Storm Maiden (35 page)

Sorli was nowhere in sight, and Dag guessed
he was probably eating in the small, bare dwelling were he lived.
Pushing aside the hide door covering, Dag entered the slave hut.
The field thralls were gathered around the cooking hearth, and
Fiona was using a bone ladle to dish the stew into wooden bowls. It
smelled as delicious as the potful she’d been stirring the last
time Dag had seen her.

With their senses concentrated on the food,
none of the slaves noticed Dag’s presence. He cleared his throat. A
dozen pairs of startled eyes met his. Dag restrained himself from
seeking out Fiona’s gaze and focused instead on a dark-haired
youngster. “Boy,” he said, “what is your name?”

The youth gaped at him, his eyes wide and
frightened, then answered, “My name is Aeddan... my lord. How may I
serve you... master?”

Dag felt the tension in the slave house.
Obviously, few warriors ever came here, preferring instead to deal
through Sorli. Dag’s presence had clearly aroused the thralls’
dread, and the realization angered him. Did these people live in
fear of every Norseman they saw? Was that what Brodir and his ilk
had brought about with their cruelty?

Dag spoke abruptly. “The jarl has purchased
a pair of horses. I need a boy to tend them. Aeddan, are you
willing?”

The boy’s mouth opened and closed like a
fish out of water. “I... I... I am willing,” he finally
managed.

“It will mean sleeping with the animals,
cleaning out their byre, brushing them down every day,” Dag warned,
his voice stern. “I want these beasts to have constant
attention.”

Aeddan nodded, a mingled look of disbelief
and pleasure crossing his face. “They will want for nothing, I
swear it, master.”

Dag let himself half-smile, then said, “I
will take you to them shortly. Go and gather your things.”

The boy hurried toward the back of the
dwelling. Dag finally let his gaze rest upon Fiona. He gestured
toward the doorway. “Come and speak with me.”

She met him outside in the twilight. “That
was kind of you, Dag. Aeddan does love animals.”

“Not kind, merely sensible. A man or boy who
enjoys his task does it more willingly. I would have the jarl’s
horses well cared for.”

Fiona’s voice was warm with admiration. “You
would make a good jarl, Dag. You understand men’s ambitions and
dreams.”

Dag grimaced, remembering his angry words
with Sigurd. He hadn’t meant for things to come to this, that he
must break with his brother and live without his goodwill.

“Dag!” Sorli came to join them. “Are you
back from Ottar’s?”

“
Ja.
Sigurd and I purchased some
horses for the jarl. I have asked the boy called Aeddan to look
after them.

Sorli snorted audibly. “You’re a clever man,
Dag Thorsson. I have tried for months to come up with a task that
the boy won’t shirk. Then you decide he will tend horses. I don’t
suppose you had any inkling that the boy dotes on animals, did you?
Of course not. ‘Twas merely a lucky guess, wasn’t it?”

“I noted some time ago the young thrall’s
penchant for animals. He could not pass by my hound Ulvi without
giving the beast a pat. Here the boy is now,” Dag added as a shaft
of light peeked out around the hide doorway. “Aeddan, are you
ready?”

A small figure scrambled through the
doorway.
“Ja,
master.”

Dag turned back to Fiona. “I will come
tomorrow and help you prepare for the journey.” He moved away, the
boy following after him. As they disappeared into the darkness,
Fiona heard Aeddan’s childish voice, “What are the horses’ names,
master.”

Dag answered, low and thoughtful. “I have
not had time to consider it. Mayhap you would do me the favor of
naming them. We can’t merely call out, ‘Hey, horse,’ when we want
them to go, can we?”

Aeddan’s answering peal of laughter made
Fiona’s insides wrench. Dag sought to better the life of even a
lowly slave.

Sorli moved beside her and cleared his
throat. “Have you eaten yet, wench? If not, you’d best return to
the dwelling and grab a bite before all is gone. I’ll not have you
out here catching cold.
Nei,
not when you are of such
obvious value to the jarl’s nephew.”

“Of course, master,” Fiona answered
glumly.

The next day, Dag took Fiona with him to the
longhouse. Although he’d argued that she should not come when he
went to get the clothes, she had begged for a chance to appraise
Mina’s well-being with her own eyes. Finally he had relented.

