Éire’s Captive Moon (15 page)

She did not answer, but buried her head between her arms and continued to rock herself. The humming ceased.

Cowan ventured to touch her, a gentle hand on her head to ask her wordlessly to look up at him. She was slow to comply, but she did, and the starlight caught the faint lines of her face enough to show him that a new sorrow had wounded her.

She and Agnarr had been alone all day.

“Oh no, lass,” Cowan said, settling beside her. “Did he . . .?” The question didn’t come easily.

A liquid moan was answer enough. Cowan did not recognize the fierce anger that shot through him at the confirmation. He tried to shake it off. He didn’t know what to say to Charis, though. Didn’t know what to do for her. She was a healer; surely she knew her own self well enough to—to care for any physical concerns.

“Where is he?” he finally asked.

“There, see? He’s gone to talk to the lord.” Charis’s head moved back and forth as she wiped her face. She hiccoughed. “He wanted me to—to stay with him, but I couldn’t.”

Cowan clenched his jaw against a roar that was building up from his toes. “He expected you to like it?” He heard himself growl, deep in his chest.

Charis looked away. “No. I don’t think he did.” She bowed her head again, so that her voice was muffled against the cloak she wore over her hair. “I just want to join Devin and Devlin . . .”

Cowan patted her awkwardly on the back, saying, “
Na, na
, Healer. Life is too precious.”

“For whom?” she said, the tears gone from her eyes. Fire burned in her eyes with the suddenness of lightning in the summer. “No, I swore revenge for my men,” she whispered harshly, tossing the cloak’s concealment from her and standing in one fluid movement. “I did. And I shall have it.” She abruptly began fishing through the pockets and pouches that were as much a part of her as her pale gray eyes. “Ignorant barbarian doesn’t know his herbs any better than the idiot monks. I have Dead Man’s Thimbles. Agnarr will not have me again.”

Cowan clasped her wrists loosely but she shook him off, obviously annoyed at the interruption. “Leave me be.”

“Healer, think about what you’re doing. D’you want to be sold with the others? Lass, I’ve seen what happened to them—it wasn’t something I’d see for you.”

Her jaw dropped open. “They’ve not returned . . . Not Aine, Brigid, or even the monks. They were sold? You mean that bastard sold my people?” She redoubled her efforts, finding at last a fox-skin pouch. “I won’t wait.”

Cowan was dismayed, though relieved that the woman was not dwelling in such despair any longer. “Now, lass, think. Agnarr didn’t sell them. Tuirgeis did. Agnarr has only had concern for you since the moment he claimed you.”

“Claimed me?” Taken aback, Charis settled for clutching the small pouch in her hand. “Is he not wed already?” She had no idea.

The interpreter, though, knew more. “He’s not wed, but pledged to be so.”

“Not married? And he’s claimed me?” The implications rocked her for a moment, so that she swayed on her feet. “I—but—Cowan, do you know what that makes me?”

Cowan nodded, picking up the pouch she had dropped from chilled fingers. “
Isea
, lass. That makes you his wife. As long as he can hold on to you.”

“No!”

Chapter 11

His
kvinn medisin
was shivering when Agnarr woke up on the final morning of their voyage. He opened his eyes to see that she’d rolled away from him—again—and was curled against the hull of the longship. Both concerned and annoyed, he raised up on one arm to tuck her back against himself with the other. She resisted. Still. He brought her close anyway, knowing she needed his body’s heat to be comfortable.

“
Né,
” she said, pulling away a little.

He shook his head and brought her back, noting the stubborn set to her lips. “
Ja
,” he insisted quietly, so as not to disturb the others on deck. “You will need your own skills if you do not, Healer.”

She turned to glare up at him with those pale gray eyes. “I not want sleep with you,” she informed him in Norse.

Charis was surprised when her defiance did not provoke the Northman. Instead, he chuckled, pushed the dirty blond braids of hair away from his ears, and rumbled, “You learn well.”

She had not been seeking praise. “I not want sleep with you,” she repeated, pushing at him with her fists. He was her husband, in the ninth degree of marriage as her people reckoned it, but that did not mean she would forget all he had done to her. All he had taken from her. No. She would not. The blood of Devin and Devlin called to her every night in her sleep, reminding her that she would extract her revenge upon their murderer when the time was right.

Agnarr held her close, and Charis eventually stopped struggling. It took too much energy and soon he would be leaving her, anyway. The pink light of dawn was stretching cautious fingers over the land and waterway, touching the top of the longship’s center mast. Even now, Lord Tuirgeis was rising and kicking some of the men to do likewise to hoist the hateful striped sail. The chill in the air crept under the cloak Agnarr had given to her, so that she shivered again.

She hadn’t wanted to sleep with Agnarr at all. Ever. Especially not after what he had done to her on the evening the others had been sold. She could still remember the sick feeling in her stomach as the longship pulled away from the warmer shore in the south. She knew then that they would be going farther away from home than she could fathom and it frightened her.

