Until then, he would have to content himself with memories. He recalled how soft her skin had felt and the delicacy of her fingers. She was so fine and rare, like the silk fabric Oleif had talked about. The rest of her body would also be soft and smooth, but warmer than her chilled fingers. He grew aroused as he imagined her form. The pliant, luxuriantly soft shape of her breasts. The graceful curve of her tiny waist. The swell of her hips...
He repressed a groan as he imagined the feel of her body beneath his. That was a dream, he reminded himself. She was a princess—or at least she had been one in Ireland—and princesses didn’t marry poor younger sons. Princesses also didn’t offer their bodies to men who weren’t their husbands—no matter how grateful they might be.
But she wasn’t a pampered noblewoman anymore. Now she was a slave, for sale to the man who offered the most. If he were able to free her from such wretched circumstances, she would owe him a great debt.
He savored the tantalizing thought for a moment, then confronted the stark truth of his situation. He had nothing to offer a woman, not yet at least. Someday, he would have his own ship and be able to afford a small farm where he would stay between voyages.
But what sort of life would that be for her? A woman who had once been heiress to a kingdom wouldn’t be satisfied with life on a small steading far away from her homeland.
His thoughts spun on, entangling him in worry and frustration. Magnus shifted in his bedsack and told himself he must try to sleep. Things would look better in the morning.
* * *
Magnus stood at the side of the ship just beyond the mast and gazed out at the sea. He could see the other two ships off the starboard side of the Dragonsbreath. How was Orm faring? he wondered. He hoped he hadn’t gotten into trouble dicing.
Turning back to the deck, Magnus saw Croa watching him. As always when he was around his adversary, his heartbeat quickened and his muscles grew taut. He told himself to ignore Croa. It wasn’t uncommon for crewmen to watch the waves. He was behaving no differently than any other man on the vessel.
Of course, he had carefully positioned himself so that he was near the opening leading into hold, so he could be aware of anyone going down or coming up. Hafgrim had made two trips into the storage area this morning, apparently to haul up water and food. A short time ago, he’d gone down again.
Magnus turned back to the sea and pretended to watch the endless gray waves stretching out into the distance, but his ears were pricked for the sound of any activity behind him.
A short while later, he heard Hafgrim climbing the ladder from the hold. When Magnus turned to look, Hafgrim was approaching Croa—who sat on a sea chest tending his weapons. Magnus moved slowly in the direction of the ship’s captain. As he passed by, he heard Hafgrim tell Croa, “The women are all sick. The green-eyed one insists they be allowed above board. She thinks that will help.”
Croa snorted in response. “As if I care for her comfort.”
Magnus gritted his teeth. He hadn’t considered she might get seasick. Although he’d never experienced the malady himself, he’d seen plenty of other people suffer through it, mostly slaves who’d never been on the water before. Recalling their obvious misery, he felt a surge of sympathy for the princess—and an intense fury towards Croa.
Agitated, Magnus made his way back to the stern. He longed to pace, but that was impossible, even on a vessel as large as this one. When he reached his sea chest, Asgar looked up from the sword he was polishing. “You look as though you just tasted something foul. What’s wrong?”
Magnus’s frustration boiled over. “There are four women thralls in the cargo hold, and I just overheard Hafgrim tell Croa they’re seasick. It infuriates me that Croa won’t have them brought up on deck. He’s treating them like cattle or horses!”
“Women, you say?” Asgar’s pale brows rose. “Well, that explains why Croa’s been so strange about letting anyone go down into the hold. How did you find out about them? I saw most of the cargo loaded, and there was no sign of any wenches.”
“They were taken aboard before any of the other cargo was loaded. I saw them on the dock and one of them caught my eye. Red-gold hair. Pale, smooth skin. Finely made form.” Magnus couldn’t help using his hands to outline Ailinn’s slender figure.
“Maybe you could buy her,” Asgar suggested with a grin.
“I don’t have that kind of wealth.”
