Storm Maiden (6 page)

Dag exhaled a groan. He had survived, but
only barely. To lie still and lifeless while the fairy tantalized
him with her gentle, teasing fingers—Thor’s hammer, what agony! At
any moment he had expected to lose control and twist her body under
his and thrust into her until he exploded with release.

Obviously, that was what she wanted. She had
removed his clothes and washed him to prepare him to mate with her.
It was a wonder that she had not also undressed and mounted him,
her slender thighs parted over his groin, her small sheath pressing
down on his flesh.

He clenched his teeth. Thank the gods she
had not tried that! All his resolve would have been undone. A man
could stand only so much. If she were a toothless old crone, he
would have found it easy to resist. But he had seen her; he knew
exactly what loveliness she possessed.

He shuddered again, then moved his hand down
to his shaft. With swift, rough strokes, he brought himself to
climax in seconds. As the last tremors of satisfaction pulsated
through him, her image filled his mind—so fey, so delicate, so
unearthly beautiful.

He sighed, the tension flowing from his body
as he wiped the sticky seed off his belly with the edge of the
cloak beneath his hips. The woman was an enigma. The way she’d
touched him, the tenderness and patience with which she’d cut off
his garments and bathed his body—she had treated him as a lover
would. Could it be she sought his heart as well as his seed?

The thought unsettled him. He didn’t know
what to think of the beautiful creature who had tended his hurts
and inflamed his passion. She felt real, a fleshly being rather
than a supernatural one. Except for the oddness of her appearance
in his dank prison and her extraordinary beauty, he would have
assumed she was mortal as soon as he laid eyes on her. He had been
delirious then, his wits confused by pain and exhaustion. Now that
he was alert and aware, he knew his rescuer to be as mortal as he
was.

He frowned. That fact didn’t resolve the
puzzle, only worsened it. Why would an obviously highborn woman
tend a prisoner? More baffling still, why would she seek to seduce
a bloodied, fevered warrior? Such a woman could have her pick of
lovers. What had he to offer her?

It made no sense. The woman did not seem
wanton, but frankly innocent. He would swear she had never known a
man’s body before his. Her touch had been hesitant, curious.
Indeed, it was the very wonder with which she explored him which
had aroused him so unbearably. To have a virginal beauty like that
caress him with such reverence… He had gone near mad with
pleasure.

Only by summoning up every scrap of
determination he possessed had he resisted. Fear drove him at
first—the dread that she meant to steal his soul and entrap him in
her fairy world for eternity. Once he no longer suspected her of
magic, he realized there was another reason to control his urgent
lust. This woman affected him, so deeply it was frightening. He
could not risk that she might involve him in some other dangerous
fate.

He must keep his wits about him. His
shackles had loosened; a few more hours work and he would be free.
The pleasure of dallying with a beautiful woman could not make up
for the threat to his life nor cause him to forget his
responsibilities to his sword brothers.

Dag sighed wearily, thinking of the ordeal
ahead of him. He was weak from lack of food and water. If only
there were a drop or two left of the water she had bathed him with.
He sat up slowly and reached out his good arm to search the dirt
floor around him. His fingers encountered the smooth surface of a
pottery jar, and his heart leapt as he heard the slosh of water
when he lifted it. He raised it to his lips and drank it dry.

Tossing it aside, he again searched his
surroundings. A small bundle lay next to where the water jar had
been. Dag picked it up and inhaled the intoxicating odor of food.
He unwrapped the cloth and began to greedily gnaw the hunk of beef.
Finishing in moments, he stuffed the large piece of cheese into his
mouth and swallowed it in one bite.

Dag smiled. Hardly an extravagant meal for a
man who had not eaten in days, but it would serve. Already he felt
stronger. The fairy woman had thought of everything. Although he
did not expect to see her again, he would not soon forget her. No
matter what happened, from this day forward, no matter how dire his
circumstances, he would think of her and summon back his hope and
courage with the enchantment of her memory.

The shadows grew long as Fiona left the
souterrain. This side of the palisade seemed strangely quiet, and
her instincts warned her that something was wrong. She reached the
large timbered feasthall in the middle of the encampment. Except
for a few bondswomen going about their duties, the place was
deserted. Fiona’s uneasiness increased.