Mina rose from her stool by the loom as soon
as she saw them.

“Mina, I would have you provide warm clothes
for my thrall,” Dag said. “She is to accompany Sigurd and me on our
journey to Skogkrasse.”

Mina gave Fiona a brief, warm smile, then
led her and Dag to the main storage closet. While Mina fumbled with
the ring of keys on the cord around her neck, Fiona assessed the
Norsewoman’s health. She had regained a little weight in her face
and her complexion was not as pallid. She appeared to be recovering
well.

When the door to the closet was opened, Mina
gestured for Dag to drag out one of the large storage chests. She
searched among the piles of cloth and finished garments, finally
locating a plain woolen cloak and tunic. She handed the clothes to
Dag, then her gaze met Fiona’s.

Fiona’s throat ached to exchange some words
with the other woman, but Dag had warned her that it would not be
wise. Although the longhouse was empty of warriors, he wanted no
one to interpret Fiona’s presence there as an act of
disobedience.

Dag took the garments from Mina and they
turned to leave. Before they reached the doorway of the longhouse,
Mina called out, “Wait!” The Norse woman hurried back toward the
storage area then quickly reappeared. She held out a pair of tall,
sealskin boots to Fiona. “Take them,” she said. “They were my
sister’s. She was small like you. They will keep you warm if the
weather turns bad.”

Fiona nodded, fighting tears. “Thank you,”
she told Mina gravely.

After they left the longhouse, Dag took
Fiona’s arm and gave her a puzzled look. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“You seem so unhappy.”

Fiona shook her head. She would not burden
Dag with her turmoil. She had made her decision, and she must keep
to it. “I will miss Mina,” she told him softly. “I feel as if I
said goodbye to her, and I sorrow at our parting.”

Dag nodded and led Fiona to the cart by the
horse shed. As he stored her new boots among the other supplies, he
told her, “We’re taking tents, as well as stored food and cooking
supplies. When so many men gather, it is impossible to feed
everyone by hunting. You will cook the meals.”

Fiona met his glance blankly. Her mind was
hardly on preparing food.

“You promised you would behave as an
obedient thrall,” Dag reminded her. “And cooking is a reasonable
task for a woman.”

He paused, his eyes searching her face.
Fiona looked away, unwilling for him to see her unhappiness.

She heard him sigh softly. “We will leave
very early on the morrow, Fiona, so I advise you to seek your bed
as soon as the evening meal is finished.”

She nodded, and Dag walked her back to the
thrallhouse. After she had eaten and cleaned up the remainders of
the meal, she lay down on her pallet. Once again, her torment began
as the desires of her heart fought with the sense of duty she had
been born to. The battle raged far into the night until Fiona fell
into an exhausted sleep.

They left before dawn. Fiona found herself
yawning every few steps. Although she refused to give in to Dag’s
suggestion that she ride in the cart, she knew she would later be
grateful to rest from struggling to keep up with the men’s long
strides.

She was surprised by how many warriors
accompanied them. She’d thought it would merely be her, Sigurd, and
Dag and perhaps Kalf or Balder. Instead, she found a dozen others
would be making the journey. If every jarl brought so many
warriors, the
Thing
would be a huge gathering.

The day was cloudy and breezy, but not cold.
After the sun rose, Fiona grew so warm that she flung back the hood
of her cloak.

They stopped for a meal when the sun was
high in the sky, and Fiona dutifully served dried fish and dark
bread to all. The men ignored her, treating her as if she were
simply one of the serving thralls in the longhouse. Fiona ate her
own meal quickly, then washed her hands with a little of the stored
water they had brought. When she returned to the wagon to put the
food away, she discovered Dag by the horses, stroking one of the
animals’ heads. As she neared, she heard him speak in a low voice.
She looked around, wondering whom he was talking to, then realized
his words were meant for the horses. She paused to watch him.

When he looked up, she could not help
smiling at him. “Do they ever answer you?” she asked.

A slight flush spread up his neck.
“Sometimes,” he answered.

Fiona watched him, her throat tight. Dag
looked like the most fierce and deadly of warriors, but his heart
could be as tender and sensitive as a woman’s. A deep pang of
longing and regret went through her. What might there have been
between them if she and Dag had not met as enemies?

