Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (12 page)

Ailinn
’s breath grew shallow as she moved before the silver warrior and offered him her tray. His eyes reached up to hers and enwrapped her in that clear blue sea. A rush of excitement surged through her, for his gaze held a depth of unspoken words. Certainly he had come for her.

He continued to drink of her with his eyes as he spooned cream and berries onto an oatcake. Pinching up the sides, he took the treat and tasted it. She watched the line of his jaw and his beautifully carved lips as he ate. Again, she met his gaze. His expression revealed naught, though his eyes shined softly upon her.

Thora moved before the white Dane just then and bumped Ailinn aside with one large hip. With a brusque nod of the head, she signaled for Ailinn to remove herself and serve Hakon.

Ailinn gripped the platter and tray tighter. Turning to Hakon, she avoided his eyes but felt his hard stare all the same. He swiped a single cake from the platter and tore it with his back teeth, then downed more wine. Hostility wreathed about him, envenoming the air.

Ailinn began to draw away, but Hakon trapped her wrist. The pressure of his fingers brought her eyes to his as he relieved her platter of another cake. Ailinn fought her revulsion, abhorring his touch. She thought to hear the silver warrior move, but Skallagrim’s voice broke over the hall. Hakon released her as the chieftain ordered away the women and their trays.

»«

Skallagrim gulped another mouthful of wine, wiped his mouth with his hand, and eyed the lord of Valsemé.

“
My man, Stefnir Hranason, tells me you seek passage to Byzantium, Baron.”

“
Satt
. True.” Rurik nodded. “Though ‘tis my
broðir
who will actually undertake the journey and sail in my stead.”

“
The monk?” the chieftain blurted, coming forward in his chair.

Lyting
’s brow skidded upward. He exchanged a swift, sharp glance with Rurik.

“
He is to join the Christian priest-class, is he not?” A veiled look came into Skallagrim’s eyes. “I have it on your friend’s word — the great red-haired bear who serves you.”

Lyting masked his surprise and rose to his feet. Facing the hoary chieftain, he pulled open the neck of his tunic and exposed a silver cross, gleaming against his chest.

Rurik played the moment, lacing his fingers together as though the chieftain tested his patience. “ ‘Tis a private matter — a mission of grave importance that requires my brother to delay his entrance into the holy brotherhood. Lyting travels as my personal emissary to the very highest levels of the Imperial court.”

Skallagrim elevated a brow, then settled back and sipped his horn, obviously wary, distrustful.
“How grave? And how high?”

“
None graver. None higher.” Rurik held him with an unwavering gaze. “And potentially profitable to those who keep his company.”

Skallagrim pared Lyting with a critical gaze. His glance slipped past to where his Irish prize stood behind the hearth, then to Hakon, who glared at the younger Atlison
’s back — when he wasn’t sliding glances to the maid.

Skallagrim
’s jaw hardened at that, his teeth fusing to rock. He looked again to the girl, then fixed his eyes on the baron’s brother. Suspicion perched in his eyes. He did not need another cock in the pen. Despite the silver that Atlison’s passage would bring, he would not risk spoiling the girl. Hakon would be enough to manage.

“
With respect, Baron, I, myself, am a man of considerable means and significant connections. To my thinking, ‘tis your brother who stands to profit by my company and the transport I can provide. Of course, others can supply that as easily as I.”

Skallagrim gave a shrug then leaned forward
. “We sail in convoy to Kiev and on to Constantinople. Truth to tell, what with goods and slaves, I am already pressed for space. The
Wind Raven
, of course, is a warship, too large and fragile for the journey. She must be stored in Gotland. I shall take a lighter, clinker-built vessel from there and change that again in Kiev for a small but sturdy Slav boat that can withstand the rapids of the Dnieper. You can appreciate my limitations, Baron.” Skallagrim opened his palm to the air. “I could, perhaps, take your brother as far as Gotland.”

