The Viking Prince

by Sarah Woodbury

  With Holm gone again, Cait stepped out the shadows. “I would never say so to Holm, but trading goods aren’t the only valuable items Rikard might not have wanted anyone to know about. The same could be said for secrets.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. We are all living proof.” Godfrid grimaced. “I am most concerned that the traitor you mentioned killed him for those very secrets.”

  Cait nodded. “And the reason Rikard wrote your name in the dirt, my lord, was to warn you that your secrets were no longer yours alone.”

  Before today, Cait had seen Godfrid only once, the day after she arrived in Dublin. He clearly had no memory of it, but she’d been working her loom when he’d come to the warehouse looking for Rikard. After he left, she’d asked one of her fellow weaver women, Deirdre, about him and been regaled with all manner of stories of his life. Since then, Godfrid’s name had tripped off Deirdre’s tongue a time or two, always with respect and a morsel of lust. Cait had admired Godfrid’s figure as he’d passed her loom, and having herself finally spoken today to the man, Cait was looking forward to telling Deirdre about him.

  Initially, Cait had resolved to maintain a certain detachment from everyone in Rikard’s household, the same detachment with which she had conducted her life since she’d left her father’s house, having found it unwise to become emotionally invested in anyone outside her own family. While she wouldn’t have wished death on Rikard, he’d treated her well only because he knew who she was. It was the other slaves who’d embraced her and taken her into their hearts as a friend and companion.

  In Deirdre’s case, raiders had taken her as a little girl from her home in northern Scotland. Now nearing sixty, she’d been a slave in Dublin virtually her entire life. She was of an age with Rikard, who had inherited her from his father. Because of her difficult life, she could have been despairing, but she maintained a quiet acceptance of her fate and entertained herself with gossip, her grasp of which was more extensive than anyone Cait had ever met.

  The thought of her friend made her frown. Though an inveterate gossip, Deirdre hadn’t been in evidence today, which was unusual to say the least. At a minimum, she should have been bobbing around the front steps of the warehouse, gathering whatever information she could from whomever she could. If there was news to learn, normally Deirdre couldn’t be kept away. And if Cait hadn’t been so distracted by Rikard’s death and everything that had come with it, she would have thought of her friend sooner.

  “Holm is doing what he can, but I can’t talk to him about any of this, and thus, I need to keep significant amounts of information from him. If I am to discover how and why Rikard died, I am going to need help.” Godfrid looked from Cait to Conall and back again. “Your help.”

  “You have mine, as you know,” Conall said immediately. “But Cait is done.” And as Cait opened her mouth to protest, he moved closer to her. “You must go now. Run straight to my house and stay put until I get there. With Rikard dead or missing, you can’t stay here. It’s time for you to come home.” And then he said under his breath, though Cait overheard, “—long past time.”

  “What? What are you saying?” she replied in a fierce whisper. Rather than obedience, his command had produced the opposite effect to what he’d intended, something he couldn’t have been surprised about.

  Still, Conall tried again, taking her by the upper arms and looking into her eyes. “It’s over, Cait.”

  “It isn’t, Conall. I can be of help here. What is the point of any of this if I leave just at the moment when my knowledge can be of real use? I can help you discover who ransacked the warehouse and why Rikard is dead.”

  “No, Cait.” Conall shook his head vigorously. “You can’t precisely because Rikard is dead. I will not risk you as a slave of this household even another hour longer.”

  Godfrid put out a hand to Conall. “I don’t mean to intrude on your business, Conall, but surely we can use her. She knows far more about the workings of Rikard’s business than either you or I. If there’s a traitor among his servants, now isn’t the time to have Cait go missing.”

  Cait felt a frisson of satisfaction at Godfrid’s support and that he was willing to listen to her with actual interest. For the last few weeks she’d been cultivating the submissive posture of an enslaved woman, and it felt good to throw it off, if only in the presence of Conall and Godfrid, and stand upright again. In the three weeks she’d been a weaver woman for Rikard, she’d grown tired of being continually ignored or dismissed—though no amount of torture would drag that admission out of her in front of Conall. Spying was all very well and good if one was a man, an ambassador—and nephew to a king—who could live and do as he pleased. It was quite another thing to become a slave girl.

