Storm Maiden (47 page)

“But we will raid,” Ellisil insisted. “If
not this winter, then the next. Our food supply will be secure by
then, and we will take what we want.”

Fiona felt Dag stiffen behind her on the
horse. She guessed that he no longer shared Eliisil’s taste for
raiding, but declined to speak of it to his companion. A shiver of
unease went through her as she considered that many of the warriors
who accompanied them to Eire might be eager to make their fortunes
rather than peacefully settling the land. Could Dag hold them in
control or would they someday foreswear their allegiance to him and
become enemies?

Dag and Eliisil’s conversation turned again
to provisioning the ship, and Fiona allowed her mind to wander. She
thought of Siobhan and wondered if she still lived. Now that her
father was dead, her aunt was her closest kin. She longed to speak
with her of Dag and his intent, to gain Siobhan’s aid and goodwill
for their plan.

She sighed. There was much to be done ere
they even set sail for Eire. Dag meant go back to Engvakkirsted to
gather men and say farewell to Sigurd, and she worried that Brodir
would harm him. Her fear was no longer for herself, but for Dag.
She loved him so.

* * *

“
Macushla,
are you still awake?”

Fiona struggled to stir from the comfort of
the bedfurs. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as she lay down
upon the soft bed in the chamber Skirnir’s wife had bid her to when
they arrived at Ferjeshold. Now her fatigue ebbed at the thought of
being alone with Dag.

“
Ja,
“ she whispered. “And how is it
with you? Are all the arrangements made with Skirnir?”

“I’d not speak of that now.” Dag slid in
beside her, then pulled her towards him. She gasped at the feel of
his warm skin, and immediately her body tingled with desire. She
lifted herself to her elbow and leaned over to touch his face,
tracing the graceful lines of his brow and cheeks, then caressing
his mustache and the harsh skin of his unshaven jaw below.

“Uhhh,” Dag groaned. “I vow I am so fatigued
I could sleep for a sennight.”

Fiona felt a faint disappointment. Dag
needed his rest. It was selfish of her to seek to couple with him
ere he slept. She withdrew her fingers from his face.

“Rub the back of my legs, please,” Dag
murmured as he turned over to lie on his chest. “I am unused to
riding a horse, and my legs ache fiercely.”

Fiona pulled back the bedfurs and began to
massage Dag’s thighs. Beneath her fingers, his skin felt warm, his
muscles tight and hard. He groaned again, then sighed. “I do so
like it when you touch me, Fiona. It reminds me of when I was a
prisoner and you tended my wounds. You have such a pleasing touch.
When you bathed me, it was near torture to endure your caresses and
pretend to be unconscious.”

“You told me once that you pretended to be
in a swoon that day because you feared me. Why?”

“If I tell you, Fiona, will you promise not
to laugh?”

“I promise.”

“I thought you were a fairy.”

“A what?”

Dag sat up. “A fairy—a supernatural being. I
feared you meant to steal my soul.”

“The fever,” she suggested. “It made you
imagine things.”

“
Ja,
it was partly the fever, but it
was you as well. You were so unearthly beautiful. When you first
came, I thought you meant to kill me, but then you began to
undress.” Dag’s hand moved to cup one of her breasts. “What a
vision you were. Your hair loose and wild, your strange green eyes,
a shade I had never seen before. Your perfect body… His voice
trailed off, and Fiona sighed as his fingers found her nipple and
gently teased. “I wanted you desperately,” he whispered. “But I was
too sick and frightened to take you. I feared to couple with you,
lest you steal my soul and trap me in fairyland forever.”

Fiona closed her eyes and let herself melt
at Dag’s touch. “You must have thought me a wanton, that I fondled
you while you lay helpless and in pain.”

Dag laughed huskily. “If you would know the
truth, I scarce noticed my injuries then. I was on fire for you,
but something kept me from taking you.”

“Your fear.”

“
Nei,
not only my fear. I also
recognized your innocence, that you had not known a man before. I
was beholden to you for tending my wounds and aiding me. I didn’t
think it right to take you like that. I would have frightened you,
and likely hurt you as well.”

“But I wanted it,” she protested. “ ‘Twas my
purpose in aiding you, that you might couple with me and save me
from my father’s marriage plans.”

“
Nei,
you thought you wanted that,
but you did not. You were but a silly maiden then.”

“Silly?”

