The Viking Prince

by Sarah Woodbury

  Godfrid shrugged. “I don’t know. Thank you for your help.”

  With no more to ask, Godfrid left the gate and steered directly now towards Rikard’s own house. It was another place Godfrid had not yet visited, in large part because he hadn’t seen the point, since they’d already spoken to Arno, Sanne, and Finn. Now, Godfrid had something of a perverse desire to see how Finn was handling his transition from sailor, to prodigal son, to owner of his own business. He had certainly looked content yesterday in the company of Arno and Thorfin.

  Godfrid thought he had just enough time, an extra quarter of an hour or so by the toll of the bells, before he needed to return to the warehouse to collect Cait. And really, if Finn mentioned to Ottar that Godfrid had come to see him, Godfrid could explain that he’d merely stopped by to see how the grieving son was doing.

  Finn’s yard was bustling with servants, indicating that Finn was well on his way to making his father’s kingdom his own. Godfrid did not find his overt lack of grief endearing. Then again, when Godfrid’s father had died, Godfrid had endeavored to keep as busy as possible so he wouldn’t have time to think. Perhaps that’s all Finn was doing.

  Godfrid was a known friend of the household, so he was admitted into the yard without question by a harried stableman who was observing a boy walking a lame horse around the yard. It was a fine animal, as befitting one of the leading merchants of Dublin.

  “What happened?” Godfrid asked.

  “He put a foot wrong. It happens,” the stable man said. “His hock isn’t broken. With rest, he should be better tomorrow.”

  Then a servant opened the door to the hall and stood on the threshold, waiting for Godfrid so he could greet him courteously. Once inside, Godfrid had expected to find Finn triumphant, or occupied making his father’s house his own, or at the very least busy with paperwork. Instead, he found him sitting alone at the end of his long table in the main hall, having taken his father’s chair, drinking wine from a carafe that was more than half empty.

  At Godfrid’s approach, Finn should have risen to his feet out of respect, but instead he waved a hand and made an attempt at bowing from a seated position. “Welcome, my lord.” He articulated his words too carefully. “I have discovered that getting up would be unwise.”

  Godfrid gently moved the carafe another foot from Finn and then sat near the end of the table on a long bench. “You are very far gone for the sun being high in the sky. Perhaps I should take away your cup.”

  Finn gripped the cup in question more tightly, cradling it to his chest. “My father is dead.” His tone was belligerent, and not undeserved, since Godfrid had no right to stop him drinking in his own house.

  “I am aware, Finn.” Godfrid reached out a long arm and placed his hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Your father and I were very different in age, but I felt he was my friend. I am very sorry for your loss.”

  Finn took a long drink and set down the cup empty. He stretched forward for the carafe, but it was beyond his easy reach now, and Godfrid picked it up and moved it another few inches down the table, just to be safe. “You may have it, but only if you answer some questions for me first.”

  “What do you want to know?” Rather than protesting, Finn’s voice sounded resigned, with a touch of gloom.

  “Ask him when he really arrived in Dublin.”

  Godfrid had been so focused on Finn that he hadn’t noticed the front door opening. Now Conall strode towards him, Cait on his heels. At the sight of her, Godfrid rose to his feet again and approached. “I didn’t forget about you, I swear.”

  “I know you didn’t.” Cait put out a hand to him. “However, it was time to leave, and fortunately, as I stepped from the barracks door, Conall was passing by on his way here.”

  “How did you know where I was?” Godfrid asked.

  “I wasn’t looking for you.” Conall lifted his chin to point to Finn. “I was looking for him.”

  Cait grinned. “But we knew where you were anyway because several people mentioned you’d passed by on the way from the warehouse to here.”

  Conall had come to a halt at the far end of the table. “Tell us the truth this time.”

  “Why?” Finn said without asking what truth he was supposed to tell. “What good will it do? My father isn’t coming back.”

  “It might bring him justice.”

  Godfrid looked from Conall to Finn and back again. “Are you suggesting Finn killed his father?”

