By love enslaved

by Conn, Phoebe

  Terrified by the threat, Dana tried to break free, and failing that, she attempted to kick him, but Jarald was so tall and strong he simply held her at arm's length and laughed at her futile efforts to harm him.

  *'You're no more able to hurt me than Brendan will be tomorrow. I mean to kill him, Dana. You'll need him no more now that you have me."

  "I don't want you!" Dana screamed, and Jarald responded by slapping her so hard her head snapped back with a force she feared had broken her neck. He shook her then, making her so dizzy that when he began to slap her again she could barely stay on her feet. Each time he struck her, he cursed her with filthy words she did not even understand, but still she refused to meekly submit to his superior strength.

  *'Did you ever fight Brendan?" the husky brute asked. *'Did you ever tell him no when he hungered for you?"

  "Never!" Dana shrieked, determined to fight him as long as she had the breath to do so.

  Enraged by the insulting response, Jarald wound his fingers in Dana's flowing curls, hauling her close for a brutal kiss that ended when she sank her teeth in his lower

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  "Bitch!" he shouted, and unmindful of his own strength, he hurled her against a tree with a force that instantly rendered her unconscious. She went limp, slipping from his arms to the dirt at his feet. Disgusted, he sent his toe into her ribs. When she did not moan, he cursed her all the more loudly. He enjoyed her spirit too much to take her when she would not even recall what had happened.

  "Slut," he hissed before spitting on the ground. "That's nothing compared to what Haakon will do to you when he learns you've been sleeping with slaves. You needn't worry, though. I'll offer to marry you despite that disgrace, and I know Haakon will be too grateful to me to allow you to refuse,"

  Chuckling at his own cleverness, Jarald scooped Dana up into his arms. With the same stealth with which he had left the camp, he carried her back to her tent, certain she would still be there when he was ready to hand her over to her father for another beating.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Haakon heard a muffled thud as the guard at the gate of the stockade fell. Grabbing Svien by the shoulder, he gave him a shake. "Wake up, someone's coming."

  Instantly alert, Svien peered into the darkness that surrounded them, but in the pale moonlight he could barely make out his father's face and could discern nothing in the shadows beyond. He heard the gate being pulled open slowly rather than being flung wide as it usually was. Whoever was coming carried no lantern, and the oversight perplexed him. "Who can it be?" he whispered.

  Haakon shook Per, who lay asleep on his left, then clamped

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  his hand over his mouth before he could speak. There were more than forty men inside the stockade. Shackled together in groups of three, they were as restless that night as on all others, and like a silent wave, they awakened and leaned forward, to a man straining to see who was moving toward them through the darkness.

  From bitter experience, Brendan knew the captives would be huddled against the wall of the sturdily built log enclosure, but he stepped carefully so as not to trip over any outstretched legs as he slipped through the gate. "I have come to set you all free," he promised in a hushed voice. "Where is Haakon?"

  Suspecting a trick of some kind, Haakon hesitated a moment, but then thinking his situation could be no worse, he called out, "I am here."

  "Come to me," Brendan ordered, unwilling to risk niaking his way to him. "I've come with Erik. Hurry, it will soon be dawn."

  After nearly a month of captivity, Haakon, Svien, and Per, who was shackled with them, had learned to coordinate tiieir motions, if not smoothly, then without frequent mishap. In the darkness, however, it was no small feat for the men to shufiBe their way to the gate. Also eager to go, their companions struggled to their feet, but none dared dispute Haakon's right to be the first to leave.

  "Where's J0m?" Haakon whispered anxiously as he reached Brendan.

  "Erik will explain everything later," the Celt replied, determined to see that Erik received the major portion of the credit for his father's rescue. "I have the key. As soon as I remove your leg irons, walk through the gate, then wait just outside for me." As Brendan bent down to unlock the iron cuflFs encircling Haakon's ankles, he recalled vividly the humiliation of wearing chains. That was only one of the many crimes for which he intended to make Trom pay.