“
Ja,”
Dag answered, his grin visible
in the brazier’s glow. “Not a fairy, but a silly maid.”

“You said you were afraid of me,” Fiona
reminded him.

Dag’s smile vanished. “Sometimes I fear that
you
have
stolen my soul, Fiona.”

She felt her chest tighten with emotion. “
‘Tis not enchantment, Dag, but love. If the truth be known—” She
leaned forward so her face was close to his. “I feel the same for
you.”

Dag brushed her hair back and kissed her
deeply.

“You are tired,” she whispered, pulling
away. “You must rest.”

“Not so tired,” he murmured, his hand coming
up to fondle her breast again. “And I will rest better when I am
inside you.”

Fiona gasped and smothered a moan as Dag’s
hand moved between her thighs. “Sweet Bridget, but the things you
make me feel!”

Dag swiftly reversed positions, pushing her
down on the bed. “I have only begun.”

She groaned as his mouth found her neck and
moved lower. Her body felt afire. She wanted this man, wanted to
feel his hardness inside her. Arching her hips, she reached for
him.

“Such a greedy wench,” he murmured as he
fitted himself within her. “Always you have rushed me.”

Fiona hardly heard him. Her thoughts
dissolved as he found a slow, steady rhythm. The intense pleasure
built and built until she felt she would burst from the pressure
welling up inside her. Her lips formed wordless, desperate sounds
as Dag coaxed her body over the edge. At her climax, she screamed,
the sound echoing in the tiny bedchamber. Dag followed her seconds
after, his groan of completion a husky counterpoint to her wild
cry.

They lay in a sweaty tangle for a few
moments, then Fiona lifted herself from beneath Dag’s still-heaving
chest. “By the Saints!” she exclaimed. “Skirnir and the others will
think you’re murdering me!”

“ ‘Twould be fitting punishment for such an
ill-tempered wench.”

Fiona gasped and struggled to sit up.
“Ill-tempered! Me? If I am ill-tempered, it is because I was
provoked by a wretched lout of a warrior!”

Dag grinned at her. “I like your fire, storm
maiden.’Tis part of what beguiles me.”

Fiona’s anger faded, and she smiled back.
“We are well- matched, Viking,” she said as she smoothed a lock of
his wavy hair away from his sweat-glistened face. “Together, we
shall be invincible. No warlord dare stand against us, not even
Sivney.”

Dag’s face sobered. “Sivney Longbeard I do
not fear, but Brodir haunts my thoughts. Although I tell myself
that you will be surely safe here at Fetjeshold, I am still
reluctant to leave you to say farewell to Sigurd.”

“Take me with you.”

“To Engvakkirsted?
Nei,
I’ll not
agree to such foolishness. Sigurd nearly had you put to death
already, and Brodir is like to cut your throat the first chance he
gets!”

“ ‘Twill be easier or you to keep me safe if
I am at your side than if you leave me here among strangers who
might be bribed by Brodir. Besides, I would say goodbye to Mina and
the others.”

Dag shook his head in negation, but even as
he did so, he could not help considering Fiona’s suggestion. He
would
feel better with Fiona at his side, and for all that
he trusted Ellisil, he was not as certain of the other men of
Ferjeshold. He had seen some of them cast lustful eyes in her
direction.

“If you came with me, you would have to
remain in my sight at all times,” Dag began cautiously. “We could
not be parted for even a moment.”

“I would guard your back, and you would
guard mine,” Fiona enthused. “We could protect each other like
sword brothers.”

“You fear for me?” Dag asked in
surprise.

“
Ja
, Brodir hates you almost as much
as me.”

Dag nodded. There was sense in what she
said. Brodir might well see Dag’s bond with Fiona as a betrayal of
their clan. “There is another advantage,” he mused. “If we sailed
to Engvakkirsted rather than riding, it would save us a day or more
of travelling time.”

“ ‘Tis settled then,” Fiona said, cuddling
next to him. “As soon as the ship is ready, we’ll leave on our
journey.”

Dag pulled her close and inhaled the clean
scent of her freshly washed hair. Tenderness filled him as he felt
the caress of her silken skin against his body. Fiona feared for
him; she would fight for him as he would for her. The thought
touched him deeply. Other women had desired him for what he could
give them, status or wealth or pleasure. But with Fiona it was
different. He felt that she cared for his spirit, his self.

