Beyond the Sea Mist (2 page)

“Even so.” Brina shook her mass of auburn curls. “He’s a cruel, violent man. I don’t think you should arouse his temper.”

“What have I to lose?” Ailinn asked bitterly. “He can kill me now or I can live to endure a life of degradation and shame.”

“You mustn’t say such things. It’s blasphemous to seek death. And cowardly. You’re the last of the line of Donovan. Think of your family.”

Her family. How hard she’d struggled these past few days
not
to think of them. Images of fire, blood and slaughter filled her mind and she shuddered. The Norsemen had spared only her and a few other women of the household—her maid, Brina, two kitchen girls and the daughter of one her father’s client farmers who had the misfortune to be visiting the ringfort that day.

Ailinn swiped at the tears that filled her eyes, then shot a glance in the direction of the slavemaster.
God in heaven, she would not let that Norse pig see her weep
!

“Perhaps it won’t be as awful as you fear,” Brina soothed. “There’s every reason to believe you’ll be sold to a nobleman, perhaps even a king. Not all Norsemen are hideous beasts. Look at those men over there. The two younger fellows are almost comely.”

Ailinn turned her gaze to three men standing by the dragonship that had recently docked. After one glance at the weapons they wore on their belts, she looked away. “I see no difference between them and the savages who slaughtered my brothers in their beds and cleaved my father’s head open with an axe!” As soon as she said the words, she regretted it. She drew a sharp steadying breath as unwelcome tears stung her eyes.

“It’s not fair to say all Norsemen are evil,” Brina insisted. “Think of all the years your father was allied with Rognvald of Limerick.”

“Though they might have been allies, my father never really trusted Rognvald.”

“Did Conlach ever trust any man?” Brina asked.

Nay, and with good reason, Ailinn thought bitterly. Men who were allies one day could be enemies the next. Shared blood was also meaningless. Her father’s death had been arranged by one of his own countrymen. She thought with fury of Fineen MacTighe, the neighboring chieftain who had cost her everything.

“Look!” Brina whispered loudly. “One of the Norsemen is coming over here!”

With a start, Ailinn realized her maid was right. The warrior walking toward them was very tall and broad-shouldered, although not so massively built as the repulsive Croa. His long light brown hair was streaked with gold and his skin very tan. She shot a glance at the huge sword hanging from his belt. Although he made no move to draw the weapon, her heart beat faster as he approached.

She returned her gaze to his face. His mouth was a hard line of determination. His bright blue eyes burned as fierce as flames.
Saints in heaven, what did he want with her
?

He halted a few feet away and made a slight movement with his head. It seemed to be a gesture of courtesy, although Ailinn couldn’t imagine this Norse giant trying to be polite. His hesitant manner when he spoke confounded her even more. “Lady...I wanted to see...I wished to make certain you were unharmed.”

Although Ailinn understood the Norse language, it still took her a few moments to decipher his words. It wasn’t his foreign inflection she struggled with, but the words themselves. What he asked made no sense to her. Why should he care if she were unharmed? Could he be contemplating stealing her from Croa? Did he wish to ascertain her value so he could decide if she was worth risking his life over?

She stared at him, perplexed as to how to answer. He frowned back at her, then jerked his head in the direction of Croa, who was still shouting at the slaves unloading the other boat. “I saw him lay hands on you. Did he hurt you?”

“Nay.” Her voice came out as a husky whisper, then she recovered and spoke in icy tones. “Nor will he. I’m far too valuable a prize.”

“Prize?”

“He counts me among the plunder he stole from my father...after he murdered him. He then killed my brothers, burned my home and took me, my maid and the other young women of the household as his prisoners.”

Her eyes were blue. Nay, they were green.
Or perhaps it was some shade of gray. Magnus couldn’t tell. Their hue seemed to alter moment by moment, reminding him of the shifting colors of the sea under the open sky.

