Kathleen Kirkwood & Anita Gordon - Heart series (3 page)

“
‘Tis as I say, I tell you,” Rhiannon countered. “They chose to attack the compound of a
ruri ri
thinking to find great wealth there.” She jabbed the back of Ailinn’s arm. “They did not know we two exchanged places that morn. They found us in my chamber, did they not? And there you were, wearing
my
wedding mantle,
my
gown, a garland in your hair.”

“
Enough, Rhiannon!” Ailinn’s temples throbbed as she attempted to block the dark memories from her mind’s eye. “Even should you have the right of it, who would give ransom now? Who among our menfolk survived the slaughter that soaked the dawn? How can any of us know?”

“
Mór lives!” Rhiannon declared fiercely. “And these Norse devils will not treat you so finely once they learn the truth.
Ní hea.”
A gloat coated her voice beneath the words. “Not when they find that their prize captive lacks one drop of Eóganacht blood, royal or otherwise. That she springs only from the Corcu Loígda — the conquered Érainn — footstool of the Eóganachts for centuries past.”

Ailinn
’s anger screamed through her veins. “I am sure you will hasten to apprise them and better your condition as swift as you can accomplish it.”

A contented, deep-throated sound reached her from behind,
though Rhiannon abstained from comment. Ailinn envisioned the cat who savored its cream. And the one about to swallow its prey.

As they left the quayside to enter the town
’s forest of reed-thatched dwellings, Rhiannon’s silence continued to stab at her back, sharp as any two-edged blade.

»«

Lyting hefted the iron caldron into place, suspending it on hook and chain over the room’s central stone-lined hearth. He glanced across the
skali
, the
hús’s
fine main hall, and grinned. Brienne and Aleth yet lingered at the door, ogling the vibrant spectacle of Hedeby’s streets.

Rurik emerged from a back storeroom just then, dusting the dirt from his hands. He glanced to where little Richard and Kylan trotted merrily along the
langpallar
, the raised side-floors that lined the
skali’s
walls. A smile warmed his features as he joined Lyting.

“
‘Tis a fine lodgment. The lads seem happy enough, and the ladies will be comfortable here for the span of our stay.”

Lyting chuckled.
“If they don’t burst with wanting to explore the merchant’s booths and craftsmen’s quarters.”

Rurik
’s gaze traveled to the women, and he shared the jest. With a gleam to his eyes he stepped toward the sleeping-platforms. The twins giggled with delight when he held out his arms for them. One after the other they launched themselves at their father’s chest. Catching them up, Rurik held them high in the crook of his arms and jostled them gamesomely, like two little wheat sacks.

“
What say you men?” He winked conspiratorially at Lyting as he addressed his sons. “We are finished here for atime — our trunks stored and everything put to rights. Shall we check on the
Sea Falcon
and see if Ketil and the others have secured her ashore? ‘Twould not surprise me if the crew should need your help to set their camp and raise their tents.”

Brienne and Aleth came away from the portal as Rurik addressed Lyting, though he spoke for them to hear.

“The
hús
must still be provisioned, if only for tonight. Mayhap you would be of a mind to escort the ladies about the town. I would do so myself, but with warships in port, I prefer to see to the
Sea Falcon
personally.”

Lyting nodded.
“Best we double the watch tonight. I’ll tent with the men and see it done.” Lyting graced Brienne and Aleth with a generous smile. “Meanwhile, perchance, my ladies would accompany me, and we shall discover what pleasantries Hedeby offers this season.”

Amid
high spirits and joyous articulations, the women hurried to gather their cloaks from the wall pegs.

“
Be mindful to return with some food for the kettle and oil for our lamps,” Rurik teased lightly, then dropped his voice as he skimmed a look to Lyting.

“
If there is aught the ladies especially favor, secure it with coin when they are not aware and bid the merchant hold it. Ketil and I will settle with him later.”

Lyting
’s eyes sparkled as they departed the
hús
. He turned back and set the key to the lock. “ ‘Twould seem I shall spend this journey laboring to empty both our coffers.”

“
Ah, but mayhap you shall find your bell,” Brienne offered brightly.

Lyting straightened to find three widening grins. By their expressions, they clearly held Ketil
’s advisements in mind. He began to lift a finger and forestall the all-too-predictable comment when little Richard began to bounce in his father’s arm.

“
I help you ring it,” he chirped.

“
I ring it,” Kylan joined gleefully.

Lyting squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and shook his head in mock dismay. His shoulders vibrated with silent laughter. The Lord
’s Cross, he discovered ever anew, must be borne in many ways.

»«

Lyting’s bootfall sounded bluntly on the wooden walkway as he guided the ladies along the fresh-water rivulet that flowed through the heart of Hedeby.

Houses lined the street cramped one upon another
— yards neatly fenced, rooftops nearly touching, attendant sheds and workshops to the back. Rapturous aromas of fresh-baked bread, hearty stews, and grilled fish wafted from open doors to swamp their senses.

For a brief time they wandered. Lyting pointed out curiosities and directed them to tented stalls where visiting merchants spread exotic wares
— rare spices and rich brocades, ropes of seal hide and walrus ivory. Brienne took special interest in a belt fashioned with metal plaques from Persia, thinking to gift Rurik. Aleth looked at gaming pieces for Ketil.

Where the lane abutted the main north-south thoroughfare, they turned left and crossed the rivulet. Diverting once more, they entered the craftsmen
’s quarters. Brienne and Aleth examined the potter’s bowls, watched the jeweler cut and polish his amber, then lingered over the weaver’s array of
hlað
— colorfully patterned ribbons.

