Storm Maiden (37 page)

Fiona blinked, startled by the woman’s
unasked-for advice. The woman continued, “Forget your notion of
returning to your homeland. You will never be a princess again. But
you can be treated like a princess if you are clever. Get with
child, if at all possible. If you bear a girl, don’t even bother to
let your master see it. Strangle it or give it to one of your
women. Your milk must dry up so you can get pregnant as soon as
possible. Bearing your master a son is the only certain way to
secure a comfortable life.”

“I have no need for your counsel on how to
ensorcel my master,” Fiona said firmly.

“ ‘Tis clear you know nothing about men,
Princess Fiona. Your master no more thinks to return you to Ireland
than mine plans to take me back to Brittany. More like he has tired
of your whining about your homeland and means to sell you off to
another master. Mayhap that is where he is now—arranging for a
buyer.”

“
Nei,”
Fiona said stubbornly. “Dag
would not lie.”

The woman shrugged, and a faint smile played
over her lips. “I have found that it is when you are most sure of a
man, your hold over him is in the most danger of slipping away.
Heed my advice. Secure his affections with a babe before it is too
late.”

Fiona turned away from the woman, keeping
her expression controlled. She would not listen to this. The woman
did not know Dag.

She walked back to their camp and went to
the cart. Searching in a pack, she found her comb and began to redo
her braid. She would ignore Lygni’s thrall, who was obviously a
manipulative, conniving person and not to be trusted. Indeed, she
should never have let the woman goad her into losing her
temper.

Suddenly, Fiona realized how unwise she’d
been to reveal Dag’s intentions. Although he had never told her so,
she understood implicitly that Dag didn’t want Sigurd to be aware
of his plan. It was easy to guess Sigurd might try to prevent Dag
from returning her to Eire.

Anxiety began to gnaw at Fiona’s insides.
She would have to tell Dag of her indiscretion. He would know if
Lygni was friendly enough with Sigurd to pose a threat. She glanced
again at the haughty, exotic thrall. She could only hope the woman
would say nothing to her master.

It was past midday when Dag returned to
camp. Fiona sought to speak with him alone, but he dismissed her
request impatiently. “The contests have begun. I would not miss
them.”

He took her arm and led her rapidly through
the disorderly camp. They finally reached an open area in the
center of the encampment where a pair of huge, bare-chested Vikings
grappled. “This is the final wrestling match,” Dag announced. “Then
come the footraces and the axe-throwing contest.”

Fiona glanced at Dag, noting his heightened
color and the intense look in his eyes. He obviously took a great
interest in the games. With a sigh, she turned her gaze toward the
contest of agility and strength before them.

The two Viking athletes circled, assessing
each other with taut alertness. One was tall, with brown, curling
hair, reminding Fiona of Sigurd. The other, a fair-haired man, was
slightly shorter, but his body was as broad and sturdy as a bull’s,
his arms like gnarled branches. Observing the man’s enormous size
and watching his massive muscles flex, she wondered if even the
strongest of Irish warriors would be able to best him.

The tension built; the crowd shouted
encouragement. At last, the taller of the two men lunged forward.
So quickly it was difficult to see, he grabbed the other man’s leg
and jerked him off balance so he tumbled to the ground. Then, again
using the advantage of speed, he whirled behind his fallen opponent
and grabbed his shoulders. The shorter man strained in his grasp,
grunting fiercely, using sheer muscle power to resist.

The two men writhed and struggled, stirring
up the dust. Sweat shone on their fair skin and darkened their
hair. Those watching erupted with cheers and shouts, and even Fiona
felt a tingling exhilaration.

Unconsciously, she chose the taller man as
the one she wished to win. She bit her lip and tensed as the fair,
broad man suddenly broke free, then rolled to knock his opponent
into the dirt. The tall man’s shoulders hovered perilously close to
the ground, then he regained control and, with a stunning reversal,
pinned the other man beneath his body.

At the victory of the man she favored, an
exuberant cry broke from Fiona’s throat, mingling with the roar of
the other spectators. She flushed, realizing how easily she had
become caught up in Viking ways, and turned to Dag, expecting him
to be as excited as she was. To her surprise, he appeared
distracted. Instead of watching the wrestlers, he perused the crowd
around them as if searching for someone.”