Asgar nodded. “The real beauties always end up with some old, ugly jarl who has trouble getting it up. It’s a waste, it is.” He grinned again. “Think what you and I could do with a woman like that.”
Magnus realized he didn’t really want Asgar thinking too much about Ailinn’s charms. “It’s not merely that the woman is beautiful,” he said. “I feel sorry for her. It’s obvious she’s well-born, someone who once had status and freedom. Now she’s a thrall, and Croa’s treating her no better than he would a heifer or mare.”
Asgar raised his pale eyebrows. “You are besotted, aren’t you?”
“Nay. I simply don’t like to see any creature suffer.” Asgar was regarding him intently. Magnus shrugged. “My brothers used to tease me for it. I was always rescuing injured animals and trying to heal them.”
“So, what’s your plan? Do you hope to go down there when Croa’s not looking and futter her?”
“I’m not such a fool as to try something like that,” Magnus asserted. “But I would like to get a message to her, tell her I’m on the ship and haven’t abandoned her.”
“What does that mean?”
Magnus felt his stomach tighten with worry. If Asgar went to Croa and told him about this conversation, Croa would kill him on the spot. He glanced at the other man. Could he trust Asgar to keep his secret? “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said. “I don’t have a clear plan yet.”
Asgar stared at him, then said, “Tell me about the other women. What do they look like?”
If Asgar could see that there was something in it for him, he might be more inclined to keep Magnus’s plans to himself. “One of them is plump and red-haired,” Magnus answered. “She seems close to Ailinn, although I doubt they’re kin. Perhaps she’s a maid or servant.”
“And the others?”
Magnus concentrated, trying to recall details. “One is very young, barely even a woman. She has black hair and is even smaller than Ailinn. The other one is tall and has brown hair.”
“A nice mixture of wenches,” Asgar said. “I’m sure one of them would please me.”
Magnus experienced a new worry. Ailinn was very protective of her companions. She wouldn’t easily forgive him if anything happened to them. On the other hand, unless he was able to rescue them, all the women were going to end up as bed slaves.
“I might be willing to take your message to the women,” Asgar said. “I’d like to see them. From what you say and from the way Croa’s guarding them, they must be fine-looking pieces.”
Magnus made his tone threatening. “I don’t care what you do with the other women, but Ailinn is mine.”
Asgar nodded. “You’ve made your claim clear. As for your message, what do you want me to say? That you’re here on the ship and still intend to help her?”
“For now, that will have to do.”
“I’ll do it tonight,” Asgar said. “I’m more than a little curious about these women, especially the one you fancy. She must be as stunning as the goddess Freya herself, that she’s managed to arouse such devotion in a man who in all other respects seems like a sensible fellow.”
“She is beautiful,” Magnus responded. “But there’s more to it than that. I can’t explain my feelings for the woman. It’s as if the gods put her in my pathway for a reason, and I dare not turn away without risking some terrible misfortune.”
“I don’t believe the gods generally bother to interfere with the destinies of men,” Asgar said. “But I suppose most men are more superstitious. If you asked the crew on this ship if they carry a lucky talisman, you�
��d find almost all of them have a Thor’s hammer around their neck, or some other charm or even a lucky weapon. Some thing that makes them feel as if they are not so subject to the whims of gods...or the weather,” he added, glancing up at the sky. He frowned. “All’s clear now, but that’s going to change. I can sense it.”
At that moment, Magnus wasn’t terribly concerned about the weather. He’d finally found a way to communicate with the Irishwoman and let her know he hadn’t forgotten her. But he did think to ask, “How are you going to manage this? What will you tell Croa?”
Asgar smiled. “Leave that to me.”
* * *
“What? What is it?”
Ailinn woke to find Gormlaith clutching her arm. “There’s someone down here,” Gormlaith whispered.
“You’re certain it’s not the cat?” Ailinn responded. The little creature had been prowling around in the hold since they’d left Dublin. It seemed to be growing used to them and had actually let Ullach pet it. Ailinn was glad to have it around to keep away rats and mice.