He realized he was concentrating on her eyes so he wouldn’t have to focus on the utter bleakness of her expression. What cruel circumstances this young woman had endured. To lose her family, her home and then be taken prisoner. He thought of his own brothers and the steading where he’d grown up. If someone had come and destroyed all he cared about, he would have lost his wits. Nay, that wasn’t true. He would never have lived through such an experience, but died fighting his attackers. Of course, she was a woman. She wouldn’t have had any means of resisting.

As if she guessed the direction of his thoughts, she said, “If you’re wondering why I stand here meekly awaiting my fate, it’s because my future is entwined with others. If I should try to escape, Croa has assured me my companions will suffer.”

Magnus’s gaze took in the young women gathered around her. Two had reddish hair, one was tall with brown hair and the fourth was tiny with black hair. They were all young and well-favored. The thought of what Croa and his crew might do to them turned Magnus’s blood to ice water.

The chill of revulsion was quickly replaced by a white-hot fury. This well-born woman shouldn’t remain in the clutches of a beast like Croa Ottarsson. Someone had to help her. “Have you any kinsman left living who might aid you?”

“Nay, they’re all dead.”

“No allies of your father? No neighboring chieftain who might fear that this same thing could happen to his own family?”

She gave a mirthless laugh, a jarring contrast to the soft lilting tone of her voice. “It was the neighboring chieftain who arranged the attack, in order to lay claim to my father’s lands. As for my father’s other allies, they’re all dead.”

She was alone, except for the young women gathered round her, and they appeared even more vulnerable and helpless than she was. Magnus’s body grew tight with frustration. He yearned to aid this woman, but how could he? Croa was a man of wealth and power, while he was but a hired swordsman. It seemed hopeless, but surely it wasn’t. He needed time to think of a plan. “What will Croa do now that you’ve arrived in Dublin?”

“We’ll probably be taken to slavemarket and sold to whoever offers to pay the most.”

“Do you go there now, or must Croa make arrangements for his other trade goods first?”

The woman shrugged. “What does it matter to you?”

“Because I mean to help you, if I can.”

Her sea-colored eyes glittered with contempt. “How? Do you have sacks of jewels and booty stored away on your ship?” She jerked her head toward the
Waverunner
. “For that matter, is it even your vessel? You appear far too young to own such a craft. I think you’re a hireling, paid in silver to help row the ship to shore and protect its captain and cargo. If that’s true, then you have as much hope of purchasing me as they do.” She gestured to the slaves unloading Croa’s other loot.

Magnus felt a surge of anger. He was trying to help this woman. She need not act so disdainful. Although she might be some petty king’s daughter and a princess of sorts, she didn’t have to behave as if he were unworthy of her company.

Between his growing irritation and his lack of a reasonable plan to save her, Magnus decided it was time to retreat. He inclined his head to her. “Farewell then, lady. I hope all goes well for you at the slavemarket.”

A cruel thing to say, he thought as he walked back to Orm and Skulli. But no more harsh than the way she’d treated him. Perhaps she didn’t need to be rescued after all. No doubt her sharp tongue was a formidable weapon, capable of cutting most men to shreds.

But not one like Croa, he realized. Men like that were immune to insults and sharp words. The only thing that could hurt them was cold, hard steel. Instinctively, his hand went to his sword hilt and he imagined driving the weapon deep into Croa’s huge belly.

If he did such a thing, Croa’s men would kill him, and only a fool would throw his life away in such a fashion. If he died fighting, he would go to Valhalla, but the pure truth was that he wasn’t yet ready to leave this realm. Life was too sweet, and he had far too much left to accomplish.

“So?” Orm demanded as soon as Magnus was within earshot.

“It’s exactly as I thought. The woman and her companions were taken captive and forced into slavery.”

“And all her kinsmen were killed,” Skulli put in, nodding. “It’s a common tale. With the chieftains fighting among themselves and the Norse trying to carve out territories here, the Irish people are in constant danger of being enslaved. They say hundreds of prisoners pass through the slavemarket of Dublin each year.”

