Authors: Phoebe Conn
Just as Jørn had predicted, Brendan had found his people eager to welcome the help of Danes to defeat the Norse pirates, and none had shared his fear that they might prove themselves to be every bit as aggressive and abusive once the Norsemen were gone. While Brendan still harbored that worry himself, it was a risk he was willing to take to rid his homeland of Trom.
Once everyone was armed, Brendan led them back to the pirates’ camp. There was not a sentry left alive at his post to sound an alarm, and moving into position, they waited for the dawn to provide enough light for them to discern friend from foe. As they had planned, when Jarald gave the call of an owl, Brendan cupped his hands to his mouth to make the reply. He went forward then, intent upon slaying the villain who had sold him into slavery.
Had Trom not been a clever man, he would not have survived in such a dangerous profession for as long as he had. Awakened to the unmistakable sounds of an attack, he grabbed up his sword and ran to the door. When he found Brendan standing on the other side, his blue eyes aglow with a demonic gleam, he let out a piercing howl and with a savage lunge made a wild attempt to hack him in two.
Brendan had never expected Trom to surrender meekly, for he knew the man relished a fight, but he was determined to end this battle as the victor. He had been a fine warrior at twenty three, but three years of hard labor had given him a physical toughness as enduring as the heavy steel blade he swung with both hands. He had seen the light of recognition in Trom’s pale blue eyes, and knew he now regretted sparing his life, but the pirate’s resulting anger only served to feed the Celt’s determination to see him dead.
The clang of their swords resounding with the force of their mighty blows, Trom and Brendan moved in a tight circle, leaving the front of the house for the open space in the center of the camp. All around them other men fought, for the Danes wanted every Norseman responsible for their capture dead, while Erik, Jarald, and his crew advanced from the river, blocking all hope the pirates had of escape.
Relentless in his pursuit of satisfaction, Brendan fought with a deadly precision. When Trom began to tire, the fierceness of the Celt’s craving for revenge gave him the stamina to increase the tempo of his attack. He watched terror fill the pirate’s eyes as he realized he was beaten. Trom continued to fight, for he possessed a tenacious streak that would not allow him to beg for mercy from a man he already knew would show him none. Attempting a retreat, he staggered backward, but clumsy with fatigue, he tripped over his own feet and fell. Without the slightest hesitation, Brendan drove the point of his sword through the fallen man’s chest, and the hatred that had consumed him for three long years finally found its release. There was no time to savor that joy, however, with blood and curses flying all around him.
Erik had fought beside Jarald, moving from the docks toward the center of the pirate’s stronghold, but when he saw that the burly Dane intended to swing his sword into Brendan’s back, he slammed into him hard enough to make his blow go wide. He then shouted a warning to Brendan, who whirled around in time to block Jarald’s next blow.
Brendan had expended a great deal of energy defeating Trom, but he despised Jarald and welcomed the opportunity to fight him. This battle was nearly as fierce as the one he had waged with the pirate, but fortunately Jarald had already fought several men too and he wasn’t able to summon his full strength either.
When he found no one left standing to fight, Haakon joined those watching Brendan and Jarald, but he could not understand why the two men would want to kill each other. When Erik stepped to his side, obviously worried about the outcome of the match, he tried to ask him about the bout, but he could not be heard over the din of the crowd.
Finding Brendan to be a far tougher opponent than he had imagined, Jarald used Haakon’s arrival to a quick advantage. Moving back out of Brendan’s reach, he shouted to the man he had come to save. “This slave is Dana’s lover, and he doesn’t deserve to live! Help me kill him!”
“A slave? He called himself a prince!” Haakon raised his blade, trusting a man he knew well rather than one he had just met, but again Erik stepped forward to protect Brendan. The bravery of that move so impressed Haakon that he lowered his sword to his side.
Svien pushed his way to the front then, shoving the men who stood between him and his father aside. “We have gained our freedom. What is the point in fighting each other?”
