by Darby, Brit
“Ah, good. You are awake.” The man spoke Norse, likely for her benefit. He smiled and Cailin sought his face for any sign of his intentions. She did not feel physically threatened, but just the same scooted to the edge of the furs in case she needed to make a break for freedom.
As if reading her mind, he tsked and looked insulted. “Is that any way to thank your savior, my dear?”
“Who are you?”
He did not seem offended by her bluntness but bowed. “Prince Oleg Veshchy of Kievan Rus. I gladly offer the hospitality of my ship, as you clearly seem in need of it. May I ask your name?”
Cailin did not reply at once, trying to gather her composure and think, despite the severe pounding in her temples. She pressed a hand to her aching head and finally relinquished her name. “I am Cailin. Where are my possessions?”
“Your clothing was ruined, I fear. Burned and torn beyond repair.”
Cailin remembered Disir landing on her, but nothing after that. “And my other things?”
The prince smiled again. “Ah. You ask about the swords we found on you? They are safe, I assure you. I find the design most curious, but very beautiful.”
Again, Cailin did not respond and the unspoken questions he chose not to ask hung in the air.
“You escaped a dire fate indeed, Cailin,” Prince Oleg finally said. “We found miles of debris from your ship. The destruction of a fire at sea is unforgiving.”
She saw no point in confirming the obvious and he tilted his head, as if considering this fact. “The sea, of course, does not permit life to flourish at such temperatures. You were not found in a boat, but clinging to a burnt mast. How is it you survived both fire and freezing water?”
Cailin shrugged, and saw he looked displeased by her reluctance to answer. “What was your destination?” he asked.
She hesitated, long enough that he probably would think she lied. Instead, she offered the truth. “Novgorod.”
“A fine city, I know it well. Once I ruled there.”
Oh, what were the odds? Cailin wondered. She might have laughed was she not so miserably tired. “We were going to trade ivory for honey and beeswax,” she said. She knew what goods Novgorod was renowned for and saw the doubt in his eyes soften at her words.
He nodded. “Your cargo, unfortunately, must have sunk the ship quickly due to the ivory’s weight. You appear to be the only survivor.”
She did not hide the despair that filled her heart and must have clouded her face at his words, for it prompted yet another question.
“You said we. Were you traveling with others?”
As hard as she tried, the words stuck in her throat. No, she must believe they were alive. She would know if they were not. Her Dragons would tell her if it weren’t so. Finally, she found her voice, though the words came out a whisper. “I traveled with my husband.” She heard and felt the truth of the statement. Drake was her husband; somehow, the ruse had become reality.
Prince Oleg’s eyes showed genuine sympathy. “I am sorry, my dear. I shall not trouble you further, and leave you to your sorrow.”
But before he was able to duck back outside, she asked, “Where are we?”
“Nearing the Kievan river port. My administration is in that city now.”
Unable to still her curiosity, she joined him on the droman’s deck. Administration was an understatement, Cailin saw, when a hill-fortress rose before them along the banks of what he told her was the Dnieper River. “That is my abode,” Prince Oleg said. “Our destination.”
Cailin could hardly miss the massive fortified walls and crenellations or what they implied. Prince Oleg was no ordinary noble; he was a warlord.
THOUGH CAILIN FELT APPREHENSIVE about leaving the ship for the ominous fortress looming on the hill, she had no choice. When an enormous Nubian joined them on deck, a man who dwarfed all others in the crew by height and breadth, her memory flickered and she recognized him as the one who applied the ointments and dressings to her wounds. Seeing her curious look, Prince Oleg introduced Yosef, his personal bodyguard.
Cailin wondered at his having only one guard, but as if reading her mind, Prince Oleg laughed. “Yosef fills the shoes of a dozen men, literally and otherwise. He is the master of my household, and keeps all well in hand.”
Hearing this accolade, Yosef somehow managed to look proud, amused, and aloof, all at the same time. Cailin wasn’t sure why, but she felt no threat from the man, despite his ominous appearance. Yosef wore voluminous, Turk-style trousers with only a short embroidered vest that barely spanned half his chest. He needed no armor. He bowed in greeting to Cailin, and she thanked him for tending her injuries.