  His hands on his hips, Conall was glaring at Finn.

  Finn was drunk enough, however, that he could barely muster the appropriate amount of outrage. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Conall said flatly. “I spoke to a sailor who saw you board your ship just as it docked. You didn’t arrive in Dublin when you said you did.”

  Finn stared into his drink. When Godfrid had risen to speak to Cait, he’d reacquired the carafe and had poured himself another cup. While he wasn’t drinking it yet, he seemed to find its presence comforting.

  Cait sat on the bench where Godfrid had been sitting a moment earlier and leaned forward slightly, her hand placed gently on his arm. “Maybe you didn’t kill your father, but you do know more than you’re telling. The truth won’t bring your father back, but you will feel better if someone else knows what really happened.”

  Finn responded to her as he hadn’t to anyone else. He put down the cup, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. “You are both wrong and right. My father’s death was my fault, though I never intended him to die.”

  Conall didn’t object to Cait taking lead, and he even tempered his animosity enough to take a seat on the other side of the table. Godfrid moved to occupy the space on the bench next to Cait. Gareth would have recognized the importance of a moment when the truth was coming out, and all they had to do was not get in its way. This was one of those times.

  Finn was too absorbed in his own misery to care where anyone sat. “Stupid of me to think nobody noticed. Yes, the man speaks the truth. I arrived earlier, though not by much. I told you the truth when I said that we went first to Wexford. The next day, however, the winds weren’t in our favor, and I knew it would take longer to sail to Dublin than to ride. I took a horse from the stables.” He laughed mockingly. “It should have been quicker. As it was, the horse pulled up lame, and I ended up walking most of the way. I arrived in Dublin well after midnight.”

  Godfrid harrumphed under his breath. “The horse I saw in the yard. That’s the one you rode?”

  Finn nodded.

  Godfrid looked at Cait and Conall. “A guard at the western gate remembered a young man entering in the wee hours of the morning with a lame horse, though he said his name was Niklas.” He turned back to Finn. “That was you?”

  Finn nodded again. “I didn’t give my real name, since I wanted my arrival to be a surprise for my father.”

  “Then what happened?” Cait asked. “Naturally, the first thing you did was come here to wake the household and proclaim your resurrection.”

  “Of course. I left the horse in the care of the stableman, but the steward told me that the women were at the coming-of-age celebration at Arno’s house, and my father had gone to his warehouse. So I went there.” Finn chose to direct his next comment at Godfrid. “I found my father standing in the middle of his warehouse, alive, but Deirdre dead at his feet.”

  Conall, Cait, and Godfrid gasped in unison.

  “Rikard killed Deirdre?” Cait found her voice first.

  Finn snorted. “Of course he didn’t! Though I admit I initially thought the same, and I accused him of it. I’d spent two years anticipating our reunion, and I was on fire.” He eyed Godfrid again. “As you may know, we hadn’t parted on the best of terms.”

  Godfrid had known Finn his whole life, though he hadn’t been aware of him as a person until he came of age. Rikard had favored his eldest son, as most fathers did, and this younger son had resented that fact, as most sons did. “Then what happened?”
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br />   “My father was weeping and barely looked at me. It was like he didn’t even realize who I was. He kept saying, They killed her.”

  “Are we speaking of the men from Brega?” Conall asked. “Just like everyone thinks? You do accuse them after all?”

  Finn nodded, bleary from the drink and reliving the scene in his head. Then he blinked several times as if suddenly realizing to whom he was speaking. “Oh! You don’t know!”

  “What don’t we know?” Godfrid understood Finn’s grief and drunkenness, but the storytelling was more disjointed than he would have liked.

  Finn straightened in his seat and cleared his throat. “In recent months, my father has been the go-between for King Ottar and various potential allies. Sometimes they used his warehouse as a meeting place.”

  Godfrid and Conall had both known that, of course, but neither wanted to interrupt now that Finn appeared to putting his thoughts in order.

