Magnus turned back to the alehouse door. From here he could make out bits of Croa’s side of the conversation: “...thought the king would like to know about this... Conlach O’Donovan’s daughter...a real prize, with enough fire to stir an old man’s loins.”
Magnus stiffened. Croa must be talking about the Irishwoman. He moved a little inside the wooden doorjamb so he could hear better.
“She’s a virgin,” Croa said, his voice gleeful. “I’ve seen to that. And she comes with a group of serving maids who are all tasty pieces themselves.”
Baldar muttered a response that Magnus couldn’t hear, then Croa’s loud voice broke in again. “I won’t go down on my price. If Sitric isn’t interested, I’ll find some other jarl or king who appreciates what I’m offering. There are plenty of men willing to part with their gold for the pleasure of deflowering a well-born and comely Irish maiden.”
“Looking for your food, are you?”
Magnus jerked around as the serving woman spoke from behind him. She held a platter full of steaming pastries.
“I...well...we have been waiting quite a while.”
She smiled teasingly. “I didn’t forget you, I promise. I knew a strong handsome fellow like you was bound to have a hearty appetite.” Her blue eyes danced.
It’s Orm you should be flirting with. He’s the one who’s eager to find a woman. Then another thought came to Magnus and he smiled back at the serving maid and motioned for her to go in ahead of him.
He met her at the table where he’d been sitting, and she unloaded the platter of pastries. “Will there be anything else?” She leaned over, giving him a good view of the tops of her breasts above the thin wool of her kirtle.
“Aye. I would like a bit of information.”
Her smile faded. “What sort of information?”
Magnus moved nearer and lowered his voice. “You see that big Norseman behind me? The one talking to the dark-haired fellow with the axe in his belt?”
The serving woman shot a surreptitious glance in the direction Magnus indicated. When she faced him, the teasing sparkle was gone from her eyes. “Aye, I know Croa Ottarson.”
“I want to know where he stays when he docks in Dublin. Does he have a house here?”
“I suppose so.” The serving woman straightened and picked up her tray.
“Do you know where it is?” Magnus persisted.
“Nay.” She clutched the tray to her chest and bent over to whisper, “You don’t want to have anything to do with that one.”
“I thank you for your concern. But I do have one more question. Do you know where he keeps his slaves, the ones he means to sell?”
“If he’s like most of the traders, he has a pen near the slavemarket where he keeps his captives.”
“A pen?”
She made a face. “Most of the slavers treat their thralls no better than livestock.”
Magnus tried to imagine the Irishwoman in a cattle pen. Nay, Croa wouldn’t risk damaging such a valuable piece of property. “What about female slaves? A high-born woman meant to be sold as a concubine. Where would he lodge her?”
“I don’t know.” The serving woman’s voice had grown sharp, her blue eyes uneasy. “If you’re wise, you’ll stop asking such questions. You’ll eat your food and leave this place.” Holding out her hand, she said, “That’ll be two pieces of silver.”
Magnus paid her, depleting the small stash tied at his belt. Then he sat back, deep in thought. Everyone and everything he encountered warned him not to involve himself with the princess’s dilemma. But something inside him wouldn’t let it go. He was intrigued by the contrast between her delicate beauty and prickly temperament. Even more, he was tantalized by the thought of what a bold thing it would be to free her.
He bit into one of the oyster pastries, which was piping hot and dripping with savory juices. He finished quickly, then eyed the other pies. As he was wondering how hungry his companions really were, a movement from behind set him on alert. Croa was leaving.
Magnus heart pounded as he watched the big Norseman squeeze by. This was his chance to find out where the Irishwoman was being held. He glanced over to the dice game. Orm was crouched on the floor, engrossed in play. But where was Skulli?
As soon as Croa was out the door, Magnus rose. He made his way to Orm and squatted down beside him. “Where did Skulli go?”
“To empty his bladder. He should be back soon.”
“I need to do the same. Don’t forget there’s food waiting for you.” He motioned to the table.
