He held up his hand, stopping her. ‘I know about her. She vanished along with all her things a little under three months ago. According to Gorm, her mother has no idea where she is.’
‘And you don’t find it odd?’
‘Why?’
‘If Thorbin felt she had stolen from him, he would have destroyed her family. Look at what he attempted to do to my family simply because Malcolm didn’t address him in the right manner.’
Sigurd nodded. ‘True.’
‘Thorbin knew where she went, you mean.’ Liddy’s stomach roiled. ‘You mean she is dead...in that grove. Have you searched it?’
‘Not the grove. It has been checked. And the priest values his life.’ Sigurd’s face became hard. ‘He found reason to show me where each was sacrificed. There have been no sacrifices in the grove for six months.’
‘Someone will know what happened to her, but they may not know that they know. If we can find out what happened to her, we may find the gold.’
‘Little things again.’
‘It always is. I mean to find the gold. I have no desire to remain a slave.’
‘You are impressive, Lady Eilidith, king’s daughter.’
The way he said it, it was not exactly a term of endearment.
Liddy made a cutting gesture. ‘Please, the title ended a long time ago. And my father was a very minor king.’
‘Once the daughter of a king, always one, in my experience.’
She thought then of his mother as the shadows appeared in his eyes. Had being a king’s daughter been the one thing she’d clung to? Certainly her son was arrogant. Liddy corrected her thoughts—not arrogant, because he fulfilled his promises. But he moved with a certain assurance and he had played his half-brother with finesse. She had to hope that the islanders realised their new lord was not as lazy as the old one. She also hoped he was wrong and they did not have to fear any more Northern incursions.
Liddy pinched the bridge of her nose. There was little point in trying to dissuade him.
‘Where do you expect me to sleep? We have our agreement after all. I would hardly like to deprive you of such a place. I’ve kept the servants out in case it still needed to be searched.’
‘You sleep where I sleep.’
Her heart clunked against her chest. It would be too much to hope for that he wouldn’t sleep there for two nights in a row. ‘But...’
‘It suits my purpose. Do I have to explain everything? If you like, I will carry you out of the hall when your bedtime comes. Or you may walk. But you will end up where I want you to be.’
One of his men called to him about the possible finding of an iron-bound chest in a barn. He moved rapidly away without a backwards glance, leaving her to stare open-mouthed in his wake while several of the giggling maids nudged each other.
Liddy clenched her fists. Two could play at this game. ‘I will walk. I retain the use of my limbs and we shall see who can sleep in that chamber.’
The other women nudged each other and hastily pretended to be doing something else.
‘Is there a problem?’
‘You are right,’ Mhairi said. ‘He is nothing like Thorbin.’
* * *
The great hall rang with the sounds of men laughing and telling tales in front of a roaring fire. The women were busy serving food and ale and exchanging banter with his men.
Sigurd closed his eyes and savoured the moment. His hall and his men. It was a far cry from the day when he’d run barefoot from the baying mob with only a short sword and bow. He’d made this happen and it was all the sweeter for having vanquished Thorbin. He would keep it. Ketil would approve his jaarlship and he could think about his next conquest. Islay was merely a stepping stone. He would hold his course and steer true towards his destiny.
Tomorrow would bring the remainder of his men and the takeover would be complete. The youth who had lived with the pigs was the jaarl of all he surveyed. But there was something hollow in the victory. He had rarely felt as alone. The men were joking and laying foolish wagers about their strength, but the enormous weight of responsibility lay on his shoulders.
Sigurd glanced towards where Liddy had just returned to the hall. All evening she had flitted here and there, rarely standing still like the butterfly she sported on her face. He frowned. The vivacious woman of two days ago had become a pale grey ghost. Weariness was etched on her brow. Not so much butterfly as wilting flower. He motioned to her.
As if she had been watching out for him, she came over with a jug of mead. ‘Your cup is empty. That should not be happening, not at this feast.’
He laughed. ‘What is so special about this feast?’
She ducked her head. ‘It is only what I would do for any honoured guest in my household. You asked me to behave as if I ran this household and I have.’
He covered her hand with his and felt it tremble beneath his. For someone who had sparred with Thorbin, she appeared remarkably ill at ease. ‘But I appreciate the care. It has been a long time since someone cared enough to pay attention to my mead.’
‘I will bear that in mind. I had best go.’ Her gold wrist shackle caught his sleeve and sent the mead flying. She gave a soft curse.
All the noise stopped and everyone turned their heads towards them, expecting him to explode. It was as if the entire room held its breath.
‘Stay.’
Sigurd calmly reached for the goblet, righted it and poured himself another glass. The noise rose again.
She checked her movement and peered up at him. Despite the weariness of her face, her eyes blazed. ‘A command? From master to slave?’
‘A request. I share the blame. Any other warrior, well...who knows how they would react.’ He patted to the bench beside him. ‘Sit beside me. You are a puzzle, Liddy.’
‘Liddy is for my friends. You are now my master.’
‘Fithrildi, then.’
She rested her hand on her chin. ‘I don’t know the word.’