  At the same time, throughout her stay in Dublin, she had felt a certain degree of satisfaction in the way she had managed to be barely seen and never heard, and she’d been right when she’d argued to Conall that a slave girl was the perfect cover for a spy. The others with whom she’d been housed had not known her identity, and that meant that, in front of them, she had to be treated as they were, and their lot had been hers. While she hadn’t witnessed any beatings, and for the most part all of Rikard’s slaves had known their jobs and done them well, it had been a strain to be continually viewed by everyone in the community as something less: unfree and of the lowest social class imaginable.

  That false face was harder still to maintain because it was the exact opposite of her true station. While her people kept slaves, and she’d known slaves all her life, until she’d become one of them, she’d had no idea what it might be like to walk a while in their shoes. And yet, as a beautiful woman, she’d been underestimated all her life, and to some degree, she couldn’t decide if she was more invisible when she wore her head covering or when she didn’t.

  Conall jerked his head at Godfrid. “You don’t understand.”

  In reply, Godfrid turned his hands palm up. “Evidently not.”

  As the two men turned on each other, this time in a real argument, Cait backed away. “We should close the vault, don’t you think? And we should leave a guard on the warehouse to protect everything inside.”

  Godfrid glanced over at her, momentarily distracted, as she’d intended, from his dispute with Conall. “My men will stay. If anything were to be stolen, we would be answerable to Sanne and Arno.”

  Her eyes still on Godfrid, Cait reached for the edge of the trapdoor. But before she could lower it to the floor, the rear door to the warehouse banged open, and she jerked around to see a man she didn’t know entering. He was about her age, with the blond hair and sunburned skin of someone who’d spent his life on the sea. “You there! What are you doing?”

  Instinctively, Cait recoiled at the anger in his voice and released the trapdoor, which closed with a bang. “I thought it best—”

  “You thought?” The man bore down on her. “Slaves aren’t here to think!”

  Instantly, Godfrid bounded forward, one arm coming around her waist and the other extended, palm out to hold the newcomer at bay. “I suggest you reconsider your tone.”

  Conall, meanwhile, moving nearly as quickly, intercepted the man before he could reach Godfrid or Cait and grasped his jacket by the lapels. Conall wasn’t a large man, but he could be menacing when he chose to be. “How dare you speak to my sister in such a fashion!”

  Beside her, Godfrid let out an audible gasp.

  Meanwhile, the newcomer’s face flushed right up to the hairline. “Your-your—” At first he appeared prepared to defend his rights to his last breath, but then his eyes strayed to Godfrid and widened. He swallowed down whatever retort he’d been about to make. “My lord Godfrid? Please, I didn’t know you were acquainted with this woman, or I would not have spoken thus to her!”

  Now it was Godfrid’s jaw that dropped, though not over Caitriona’s true identity. “Finn? Is that you?”

  “My lord, it is!”

  Cait would have demanded that Godfrid l
et her go, but whatever was happening here went beyond her momentary awkwardness.

  At the mention of the newcomer’s name, Conall released Finn, shoving him back slightly so he staggered. “This is Rikard’s son? I thought he was lost at sea.”

  “As you can see, I am found.” Finn spread his arms wide, regaining his confidence now that he’d been recognized and it appeared that nobody was going to harm him. Then he put his heels together and bowed to her. “I apologize, madam. I thought you were a slave and that you were interfering in my father’s affairs.” His glance went to Godfrid. “My lord, she is wearing a slave collar.”

  “A fact I will remedy right now.” Godfrid pulled a ring of keys from an inner pocket of his clothing and, his arm still around Cait’s waist, guided her away from Finn and Conall.

  “Conall’s sister, eh?” he said, in an undertone as he went through several of the keys until he found the one that fit into the lock of Cait’s collar. “You couldn’t have told me sooner?”