Orm leaned near and whispered, “A few more wins and I’ll able to buy something more far more satisfying than an oyster pie.”
“Good luck to you then.” Straightening, Magnus shot a quick glance at Orm’s gaming partners. They were hard-eyed, cunning-looking fellows. Orm would need exceptional fortune to come out well in this game.
Magnus left the alehouse and looked around. The fog had moved in again and he could see very little beyond the arc of lamplight spilling out the doorway. Fortunately, Croa’s voice never dipped much below a bellow and Magnus could hear him complaining in the distance.
"Thor’s hammer! What’s wrong with Sitric? It’s one thing to embrace the religion of the White Christ, but that doesn’t mean he has to behave like one of those womanish monks!” As Magnus hurried in the direction of Croa’s voice, the Norseman continued, “Baldar says the king of Dublin has no interest in taking a new concubine, no matter how fine she is. Now I’ll have to find another wealthy man to offer her to!”
One of Croa’s companions apparently responded, and Croa muttered, “It won’t be easy. I may have to take her to York and try my luck there.”
Magnus’s heart pounded. He might have only a little time to help the Irishwoman. That thought kept his feet moving, although his conscience argued that he shouldn’t leave Orm. But Skulli would come back soon. The older warrior would make certain Orm didn’t get into trouble.
Croa was still grumbling, although he‘d lowered his voice. Magnus quickened his pace until he was a dozen paces behind his quarry. As the group of men reached a building lighted by torches, Magnus ducked off the walkway to avoid being seen.
The group entered a longhouse. Magnus regarded the structure keenly. This must be where Croa stayed when he was in Dublin. Were the Irishwoman and her companions inside? Probably not. The longhouse wasn’t that big, and if Croa wanted to make certain his prize remained untouched, he wouldn’t keep her in the same dwelling as his warriors.
For a moment, Magnus didn’t know what to do. Then he saw a small cat moving along a narrow wooden walkway around the side of the longhouse. With caution, he followed the cat. Behind the longhouse was another daub and wattle structure, with an armed sentry in front of the doorway. This must be where the women were being held. All he had to do was kill the guard and free them, then get them back to the Waverunner.
Magnus crouched down and chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered the obstacles he faced. It wasn’t simply the matter of getting the women free and safely away. Even if he managed that, how could he convince Sigurd to take them on as cargo, yet not sell them at another port? Sigurd was a decent man, but also a shrewd and successful merchant. He would want something for his trouble.
What did he have that he could offer the captain? Magnus wondered. He could serve on Sigurd’s crew without pay until the debt was repaid, but that might be years from now. Was he willing to give up all his dreams for the sake of a woman who hadn’t even been pleasant to him?
As Magnus agonized, another man came out the back door of the longhouse and joined the first sentry. They spoke in low voices, taking turns drinking from a beverage skin.
Magnus stifled a sigh. Now he had two men to deal with. His whole plan was riddled with obstacles. He had to render both guards senseless and get the women out without alerting the rest of the men in the longhouse. It seemed an impossible task, at least for a lone warrior. If he had Orm and Skulli’s help, they might b
e able to do it. But why should Orm and Skulli risk their lives in such a scheme? Orm might be convinced to help, especially if he knew there were comely women involved. But Skulli... The older man would think the whole thing stupid.
And he would be right, Magnus decided with resignation. Here he was, considering risking his life and future on a woman who had all but sneered at him.
He returned to the front of the longhouse. Although he felt defeated and frustrated, he told himself he had to remember his own goals. He couldn’t let some Irish wench with magically lovely eyes lead him into disaster.
He hurried back to the alehouse. As he drew near, he realized there was some sort of confrontation going on. Three men had another man backed up against the tavern wall. Glimpsing the dark red hair of the victim, Magnus muttered an oath under his breath and drew his sword. “What’s going on here?” he demanded as he approached.
“This fellow had weighted dice,” a man with dirty yellow hair responded. He jerked his head toward Orm, then bared his teeth at Magnus. “We’re about to teach him how we deal with cheaters in Dublin.”