Sighing deeply, he stretched out and
slept.

“Freya help me, but my stomach tosses and
pitches with every wave.” Standing beside Fiona at the edge of the
ship, Breaca clutched the gunwale and groaned.

Fiona patted her companion’s shoulder then
turned to watch Dag and the other men adjust the sealskin ropes
which controlled the huge red-and-white sail. “You will grow used
to it,” Fiona said. “This ship is smaller than Sigurd’s and seems
to ride the waves more roughly. The sea also seems choppier this
journey.”

“Things went well at Engvakkirsted, at
least,” Breaca answered. “There was no sign of Brodir, and even if
Sigurd and the other warriors ignored you, the women wished us
well.”

Fiona paused, remembering her tearful
goodbyes to Mina and the other women. “Parting was easier because I
knew you were coming with me,” she told Breaca. “And it helped that
Dag stayed at my side, never wavering in his loyalty, even when
Sigurd acted as if I didn’t exist.”

Breaca suddenly wiped at her sweat-beaded
brow. “Fiona, forgive me, but I must lie down.”

Fiona helped the younger woman to the
tarpaulin-covered portion of the deck so she could crawl into a
warm bedsack.

After settling Breaca in, Fiona resumed her
watch at the side of the ship. A cold wind blew through her heavy
fur tunic, making her shiver, and a vague, nagging sense of unease
accompanied the chill. She struggled to shake off the mood,
reminding herself that they were on their way to Eire and she
should be brimming with happiness.

Turning from the prow, she watched the
Norsemen try to control the whipping sail. Only thirty-two men,
counting thralls, manned the ship, and Fiona knew that Dag worried
if it were enough. Not only had he voiced concern that such a slim
crew could keep the vessel afloat if a storm struck, he also had
doubts about what would happen if they encountered a strong
defensive force when they reached Ireland. Ellisil had suggested
that Irish defenses were so inferior to Norsemen as to be unworthy
of consideration, but Fiona knew Dag thought otherwise. Last time,
the Irish had been unprepared for a raid, he said, but those who
survived would not make the mistake again. They must be ready to
fight as soon as they beached the ship.

Tugging an errant wisp of hair into her
braid, Fiona shivered again and turned to duck the wind. Nay, it
was not fear of shipwreck nor an attack of her countrymen which
gnawed at her thoughts. It was a deeper, less reasonable sense of
foreboding. Her thoughts turned to Brodir—she could not get over
the fact that he had made no attempt to attack her or to prevent
this voyage. His hatred for her was so strong, so violent; it
didn’t seem possible he had given up all thoughts of revenge.

But he could not hurt her now, she reminded
herself as she looked out at the foaming, gray waves. In a matter
of days, she would be back in Eire among her countrymen.

Dag moved past her as he made his way to
take over the tiller, and she noted his harassed expression.
“Damned landsmen,” he muttered. “I could teach a herd of sheep to
sail better than these fools.”

Fiona could not help feeling amused by his
grumbling. “Not every man has your multitude of skills, Dag,” she
chided him. “Warrior, sailor, horseman, lover—is there anything you
do not excel at?”

“I have no skill at tasks that require
patience, as well you know,” he answered. “My father’s uncle was a
smithy who tried to teach me his trade. He gave up when I ruined
everything I set my hand to. If you want a man who can fashion a
fancy brooch, forge a weapon, or carve a bowl, do not look to
me.”

“I think you are quite good with your
hands.” Fiona gazed at him suggestively. “I have no complaints of
being unsatisfied.”

Dag stared at her, then leaned over to
nuzzle her neck. “Thor’s hammer, but you are a distracting wench.
What if we all drown because you keep me from taking the tiller?”
he whispered in her ear. “Do you even care?”

“
Nei.”
Fiona lifted her face to
return his kiss. “Sigurd always said I was an
undine,
luring
Norse sailors to their doom.”

Dag kissed her back for a while, then gently
pushed her away. “Well, I have no desire to end up on the bottom of
the sea quite yet. I mean to get you back to your enchanted isle
first, fairy queen.”

Fiona smiled as she watched Dag gracefully
make his way among the jumble of sea chests and supplies cluttering
the deck. She loved him so much, sometimes it scared her. He was
brave and strong, but then, so had her father once been. The
thought made her smile fade as she made her way to the cargo hold
to see about food for the exhausted, hungry crew.