Lyting watched as Rurik allowed a mingling of impatience and displeasure to cross his face. They had anticipated the chieftain
’s resistance and concurred that their best approach lay in appealing to the man’s pride and greed. Lyting maintained his silent stance as Rurik’s hand moved to this throat and drew on a thong that lay hidden beneath his tunic. He produced a small leather pouch. Slipping the strap over his head, Rurik did no more than hold the bag in sight, baiting Skallagrim.

“
I know well of trade routes and ships — firsthand,” Rurik emphasized tersely. “I also know how many men and goods each type of ship can hold,” he dismissed Skallagrim’s excuses. “What I seek is a seasoned voyager, one experienced with the particular perils that are inherent in traveling the Dnieper. My message
must
reach Miklagárd and not fall fallow in the hands of nomadic tribesmen or lost to the bottom of the Dnieper.”

Rurik gazed at him
levelly. “Stefnir vows you are such a man for the task. To be plainspoken, I give credence to his word only because Lyting does. Stefnir is known to my brother from the years they fought in the king’s service upon the seas, preserving Danmark.”

Skallagrim
’s eyes sheered to Lyting, surprise firing them. Rurik pressed on. “I can compensate you with more than mere coin. Through my brother, you can gain access to the one above all who can grant the allowances you seek in the silk trade.”

Before the chieftain could question how he came by such knowledge of him, Rurik spread open the bag
’s puckered mouth and plucked an enameled gold case from its confines. Skallagrim’s eyes bulged as Rurik opened the box. Inside nestled a lustrous piece of cloth — silk of Imperial purple.

“
‘Tis death to the man who secrets silk from Miklagárd!” Skallagrim exclaimed in an astonished breath. “But death most vile to any who would thieve dye-goods of the emperor’s purple. How did — ?”

“
I neither secreted nor thieved the silk,” Rurik declared resolutely.

Extracting a single golden
solidus
from the royal wrappings, he held it up, exposing the coin’s crisp image — a miniature portrait of the Imperial personage.

“
‘Twas the gift of Emperor Leo Sophos himself.”

Skallagrim thumped back in his chair, clearly
astonished. A sudden comprehension rippled through his eyes. He wet his lips. “There be tales that persist of a Varangian named Rurik — one of ours, a Dane, not a Swede — who won fame and riches by his daring and later traveled the Volga — ”

“
The same,” Rurik acknowledged, cutting the chieftain short. Before Skallagrim could make further comment, Rurik dangled before him the prize pearl of temptation.

“
If you would know, I send my brother to hold audience with the dowager empress, herself.”

“
Zoë?” Skallagrim near choked with awe.

»«

Ailinn grew restive, unable to comprehend anything of what transpired among the men. She continued to pray desperately that the white Dane had come for her.

Skallagrim had appeared guarded, even quarrelsome, at first. She could not see what the tall Dane revealed to him, for his back confronted her like a wall. But the chieftain
’s entire countenance and manner altered when the lord brought forth an ornamented box which yielded a golden coin and scrap of purple cloth. Mayhap these men were royals after all.

Her thoughts snapped back as Skallagrim called for more wine. Thora hastened to serve
them while the chieftain and the golden lord continued to speak, their words falling in agreeable tones. Meanwhile, the silver warrior resumed his place on the side-floor and readjusted his tunic. Hakon’s ill temper continued to smolder visibly, darkening his cast.

Thora fawned over her guests, her excitement saturating the air. Ailinn
’s heart began to pound solidly once again as Thora motioned for her to bring the trays of cakes and berries.

Had the men struck a bargain, then? Forged some agreement and settled their affairs? Would she be free of this detestable place in the coming moments, trading one future for another?

Ailinn’s hands trembled as she stepped before the silver warrior and looked openly into his eyes. She must know. Surely she could read something there. But as their gazes touched, Thora jostled her with a hip, forcing her aside and causing Ailinn to lose her hold on one tray.