“Then you’ll have to deal with me as well,” Magnus answered, moving into a defensive stance. None of the men were as big as he was, nor as well armed. But there were three of them.
The yellow-haired fellow’s gaze took in Magnus’s sword and his obvious readiness for battle. Then he smiled sourly and said, “We’ll let it go this time.” He motioned again to Orm, “But if you value your friend’s life, you’d best advise him not to come around here again.”
“He won’t. I assure you,” Magnus answered.
He maintained his threatening posture until the three men moved off. As they vanished into the shadows, Orm collected his dagger from where it lay on the ground, then called out, “I want my silver that you stole, you gutterscum!”
“Let it go, Orm,” Magnus warned.
“I’ll bet you could kill all three of them by yourself,” the younger man said, his voice taut with excitement. “You wouldn’t even need my help. They’re cowards, all of them. If they thought my dice were weighted, why didn’t they say so at the beginning? Instead, they kept playing. It was only when I’d won some of their silver that they got angry and accused me of being a cheat.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Magnus said, letting out his breath. It was fortunate he’d headed back when he did. Orm might have been injured or killed. But what about Skulli? Magnus’s relief vanished as he realized there was no sign of their other crew member. “Where’s Skulli?” he asked Orm. “Did he ever come back to the alehouse?”
“Not that I know of.”
A chill went through Magnus. What if the older man had also been set upon by rogues? “We’d better look for him.”
They searched the area around the alehouse and found Skulli talking to another man near the kitchen shed. In the light spilling out of the smoky structure, Magnus could make out Skulli’s companion. He looked to be about the same age as Skulli, with a deeply seamed face and stocky build. His graying hair was pulled back into a knot at his neck. “This is Bors Ulfarson.” Skulli motioned to the other man. “We used to serve on a ship together.”
“That was a long time go,” Bors said. “Back in the days when we spent our time in port carousing and swiving, rather than standing around recalling the old days.”
“This is Magnus and Orm,” Skulli said. He nodded to Orm. “How did you come out in the dice game?”
“Not so well. I won for awhile, then my luck began to change. I decided to quit before I lost everything, and the bastards followed me outside and threatened to cut my throat if I didn’t give up my winnings. I pulled my knife, but they knocked it away. I would have ended up as food for the fishes if Magnus hadn’t come along.” He jerked a thumb in Magnus’s direction.
Bors glanced at Magnus. “Brawling in the alehouses is different than fighting on the battlefield. If you want to live to be the age I am, you’d be advised to avoid the longphort taverns. Or, if you must have some ale, get what you came for and leave quickly.”
“Good advice,” Skulli said, slurring a little. It was clear these two had been out here awhile, talking and drinking whatever was in the beverage skin Skulli was holding.
“Try some,” Bors offered as he saw Magnus glance at the skin. “It’s mead. Sweet and potent, like Irish women.”
“Do you live in Dublin?” Magnus took the skin and drank some down. As Bors had warned, the mead tasted sweet and mellow, but went down like liquid fire.
“Nay.” Bors answered. “I don’t call any place home. I’m only at ease when I’m out on the sea and a fresh breeze is blowing into my face. But I’ve been in Dublin a few days, trying to find a ship that needs a crewman. Luck was with me this day. I’ll sail with Croa Ottarson when he leaves Dublin.”
Magnus’s breath caught as he heard the name of his adversary. By questioning Bors he might be able to learn more about Croa and come up with a plan to free the woman. “Do you know about the young Irishwomen Croa means to sell as slaves?” he asked.
“I didn’t inquire as to his cargo when I agreed to sail with him. How do you know Croa? I thought Skulli said you were all crew on the Waverunner.”
“I don’t know Croa. But I saw him with some captive women down on the dock. The women appeared high-born, not the sort that should be sold as thralls.”
Bors snorted. “You think because they have milk-white hands and fine clothing that they’re special? All women are the same. They only smile prettily and spread their legs if they think it will gain them some advantage.”