  It was too dark for him to make out Haakon's features or those of the men with him, but even so, Brendan got the distinct impression not only of height, but of strength as well. He assumed Haakon's crew would be as well disci-

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  plined as Jarald's and understand the necessity for stealth without being told, and he was not disappointed. Placing the key in an outstretched hand, he instructed the man to free himself and then pass on the key. Soon the key was moving from one shackled trio to the next with a steady rhythmj with each newly freed captive following the man ahead of him through the gate.

  When the last man had cast off his chains, Brendan led the Danes in a silent procession up the river and around a bend to where he had left his own men waiting. It was not until Haakon moved into the light of their lanterns that he realized they had been rescued by a group of total strangers. While Haakon surveyed the Celts with a confused mixture of relief and suspicion, Brendan took the time to study him.

  All he had heard of Dana's father had led him to expect someone of Jarald's robust build, but while Haakon was well over six feet in height, he was lean rather than stocky. His kirtle and breeches were ripped and stained, but his stance was still a proud one. His blond curls where touched with gray, as was his beard, but his blue-violet eyes were alight with a youthful curiosity. He was one of the handsomest men Brendan had ever seen, and he now realized that despite the difference in their coloring, Erik resembled him closely.

  '*Who are you?" Haakon demanded, not pleased at being observed so intently.

  Readily understanding the man's confusion, Brendan again introduced himself as a friend of Erik's, then continued, "I am Brendan, a prince of the Dal Cais, and these are some of my people. We have come to put an end to Trom and his evil band. You and your men may either wait here to stay out of our way, or if you want to join us, we can supply you with the weapons to do so."

  '*Erik would have mentioned a prince had he met one," Svien announced as he stepped forward to regard Brendan with a decidedly skeptical stare. "He has no friends that I don't know."^^

  Svien was blond like his father and, Uke Soren, had inherited his mother's blue eyes. He was also a handsome

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  man despite his filthy attire. His challenge brought a smile to Brendan's lips, for it reminded him of something Dana might say to a stranger. "He does now," the Celt assured him with an engaging grin. "At dawn he and Jarald will move into Trom's camp from the river, while my men and I will enter the way we just came. What is your choice? I know Trom has treated you badly. If you lack the strength to fight, none of us will think you cowards."

  That comment was greeted with such loud protests Brendan had to raise his hands in a plea for silence. "How many men does Trom have with him now?"

  "No more than a hundred," Haakon replied.

  As they talked, Brendan had hurriedly counted the Danes. Including Haakon and Svien, there were forty-two. He was certain they had left Fyn with more, but knowing how cruel Trom was, he thought it remarkable so many had survived. He had found nearly that many among his people eager to fight Trom, and counting the men with Jarald, it would be nearly an even match. Jarald and Erik would be surprised to see he had freed the captive Danes without waiting for them, but he had feared a bloody brawl where many might lose their lives if the prisoners were not free to fight at the outset. Besides, having Haakon's men on his side at the start of the attack greatly improved his chances of killing the pirate who had caused him so much torment.

  "Trom's men are like vermin," Brendan
said, and there was an outpouring of far more insulting terms from the Danes. "Without their leader they'll swiftly scatter. It's only Trom I want. What you do with the others won^t matter, but you mustn't set any fires. We don't want "to make any of the Norsemen in Limerick curious enough to come downriver to find out why Trom's camp is in flames."

  As they continued to plot how best to surprise the sleeping pirates at dawn, Haakon eyed the confident Celt with growing admiration. Brendan impressed him as a man of his word, and he did not doubt that he would fight Trom to the death. The outcome of such a match was by no means certain, however. "I'll give vou the first chance to kill

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  Trom, but if you're wounded, I'll push you aside and finish him off myself. Now where are these weapons of which you spoke?"

  "He'll not harm me," Brendan replied, but rather than argue the issue further, he distributed what weapons they had to share. *'We mean to open the storehouse where Trom has your belongings, so do not complain if these swords and axes are not as fine as your own, because you'll soon have them."