“Yosef will see to your needs from now on,” Prince Oleg said.
Cailin asked the obvious. “What will happen to me?”
Prince Oleg looked neither surprised nor offended by the question. “You are in no condition to travel anywhere as yet, my dear,” he said in a fatherly fashion. “Once you are fully recovered in the safety of my home, then we can discuss this further.”
It was the most she might expect and Cailin nodded. Her swords were not returned to her, nor had Disir reappeared. She estimated three days had passed since she was found, but she did not know how long she had drifted or been unconscious. It may have been as long as a week since the ship went down.
Soon dugouts arrived to ferry the crew to shore, except for those men remaining to tend the ship’s cargo. Yosef had produced a cloak, tunic, trousers and shoes for Cailin to wear. The shoes were the useless feminine kind, kid slippers, but with her old garb gone she could hardly argue.
The last thing Yosef pressed upon Cailin before they went ashore was a black opaque cloth that wrapped to cover her hair, neck, and most of her face, only her eyes left revealed. With her strength gone, weakness forced her to clutch Yosef’s arm for support as they moved from the docks to the horses waiting for them along with a royal guard.
Prince Oleg mounted a spirited black Barb. Yosef lifted Cailin upon a gray palfrey, then led it from his sorrel in packhorse fashion. She clung to the horse’s mane and looked around as they wound up a narrow, treacherous road to the fortress. Far below, she saw the ship they had left and other vessels entering and leaving the port. Though she knew the odds astronomical, her gaze scanned the waters to the horizon for any sign of a small rowboat.
The glittering expanse of cerulean seas held nothing for her but futile hopes.
IN THE FORTRESS, CAILIN was taken to quarters that might have been luxurious, had they not still equaled a prison. As she shrugged off the cloak and tossed aside the head wrap, she felt a vestige of strength return, along with the determination to survive whatever obstacles arose before her now.
A handful of other servants joined Yosef in her quarters and she was introduced to them, including one pretty young Circassian named Nedaxe, who was specially chosen to tend her needs, Yosef explained, because the girl spoke Norse.
Cailin had not admitted she knew other languages. She knew it advantageous to keep that fact secret. Apparently she spoke only Norse in her delirium, so Yosef and the prince assumed it her sole native tongue. Yet she understood perfectly when Yosef turned and instructed the other servants in various languages. He told them to watch her carefully and to report any suspicious behavior to him.
Eventually, Yosef turned his attentions back to her. “You must rest,” he told her imperiously. “When evening comes, I shall return and escort you to the prince’s table. If you get hungry before then, Nedaxe can fetch fruits, nuts, and yoghurts.”
Cailin nodded and went to lie down on the low bed draped with woven rugs and silken cushions. After Yosef and the others left, Nedaxe alone remained with her. The servant girl turned down the hanging lamps and sat back on her heels at the foot of the bed, waiting. All was silent a while as Cailin thought and pondered how she might persuade the prince to return her swords and set her free. She heard a soft sound, like a sigh-sob. Through the curtain of Nedaxe’s dark hair, Cailin
saw teardrops glistening on the girl’s cheeks.
“What is wrong?” she softly asked.
Startled, Nedaxe looked frightened. “Mistress, I thought you were asleep.”
“I have too much on my mind. Tell me what troubles you.”
“I-I miss my family,” Nedaxe confessed.
“That is natural.” Cailin sat up and hugged a pillow to her chest, gazing into the girl’s almond-shaped brown eyes. “How did you come to be here?”
Nedaxe shivered. “Slavers, Mistress. I was captured as I washed clothes along the shores of my home. My mother and sisters were nearby, they saw what happened.”
“By Prince Oleg’s men?”
“No, Mistress. It was over a year before I came here. I was taken to Samsun, Volga, and Constantinople, then sold again and sent back here. The prince bought me with a number of other servants to tend his great house.”
“Tell me more about the prince,” Cailin said.