She checked the women’s house. Empty. She
started toward the gate. In the open area at the entrance to the
fortress she found her fiery-haired foster sister among a group of
free-woman. They were all talking intently.

“What’s happened, Duvessa?” she demanded.
“Where is every one?”

Duvessa reached out and hugged her. “Fiona,
I’m so glad you’re safe! A messenger came and told us Lisconnar was
attacked and burned last night by Vikings. Your father fears we are
next.”

“Nay!” Fiona protested. “A handful of
Vikings wouldn’t dare attack an armed settlement like Lisconnar.
The barbarians seek out easy quarry; they strike unprotected
villages and holy houses, not strongholds of Irish warriors.”

Duvessa shook her head. “ ‘Tis true.”

Fiona’s stomach—already twisted in
knots—clenched even tighter. “Where’s my father? Where are the
other men?”

“They went to watch along the river for
Viking dragonships.”

“But if there are Vikings near, my father
should be inside the gates!”

“Donall hopes to lie in wait for the enemy
and attack first.”

“ ‘Tis madness.” Fiona groaned. “If the
Lisconnar warriors could not repel the raiders, my father does not
have enough men to defeat them either!”

“Your father means to try,” answered Sybil,
Duvessa’s kinswoman and wife to Niall, one of Donall’s oldest and
fiercest war companions. “He said he would not wait meekly for his
fate.”

Fiona shook her head in dismay. The other
woman hadn’t seen the Viking in the souterrain. They could not know
what monstrous warriors Donall and his men would face.

Duvessa put a gentle hand on Fiona’s arm.
“Come, join me in the feasthall for a bite of freshly baked bread
and honey. You look half dead.”

Fiona sighed and followed her friend.

With the warriors gone, the feasthall was
quiet. Near the huge hearth, two hunting hounds snarled over a bone
while a group of boys too young to join the warriors or stand guard
played a game of draughts in the corner. Seeing Fiona and Duvessa,
one of the boys left the game and hurried over to them.

“Thank the saints, Duvessa found you,”
Duvessa’s russet- haired brother Dermot said to Fiona, his voice
cracking slightly. “You’ve heard, haven’t you, about the raid at
Lisconnar?”

“Aye, I’ve heard,” Fiona answered
absently.

“You should not be so careless about leaving
the palisade,” Dermot continued. “You might have been carried off
or killed.”

Irritation gnawed at Fiona’s distress. Now
freckle-faced boys barely out of their mother’s lap saw fit to warn
her of the Viking menace!

“Fiona was never outside the fortress,”
Duvessa informed her brother. She jerked around and gave Fiona a
sharp look. “Which reminds me—where were you all day? I vow I did
look everywhere for you.”

Fiona couldn’t hide the flush she felt creep
up her neck. If her foster sister knew the shameful things she had
done—and with one of those accursed Vikings no less! “I... I was
down in the souterrain,” she answered hesitantly. “Vevina told me I
might find some apples there left from the fall crop.”

“Apples! You spent all day in a stinking,
spider-infested hole looking for apples? I don’t believe it!”

Fiona opened her mouth to defend her lie.
She was cut off by Dermot’s shocked exclamation. “The souterrain!
But that’s where they put the Viking prisoner! Did you see him,
Fiona? Does he still live?”

“I saw nothing,” Fiona answered sharply. “He
must be dead, for I heard nothing either. If they put him in the
end chamber, I would never know it. I didn’t go that far.”

Fiona averted her face from Duvessa’s
probing, thoughtful look and cursed herself for her foolishness.
Even if the Vikings didn’t raid Dunsheauna, she would have to live
forever with the knowledge that she had saved the life of one of
the murdering monsters. It was traitorous, appalling.

“I’m going for the bread,” Duvessa said.

Fiona took a seat at one of the board tables
and placed her hands in her lap so no one would notice how they
trembled. She had to get away, to return to the souterrain and make
certain the prisoner remained secure.

Looking up, she saw Dermot take a seat
across from her. Her sense of guilt intensified.
Did he guess I
aided the Viking?