Jarald had to take several deep gulps of air before he spoke, but he then denounced Brendan as an arrogant slave who had seduced Dana and then abandoned her. “I’ve already punished Dana,” he declared proudly, “and I mean
to punish him as well.”
Both Erik and Brendan went after Jarald at that taunt, and dodging their bloodstained blades, Haakon and Svien summoned several men from their crews to pry the combatants apart. “I want the truth,” Haakon demanded when he gained control of the volatile situation. “Now who knows it?”
Thinking that as a neutral party his word would be believed, Erik attempted to explain his half sister’s involvement with Brendan, but he could not deny she had taken a slave for a lover. When he saw he had succeeded only in infuriating Haakon, he quickly gave up the effort to champion his sister’s cause. “Dana can speak for herself. She’ll be thrilled to see you and Svien are safe. Let’s go and tell her that you are.”
Haakon was astounded to hear Dana had accompanied the men on their rescue mission, and he wanted to see her, but he first ordered his crew to search the pirates’ lair for valuables of any kind. “Divide them with the men who came to help us escape, for the rightful owners of anything Trom had here are undoubtedly dead.” That matter out of the way, he took the precaution of disarming both Jarald and Brendan before he allowed Erik to lead the way back to the cove where they had camped.
Putting his time to good use, Jarald reminded Haakon that he had wanted to wed his eldest daughter, and insisted that he still did despite her indiscretions that summer. “She is a delightful young woman and I love her still. When I’m her husband she’ll have no need for other men,” he boasted proudly.
Haakon exchanged a worried glance with Svien, for nothing anyone had said about Dana had made the slightest sense to him. When they reached the sheltered bay where the
Seahawk
lay at anchor, he called Dana’s name, but she failed to appear. “Well, where is she?”
Jarald went immediately to her tent, but finding it empty, he shrugged innocently. “We told her to wait here for us.”
“How did you punish her?” Brendan asked accusingly. “Just what did you do to her?” He cursed his own stupidity at leaving the woman he loved in the same camp with a man neither of them trusted. Erik had been there, but apparently he had seen nothing. Brendan was furious with himself for not sharing Dana’s story about Grena with Erik so he would have kept a better watch on the man.
“How many women do you need, Jarald? Wasn’t Grena enough for you?” the Celt shouted when the man didn’t reply to his earlier questions.
“What has Grena got to do with this?” Haakon inquired. “I thought it was Dana you wished to wed.”
Jarald regarded Brendan with a truly murderous gaze. “Grena is a lonely widow who begged me to enliven an afternoon. It’s Dana I intend to wed, and I’ll not allow a slave to stand in my way!”
With a sudden flash of insight, Brendan realized how great an enemy Jarald truly was. “You were trying to kill me, weren’t you? The fire at Erik’s wasn’t meant to destroy his house at all, only to roast me alive!” He lunged for Jarald’s throat, meaning to choke the last breath of life from him, but Svien and Haakon managed to pull him back.
In the midst of the confusion, Erik spotted Dana at the edge of the forest, leaning against a tree, barely able to stand. “There’s Dana!” he called excitedly, but even at a distance he could see she was seriously hurt. He ran to her, then slid to a halt, appalled by her bruised and battered appearance.
“Did Jarald do that to you?” he asked as he tried to find a way to gather her into his arms without causing her any additional pain.
Not wanting to risk another confrontation with Jarald unarmed, Dana had crawled into the woods to find her knife. She had the weapon clutched tightly in her hand, but knew she lacked the strength to plunge it into Jarald’s heart. “Don’t let Jarald near me,” she whispered softly, and enfolded in Erik’s arms, she gave in to the pain that racked her slender body and slipped back into the welcoming peace of unconsciousness.
When Dana awoke, she found herself lying on a bed of furs in a dimly lit dwelling, but unlike her home, this one was round. Hearing the sound of masculine voices, she turned toward them and found her father, Svien, Erik, and Brendan seated around the hearth in the center of the circular room. They were sipping what was obviously not their first tankard of ale, and she was annoyed to think they had nothing better to do than get drunk when she felt as though every bone in her body had been broken. She was about to call out to them, meaning to scold them for neglecting her so shamefully, when her father began to speak. Sensing that what he was about to impart was important, she held her tongue.
