Beyond the Sea Mist (19 page)

She fought the feeling, telling herself that she couldn’t let her desire for Magnus interfere with her plans. Instead of lusting after Magnus, she should take this opportunity while he was occupied to go down in the hold.

She turned to make her way around the mast, halting as she caught a glimpse of a ship on the horizon. She watched it for a moment, wondering if she should alert Magnus.

The next moment one of the crew shouted that there was a ship on the starboard side.

* * *

Magnus stopped what he was doing and followed the rest of the crew to the side of the vessel.
A ship! Orm might be alive!

“Only one,” Lodur mused. “I wonder where the second ship is. Perhaps they lost track of each other in the storm.”

Magnus scanned the far horizon, searching in vain for the second vessel. When none appeared, he felt a stab of worry. What if Orm was on the other ship and it had gone down in the storm?

“Are you certain it’s one of Croa’s?” Asgar asked.

“Aye,” Lodur responded. “I recognize the design on the prow.”

Magnus was impressed. He had good vision, but not as hawklike as Lodur’s.

The men quickly returned to the mast and adjusted the sail so they were tacking in the direction of the other vessel. As the ship drew nearer, Magnus realized Lodur was right. It did appear to be one of the other vessels they’d set out with. But he still couldn’t tell if it was the ship Orm was on. Magnus’s stomach clenched with anxiety as they approached the lone vessel.

“Ahoy, there!” Bragi called out when they were within shouting distance. “It appears you survived the storm. What about the other ship, the
Serpent
?”

“She went down,” the other man shouted back. “Where’s Croa?”

Magnus answered this time. “Dead!” he shouted. “He fell overboard during the storm. I’m Magnus Gunnarson and I’m now the captain of this ship.”

They were near enough that Magnus could see the surprise on the faces of the crew on the other ship. As he perused the men gathered there, one with dark red hair caught his attention. “Orm!” he cried.

Orm saw him and waved, a wide grin on his face. Magnus grinned back.

The man who’d first hailed them shouted, “Where’s Thorvald? Is he dead as well?”

Thorvald moved to stand beside Magnus. “I’m alive.”

There was more conversation on the other ship. Their spokesman called out, “Magnus Gunnarson, by what right do you claim Croa’s ship?”

Magnus felt the familiar tension wrench through his body. “I told you Croa fell overboard,” he shouted back. “He fell because I fatally wounded him. If I had not, the
Dragonsbreath
would now be at the bottom of the sea. We were taking on water and in danger of foundering, but Croa did nothing. Instead, he hid away in the tent, cowering like a whipped slave.”

The crew of the
Seawolf
again conferred among themselves. As several men raised their voices, Magnus grew wary. The men on the
Seawolf
hadn’t observed Croa’s cowardly behavior. It would be easy for them to see Magnus as a greedy usurper who’d killed Croa for no other reason than to seize control of the ship.

The
Seawolf’s
spokesman called out, “Thorvald, what say you? Do you accept this man’s authority? He killed your uncle. Do you believe the killing was justified?

Thorvald looked around at the other men before answering. Finally, he shouted, “Nay. I think this man...” he pointed to Magnus, “...he killed my uncle without cause. He killed him not to save the ship, but the woman.”

“Woman? What woman?” the man shouted.

“One of the slaves Croa intended to sell in York,” Thorvald shouted back. “Croa was going to throw her overboard because he thought she’d cursed us by calling down the storm.”

Magnus grimaced. Thorvald was a canny one, waiting until now to oppose him. He moved nearer to the side of the ship, so he was only a stone’s throw away from the men in the other vessel. “It’s true I didn’t want Croa to throw the woman overboard,” he called out. “But that doesn’t change the fact that my actions likely saved us. Without Croa’s interference, we were able to get rid of much of the cargo and bail out the hold to keep the ship afloat.”

“But who’s to say that once Croa was rid of the woman, he wouldn’t have regained his senses and behaved as a proper captain?” Thorvald argued. He had a strong voice, despite his quiet demeanor. “It was the woman he feared. He believed she’d cursed us. Once she was gone, he would have taken action to save his ship. What sensible man cares if a slave dies—no matter how comely she might be?”