Fiona shivered. She should take her knife
and kill the prisoner now. No one would ever have to know what she
had done.

Nay!
a voice inside her protested.
If you cause the Viking’s death, the guilt you bear will be
unendurable.
Fiona twisted her hands in her lap. The man had
stroked her breast and whispered endearments to her in his
delirium. Killing him was beyond her. But she must make certain he
didn’t escape. At the first opportunity, she must slip away and
visit the souterrain again.

Duvessa returned with the bread and honey.
Fiona stared at it, unable to eat.

“What’s wrong?” Duvessa asked. “Do you fear
for your father and the other men?”

Fiona nodded.

“They will have the advantage of surprise,”
Duvessa reassured her. “And they are brave warriors all. The
Vikings will not get the better of them.”

Fiona closed her eyes. If only she could
believe her foster sister’s words.

Fiona lay on her bed in the bower, feigning
sleep. Her father and the other men still had not returned. Fiona
felt cold all over, but she would not squirm and risk waking
Duvessa. She cast a wary glance at her foster sister. Duvessa
appeared to be asleep, but Fiona didn’t trust her. There had been a
canny look in Duvessa’s eyes when she’d suggested they seek their
beds. Fiona would not put it past Duvessa to pretend to be asleep,
then follow her as soon as she left the bower.
Patience,
she
told herself,
you must wait a little longer.

From the bower window, open to the breeze,
the night sounds of the fortress echoed softly. Fiona tensed, again
thinking of her father and his war band patrolling the forest
beyond the shelter of the palisade. Would dragonships sail up the
river this night? Would they arrive with hordes of Vikings—all as
huge and strongly-built as the one in the souterrain?

Fear for Donall made her stomach clench. She
didn’t want her father to be hurt or killed. He was a good man and,
for the most part, a fond and loving sire. The troubles between
them had begun only recently.

Looking back, Fiona could see how much he
had changed after her mother’s death, becoming so caught up in his
own grief that he no longer cared for anyone else. He was brutal
about enforcing his authority, to the point that Fiona had heard
grumbling among his soldiers. She had also been outraged by his
suddenly autocratic attitude. No longer did he discuss things with
her; he ordered her to do his will. The conflict between them had
culminated with his plan to wed her to Sivney Longbeard, and she
had seen it as further evidence of his disregard for her
feelings.

Fiona bit down on her lower lip. Although
she still despised the thought of marrying Sivney, at last she
could see her father’s motivations. He was afraid for her, for all
of them.

“Oh, Da, I was wrong,” she whispered to
herself. ‘I should not have tried to thwart your will. I should
have helped you think of another plan to bring us warriors.”

Fiona’s mind reviewed the neighboring
chieftains, trying to think of one who could strengthen
Dunsheauna’s defenses, yet not repel her as a husband. She sighed.
It was difficult to face the thought of marrying men who were
neither young nor handsome. The image of the Viking with his
strong, well-made body and compelling face gnawed at her.

Fiona shook off the thought. He was probably
a cruel, stupid beast, and besides, he was her enemy. There could
be no future between them. She must not forget her duty to make
certain he remained imprisoned.

Duvessa muttered something in her sleep.
Fiona waited until her foster sister’s breathing deepened again,
then rose from their bed and crept to the doorway. The night air
felt cool on her skin as she slipped out the entrance of the
women’s dwelling. She wore only her thin linen shift, since
dressing would take time and risk waking Duvessa.

She hurried through the fortress, her
footfalls light and rapid on the damp grass. Under her breath, she
prayed the rest of the fortress slept as soundly as Duvessa. It
amazed Fiona that the other women were not panicked with fear as
she was. To them, the idea of a Viking attack must still seem
unreal. They trusted Donall and the other men to protect them.

Reaching the souterrain entrance, Fiona
glanced around, then lifted the timber door and started down the
stairs. At the bottom, she found the torch and lit it.

The interior of the souterrain seemed
utterly quiet. She crept forward, dreading what she would find.
What if the Viking had roused? Could she bear to look into his
eyes, then turn away and leave him to die?