‘Butterfly.’ He leant forward and removed her hand from her face. ‘Like the mark you keep trying to cover up.’
‘It is ugly.’
‘I don’t find butterflies ugly, do you?’
She looked at him from under her lashes with blazing storm-sea eyes. ‘You may call me Liddy after all. Once you get to know me, you will see that I am not the butterfly type. I am more like the humble ant. Useful rather than pretty to look at.’
‘You do yourself a disservice.’ He tugged at her hand and she tumbled into his lap. ‘You will sit. I command it.’
She hurriedly scrambled off his lap as his men started cheering. Coll gave a loud howl from where he sat contentedly munching a bone under the table.
‘Please.’
‘Very well, sit beside me. Let someone else worry about the mead.’
Liddy gratefully sank down next to him. Fighting him no longer seemed so important. Her back ached and her arms were tired. She hadn’t slept properly since the news of her father’s arrest.
Around her the room buzzed, cocooning her, and the warmth of the bodies had increased the temperature from earlier. Her eyelids began to close. She leant a little towards Sigurd’s chest. Sigurd said something and a wave of coarse laughter rippled around the table. The sound was enough to jerk her awake.
Everyone stared at her. She covered her mouth and wondered briefly if she’d snored.
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.’ She automatically pasted on a smile and reached for the jug of mead. It trembled in her hand. Some of the liquid spilt on the table. She gave a soft curse and tried to clean it up.
‘That is enough, Liddy.’ He took the jug from her fingers and placed it on the table. ‘You are no good to me like that.’
The brush of his fingers sent a jolt through her. She n
arrowed her eyes. ‘Like how?’
The last thing she wanted was to be attracted to this man. She was going to win their wager. He might think that she would fall into his arms, but she was made of stronger stuff. She knew that type of man, intimately—all soft words and teasing until you were under his power.
Brandon had been like that, so sure and certain that all of womankind would fall at his feet if he so much as crooked a finger. And yet he’d had little regard for his lawful wife’s feelings. She was supposed to understand that she was the mother of his children and his wife. All the other women meant nothing to him. And the boat had capsized, the boat which Brandon swore would never capsize. After that, he had not bothered to hide his contempt.
‘You go now. Off to my chamber. I will join you there later.’
All her tiredness vanished. ‘I... I...am fine.’
‘I dislike it when my dinner companions fall asleep in their food. It tends to mean they are exhausted and not fit for the purpose.’ He made a little shooing motion. ‘Coll is ready for his new sleeping quarters. Humour me.’
Coll gave a thump of his tail.
‘I have found somewhere else to sleep, more convenient for me as I am to be supervising the refurbishment of the hall,’ she said concentrating on the jug. She knew her face had flushed crimson. She only hoped that Sigurd would think it had to do with the heat in the hall, rather than the image of them sharing a bedchamber and what could happen there or rather what wouldn’t happen there.
He banged his palm on the table. ‘Go to my bed.’
‘Is this how Northmen behave? Changing their minds when it suits them? I thought you were a man of honour,’ she said, glaring back at him.
His eyes darkened. ‘Are you afraid to be alone with me? It says little for your resolve.’
She lifted her chin, but inwardly she seethed. ‘My resolve remains as it ever was.’
The shadowy dimple returned, playing on the corner of his mouth. ‘I see.’
‘You understand nothing.’ Liddy didn’t know who she was more irritated with—herself for being attracted to him or him for guessing. And it didn’t matter where she slept. He’d promised not to use force. She would remain unwilling, except the incessant rebellious part called her liar. That part wanted to explore the kiss they had shared and it seemed to be growing with every passing breath.
His voice lowered to a deep purr. ‘Or would you prefer that I carried you? A demonstration for the other women that I am taken?’
His voice slid down her spine, doing strange things to her insides. ‘When you put it like that, who am I to argue? I’ll leave immediately.’
‘Who are you indeed?’ He turned back towards one of his men and began a conversation about the state of the harbour.
Giving small thanks for a reprieve, Liddy beat a hasty retreat.
* * *
The small chamber was no more inviting now than it had been when she left it this early morning. Last night she had hunkered down in a corner, waiting for Sigurd who never came. Tonight, she needed to be more positive.
There was a distinct smell of damp about the bedding and there was no way she could sleep on that. She tore the bedding off the bed and put it out of the door. A large cloud of dust rose making her sneeze.
‘I am not sleeping in that bed. Fleas,’ Liddy muttered. ‘That’s my story and I am sticking to it.’
She made a nest on the cold flags with her cloak and overgown. She laid her belt and eating knife to one side before she carefully did her hair into a loose plait. Little familiar routines which somehow took on a new significance. Coll whined slightly and nudged her arm. She put an arm about him and tried to ignore the golden shackles glinting in the faint light.
‘This is only temporary, Coll. I will regain my freedom. He can do what he likes to me. I did obey him by going to his bedchamber. But we do have an agreement—no kisses unless I specifically ask for them. I will demonstrate that I am less easily won than he seems to think. As if I’m supposed to melt because he calls me something ridiculous like butterfly.’