  Just as J0m had predicted, Brendan had found his people eager to welcome the help of Danes to defeat the Norse pirates, and none had shared his fear that they might prove themselves to be every bit as aggressive and abusive once the Norsemen were gone. While Brendan still harbored that worry himself, it was a risk he was willing to take to rid his homeland of Trom.

  Once everyone was armed, Brendan led them back to the pirates' camp. There was not a sentry left alive at his post to sound an alarm, and moving into position, they waited for the dawn to provide enough light for them to discern fiiend from foe. As they had planned, when Jarald gave the call of an owl, Brendan cupped his hands to his mouth to make the reply. He went forward then, intent upon slaying the villain who had sold him into slavery.

  Had Trom not been a clever man, he would not have survived in such a dangerous profession for as long as he had. Awakened to the unmistakable sounds of an attack, he grabbed up his sword and ran to the door. When he found Brendan standing on the other side, his blue eyes aglow with a demonic gleam, he let out a piercing howl and with a savage lunge made a wild attempt to hack him in two.

  Brendan had never expected Trom to surrender meekly, for he knew the man relished a fight, but he was determined to end this battle as the victor. He had been a fine warrior at twenty-three, but three years of hard labor had given him a physical toughness as enduring as the heavy steel blade he swung with both hands. He had seen the light of recognition in Trom's pale blue eyes, and knew he now regretted

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  Sparing his life, but the pirate's resulting anger only served to feed the Celt's determination to see him dead.

  The clang of their swords resounding with the force of their mighty blows, Trom and Brendan moved in a tight circle, leaving the front of the house for the open space in the center of the camp. All around them other men fought, for the Danes wanted every Norseman responsible for their capture dead, while Erik, Jarald, and his crew advanced from the river, blocking all hope the pirates had of escape.

  Relentless in his pursuit of satisfaction, Brendan fought with a deadly precision. When Trom began to tire, the fierceness of the Celt's craving for revenge gave him the stamina to increase the tempo of his attack. He watched terror fiU the pirate's eyes as he realized he was beaten. Trom continued to fight, for he possessed a tenacious streak that would not allow him to beg for mercy from a man he already knew would show him none. Attempting a retreat, he staggered backward, but clumsy with fatigue, he tripped over his own feet and fell. Without the slightest hesitation, Brendan drove the point of his sword through the fallen man's chest, and the hatred that had consumed him for three long years finally found its release. There was no time to savor that joy, however, with blood and curses flying aU around him.

  Erik had fought beside Jarald, moving ft-om the docks toward the center of the pirate's stronghold, but when he saw that the burly Dane intended to swing his sword into Brendan's back, he slammed into him hard enough to make his blow go wide. He then shouted a warning to Brendan, who whirled around in time to block Jarald's next blow.

  Brendan had expended a great deal of energy defeating Trom, but he despised Jarald and welcomed the opportunity to fight him. This battle was nearly as fierce as die one he had waged with the pirate, but fortunately Jarald had already fought several men too and he wasn't able to summon his fall strength either.

  When he found no one left standing to fight, Haakon joined those watching Brendan and Jarald, but he could not understand why the two men would want to kill each

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  Other. When Erik stepped to his side, obviously worried about the outcome of the match, he tried to ask him about the bout, but he could not be heard over the din of the crowd.

  Finding Brendan to be a far tougher opponent than he had imagined, Jarald used Haakon's arrival to a quick advantage. Moving back out of Brendan's reach, he shouted to the man he had come to save. *'This slave is Dana's lover, and he doesn't deserve to live! Help me kill him!"

  *'A slave? He called himself a prince!" Haakon raised his blade, trusting a man he knew well rather than one he had just met, but again Erik stepped forward to protect Brendan. The bravery of that move so impressed Haakon that he lowered his sword to his side.

  Svien pushed his way to the front then, shoving the men who stood between him and his father aside. *'We have gained our freedom. What is the point in fighting each other?"

  Jarald had to take several deep gulps of air before he spoke, but he then denounced Brendan as an arrogant slave who had seduced Dana and then abandoned her. "I've already punished Dana," he declared proudly, ''and I meant to punish him as well."