It flipped upward, sending a shower of berries into the warrior
’s lap and a splattering of cream across Thora’s nose, mouth, and chest. The bowls and tray clattered noisily to the floor, followed by an enraged screech from Thora. Impulsively the Norsewoman drew back and directed a blow at Ailinn.

Lightning swift, the silver warrior bolted to his feet, blocking Thora
’s attack with one hand while sweeping Ailinn behind him with the other. Hakon, likewise, bounded to his feet and drew on his sword. But before the steel left its scabbard, the white Dane’s blade flashed before him.

»«

Rurik drove from his chair and reached for his hilt, but Skallagrim stayed him.

The chieftain remained seated. Tenting his fingers, he contemplated the
scene. His gaze shifted between Lyting and Hakon, then he smiled with satisfaction deep in his beard. Mayhap Atlison was the answer to his needs after all. The baron’s brother would bring silver to his coffer, audience with the Byzantine empress, and the perfect counterbalance to his most immediate problem — Hakon.

“
Lord Rurik, I believe my ship can carry another after all.” He squinted an eye over Lyting for one final estimation. “He returns to confine himself to a monastery, you say?”

“
The holy brothers prepare his place even now at Corbie.”

“
Christians,” Skallagrim grunted, though obviously content with the answer as he drained the ale from his horn.

»«

The bright-haired Dane and Hakon remained fixed in their stances, steel gleaming in their hands, challenge burning in their eyes. Ailinn clung to her protector, her breasts pressing into his back. She trembled against him as firelight danced along the blades. For one blood-chilling moment she relived her first encounter with Hakon when he burst into the bridal chamber and reaped death at her feet.

She squeezed her lashes shut against the memory, sinking her fingers deeper into the Dane
’s garments. Desperately she prayed that he would take her from this place and now.

Skallagrim
’s voice rolled across the room. She heard Thora move off, then the scraping of Hakon’s sword as he returned it with measured slowness to its scabbard.

The Dane continued to secure her against himself, his left arm and hand curved back, his long fingers pressed against the curve of her spine. He waited until Hakon had fully resheathed his blade before he restored his own.

Ailinn felt his weight shift and his arm relax. He began to turn and their bodies parted. Cool air rushed between them. Yet, when the Dane’s eyes sought hers, Ailinn felt a liquid warmth spread through her, heating her to her toes.

Skallagrim
’s voice rumbled loudly, dispelling the sensation. Ailinn glanced to the chieftain. Her heart pitched when he motioned for her to withdraw to the pallet at the back of the hall. Anxious, she looked to the white Dane, seeking some sign — any sign — that she should stay by his side.

His gaze held hers, his expression intense, unreadable. Then his lashes dipped and brushed his cheeks. She thought to hear frustration in the breath he released. He raised his
clear blue eyes and with a scant nod of his head indicated that she should obey Skallagrim’s order.

Ailinn
’s spirits plunged. Reluctantly she stepped apart, longing for all the world to remain in the stronghold of his shadow, dreading he might leave her here.

She calmed herself as she traversed the room.
Mayhap there yet remained matters the men must discuss, arrangements to complete. Thrice had the white Dane appeared in her life — the first and second times by chance, true, but the third with purpose. She felt an unwavering certainty that his visitation this night would affect the course of all of her tomorrows.

Ailinn assumed her place at the foot of Skallagrim
’s bed and waited, attentive to the men’s every gesture and utterance. She held fast to her fragile hopes as the golden lord and Skallagrim rose from their chairs and locked forearms, sealing their bargain. The chieftain turned and clasped the silver warrior’s arm as well.

Hope burgeoned as Skallagrim accepted several plump pouches, presumably filled with coin. But could a slave bring such wealth? she wondered, disbelieving any could. The doubt nettled, and her heart tripped a little. Still, she eased toward the edge of the raised side-floor, prepared to spring to her fe
et and leave at the first sign.