“Where’s the slavemarket?” Magnus asked.

“Farther along the quay.” Skulli pointed.

What if he could convince Sigurd to purchase the Irishwoman? At least that way she’d be out of the clutches of the foul Croa. But what inducement could he offer his captain to do such a thing? And why should he trouble himself to help her? She was a haughty, vinegar-tongued creature and deserved whatever fate befell her.

He told himself this several times, but couldn’t make himself believe it.

* * *

“What did he say to you?” Brina asked after the Norseman had left.

Ailinn’s insides twisted with regret. Why had she coldly rejected the man’s offer? How could she have been so stupid? Her quick temper had caused her to speak harshly. It was difficult not to view any Norseman as the enemy, but she shouldn’t have let her fury at Croa affect her dealings with the young warrior.

She sighed and responded to Brina’s question. “He offered to help me, and I—like a lackwit—threw his offer back into his face.” She grimaced. “I told him that since he was obviously a hireling, I didn’t see how he could aid me.”

“But why did he make the offer in the first place?” Brina asked. “Do you know him?”

“Nay. I’ve never laid eyes upon him before.” Perhaps she was right to send him away. There was no reason on earth for the Norseman to be concerned about her welfare ...unless he hoped to enslave her himself. But he’d seemed so sincere. And it hadn’t been lust she’d observed in his dazzling blue eyes, but pity.

Perhaps that’s what had galled her so much. He’d reminded her how utterly helpless she was, how weak
. If I were a man, I’d be trained to wield a sword and I wouldn’t be in this situation. I would have died defending my home, my family.
As the unbearable anguish threatened, she pushed it back into the darkest corner of her mind.

“If you don’t know him, then it’s odd he made such an offer,” Brina mused. “Perhaps he’s simply a kindhearted man.”

Ailinn snorted. “A kindhearted Viking! Brina, the miserable journey here must have muddled your wits.”

“But what other explanation is there?”

“He obviously hopes to steal me from Croa so he can have me for himself.”

“And would that be so bad?” Brina cocked an auburn brow and smiled, showing her dimples. “You must admit he’s much better looking than Croa.”

“I don’t want to be the slave of any man...no matter how comely!” The fury and resentment rose up inside Ailinn, softened a bit by the thought that Brina was right. The Norse warrior was fine to look upon. If she had to submit, it would be much less distasteful to do so with a young, well-made warrior. “Anyway,” she told Brina, “it won’t be Croa who takes my maidenhead, but the rich chieftain or king he sells me to.”

As she spoke the words, she imagined the sort of man who would become her master. He’d be probably be old, with bad teeth and a greasy beard. She shuddered. If only she’d been more courteous when the warrior made his offer. She should at least have listened to what he’d had to say.

Her regret intensified as she glanced down the quay and saw the warrior pacing next to the ship. A pang went through her as she admired his muscular form. He moved with surprising grace for such a big man. With his long, gold-tinged brown hair, he reminded her of an enormous cat prowling the wharf. She could sense the coiled tension that radiated from him, as if he were ready to draw his sword and spring upon an enemy at any moment. Perhaps he could have helped her. He might not have Croa’s wealth and a crew of lackeys, but he seemed bold and fearless enough to take on any adversary.

“Ailinn!”

She turned at Brina’s frantic whisper, and her heart sank as she saw Croa striding toward her, a mocking grin on his vile face.

Magnus watched in dismay as Croa approached the woman. His turmoil deepened as a wooden oxcart drew beside the prisoners and the slavemaster began to lift the women into the wicker pen on the back of the cart. His actions were brisk and efficient, as if he were loading barrels of fish. Until he got to the princess. Then he paused and leaned down to speak to her. Her fine features contorted with hatred and she spat in his face. He laughed and grabbed her around the waist, then dropped her, flailing and cursing, into the wicker pen with the other women.

Magnus clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth.
If I try to help her, I'll be throwing my own life away...and over a sharp-tongued, ungrateful little shrew who thinks she’s far too good for me.