She pulled on his arm. “Dag...”

He shook his head and walked away, striding
toward a warrior with striking silvery-blond hair and light-gray
eyes. In contrast, the man’s tanned skin appeared almost brown.

When she caught up with Dag, the other man
was thumping his shoulder heartily. “Dag Thorsson, you clever
bastard, how did you know Einar would win? Anyone could see that
Bjarni is bigger and stronger.”

“Ah, but not as fast,” Dag answered,
grinning at the man. “What say you—would you like to wager on the
footrace as well?”

The man surveyed the contestants
thoughtfully. “A bunch of striplings!” he said derisively. “Nothing
like what you and I were like when we ran races. I vow we could
still beat these puny boys.”

Dag laughed. “Not with your knee.”

The man looked down ruefully at his
leather-clad legs. “
Nei,
you are right. A few battles may
harden shoulder and arm muscles and sharpen a man’s reflexes, but
war plays havoc with legs. But what of you, Dag?” The man looked up
expectantly. “Why aren’t you participating in the contests this
year?”

“I took a blade in my sword arm this summer;
it still isn’t back to full strength.”

Fiona looked at Dag in surprise. She had not
guessed the wound still troubled him.

The man nodded genially and turned away. “If
you don’t mean to wager with me, I must find other quarry.”

As the man disappeared into the crowd, Fiona
moved closer to Dag. “Who was that?”

“His name’s Ellisil. We used to compete in
these contests together. At one time, he was unbeatable in the
footrace, but an axe blow smashed his knee a few years ago. He’s
fortunate he can still walk, let alone run.”

Fiona shivered at this reminder of war. “Is
it true your arm still bothers you?” she asked accusingly. “You
told me you were completely healed.”

Dag shrugged. “I am healed, enough for
battle anyway.” He again scanned the men around them, frowning.
“I’m sorry, Fiona, but there is something I must do. Stay close to
Sigurd. I will be back shortly.” Fiona stared after him as Dag
disappeared into the mass of brawny warriors.

Dag caught up with Ellisil and grabbed the
pale-haired man by the arm. “Take a moment from your wagering to
speak to me, sword brother. I haven’t seen you since the beginning
of the sunseason. Did you go
aviking
this year?”

Ellisil smiled.
“Ja,
we raided the
coasts of Albion. The plunder was good and the women pleasing...
though nothing like that black-haired thrall I saw you with. Irish,
is she?”

Dag nodded. “
Ja
, an Irishwoman. I
captured her in a raid last spring. Indeed, that is what I meant to
speak to you about. I would like to make another journey to
Ireland, but my brother feels it too late in the season. I seek a
ship and a crew to sail with me. What say you—does the thought of
some autumn
viking
make your blood run hot?”

Ellisil glanced back toward the contest
area. “Are there more women there who look like that one?”

“
Ja
, I suppose so,” Dag answered,
thinking it was probably a lie. There could only be one Fiona. “Are
you only interested in women, Ellisil? Would not the thought of
land of your own also appeal to you?”

“I suppose it’s costly to keep a woman like
that,” Ellisil mused. “Such a delicate, soft-skinned creature can’t
be expected to toil as a stout Norsewoman would.”

“I fear the harsh climate of our land is
damaging to such beauty,” Dag agreed. “The land of Eire has a
gentle climate and a bounty of food and comforts. “ ‘Twould be a
better place to settle if you wished to keep a woman like
mine.”

Ellisil frowned thoughtfully. “And you say
you plan to go there now, not even waiting until spring?”

“Why wait? Why spend a lonely winter in the
longhouse with naught but smelly, rude warriors for company when
you could bed down in a cozy hall with a comely Irishwoman?” Dag
held his breath. Ellisil was near the first man he had found who
had some interest in Ireland beyond a quick raid.

“ ‘Tis an appealing thought, but I will have
to talk to my father. Skirnir gives me the use of his ships,
although my brother will, of course, be jarl after him.”

“Is Skirnir here?”

“
Nei,
he sent me in his stead,”
Ellisil answered. “Mayhap you should come back with me to
Ferjeshold and talk to him.”