“But if they’re sold to some wealthy man, they’ll have no choice in the matter,” Magnus argued.
“If they’re sold as bed slaves, their lives won’t be so awful,” responded Bors. “They’ll wear silk gowns and jewels all day long and do no work more trying than embroidery.”
“But to be a thrall and have no control over your own life...” Magnus shook his head. It sounded like an intolerable existence to him. He guessed from the anguish he’d observed in the princess’s eyes that she felt the same.
“What female truly controls her own destiny?” Orm put in. “Even if a woman’s well-born, her father decides who she will wed, and her husband decides the rest of it.”
Magnus couldn’t argue with anything the other men said. Yet the anger and dread he felt whenever he considered the Irishwoman’s fate wouldn’t go away. What if she were unable to adapt to the life of a slave? She was so proud, so haughty. He could well imagine her provoking the man who bought her, taunting him the way she had Magnus. Her new owner might end up abusing her, or even killing her.
“Sounds like you’ve taken a fancy to one of the wenches,” Bors said, narrowing his eyes. “Just remember that Croa Ottarson’s not someone to cross.”
“I’d guessed that,” Magnus said.
Everywhere he looked were warnings that any scheme to free the princess would lead to disaster. Once again, Magnus made up his mind to forget her. He took another hefty swallow of mead, willing the fiery liquid to burn all memory of her lissome beauty from his thoughts.
Chapter 3
Ailinn rose from the dirty straw pallet she shared with Brina and Cailin. Smoothing her wrinkled wool gown and linen undershift, she examined their prison, illuminated by light from one stinking tallow candle. The wickerwork walls of the storehouse had been daubed with clay to keep out the elements, but in some places the plaster was thin and uneven. If she had a knife she might be able to cut through and make a hole large enough for them to crawl out.
But she didn’t have a knife. Croa had taken away her jeweled dagger before she and the other women were loaded onto the ship.
“What’s wrong?” Brina whispered from the pallet.
Ailinn shook her head and didn’t answer. Brina got up and came to stand beside her. She put her arm around Ailinn in a tender gesture. “Still thinking about the Norseman?”
Ailinn nodded. “He made me realize what a coward I’ve been—
moaning and complaining about my circumstances rather than doing something to change them.”
“But what can you do?”
Ailinn turned to face her maid. In the flickering candlelight, she could see how wan and tired Brina looked, her tawny freckles highlighting the stark pallor of her skin. “We have to escape, and this may be our only chance.”
Even as she said the words, the now familiar hopelessness settled like a weight on Ailinn’s shoulders. How would she ever manage to get this group of exhausted women free of this place? Even if they did get away, she had no idea where they would they go. It was very long walk across the isle to their homeland.
But, nay, she wouldn’t think about that. She would focus on getting out of here. Disengaging herself from Brina’s embrace, Ailinn went to the doorway of the structure and knelt down. There was a crack in the clay plaster at the side of the door. By putting her eye near it, she could see out of their prison.
It was difficult to make out anything in the darkness, but through the crack she heard a familiar sound and her spirits soared. The guard outside the door was snoring. This is our chance! We must take it!
Ailinn hurried over to her bag of belongings and searched for an item buried in the bottom. Then she moved back to the door, which was secured from the outside with a strip of leather. With shaking fingers she took the tiny scissors and opened them and began rubbing their sharp edges against the leather. It was fortunate Croa knew so little about woman. He’d searched their bags of possessions himself, and when he’d come upon Ailinn’s sewing kit, she’d protested that a well-born gentlewoman couldn’t get along without it. He’d left the leather-wrapped packet alone, never guessing there were scissors inside. On the other hand, even if he had seen them, Ailinn doubted he would have cared. To a man used to axes and swords, the scissors would seem much too small to be used as a weapon.
But they were more than adequate for this task. In moments, she was through the leather latch. Her heart pounded as she edged the door open. Sure enough, the guard was asleep. He sprawled against the storehouse wall, a presumably empty beverage skin lying by his right leg.
Beyond the Sea Mist Page 3