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. “The farther down the road of not telling you we got, the harder it was to figure out the best way to explain, and I knew how shocked you would be when we told you the truth.”

  “I am shocked.” Godfrid slipped the collar off her neck.

  “Don’t blame Conall. I was the one who talked him into letting me become his spy.” She rubbed her throat, feeling where the collar had cut in all these weeks. “In truth, I am not sorry to be rid of it.”

  “How are you siblings anyway?” Godfrid said. “I thought his father died when he was an infant.”

  “He did. We share a mother, King Diarmait’s sister.” Then she tugged at her head covering and shook out her hair, letting it spread out over her back and shoulders. She could do nothing about her rough clothing, but she hoped the fall of hair would distract anyone who wondered why Conall’s sister was so poorly dressed. “Where did you get the key?”

  “I took the ring from Rikard’s pocket while your brother was greeting Holm. I had a feeling that I might need them, and I didn’t want to risk them being appropriated by somebody else. Before too much time passes, or anyone asks where his keys have disappeared to, we must determine what these others unlock.”

  Conall, meanwhile, was still glaring at Finn, his hands clenched into fists. “How is it that you are here?”

  Finn wet his lips, his eyes skating from Conall to Cait and Godfrid, who had his arm around Cait’s waist again as he guided her back towards the center of the floor. He had returned the keys to his pocket, and he held the slave collar behind his back. “You have the advantage of me, I’m afraid. You know who I am, but while I recognize Prince Godfrid, I don’t know who you are. Please forgive my terrible manners, but I have returned after two years’ absence to learn that my father, who I have so longed to see, is dead.”

  Conall subsided at the apology. “I am Lord Conall, Leinster’s ambassador to the throne of Dublin. This is my sister, Caitriona.”

  “Their mother is King Diarmait’s sister,” Godfrid added helpfully.

  Finn made a sweeping gesture to encompass the warehouse. “It is true, then, what they are saying? My father really is dead? I heard them speaking of it on the docks and again when I was examined at the gate just now.”

  “Yes,” Godfrid said. “I’m very sorry.”

  “He was murdered?”

  Godfrid tipped his head to imply uncertainty. “We can’t be sure of anything yet. We found him dead in his vault.”

  Finn looked away, blinking his eyes rapidly, seemingly trying to regain control of himself. When he next looked back to Godfrid, however, his eyes were clear. “Am I to understand that this blood everywhere is his?”

  Cait saw no reason to remain silent and spoke freely. “That, at least, was mistakenly reported. What you see is predominantly wine.”

  Finn’s head swung her way, and he appeared to really see her for the first time. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to freshen it and make herself look like she belonged in Godfrid and Conall’s company.

  Godfrid squeezed her waist, and though she didn’t look up at him, she was pretty certain he was glowering at Finn. Ever since she was fifteen years old, Cait’s appearance had affected virtually every man she encountered. Conall had once accused her of being a hypocrite, first to complain that her looks made it difficult for anyone to take her seriously, but then to use her appearance to dazzle when it suited her. He wasn’t wrong, but in this case, she felt no guilt whatsoever.

  Finn bowed one more time. “Again, please accept my humblest apologies for any misunderstanding.”

  Then the front door to the warehouse slammed open, and men’s boots thudded on the floor. They all turned to see Holm reentering the warehouse, several of his men in tow. He didn’t look happy.

  Godfrid spoke low in her ear. “Time to look like you belong here.”

  If Godfrid hadn’t still had his arm around her waist, Cait would have responded by fading towards the back wall. Her collar had come off so suddenly, they hadn’t concocted a plan for dealing with Holm—or King Ottar, for that matter, were he to discover that King Diarmait had inserted her into his midst as a spy.

  “The king has asked for a full report—” Holm broke off from what he’d been about to say—not because he’d caught sight of Cait, but rather because Finn had started towards him.

  The two men stared at each other, both open-mouthed, and then they laughed and met in the center of the hall for an enormous hug.