Magnus clenched his jaw. He must do something to impress these men and earn their respect. Glaring at Thorvald, he said, “It’s time for you to back up your words with action. If you would challenge my right to the
Dragonsbreath
, then get a weapon and fight for her.”

Magnus saw a flash of fear in Thorvald’s eyes. He held Magnus’s gaze for a heartbeat, then glanced at the men in the other ship, as if waiting for them to intervene. Instead, the
Seawolf’s
spokesman called out, “Aye. That’s the way the dispute should be settled, with all of us watching to see it’s a fair fight.”

Magnus broke away from the group of men and went to his sea chest and retrieved his sword. His heart was beating like a drum and fiery energy poured through his veins. After all the talking and arguing, it felt good to be settling things in combat, with everyone around to observe the outcome. It would be clean and definite, with none of the sly manipulation Thorvald seemed to prefer.

Magnus ran his hand along the sleek oiled surface of his sword. It was a plain weapon, with only a few swirling designs cut into the wooden hilt and an unadorned blade.

On the way back, he saw Ailinn watching him. He met her gaze and offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She didn’t smile back but watched him with an intensity that made him catch his breath. In the soft morning light, she looked incredibly beautiful, like a rainbow glimmering in the seaspray when the sunlight shone at the perfect angle.

Her rare, elusive loveliness had haunted his thoughts for nearly a sennight. Now, at last, he had a chance to win the right to possess her. The thought honed his determination to an even sharper edge.

Thorvald was waiting for him at the other end of the ship. His sword looked shiny and new, as if it hadn’t seen much use. But that didn’t mean anything, Magnus reminded himself. A man who was kin to a wealthy trader like Croa might have several swords.

There was only small space for them to maneuver in. Magnus couldn’t decide whether fighting in such a cramped area would aid or hinder him. He was much bigger than Thorvald, but he hoped he was at least as quick. Raising his sword, he started toward his opponent.

Ailinn watched Magnus and his opponent face off, her whole body rigid with dread. She could hardly bear to watch. What if Magnus were killed? He was her hero who’d rescued her from the horrible Croa. If he were to die—dear heaven, how would she go on?

She could hear the men around her talking in low voices about the contest. “Thorvald will never best him. He’s not half the man Magnus is.”

“Size isn’t everything,” a second man interjected.

“I wasn’t talking about size,” the first man said. “Thorvald’s a coward. Otherwise he would have challenged Magnus right after he killed Croa.”

“Maybe Thorvald thought it was more important to get the ship through the storm.”

“If he was concerned about the storm, why didn’t he help haul up the cargo?” A third man spoke this time. “Nay, he was waiting to see whether anyone would support him. If Hakon on the other ship hadn’t goaded Thorvald into fighting Magnus, Thorvald would still be lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance.”

“I say Magnus will kill him easily,” the first man asserted. “Do any of you want to wager against him?”

When no responded, Ailinn felt a little better. These men obviously thought Magnus had the advantage.

Please let it be true,
she thought silently.
Please let Magnus defeat him, and quickly.
Dread rose up inside her, shocking her with its intensity. This man was so important to her, not only because he represented her best chance of regaining her freedom and her birthright, but because she cared for him. Indeed, her feelings for him were as deep as anything she’d ever felt for her own family.

The realization shocked her. How could this be, that he’d become as precious to her as her own blood kin? When had she lost her heart to this foreign man? Was it when he threw the axe that wounded Croa? Or had it been when she slept cradled in his arms and felt safe for the first time since the attack on her home?

Ailinn set aside the turmoil of her thoughts and forced herself to watch the two men as they battled. Magnus did appear to be the stronger fighter. Despite his size, he moved with lightning quickness. He seemed to be everywhere, slashing out with his sword. It was all Thorvald could do to keep out of the way. If Magnus’s opponent hoped to have any chance at all, he would have to go on the offensive.

