this journey, as well his awareness of the Irishwoman and her companions, crowded into the dank, dark hold below deck.

He’d thought Croa would have the women brought above deck before the ship set out, but perhaps Croa was waiting until they were well away from the longphort and out to sea to free his captives from their unpleasant prison. Magnus savored the idea of seeing Ailinn’s lovely face once again. Getting a glimpse of her would quell the doubts and worries gnawing at him. He couldn’t help wondering why he was completely altering the direction of his life for a woman he scarcely knew. What had happened to his dream of having his own ship some day?

He told himself he hadn’t given up his dream, but was merely putting it off for a time. Besides, part of the reason he wanted to have his own ship was the freedom to see new places and experience new things. Here he was, off to York, a place he’d never been before.

When they reached the mouth of the river, two of the crew raised the great red and white wadmal sail. Watching the huge piece of fabric catch the breeze, Magnus experienced another surge of excitement. Asgar was right. This was a magnificent ship, and he appreciated the chance to sail on her, no matter the circumstances.

The order came to halt rowing. Magnus pulled in his oar and got up to stow it in along the side of the ship as the other men were doing. As he returned to his sea chest, he observed a small gray and gold cat moving daintily along the deck. He stopped to admire the graceful creature, wishing he could take on its small, sleek form for a time. Then he could easily climb down into the hold and see the Irishwoman.

Croa still hadn’t ordered the women brought up on the deck. Did he really mean to leave them down there for the whole journey? Of course he did, Magnus realized bitterly. To a swine like Croa, they were no different than his other cargo.

The familiar anger seized hold of him. A beautiful, well-born woman like Ailinn shouldn’t have to endure such rude treatment. Magnus set his jaw, more determined than ever that he must see this thing through.

* * *

Ailinn turned away, grimacing as Brina vomited into a hide bucket. The smell made Ailinn’s stomach roil, but she fought back the nausea with all her might.
I won’t be sick. I won’t.

She shifted a tiny distance away from her maid, although there really was nowhere to go. The ship’s hold—which had seemed crowded when they first boarded—was now packed with supplies for the journey. Between the barrels, bags and boxes, there was barely room for the four women to sit or lie down on the sheepskin pallets their captor had provided.

On Ailinn’s other side, Ullach let out an agonized groan. Ailinn shuddered, torn between revulsion and pity. She’d thought their journey to Dublin had been unpleasant, but this was proving to be far worse. The ship’s hull shifted up and down with a nauseating rhythm. She wondered if the seasickness came about because they were in the hold rather than on deck breathing fresh sea air, or if the sea was rougher this far from the shore.

A pang of misery went through Ailinn as she realized they were moving farther and farther away from her homeland. With every passing moment, it seemed less and less likely that she would ever find her way back to Locha Lein. A wave of despair afflicted her. Her situation was hopeless. No one could help her. Croa was too powerful. She thought of the young Norse warrior and the vow he’d made to help her. What a fool he was to think he could get her away from Croa.

But if he was a fool, he was a brave, noble one. At least he’d tried. The memory of his strong callused hands cupping her own brought tears to Ailinn’s eyes. He was so handsome, so kind. Something about the young Norseman made her want to yield to him. To let him put his arms around her and hold her tight. To rest her head against his broad chest.

The comforting image vanished as the sound of Brina’s retching pierced Ailinn’s consciousness. Surely by now her stomach
must
be empty, Ailinn thought.

Brina let out a moan. “Oh, Ailinn. I want to die.”

“Don’t speak such nonsense,” Ailinn said wearily. She sat up and reached over to stroke Brina’s shoulders. After all the times her maid had comforted her, the least she could do was return the favor. She soothed Brina, saying, “Soon you’ll grow used to the movement of the ship and start to feel better.”

“Nay. With each passing moment, I only feel worse.” Brina let out another agonized moan, then jerked upright and grabbed for the bucket.

Ailinn inched back, wondering if she’d ever felt as bleak and helpless as she did at this moment. She thought again of the Norseman. He was far away now. All hope he might rescue them was gone. Ailinn closed her eyes and tried to summon up some spark of determination to go on. What was it that Brina was always telling her?
As long as you’re alive, there’s always a chance things will get better. You’re a Donovan, the last of a proud and courageous line.

Bolstered by these thoughts, Ailinn fought back the crushing anguish and reached over to once again stroke her maid’s sweat-soaked back.

* * *

Magnus turned over in his bed sack and let out a sigh. At this rate, the ship would reach York before he had a chance to speak to Ailinn. So far on the voyage, Croa had stayed near the opening in the deck, although Magnus had seen Hafgrim and Thorvald go down there. They must be the only ones Croa trusted to have dealings with the women.

Magnus tensed with frustration. Somehow he must think of a way to get into the hold and speak to Ailinn. But how? If he tried to climb below deck and Croa saw him, there was no telling what the big man would do. Croa wore his sword at all times.

He needed an ally. If Orm were here, he might be able to cause some sort of distraction that would divert Croa’s attention. But Orm was on one of the two ships barely visible on the starboard side. The only man he knew on this vessel was Asgar. Was there any hope the fair-haired man would help him? Why should he? The small bit of silver Magnus had left was hardly enough to tempt anyone. What else did he have to barter with? His sword, but he would need that once he got to York.

The more he thought about it, the more hopeless it seemed. Perhaps he would have to wait until they arrived at their destination to speak to Ailinn. It would be torture, pure torture, but in the long run, it seemed like the soundest course of action.

Until then, he would have to content himself with memories. He recalled how soft her skin had felt and the delicacy of her fingers. She was so fine and rare, like the silk fabric Oleif had talked about. The rest of her body would also be soft and smooth, but warmer than her chilled fingers. He grew aroused as he imagined her form. The pliant, luxuriantly soft shape of her breasts. The graceful curve of her tiny waist. The swell of her hips...

He repressed a groan as he imagined the feel of her body beneath his. That was a dream, he reminded himself. She was a princess—or at least she had been one in Ireland—and princesses didn’t marry poor younger sons. Princesses also didn’t offer their bodies to men who weren’t their husbands—no matter how grateful they might be.

But she wasn’t a pampered noblewoman anymore. Now she was a slave, for sale to the man who offered the most. If he were able to free her from such wretched circumstances, she would owe him a great debt.

He savored the tantalizing thought for a moment, then confronted the stark truth of his situation. He had nothing to offer a woman, not yet at least. Someday, he would have his own ship and be able to afford a small farm where he would stay between voyages.

But what sort of life would that be for her? A woman who had once been heiress to a kingdom wouldn’t be satisfied with life on a small steading far away from her homeland.

His thoughts spun on, entangling him in worry and frustration. Magnus shifted in his bedsack and told himself he must try to sleep. Things would look better in the morning.

* * *

Magnus stood at the side of the ship just beyond the mast and gazed out at the sea. He could see the other two ships off the starboard side of the
Dragonsbreath
. How was Orm faring? he wondered. He hoped he hadn’t gotten into trouble dicing.

Turning back to the deck, Magnus saw Croa watching him. As always when he was around his adversary, his heartbeat quickened and his muscles grew taut. He told himself to ignore Croa. It wasn’t uncommon for crewmen to watch the waves. He was behaving no differently than any other man on the vessel.