She cupped her hand over the birthmark which suddenly did not seem as big as it had done. ‘Maybe he is right. Maybe I have been making too much of it.’
Coll gave a deep woof of agreement and she wished that she had as much confidence in her abilities as Coll seemed to.
Chapter Seven
Sigurd knew the dream the instant it began. He had experienced it a thousand times, but usually not with such vivid clarity.
Warm luscious curves pressing against him and long limbs wrapped about his body. His mouth covering hers, drawing substance from her lips. Her body responding to his, welcoming him.
He knew the dream and relaxed into its pleasure, all the while knowing that no one yet had matched his dream woman. In all the time he had been dreaming it, he had never once seen her face. At first he didn’t want to, fearing it might prove to be Beyla’s, but now he was past caring. He accepted the mysterious woman. However, this time a gold light infused the dream and the woman half-turned to him. Her blue-green eyes were heavy with passion.
In the dim light, he could see a butterfly perched just below her lower lip.
Recognition thudded through him. Liddy.
A small cry shocked him out of the dream. His body thrummed with unspent desire.
The real Liddy, not the dream one, lay several feet from him on the hard stone. She cried again in her sleep and her hands flailed against the thin cloak. In the dim light, her cheeks sparkled with silent tears. Something tightened deep in Sigurd’s gut. He wanted to take them away.
At his movement, Coll gave a small whine.
‘It’s all right, boy,’ Sigurd said softly. ‘I have this one.’
He heaved himself up from the roll of blankets he’d been sleeping on. He retrieved the fur-lined cloak that he’d earlier spread over her and tucked it more firmly about her body.
Instantly her thrashing stopped and her lips curved up into tiny smile.
‘Sweet dreams,’ he whispered.
* * *
Liddy woke with a start on the cold floor with her cheek resting on Coll. Sunlight streamed in from the narrow slit in the wall, hitting her eyes. Earlier she knew she had been dreaming of the day when the boat had overturned, throwing both Keita and Gilbreath into the water. She had worked hard to save both them and the nursemaid, but this time they kept slipping from her grasp.
The dream had been getting worse and worse as the coldness of the loch seeped into her and started to drag her down. Suddenly she had been covered in a great warmth and a thousand butterflies enveloped her. Keita and Gilbreath waved at her and faded as the butterflies bore her up, freeing her from the ice-cold tomb. Warm arms reached out to embrace her. Liddy woke with a start.
It took a few heartbeats before recent events flooded back. The fight. Her father’s betrayal. Her slavery. And this—sleeping in the same room with a Northman who once he discovered what she was truly like would destroy her.
Sweat drenched her body. A thin grey light filled the room. She lay there for a moment, trying to come back to earth and to forget the dream she had just had.
There was no hope for it. Sigurd had started to invade her dreams. And when he invaded her bed, she knew any foolish hope of romance or love with Sigurd would end.
The dream about Brandon had been a warning. She, too, had thought him wonderful. His kisses were sweet and then the wedding night happened and nothing she could do would please him. It had turned out to be a lie so that he could get her dower lands with the trees to fashion his unsinkable boats.
Someone had spread a heavy cloak over her in the middle of the night. A faint but not unpleasant masculine scent rose from it and held her in its embrace.
She hugged her knees to her chest. The shackles were less heavy this
morning. She twisted one, noticing its intricate design.
‘You are awake. Finally.’ Sigurd’s voice rolled over her and made her body tingle anew.
She turned her head. In the dull light she could make out his shape. He occupied a bedroll close to where she had collapsed earlier. He sat up and the fur cloak slid off of him, revealing his chest. A silver cross on a chain rested on his naked muscle.
‘You wear a cross?’
‘In memory of my mother.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Interesting that you noticed.’
Liddy gulped hard and hurriedly looked away. Her hand curled and she could almost feel the warm muscles of his chest sliding under her fingertips.
‘You didn’t sleep on the bed.’ Her voice came out more breathless than she intended.
‘I spotted the flea-ridden bundle you had placed outside the door. A wise precaution.’ There was a faint shuffling noise and she hoped it meant that he was covering up. Cowardly she kept her gaze away from him. ‘I’ve slept in worse places than on a stone floor.’
‘I left you the bed frame and a blanket,’ she said, trying to concentrate on the wall, rather than glancing at his chest again, but she knew she faced a losing battle.
‘When I sleep on a frame, I prefer to have feather bedding and furs and a distinct lack of fleas.’ He stretched and his torso rippled. ‘It adds to the comfort. When my trunks arrive, you will discover the difference.’
Her mind conjured the image of Sigurd, leaning back against the soft fur, naked, inviting her to join him. Her mouth went dry. She hastily swallowed. Simply because she was physically attracted to the man did not mean she had to do anything about it. Or that it would happen. She hastily touched her birthmark.
‘I will take your word for it.’
‘Have you ever slept on furs, Liddy?’
‘I’m not in the habit of discussing my bed arrangements with strange men.’
‘I will take it as a no.’ He lowered his voice to a velvet purr. ‘Given that we have spent several nights together, I would hardly call us strangers.’
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