Not as much as the other barbarians had, though. The first night out on the seas again, Charis had rebelled against sleeping near Agnarr and had tried to sleep in her customary spot near the center mast. But it was no longer a place where the other women were near her. She had been all alone, and had felt the many pairs of male eyes raking her body as she tried to find a comfortable spot for her head.

Soon two of the men had approached her. She understood them better than she let on, and did not mistake the smiles and comments they tossed in her direction. She was no virgin to be protected and sold for the best price. She was a widow. The men thought that Agnarr had rejected her and that was why she was alone.

And that—that
barbarian
did nothing to dissuade their ideas until they had surrounded her, grabbing at her with hard, rough hands, pulling at her
léine
and running ragged fingernails up the bare skin of her legs.

“
Né
!” she had shouted, kicking and striking out with her fists.

“Charis!” Cowan had called out. He’d broken through to reach her, but Lord Tuirgeis had pushed him back with a grunt and shaken his head. Charis had wanted to ask the Northman for help, but could see in his hard, dark eyes that it would be fruitless. So she had fought.

They only laughed, those horrid barbarians. Until Agnarr had appeared at the edge of a growing circle and parted the men as if they had been grass. He casually pushed the others aside and stood over her, hands on his hips.

“Eir,” he said. “Come with me.”

She had, and had stayed near him every night on the last leg of the journey. It was too daunting not to do so.

Agnarr felt the woman’s stillness and pressed her more firmly against himself, wondering what she was thinking. That she had become suddenly submissive was too much to believe. He knew she would fight him if she could; he also knew she was only sleeping with him out of fear. Agnarr was no fool.

But to remind her of her place, he cupped her breast in his hand before caressing her body through the cloak and dress she wore. He felt the instant stiffness in her limbs and in the rigid line of her back, just as he was uncomfortably aware of his own reactions. He cursed; now was not the time. Though Tuirgeis would undoubtedly look the other way, Agnarr didn’t want an audience. He settled for forcefully turning her to face him and holding her jaw firmly so he could kiss her—a hard, firm, uncompromising kiss—while pressing her against his loins.

He heard her try to shout at him, deep in her throat, but he did not relent in his purpose. It was only when her struggles ceased that he raised his head and captured her gaze with his own. “We’re home, now, Eir. It’s time to learn your place. Now, do I need to tie you to the mast with Kingson there, or will you come with me?”

There was no answer right away, but Agnarr did not loosen his hold on her. Her face was flushed red with anger, making that peculiar blue bird on her cheek stand out strangely. Her lips were swollen, her eyes narrowed.

She said something in her own language, something fluid and bitter that made him think instantly of the herbs she carried with her. Then she spoke a few words in his tongue. “You not strong keep me always.”

“I’m strong enough,” he assured her, standing while cradling her in his arms. Her dismay amused him as he wove around the men already at their oars, preparing to guide the longship into harbor. When she struggled, he loosened his hold as if to drop her there amid the oarsmen.

“
Na
!” she gasped, clutching at his tunic and hair. Then she glared at him.

Agnarr laughed as the sun brightened the eastern sky to his right. He enjoyed the play of light over the edges of the mountains to Eir’s hair. He was still chuckling at her disgruntlement as he set her down next to the center mast, knelt to catch up some rope, and bound her securely next to Kingson.

“You didn’t plan on trying again, did you?” Charis asked Cowan. He was struggling against the ropes that bound his wrists and body to the mast. Arching her neck, she could see his face, sun-browned, bearded, and pained as he maneuvered. The morning light made the red in his beard all the more fiery in comparison to dirty, white-blond hair.

The interpreter shook his head and stilled his body. “No, I’m staying. I don’t think Tuirgeis trusts me just yet.”

“And why should he, now? You’ve tried to leave how many times, Cowan?” Charis snorted softly as the longship angled through the long waterway. The ship lurched and she caught her breath.

“Would you look at that, now?” she breathed, impressed against her will.

They were heading north and it was high summer. But summer here was a little cooler than Charis remembered it being at Ragor. The sea-smell was even different here. Ahead of her were mountains. Greater mountains than she had ever seen still had snow on their peaks, far in the distance. Clouds were casting shadows on the green grass of the nearer hills. Closer to the shore, she saw houses with pointed roofs. How did they rethatch something that steep? Everyone she could see from the longship had pale skin; even more pale than the Northmen she had been with for weeks.

“Looks like a cold country,” Cowan remarked. “See the snow?”

“
Isea
, but look at the green! Could it be like home?”

Cowan snorted a little. “We’ve gone far north. I’ve been watching the stars. I’ve heard that in the north the winters are harsh, and the game and food get scarce.” He angled his head to meet her eyes. “But it could be worse. We could have to stay on this stinking ship another day.”

Charis smiled at his attempt to make a jest, but inside she trembled. “I’m sure that I will appreciate being off the ship,” she said, “but I’m not sure if I’ll want to get to shore.” She indicated Agnarr with a tilt of her head. “He said something about training me when we get to his home. I—I don’t think I want to be trained, Cowan.”

She heard him exhale harshly. “Charis, I know it. I don’t want it for you either. Remember, it’s only so long as he can hold you. That’s the law.”

“Our law, but what of theirs?”