In all his life, Haakon had never had so many idle moments as those he had had to endure as Trom’s prisoner. He and Svien had often passed their time talking of the loved ones they had left at home, and whenever his son had mentioned Erik, Haakon had cringed inwardly. An active man, and not one given to introspection, he had grown horribly uncomfortable with the memories Erik’s name called to mind, for it was inexorably linked to the most tragic event of his youth.
As the days of their captivity passed in dreary monotony, Haakon found himself dwelling with increasing frequency on his eldest son. His conscience repeatedly reminded him that Erik was no longer a boy who could be brushed aside. He was now a grown man, and Haakon knew he should no longer deny to himself and others that he was proud of him. Unfortunately, his fatherly pride was not something he could easily demonstrate. He had never been ashamed of his son, but he was deeply ashamed of what had happened to his mother.
Now seated together, his mood mellowed with the ale Brendan had supplied in hospitable abundance, Haakon recalled what he had seen of Erik’s bravery that day, and he was convinced a father’s praise was long overdue. Clearing his throat, he instantly had his companions’ attention. “Erik,” he began hesitantly, the words still not easy to speak despite his conviction they had to be said. “I want to thank you for what you did for us today. I had scant trust in Jørn, but I knew once he reached home, you and Freya would send someone to rescue us. We were all confident of that.”
While he was touched by his father’s praise, Erik did not think it was deserved. “It was Jarald who supplied the ship and crew to bring us here, and Brendan who warned us against paying the ransom. Had we followed Jørn’s advice and sailed into Trom’s camp expecting to exchange your lives for silver, we might all be dead.”
That his firstborn would modestly refuse to accept his gratitude was something Haakon had foreseen. He reached out and gave Erik’s shoulder a hearty squeeze. “The less said about Jarald the better, and I’ll have to speak to Dana before I forgive Brendan for what he’s done, but I don’t want to talk about that now. My concern is for you.”
In all his life, Erik did not recall his father ever wanting to talk with him as he now seemed eager to do. Unaccustomed to receiving the man’s attention, he was embarrassed and looked away. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, I’m the one who’s been in the wrong for more years than I care to count.”
Brendan glanced toward Svien, wondering if they shouldn’t excuse themselves so Haakon and Erik could talk privately. Svien was paying such rapt attention to his father, however, that Brendan decided not to make that suggestion. He was intrigued as well, and leaned forward slightly, intent upon hearing every word that Haakon cared to speak.
“I swear I have loved Freya all my life,” Haakon stated with a wistful smile. “No other woman ever touched my emotions as deeply as she does, but I will freely admit to knowing other women while I waited for her to reach her sixteenth birthday when we planned to wed. I had the same appetites as every other young man, and like others I sought to satisfy them as often as I could. We kept slaves then, and one especially pretty one was always eager to amuse me.”
Erik readily grasped the fact Haakon was talking about his mother, and he didn’t want to hear it. “I understand,” he said gruffly, but he still found it impossible to look his father in the eye.
“No, you understand nothing, and neither did I,” Haakon insisted. “Your mother was lovely, but while she knew of my marriage plans, she could not accept the fact that it was Freya that I truly loved rather than her. When you were born, she expected me to not only give you both your freedom, but to marry her as well. I can still remember each word of our last conversation as though it took place yesterday.”
Haakon paused, and after a slight shudder, he forced himself to continue. “You were a handsome boy, and I was proud to call you mine, but Sofia was not satisfied with that, nor with the gift of her freedom either. She wanted to be my wife. She ripped you from my arms, held a knife to your throat, and said if I refused to marry her, she’d kill you. She was like a wild animal, screaming insults at me. Terrified, you were wailing almost as loudly as she. None of the pleasure I’d found in her arms was worth the horror of that moment.