Nedaxe looked thoughtful. “He is a great man, respected by all who know or serve him. He seems not unkind, as masters go. I have few encounters with him though, for it is Yosef, the eunuch, who oversees the house of servants.”
“How is it you speak Norse?”
“My first master was Rus,” Nedaxe said. She looked even sadder, her gaze dropping to her entwined hands in her lap.
Rus was what Arabs called the Vikings who came to trade and stayed in these southern lands. Cailin guessed some misfortune had fallen upon Nedaxe’s first master.
Nedaxe said, “He was killed by bandits on the Volga trade route. The shock of the news sent me into early labor.”
Cailin’s eyes widened. “Your baby?”
“Died.” Nedaxe’s tone was flat. “Then, while I was still weak, too weak to fight, my master’s wife sold me to Turks. She always hated me, but even more because of the child, for she was barren.”
Cailin felt sorry for the girl, but she sensed Nedaxe was proud and would not welcome pity. “You are still young and fair,” she said. “There will be another man one day, more children.”
Nedaxe shook her head. “Not for me, Mistress. Yosef says women who come here do not leave, unless it is in a bag or casket.”
This chilling news iced Cailin’s blood. She frowned. “But the prince comes and goes, as he pleases.”
Nedaxe nodded. “It is true, Mistress. He must, if he is to build his army.”
“Army? For what purpose?”
“For going to war, of course.” Nedaxe look confused by her questions. “What else do kings and princes do?”
Cailin laughed, the simple action making her feel stronger than the food she had forced herself to eat. “Yes,” she agreed. “What else have they to do?”
Chapter Twenty-three
“YOU LOOK QUITE BEAUTIFUL today. I believe the color has come back to your cheeks.”
Cailin stopped and turned to Prince Oleg. They were strolling in his fortress gardens, as they had done nearly every day since their arrival. She was afforded every comfort and treated with the utmost courtesy by everyone she encountered. He was right, her strength had returned. She was restless and anxious to know Drake’s and Leo’s fate.
“Yes, I am recovered. It is time for me to leave.”
Prince Oleg considered her words, his head nodding slightly, as if in agreement. Yet, Cailin sensed that was not what he would say.
“What is the hurry, my dear? Haven’t I seen to your every need?”
“You’ve been most kind, but I must be on my way now.”
“Where can you go? Your husband is likely dead and you claim you have no other family nearby.”
Cailin nodded. “True.”
“Then remain a while longer and let me tend you, as I do my prized blooms.” He paused to admire one of the silvery asters nearby, bending to inhale its scent. Cailin watched him, noting the possessive way he cupped the flower in his palm. She knew a covetous man when she saw one. She did not see lust in his eyes when he looked at her, but rather the confidence of an imperious man accustomed to having his way in all things.
“But I am neither flower, nor pet, nor slave,” she said, and he stiffened at her words. His hand closed and crushed the aster, and the spicy scent wafted to her as the petals fell at her feet.
“Nevertheless,” he muttered, “I would have you stay.”
Feeling impatient with his vague responses, Cailin demanded, “Why are you truly refusing to let me go?”
He straightened, the last of the bruised petals falling from his fingertips. “I am concerned for your welfare, child. It is not a safe time of year to travel.”
“Oh? Rather I sense you are like the cat that toys with a mouse. State your true intentions. After all I have endured of late, I have no patience for games.” She folded her arms and stared him down.
He looked offended. “You believe I play a game with you?”
“Do you not? I said I wish to leave. Now. Today.” Cailin felt her temper rise, but seeing his nostrils flare dangerously, she pulled the fire within her back under control. “But before I go, you must return my swords.”
“Let us not ruin such a beautiful day with tiresome thoughts, my dear.”
Prince Oleg tried to appease her with a fatherly smile, as if she were a petulant child in need of reprimanding. The fact he ignored her comment about the swords did not escape her notice. They continued walking in tense silence for some time.
Cailin closed her eyes, stopped on the stone path and took a deep breath. She did not let it go so easily. “You do not own me, Prince Oleg. You cannot stop me from going when and where I wish.” She had quite enough of possessive men, and did not hesitate to defy this one as well.