  Finn pounded Holm on the back. “My brother. It is so good to see you.” Then he stepped back to look Holm up and down, admiring his chain of office. “You have done well for yourself.”

  Holm attempted a look of modesty and deflected the comment. “One of my men reported the arrival of a ship belonging to Rikard this morning but not who captained it!” He turned to the others, joy on his face. It made it hard for Cait to despise either of them. “It’s a miracle!” Then Holm caught sight of Cait. He blinked, and then glanced questioningly at Godfrid.

  Godfrid obliged with an introduction. “May I introduce Lord Conall’s sister, Caitriona.”

  Holm had no choice but to bow over her hand. “It is my pleasure, madam. I’m only sorry that our meeting is taking place under such unfortunate circumstances.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I came looking for my brother this morning and heard he was here. I didn’t know about the dead man, or of course I wouldn’t have entered the warehouse.”

  Conall smiled benignly. “I will escort her home shortly.”

  With her hair down, Holm appeared genuinely not to recognize her as the slave who’d been wailing the last time he’d come into the warehouse. And in the face of the utter certainty of Godfrid and Conall, Holm didn’t have the wherewithal to object to her presence and seemed relieved to turn back to Finn. “My friend, how is it that you are here?”

  Finn’s joyful expression dimmed. “It is a long story, which I will tell you in due course. Suffice to say, we arrived this morning after a lengthy journey.”

  She could feel a sudden intensity in Godfrid, who asked, “Is Dublin your first port of call in Ireland?”

  Finn glanced at him. “I went first to my father’s house in Wexford. When I left two years ago, he was spending most of his time there.” He gestured to the warehouse. “Obviously in my absence he moved the base of his operations to Dublin. Without my brother to oversee things here, perhaps he didn’t have a choice. I spent the night at our house in Wexford and returned to the boat the next morning. Sad to say, the wind wasn’t in our favor, so it took longer to get here than I’d hoped.” He looked down at his feet. “So much for my grand entrance.”

  His tone was mournful, and Cait didn’t take his comment as selfish so much as lamenting. Her heart softened towards him even more at the genuine grief she heard in his voice. Though she’d never been separated from her mother for more than a few months at a time, she knew well the excitement and anticipation of seeing her again after an absence, especi
ally if she hadn’t sent word that she was coming.

  Conall now looked at Holm. “Have you discovered anything about the men with whom Rikard met last night?”

  Even though Conall’s tone was relatively mild, Holm bristled.

  Cait had little or no patience with the way Danish men continually sized up every other man in the room, comparing intelligence and strength and telling themselves that they were worthy. Rikard, even though he was past sixty, a merchant, and no warrior, had been as bad as any other. Holm appeared to be equally so, his insecurities brought to the fore by his promotion to a position he was unable to properly execute. Even if Holm had tamped down his hostility towards Godfrid, any acknowledgement of another man’s abilities brought his own shortcomings into sharp relief.

  Sadly for him, between Godfrid and Conall, Holm didn’t stand a chance. Conall was always the smartest man in any room he entered. And Godfrid, for all that he was larger physically than any man had a right to be, wasn’t far behind.

  And as Conall raised his eyebrows at him, some part of Holm seemed to know it, since he subsided quickly, his shoulders fell, and his expression became more conciliatory. “Nobody saw anything.” Then Holm shook his head. “Slaves and dock men aren’t the most reliable witnesses. They like their mead and their sleep.”

  “And you found no evidence of another victim?” Godfrid asked.

  “Regretfully no.” Holm indicated the door with a tip of his head. “I have returned because the king has asked for an update. In this matter, as in any matter, I’d rather not keep him waiting.”

  Chapter Six

  Day One

  Godfrid

  Godfrid resisted the temptation to refuse the summons. Before his father’s death, refusal would have been his right, not that he would necessarily have done it then either, since refusal would have made him look petty. These days, with Godfrid’s father dead and Ottar confirmed as the sole King of Dublin, he was Godfrid’s king too. It was annoying to say the least.