  Both Erik and Brendan went after Jarald at that taunt, and dodging their bloodstained blades, Haakon and Svien summoned several men from their crews to pry the combatants apart. *'I want the truth," Haakon demanded when he gained control of the volatile situation. '*Now who knows it?"

  Thinking that as a neutral party his word would be believed, Erik attempted to explain his half sister's involvem^it with Brendan, but he could not deny she had taken a slave for a lover. When he saw he had succeeded only in infuriating Haakon, he quickly gave up the effort to champion his sister's cause. *'Dana can speak for herself. She'll be thrilled to see you and Svien are safe. Let's go and tell her tiiat you are."

  Haakon was astounded to hear Dana had accompanied die men on their rescue mission, and he wanted to see her, but he first ordered his crew to search the pirates' lair for valuables of any kind, ''Divide tihem with the men who

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  t

  came to help us escape, for the rightful owners of anything Trom had here are undoubtedly dead." That matter out of the way, he took the precaution of disarming both Jarald and Brendan before he allowed Erik to lead the way back to the cove where they had camped.

  Putting his time to good use, Jarald reminded Haakon that he had wanted to wed his eldest daughter, and insisted that he still did despite her indiscretions that summer. ''She is a delightful young woman and I love her still. When I'm her husband she'll have no need for otiier men," he boasted proudly.

  Haakon exchanged a worried glance with Svien, for nothing anyone had said about Dana had made the slightest sense to him. When they reached the sheltered bay where die Seahawk lay at anchor, he called Dana's name, but she failed to appear. "Well, where is she?"

  Jarald went immediately to her tent, but finding it empty, he shrugged innocently. ''We told her to wait here for us."

  *'How did you punish her?" Brendan asked accusingly. "Just what did you do to her?" He cursed his own stupidity at leaving the woman he loved in the same camp with a man neither of them trusted. Erik had been there, but apparently he had seen nothing. Brendan was furious with himself for not sharing Dana's story about Grena with Erik so he would have kept a better watch on the man.

  "How many women do you n
eed, Jarald? Wasn't Grena enough for you?" the Celt shouted when the man didn't reply to his earlier questions.

  "What has Grena got to do with this?" Haakon inquired. "I thought it was Dana you wished to wed.'*

  Jarald regarded Brendan with a truly murderous gaze. "Grena is a lonely widow who begged me to enliven an afternoon. It's Dana I intend to wed, and I'll not allow a slave to stand in my way!"

  With a sudden flash of insight, Brendan realized how great an enemy Jarald truly was. "You were trying to kill me, weren't you? The fire at Erik's wasn't meant to destroy his house at all, only to roast me alive!" He lunged for Jarald's throat, meaning to choke the last

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  breath of life from him, but Svien and Haakon managed to pull him back.

  In the midst of the confusion, Erik spotted Dana at the edge of the forest, leaning against a tree, barely able to stand. '^There's Dana!" he called excitedly, but even at a distance he could see she was seriously hurt. He ran to her, then slid to a halt, appalled by her bruised and battered appearance.

  "Did Jarald do that to you?" he asked as he tried to find a way to gather her into his arms without causing her any additional pain.

  Not wanting to risk another confrontation with Jarald unarmed, Dana had crawled into the woods to find her knife. She had the weapon clutched tightly in her hand, but knew she lacked the strength to plunge it into Jarald*s heart. "Don't let Jarald near me," she whispered softly, and enfolded in Erik's arms, she gave in to the pain that racked her slender body and slipped back into the welcoming peace of unconsciousness.

  When Dana awoke, she found herself lying on a bed of fiirs in a dimly lit dwelling, but unlike her home, this one was round. Hearing the sound of masculine voices, she turned toward them and found her father, Svien, Erik, and Brendan seated around the hearth in the center of the circular room. They were sipping what was obviously not their first tankard of ale, and she was annoyed to think they had nothing better to do than get drunk when she felt as though every bone in her body had been broken. She was about to call out to them, meaning to scold them for neglecting her so shamefully, when her father began to speak. Sensing that what he was about to impart was important, she held her tongue.