“Nay, this is too big to be a cat,” Gormlaith said.
“Then it’s probably Hafgrim.”
“He’s never come down at night before.”
“Lady Ailinn? Are you there?”
Ailinn’s breath caught as a gruff whisper pierced the silence. For a brief moment, she thought it must be the young Norseman who’d spoken. Then she realized it wasn’t his voice. “Who’s there?” she whispered back.
The man moved near, so near she could smell the odors of sweat and stale mead wafting from his skin. “My name’s Asgar,” he said. “I’m a friend of Magnus’s. He wanted you to know he’s on the ship. He still means to help you, although he didn’t say how.”
“Magnus,” Ailinn whispered breathlessly.
“Aye. He was worried you’d think he’d abandoned you.”
She could scarce believe it. The young Norseman who’d vowed to help her was on the ship. It was amazing. Miraculous. The answer to her prayers.
“Stand up. I want to see you,” the man said.
Ailinn’s relief faded. “Why?”
“I’m curious as to what you look like.”
This man said he was Magnus’s friend, but could she trust him? “I can’t stand up without disturbing the other women,” she answered. “Our wrists are all bound together with leather thongs.”
“Here.”
Ailinn stifled a scream as the man squatted down, reached out and grasped her arm. She briefly felt the coldness of a blade against her skin as he sliced through the leather thong binding her wrist. A second later he’d done the same with her other arm. Now she was free, although Brina, while Ullach and Gormlaith were still bound together.
The man hauled her to her feet and pulled her toward the opening in the hold. After the dimness of the cargo area, even the light from the night sky seemed bright. A half moon glinted among the clouds, silhouetting the man’s tall form. She couldn’t make out his features, but she could feel him studying her. Stiffening with defiance, she tried to decide whether to scream.
“Huh,” he muttered. “You’re not bad to look upon, yet not so beautiful that I would risk my life over.”
Ailinn felt vaguely insulted. Then she reminded herself that it was all to the good that this man didn’t find her too desirable.
“Now I want to see the other women,” he said.
“That’s not possible.” She jerked away from him and moved back into the cargo area. The man followed her. When they reached the pallets, he leaned down and grabbed Brina by the arm and tried to pull her to her feet. “Stop! They’re all ill.” Ailinn told him in a desperate whisper. “If you don’t release her, I’ll scream,” she added.
“Huh,” he grunted, then let go of Brina. “She does smell of puke. I guess I’ll wait to see the others when we arrive in York.” He turned and started to leave the hold.
“Wait,” Ailinn whispered. “How far is York? How long will we have to be on the ship?”
“In good weather it would take us less than sennight. But since the weather’s about to turn foul, who knows when—or if—we’ll reach our destination.”
“What do you mean?” Ailinn asked.
“Smell the air. It’s turning cooler already. By mid-day tomorrow the storm will be here. “
Ailinn experienced another wave of anxiety. If the seas were this rough in good weather, what would they be like during a storm? “What should we do?” she asked.
The man gave a mirthless laugh. “If you worship the White Christ like most of your race, you might try praying to him. Although how such a weak, peace-loving deity could have power against the might of Thor is hard to imagine.”
As the man made his way up to the deck, Ailinn’s stomach churned with turmoil. A storm. She envisioned the ship heaving and tossing on the waves and water pouring into the hold. The image made her gasp with dread. Then she quickly pressed her lips together as she heard voices above her. The man who’d brought her Magnus’s message was talking to another man. Croa!
Ailinn quickly scrambled back under the deck and onto her pallet.
“What’s happening?” Gormlaith asked in muffled whisper. “Who was that man? Is it true the young Norseman is on the ship? That he’s come to rescue us?”
“So the man said,” Ailinn answered. “But even if Magnus is on the ship, that doesn’t mean he’ll succeed in freeing us. Be quiet now,” she added. “I’m going to see if I can tell what’s going on.”
Ailinn crept to the opening in the deck and listened.