Dag considered Ellisil’s offer, feeling
torn. He could hardly expect Skirnir to offer his ship without
receiving a detailed account of Dag’s plan, but what of Fiona? He
couldn’t take her with him to see Skirnir, and the only alternative
was to leave her with Sigurd. She would have to understand that
this was necessary if he meant to return her to Ireland. He weighed
his decision hurriedly. “When do you leave for Ferjeshold?”

“Early on the morrow. My brother plans a
trading expedition to Hedeby, and he is eager for me to return so I
can sail with him.”

Dag nodded. “I will meet you at dawn. Tell
me where your camp lies.”

Dag shivered as he walked back to the
assembly of Norsemen. The sun had vanished behind thick clouds, and
a few raindrops fell, hissing on a nearby fire. He would speak to
Fiona first then find Sigurd. Could he trust his brother to keep
Fiona safe while he was gone from Engvakkirsted? He truly had no
choice.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he found
Fiona standing close to Sigurd, observing the axe-throwing contest.
He took her arm, then spoke to his brother, “I’m taking Fiona back
to camp. I will speak with you later.”

Sigurd nodded and returned his attention to
the contest.

“What’s wrong, Dag?” Fiona asked as they
walked away from the circle of Norsemen. “You have scarce watched
the contests, nor spent a moment with me.”

“There are many things to arrange if I am to
return you to Eire yet this season.”

Fiona opened her mouth, ready to tell Dag
she no longer was certain she wished to go. Dag forestalled her
with his intense, commanding words. “On the morrow, I am going to
Ferjeshold, Jarl Skirnir’s steading. If luck is with me, he will
provide the ship and crew I need. I’m leaving you in Sigurd’s care
while I am gone. I will make him swear to protect you from
Brodir.”

“You’re not returning to Engvakkirsted?”

“
Nei.”
Dag stopped walking and pulled
her around to face him. “You must trust me, Fiona. If I make him
vow to it, Sigurd will keep you safe. He is a man of honor, and he
cares enough for me to heed my wishes.”

Fiona felt sick inside. It was happening so
fast. Already, Dag was leaving her. “Why can’t I go with you?” she
asked. “If I came to the
Thing,
why can’t I journey with you
to Skirnir’s steading?”

“I’m afraid your presence there would cause
too many difficulties.”

“You mean you fear I would shame you! Tell
me, have I not been obedient on this journey? I have done
everything you asked, conducted myself with meekness....”

“Hush, Fiona, I would not fight.” Dag pulled
her close. “I don’t want to leave you, but it can’t be helped. Do
you never consider how fraught with difficulty this journey is? I
must find a man willing to trust me with his ship, then gather men
and supplies, all in the short space of weeks before the weather
turns foul and the seas too rough to sail. I scarce have time to
think of anything else.” He sighed heavily.

Fiona chewed her lower lip. Dag had worked
so hard to make this journey to Ireland possible. How could she
tell him about her doubts? “If it grows too dangerous to sail this
late, could we not wait until spring?”

Dag shook his head. “You can’t spend the
winter in that shabby slave dwelling. ‘Twould break my heart to see
you thus.” He tightened his arms around her.

Fiona closed her eyes against the threat of
tears. Dag cared enough for her to give her back her freedom. How
could she not be touched by his selflessness? If only she could
accept his gift without feeling despair.

I love you!
her heart screamed as he
kissed her tenderly. /
cannot bear to leave you!

Dag released her, and they continued their
journey to camp. Once there, he helped her into the tent. “I must
go,” he told her as he put on warmer clothes. I have to speak to
Sigurd tonight, to seek his promise to see to your protection.”

As soon as Dag left her, Fiona buried her
face in the bed furs and cried with great racking sobs. In time,
she calmed, brushed away her tears, lay back on the bedplace. It
didn’t seem fair that she must fall in love with Dag only to give
him up. But life wasn’t fair. She must do her duty to her kin, even
as Dag expected. She had forgotten her responsibilities when she
defied her father, and her failure had brought disaster upon
Dunsheauna. This time she would act as a princess should and choose
her people over the yearnings of her heart.

* * *

Sigurd gazed after his brother thoughtfully.
He didn’t understand Dag’s sudden plan to go with Ellisil. He would
have thought Dag unwilling to be parted from the Irishwoman for any
reason, yet now he left to go on a trading voyage to Hedeby. Sigurd
shook his head. ‘Twas utterly unlike Dag.