She turned away. Her hands shook as she
replaced the leftover fish in a wooden cask in the cart. Tonight,
she was to lie with him, to join her body with his. What sweet
agony it would be, to experience once again that consuming bliss,
knowing that they might have only a few more nights together.

Tears stung her eyes. How could it hurt so
much? Mayhap it would be best if she refused him instead. He might
be angry, but at least it would spare her suffering in the end.

Dag came up beside her. “Are you tired,
Fiona? Would you like to ride for a while?”

“
Nei,”
she answered. “I will not
avoid hardship. I need to prepare for the deprivations of the long
journey home.”

He nodded and moved away. Fiona sighed. She
both welcomed and dreaded the distance growing between them. Let
him reject her now, before the bond between them deepened, and left
her with even more gaping wounds when they parted.

The rest of the day seemed endless. They
walked and walked until Fiona’s legs and back ached. She embraced
the discomfort, hoping it would distract her from the pain in her
heart. She also forced herself to make plans for when she returned
to her homeland.

Her future in Eire was very uncertain. Even
if Duvessa and the other women had survived, they couldn’t rebuild
Dun- sheauna by themselves. They would need men to help them. Fiona
realized she might find herself forced into marriage with a
neighboring chieftain in order to protect her people. At the
thought that she might even have to wed Sivney Longbeard, she
shuddered. Had all she had endured been for naught—her father’s
death, the burning of her home, these discouraging months of
enslavement among the Vikings? Was she fated to marry Sivney in the
end?

She wanted to cry, to rage at the gods for
cursing her so cruelly. But she dared not give vent to her anger
and frustration. Dag would see, and he would be hurt, thinking that
she wasn’t happy with his plans. She forced her face to impassivity
and kept walking.

At last, they stopped for the night. While
Dag unharnessed the horses and Sigurd set up the tents where he and
his brother would sleep, Fiona took out the food stores. One of the
men built a fire, and she made a stew using dried meat, vegetables,
and grain. The warriors each carried a horn cup in their packs, and
once the gruel was hot, they used this to scoop out a portion and
gulp it down. Then, as Fiona was cleaning up, Rorig and Utgard
returned from hunting with two plump ptarmigans.

“Ah, fresh meat,” Sigurd exclaimed with
obvious delight. He gave Fiona a questioning look. “You do know how
to cook game, don’t you, wench?”

Fiona opened her mouth to tell him that she
did not, then remembered her promise to Dag. She nodded
dutifully.

“Tomorrow,” Dag said, taking her hand.
“Tomorrow, she will cook for you. Tonight I have other things in
mind.”

Fiona followed Dag into the tent they would
share. Once inside, she hesitated. Now was the time to tell Dag her
decision. Surely, he would understand that lovemaking would only
worsen the pain of parting.

“Dag,” she began. “I don’t think this is
wise.”

The tent was dark, but she could hear him
fumbling with his clothes. “Why?” he responded, still
undressing.

She searched for the right words. “I fear
the pleasure we share will only lead to more pain in the end.”

“You must trust me,
macushla,”
Dag
said huskily.

Desperation choked her throat. Dared she
tell him how she felt about him? Mayhap he did not care for her as
she did for him. She would truly feel a fool if she discovered he
sought only a few quick nights of pleasure before he was rid of
her.

“I... I don’t know if I can...” He silenced
her protest by pulling her into a fierce embrace. Fiona shuddered
at the touch of his lips. Her resolve wavered. She pulled away and
gasped for breath, then lifted her face to his again. It was part
of the bargain, she told herself as his tongue filled her mouth.
She had agreed to be his obedient thrall, and a princess of Eire
never reneged on a bargain.

Between passionate kisses, he removed her
clothing. Fiona trembled at his touch, feeling lost and helpless.
Nothing mattered but the hunger that burned between them, this
soul-deep craving that blotted out thought and reason.

When they were both naked, Fiona leaned
against him, feeling as if she had fallen into an abyss. His
fingers stroked her from her neck down to her hips then swept
upwards again. He cradled her neck in his hands and kissed her
until she moaned. Her body arched up to his, eager and
yielding.