“I told you, I dropped my knife down in the hold and had to retrieve it,” said the man who’d carried Magnus’s message. “Go down there yourself and see if all is well. But you’d best take a lamp. It’s as black as pitch.”
“Why did you drop your knife?” Croa demanded. “Are you drunk?”
“Perhaps a bit.”
“I’ll tolerate your taste for the drink for now, since there’s little else to do while at sea. But when we make land, I’ll expect you to remain sober.”
“Of course, captain,” the man answered. “It’s like you said. I get bored when it’s smooth sailing...” His voice faded as the two men moved away from the opening.
Ailinn breathed a sigh of relief and went back to her pallet.
“What happened?” Gormlaith whispered once again.
“All’s well,” Ailinn responded. “The man who was down here gave Croa a reasonable explanation for what he was doing here. We needn’t worry that Croa will guess about Magnus’s plan to rescue us.”
Gormlaith let out a sigh of relief. Ailinn’s turmoil also eased and she finally took in the amazing news the man had brought her. Magnus was here. She conjured his image in her mind. So tall. So strong. So handsome. Could he really manage to free them? And then what? How would he ever get them back to Ireland?
But perhaps that wasn’t part of his plan at all. Magnus was risking a great deal to free them. He might mean to sell them himself as soon as he’d stolen them from Croa. But she couldn’t imagine the young Norseman doing such a thing. He seemed so kind, so considerate.
Ailinn reminded herself of the true nature of men. Most of the ones she’d known were harsh and ruthless. Even her father had been like that. Of course, he’d cared for her and her brothers, but they were blood kin. The Norseman and she weren’t even of the same race.
Her thoughts spun on. If he wasn’t going to sell her as a slave, the only reason the Norseman would risk so much to rescue her was that he wanted her for himself. Mingled with the tenderness in his gaze, she’d also beheld longing and...lust. He desired her, she felt sure of it.
The thought aroused an answering response in her own body. She was drawn to him. Indeed, she wanted to lie with him.
The realization shocked her. Then she gave in to the beguiling thought and allowed herself to fantasize about what it might be like. He’d find some place for them to be alone together, a room with a real bed, feather mattress and linen she
ets. They’d both have bathed in hot water scented with meadowsweet and lavender, like Brina used to prepare for her on feast days. He would walk toward her, wearing only his trews. She would see his massive chest, broad shoulders and muscular neck. He’d smile at her, his teeth white and strong, his blue eyes regarding her with fierce intensity...
She repressed a moan and told herself she was being a lackwit. But then another part of her mind took over. What did it hurt to indulge in a few moments of reverie? Her life had been so grim and dark the past month. Why should she not experience a little happiness—even if it was only in her mind?
She stood near the bed wearing a thin linen kirtle. Her hair was loose and combed to glossy smoothness. It fell in a silky curtain down her back. His expression changed as he approached, his smile turning into something altogether different than it had before, a yearning, a deep, deep need. His blue eyes darkened. He took her in his arms and carried her to the bed. After laying her down on the soft sheets, he stretched out beside her. His gaze moved over her, hot and hungry. Then he bent his head and kissed her.
Another sigh of longing filled Ailinn’s throat and tears pricked her eyes. A dream, it was. So sweet, and yet so absurd. She hardly knew the Norseman. Even if they did lie together, why should imagine he would treat her with such gentle reverence? Her mother had told her what to expect on her wedding night, and it had little to do with the man gazing on the woman worshipfully and treating her like she was some rare wonderful thing.
What was it about the Norseman that seemed to arouse such ridiculous fancies in her mind? Was it because this whole scheme of his was so preposterous? No man sought to rescue a woman he didn’t even know. Her first thought of him must be the truth. He must mean to sell her for a profit.
She hardened her heart once again. It was pure foolishness to do otherwise. She couldn’t bear to endure more disappointment and despair. It was better to expect the worst...and to trust no one but herself and her companions.
Beyond the Sea Mist Page 9