But Thorvald didn’t attack. Instead, he spent his energies dodging Magnus’s blows. He was getting winded, Ailinn felt certain. She wanted desperately for Magnus to finish this and be safe.

Kill him. Kill him now.
The words rang in Magnus’s head, but he couldn’t seem to make his body heed them. He’d suspected Thorvald would be a poor fighter. Men who had the wealth and position to have other men defend them often let their own combat skills grow flabby and weak. Perhaps Thorvald had depended on his uncle’s size and threatening reputation and never developed his own fighting abilities.

Magnus had already mentally thanked his deceased father a dozen times for insisting he spend hours sparring with the old warrior Brodar. All the cuts and bruises and aching muscles he’d endured back then now seemed very worthwhile. He wasn’t even breathing hard, while rivelets of sweat streaked down Thorvald’s flushed face.

Perhaps that’s why he was so reluctant to finish him off. It seemed unfair, even cruel to kill a man whose defenses were so ineffectual. But perhaps he didn’t have to kill him. Perhaps all he had to do was convince Thorvald to yield, here, in front of everyone.

With a sweep of his sword, Magnus knocked Thorvald’s weapon away, then held his blade to the other man’s throat. “Yield,” he said. “Yield now, or the next breath you take will be your last.”

Thorvald glared at him, and for a moment, Magnus saw a flare of defiant hatred in the other man’s blue-gray eyes. Then it was gone, as if a shutter had been closed. “I yield,” Thorvald said. “The ship is yours, as is all the remaining cargo.”

“What of the
Seawolf
?” Magnus demanded.
 Thorvald glanced at the other vessel, then returned his gaze to Magnus. “Aye. I yield it as well.” Hearing his bitter tone, Magnus knew a vague unease. If he wanted things to be settled for certain, he should kill this man. But how could he? It would be like skewering a helpless coney.

Magnus held his sword to Thorvald’s throat a while longer, trying to impress upon him how easy it would be to end his life. Then he withdrew the weapon and looked around at those watching. “Is there anyone else who seeks to challenge me?”

He met the gaze of each man on the
Dragonsbreath
in turn. No one spoke. “From now on I’ll make the decisions,” Magnus said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t listen to what any of you have to say. There are those among you who’ve had much experience in voyaging upon the sea. I’ll count on you to help me guide the
Dragonsbreath
safely to our destination.

“As for the
Seawolf
...” Magnus moved nearer to portside and faced the men on the other ship. “My authority extends to you as well,” he called out, letting his gaze sweep over them. “Unless any of you wish to board the
Dragonsbreath
and do battle with me.”

Several of the crew of the
Seawolf
exchanged words. Magnus tensed, anticipating a new challenge. Then Orm called out, “Look out, Magnus!”

Magnus whirled and slashed out with his sword. It caught the face of his attacker, Thorvald. The man cried out, but still drove forward with his dagger. The weapon grazed Magnus’s left arm and he felt a stinging pain. He spun away from Thorvald, then faced him, sword at the ready. Blood dripped from the wound on Thorvald’s cheek and his eyes were wild and desperate. Magnus regarded him with a sense of resignation. Now he had no choice but to kill him. Grasping his sword in both hands, he swung the weapon and sliced open Thorvald’s throat. Blood spurted out, spraying Magnus and everything around him. Thorvald crumpled and fell.

Magnus adjusted his grip on his sword. Perhaps now everyone would be satisfied. He’d killed his challenger. Perhaps now they would finally accept his authority.

“Magnus!” It was Ailinn who called out his name this time. She hurried toward him. Two paces away, she halted, her amazing eyes focused on him with a look that took his breath away. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but there was blood everywhere. “You’re wounded.” She pointed to the blood dripping down his arm.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Only a flesh wound.”

“I can stitch it for you.”

“Aye,” he answered. “Later, after this mess is cleaned up.”

“At least let me bandage it.”

He shrugged, feeling ridiculously pleased that she wanted to tend to him.