  “That night, one of Ottar’s men met with the men from Brega, the ones found dead by Holm’s pig. My father was supposed to leave them alone for their meeting, but he hid in his vault instead in order to overhear what they said to one another. Before they started talking, he didn’t know anything about who they were.”

  “Did the king ask him directly for this favor?” Godfrid asked.

  Finn gave a vigorous shake of his head which almost unbalanced him. “It was Sturla.”

  That was no surprise, but it was gratifying to hear his hunch confirmed anyway.

  “What did they talk about?”

  “A treaty between King Ottar and Prince Donnell O’Connor.” Then Finn pierced Godfrid with his gaze, belying his drunken state. “My father intended to report the results of the meeting to you.”

  Godfrid bowed his head. “He was a true friend.”

  Finn grimaced. “Unfortunately, Deirdre, who’d always been too curious for her own good, came prowling around the outside of the warehouse. Maybe one of the men heard her, or perhaps he’d gone outside to relieve himself and saw her. My father couldn’t say. Either way, she was brought inside. The Irishmen assumed she’d been sent to spy on them. They wanted to know for whom she was working. After they hit her, she told them she was one of Rikard’s slaves and that she had seen him enter the warehouse earlier in the evening and not come out.”

  “Your father overheard all this?” Cait’s hand was to her mouth. “Sturla stood by and watched?”

  “Though my father had arranged with Sturla for the meeting, he couldn’t say that it was he who’d come to meet with the Bregans. It was hard to hear down in the vault.”

  Godfrid frowned, remembering the conversation they’d overheard between Sturla and Jon, both of whom had been standing above them. Godfrid had heard them just fine, but perhaps Rikard’s hearing had no longer been what it once was.

  Then Finn began to weep. “When they began hurting Deirdre, my father wanted to come out of the vault, but he knew that if he did, likely they would hurt him too.”

  “Were they all speaking Danish?” Cait asked.

  Finn nodded. “Ottar’s man was furious at being spied upon, but instead of shouting, his voice grew quieter and deeper. He ordered the Bregans to search the warehouse from top to bottom to discover where my father had hidden himself. When they couldn’t find him, they killed Deirdre to prevent her from telling anyone what she’d seen.” He shuddered. “Ottar’s man had a voice like ice, and as Deirdre died, he said, Nöd kommer gammel Kierling til at trave.” Sometimes events compel a person to do what he’d rather not.

  At the last, Finn’s voice trembled, and he looked down at his hands. “All this my father told me in tears as he cradled Deirdre in his arms. He wanted to call the watch, but I talked him out of it. I had a better idea.”

  Godfrid let out a breath, finally understanding where this was going. “You went after the men from Brega? You killed them?”

  “They killed my mother!” Finn threw the words at them, and only afterwards did he appear to realize what he’d said.

  Nobody said anything for a moment, and then Godfrid said, “How long have you known Deirdre was your mother?”

  Finn looked into his cup. “Part of me always knew, but my father told me the truth when I was fifteen. He swore me to secrecy, of course. I couldn’t inherit anything from him if I was a bastard, and since I was his son, he saw no reason for anyone to know the truth.”

  “This is, of course, why you’ve kept silent about what really happened,” Conall said, speaking for the first time since Finn had started talking.

  “In part. I am determined to revenge myself on whoever King Ottar sent too, but without knowing his name, he is out of reach.”

  “Did you take anything from the men you killed?” Godfrid asked.

  Finn focused on Godfrid’s face. “One of them had a warrant for the death of your brother, my lord. I took that back to my father, but I couldn’t find the treaty they talked about. I searched their bodies as best I could, but it was dark, and I was in a hurry. Maybe it was in a boot. Maybe they had a third man with them who got away with it.” He frowned. “I have looked in the vault for the death warrant in order to give it to you, my lord, but I don’t know what my father did with it after I left him.”

  Cait reached for Finn’s arm again. “How did Deirdre end up in that alley?”

  “After I returned, we rolled her in sacking and left her there, thinking she would be found quickly.”

  “And your father? How did he die?”