“Can I not?” When she opened her eyes, she saw a flash of ire in his dark eyes. “I found you adrift and pulled you from certain death. Your life belongs to me now, to do with as I wish.”
His arrogance astounded her. Cailin felt the blood drain from her face, and her hands shook from the fury raging within her. Carefully, she chose her words, knowing anger would not help her cause. “I was not destined to die upon the sea. I owe you only for the ride to shore.”
He laughed.
“I amuse you?”
His smile disappeared and he once again looked grave. “Your insistence in defying my will amuses me. You, my dear, I take very seriously.”
“Why? Are you afraid of me?”
This question brought the persistent smile back, but this time he refrained from laughing at her. He waved one hand impatiently. “Of course I do not fear you. You are but a woman.”
“I think,” Cailin smiled back at him, but there was no humor in it, “you should have left this particular woman to the sea. I think you know that yourself.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him to puzzle over her words.
CAILIN SLID THE NEEDLE in and out, the movement soothing her. Since her conversation with Prince Oleg, she had avoided his presence. Having discovered the loom, she spent most of her time weaving, the familiar activity comforting as she tried to discover a means for escape.
There was a story unfolding in the intricate weave, but she paid little mind to it. Her actions were instinctual, knowing what colors to add into the tale without conscious thought. The dreams that disturbed her nights were fabricated in her unending strokes, the hours melting away until Nedaxe would pull her from the loom as she slumped in exhaustion.
“My lady,” Nedaxe spoke softly, concern in her tone. “It is time to sleep.”
Cailin allowed the girl to put away the loom and supplies and guide her to the bed. She was beyond thought. Beyond tired. She literally collapsed upon it.
“Why do you do this, Mistress? It seems wrong that you weave like a common drudge.”
She didn’t reply to Nedaxe’s question. They had the same conversation each night for the past two weeks. Instead, she waved the girl away and hugged a pillow to her. How could she explain the dreams that drove her to exhaustion? Or express the agony that
overwhelmed her in the waking hours as she worried about Drake and Leo? She knew they were in danger. To her very bones she felt it.
Nedaxe listened until she heard her mistress’s breathing slow and even in sleep. Perhaps tonight Mistress Cailin would sleep without dreams disturbing her. Fear settled into Nedaxe’s mind, twisting anxious thoughts into confusion and despair. It was as if a demon possessed her lady at times and it frightened her.
Yet, Cailin always showed her a kind and gentle heart. It was sad to think this woman would never be allowed to leave. Somehow, Nedaxe knew this was something her mistress would never accept. She had not, after all, been born a slave or made a servant. But there was nothing that could be done to change their circumstances. Mistress Cailin just didn’t understand they would both die here in the fortress, forgotten like so many others.
Right now, Nedaxe feared something else more — danger drawing close for her mistress. Something unsettled her about her lady’s weaving, though the pictures seemed innocuous enough. The work was beautiful, yet it troubled Nedaxe all the same.
A noise distracted Nedaxe from her thoughts. She turned and found Prince Oleg standing in the shadows of the darkened room. His gaze rested upon the woman asleep in the bed, curled into a ball with the pillow clutched close.
His sudden appearance made her uneasy. Stunned, she quickly bowed in obeisance. “Master, I did not hear you enter.”
“The lady Cailin has ignored my invitations, I feared she was ill. Yosef assured me she is not. But I came to see for myself.”
“My lady is not ill. Just exhausted.”
Prince Oleg looked at Nedaxe, his brow wrinkled. “Your words are not convincing.”
His comment distressed her, and she wrung her hands as she stammered, “She weaves for hours on end without food or rest. I cannot stop her … I have tried …”
Looking over into the adjoining room, Oleg spotted the loom. Curious, he walked over to look at the piece Cailin was working on. He picked up a candle and held it to see better the intricate design, finding the craftsmanship stunning. He examined the tapestry but paid no particular mind to the story it told; it looked to be nearly complete.