Lyting watched with enjoyment as the women chattered back and forth, excited as two fresh-cheeked maids attending
their first fair. While they made their choices, he moved to the horn-carver’s display, hoping to find something fitting for each of them. Something small, thoughtfully chosen. Something by which they might remember their journey here. Remember him. In years to come. Long after he departed Valsemé.

Lyting lifted a handsome, fine-toothed comb and wondered why so cheerful a task should drag at the heart of his soul.

“Red deer.” A voice disrupted his thoughts. “The combs are carved from the antlers of red deer.”

Lyting found a whiskery little man sitting off to the side, whittling an indiscernible object.

“Each is fitted with its own case. There are also needles, spindles, knife handles, and spoons to satisfy any maid. And should you be in need of a fine wool cloak for your heart’s lady, I have several in trade.”

Lyting threw up a hand to
halt the man before he attempted to sell him the stool and table as well.

“
Two comb sets will do.” He reached for the pouch at his hip, glancing over to the weaver’s shed at the same moment. The women were gone.

Lyting
’s heart jolted from his chest as he broke into a run and spanned the distance between the comb-maker’s and weaver’s stands.

“
The Frankish noblewomen, where are they?” he demanded sharply, jarring to a halt, every muscle battle-tense.

The weaver clutched
a roll of linen to his chest and fell back a pace at the storm on Lyting’s face. With a quick, trembly gesture he pointed toward the end of the row of workshops where it opened to the streetside.

Lyting caught sight of Brienne
’s flowing veil and mantle and hastened to reach them. Stuffing his heart back into his chest, he came to a stop beside them, but before he could utter a word, his heart jammed against his ribs once more as he beheld the women’s stricken faces.

He followed their gaze to where a group of sea raiders led their shackled prizes along the wood-paved lane. Females
all, the captives scuffed slowly over the planks, dragging the chains that bound their ankles and bit into their flesh. Some sobbed softly while others moved their lips in prayer.

“
Oh, Lyting, Lyting.” Brienne gripped his arm, her voice aching with compassion.

Lyting knew that both Rurik and Ketil had taken pains to forewarn their wives that Hedeby was a major slave market. Still, to witness the wretched plight of these women was more than either could bear.

Brienne’s grip tightened, bringing his eyes to meet hers — great violet orbs, filled with her heart.

“
Oh, Lyting. Cannot we help just
one
?”

A faint memory whispered, cautioning that the last time Brienne so pleaded for his aid, and in similar tone, it very near cost him his life. But even as he
heeded that dim warning, his gaze fell upon an auburn-haired beauty, her face the gift of angels, her form exquisitely modeled and temptingly displayed in her clinging gown. She held herself proudly, defiant, a fierce courage upon her brow.

Unbidden, his feet carried him forward.

»«

“
These dogs will rue the day they laid hand to a daughter of Mór.” Rhiannon chafed Ailinn’s ear as they moved along the walk. “I shall gain my freedom, heed my words. And once ransomed, I shall exact my vengeance. ‘Twill then be Norsemen who empty their lifeblood upon stout Celtic blades.”

Ailinn
’s patience neared its end. Rhiannon embroidered retribution with every step she took, envisioning and savoring a conquest that could never exist beyond the scope of her own imaginings. Did Rhiannon’s venom so blind her? Naught would ever be the same, even should she return to Eire’s green shores.

Bone weary and nerves rubbed raw, Ailinn resolved to set the matter to her stepcousin straight forth. Bluntness was all Rhiannon truly understood.
‘Twas unhealthy to nurture disillusions, if not starkly dangerous. They must acknowledge the reality of their plight if they ever hoped to survive it.

“
These Danes should have taken more care,” Rhiannon continued. “Domnal will one day rule from the Rock of Cashel and command the armies of Munster. He shall avenge me, his bride, and prove himself the Northmen’s bane.”

Ailinn could tolerate no more.
“Rhiannon, take the sunbeam from your eye. You have been sullied at the hands of the Northmen. Domnal will no longer want you.”

Rhiannon fell deathly silent. But a breath of a moment later, pain knifed across Ailinn
’s ankle as she felt her fetters hard yanked from behind, her step short-chained.

Ailinn spilled forward, barely breaking the fall with tethered hands as the ground rushed up to meet her. Palms, elbows, and thighs
stung as she landed facedown with a distinct “woof,” the air forced out of her. She shook her head, raising upright slightly, and found herself staring at two booted feet.

Ailinn began to push away, but a warm hand closed about her upper arm while a second encompassed her opposite hand in sure, solid strength. Tiny tremors chased through her, one trailing quickly upon another, as she felt herself drawn upward.

The boots passed from view, and her eyes encountered iron-forged legs encased in snug fitting breeches — long legs, appearing momentarily without end.

But as she rose farther, they disappeared beneath a fine cloth tunic
— this, sword-belted over abdomen and hip. Her gaze traveled higher, skimming the trim line of body past the cinctured waist to a steely expanse of chest and shoulder.

Ailinn
’s breath grew shallow. Her hand burned within her captor’s hold. Tilting up her chin, she swept her gaze over the tanned column of neck, square cut of jaw, then upward the final distance to behold crystal blue eyes and hair . . . hair as bright as day.

Ailinn wavered, her bone gone to liquid, and sought to regain her footage. The man
’s hand slipped at once from her arm to the small of her back to steady her. In so doing he pressed her closer and held her a scarce whisper apart.

She dared look on him again, tracing the clean lines of his face, so strikingly handsome. The man possessed a leonine quality, dangerously male and not to be underestimated. Yet it was his eyes, more beautiful than
most, that held her captive. They penetrated the depths of her, as if to strip her bare to the core and lay open her heart.

A blur of movement
caught the edge of her vision, alerting Ailinn to Hakon’s approach. Beyond his shoulder she spied Skallagrim watching, close-faced.