  “When I left, he was heading down the stairs to hide the death warrant. At his request, I closed the trapdoor so nobody could come upon him unawares while he was looking for a hiding place.”

  “And the wine poured on the floor?”

  Finn scoffed. “A full carafe had been left on a table for the visitors to enjoy while they talked. Before I left, I poured myself a cup. But as I turned, I knocked over the carafe with my elbow, and the wine spilled everywhere. I called down to my father to tell him what I’d done, but he told me not to worry about it and to get to my ship.”

  “Oh, son.” Godfrid had his fingers to his temples.

  “I don’t understand why you went to such lengths to confuse things,” Cait said.

  “I do.” Conall sighed and looked at her. “Finn couldn’t accuse Ottar of orchestrating Deirdre’s murder without exposing his father’s alliance with Godfrid.” Finn had buried his face in his hands and didn’t appear to be listening, so Conall gripped his shoulder to get his attention. “Am I right?”

  Finn looked up and, suddenly animated, threw out a hand to Godfrid. “Finally your brother had real leverage against the king! My father couldn’t wait to tell you about it. He intended to go straight to you when he was done in the vault.”

  Cait looked near to weeping. “Why didn’t he tell me what he was doing that night? That’s what I was there for!”

  Finn shook his head. “He knew how important the meeting was, but he didn’t want to put you in danger. He thought he could handle it. From inside the vault, nobody would ever know he had overheard.” His eyes grew sad. “He had grown fond of you, you see.”

  His words also explained why Finn had showed so little concern about Cait’s transformation from slave to noblewoman. He’d known in advance that she existed.

  Finn continued, “I timed my arrival at the wharf perfectly, since my ship was just docking. My father had gone down in the vault for only a moment, long enough to hide the paper. But somehow, in that brief time, his heart gave out, and he died down there all alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Day Three

  Conall

  Godfrid’s impulse was, of course, to tell the truth immediately. It was hardly surprising, but Conall was steadfast. “We can’t,” he said flatly.

  “Why not?” Godfrid was on his feet, waving his hands.

  “That’s a mare’s nest, and you know it.” Conall leaned forward. “Think about it, Godfrid. Ottar’s treaty with Donnell should be discussed privately
, in the dark, on a quest for an outcome that doesn’t rip a hole in Dublin society. Surely you can’t want to see Dublin disgraced before all of Ireland?”

  Godfrid took in a breath, seeming to settle himself, and then came back to the table. Cait patted the seat beside her, and he resumed his place. “Instruct me, because I can’t see it.”

  “First, there’s Finn.” Conall gestured in the young man’s direction. Maybe they shouldn’t have been discussing this with him present, but as he’d already acted in their interests, killing two men, he wasn’t worried about him betraying them to Ottar. “It turns out he’s a bastard. Do you want to ruin his life? Nobody but Ottar and Donnell are sorry Deirdre’s murderers are dead, and while Finn might not be punished for their deaths, he would lose everything else.”

  “It’s more than that, though,” Cait said. “As Rikard realized, you finally have leverage—real leverage—against Ottar. If you reveal the treaty in open hall, Ottar could potentially bluster his way out of it. His supporters will claim it’s falsified and accuse you of treason.”

  Conall nodded. “But if you show it to him in private, he can’t appeal to anyone else for relief.”

  Cait smirked. “Even while blackmailing him, you keep the moral high ground.”

  Godfrid shook his head. “You really are brother and sister, aren’t you?” But then he let out a puff of air. “Maybe you’re not wrong, but it goes against my instincts. While keeping secrets these last five years has become a habit, it has also worn away at me.”

  “I am new to this as well,” Cait said, “but believe me, I realize secrets do that. Still, this is Ottar we’re talking about.”

  Finn, meanwhile, was acting as if they weren’t there. He’d finished all the wine in his cup and poured himself more before Conall noticed, emptying the carafe. At this juncture, Conall didn’t see a reason to take the cup away from him. If he was honest about it, he wanted Finn malleable for the next few hours while they decided what to do with him.