Storm Maiden

by Mary Gillgannon

  “ ‘Tis an appealing thought, but I will have to talk to my father. Skirnir gives me the use of his ships, although my brother will, of course, be jarl after him.”

  “Is Skirnir here?”

  “Nei, he sent me in his stead,” Ellisil answered. “Mayhap you should come back with me to Ferjeshold and talk to him.”

  Dag considered Ellisil’s offer, feeling torn. He could hardly expect Skirnir to offer his ship without receiving a detailed account of Dag’s plan, but what of Fiona? He couldn’t take her with him to see Skirnir, and the only alternative was to leave her with Sigurd. She would have to understand that this was necessary if he meant to return her to Ireland. He weighed his decision hurriedly. “When do you leave for Ferjeshold?”

  “Early on the morrow. My brother plans a trading expedition to Hedeby, and he is eager for me to return so I can sail with him.”

  Dag nodded. “I will meet you at dawn. Tell me where your camp lies.”

  Dag shivered as he walked back to the assembly of Norsemen. The sun had vanished behind thick clouds, and a few raindrops fell, hissing on a nearby fire. He would speak to Fiona first then find Sigurd. Could he trust his brother to keep Fiona safe while he was gone from Engvakkirsted? He truly had no choice.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he found Fiona standing close to Sigurd, observing the axe-throwing contest. He took her arm, then spoke to his brother, “I’m taking Fiona back to camp. I will speak with you later.”

  Sigurd nodded and returned his attention to the contest.

  “What’s wrong, Dag?” Fiona asked as they walked away from the circle of Norsemen. “You have scarce watched the contests, nor spent a moment with me.”

  “There are many things to arrange if I am to return you to Eire yet this season.”

  Fiona opened her mouth, ready to tell Dag she no longer was certain she wished to go. Dag forestalled her with his intense, commanding words. “On the morrow, I am going to Ferjeshold, Jarl Skirnir’s steading. If luck is with me, he will provide the ship and crew I need. I’m leaving you in Sigurd’s care while I am gone. I will make him swear to protect you from Brodir.”

  “You’re not returning to Engvakkirsted?”

  “Nei.” Dag stopped walking and pulled her around to face him. “You must trust me, Fiona. If I make him vow to it, Sigurd will keep you safe. He is a man of honor, and he cares enough for me to heed my wishes.”

  Fiona felt sick inside. It was happening so fast. Already, Dag was leaving her. “Why can’t I go with you?” she asked. “If I came to the Thing, why can’t I journey with you to Skirnir’s steading?”

  “I’m afraid your presence there would cause too many difficulties.”

  “You mean you fear I would shame you! Tell me, have I not been obedient on this journey? I have done everything you asked, conducted myself with meekness....”

  “Hush, Fiona, I would not fight.” Dag pulled her close. “I don’t want to leave you, but it can’t be helped. Do you never consider how fraught with difficulty this journey is? I must find a man willing to trust me with his ship, then gather men and supplies, all in the short space of weeks before the weather turns foul and the seas too rough to sail. I scarce have time to think of anything else.” He sighed heavily.

  Fiona chewed her lower lip. Dag had worked so hard to make this journey to Ireland possible. How could she tell him about her doubts? “If it grows too dangerous to sail this late, could we not wait until spring?”

  Dag shook his head. “You can’t spend the winter in that shabby slave dwelling. ‘Twould break my heart to see you thus.” He tightened his arms around her.

  Fiona closed her eyes against the threat of tears. Dag cared enough for her to give her back her freedom. How could she not be touched by his selflessness? If only she could accept his gift without feeling despair.

  I love you! her heart screamed as he kissed her tenderly. / cannot bear to leave you!

  Dag released her, and they continued their journey to camp. Once there, he helped her into the tent. “I must go,” he told her as he put on warmer clothes. I have to speak to Sigurd tonight, to seek his promise to see to your protection.”

  As soon as Dag left her, Fiona buried her face in the bed furs and cried with great racking sobs. In time, she calmed, brushed away her tears, lay back on the bedplace. It didn’t seem fair that she must fall in love with Dag only to give him up. But life wasn’t fair. She must do her duty to her kin, even as Dag expected. She had forgotten her responsibilities when she defied her father, and her failure had brought disaster upon Dunsheauna. This time she would act as a princess should and choose her people over the yearnings of her heart.

  * * *

  Sigurd gazed after his brother thoughtfully. He didn’t understand Dag’s sudden plan to go with Ellisil. He would have thought Dag unwilling to be parted from the Irishwoman for any reason, yet now he left to go on a trading voyage to Hedeby. Sigurd shook his head. ‘Twas utterly unlike Dag.

  “Shall we walk back together?” Jarl Lygni approached Sigurd, his heavy gold neck-collar and armbands clanking as he walked. “I weary of the skald contest, and our camps are close. I wouldn’ mind a friendly ear on the journey to my tent. I’m certain I won’t find such a thing when I arrive.

  Sigurd laughed. “Is your foreign thrall still bedeviling you? Thor’s thunder, Lygni—why do you endure the wench?”

  Lygni looked sheepish. “I hope to get a son of her. With her sharp tongue and cunning, I vow that a warrior of her blood would be a man to reckon with.” He sighed. “But sometimes I wonder if ‘tis worth waiting ‘til her womb quickens. If only I could find a way to silence her complaints. Always, she bends my ear with tales of other men who treat their women better, as if I didn’t pamper her like a queen. Why, just this day she spoke of your brother and how generous he is to his Irish thrall!”

  “Dag?”

  “Ja. Although I could scarce credit her story, Eleni says Dag is so besotted with the woman, he actually means to return her to her homeland.”

  “What?” Sigurd demanded.

  Lygni nodded. “Eleni vows he cares so much for his thrall that he intends to restore her to her people. It may have been a lie. Eleni often exaggerates. I certainly can’t imagine a sane man doing such a thing. If he loves the woman, why would he give her up?”

  Because he is a soft-hearted fool! Sigurd’s jaw tightened. Damn Dag for his ridiculous affection for the Irish wench!

  Lygni’s bushy brows rose. “You think it’s true?” he asked incredulously. “What is Dag thinking of? I am fond of Eleni, but never would I forget that she is a valuable piece of property. I would no more return her to her kin in Brittany than I would hand over my neckring.”

  “I fear it’s true,” Sigurd answered bitterly. “My brother has strange notions regarding women, and I fear the Irishwoman has aggravated his confusion.”

  “Do you intend to aid him in this nonsense?” Lygni asked.

  “Nei, I will find a way to stop him, if I can.”

  They reached the area where their tents were spread. Sigurd gazed thoughtfully at the one belonging to his brother. Fiona was there, alone. Dag was making camp with Ellisil this night since they intended to leave so early. Sigurd flexed his fingers. How easy it would be to snap the little Irishwoman’s neck and rid his brother of her once and for all. But Nei, he could not. He’d promised Dag. Now he was honor bound to protect her.

  “Beg pardon, Lygni, I would ask you to join me for a drink beside our fire, but I must find my brother. I have a notion that he means to leave early to seek out men and aid for his absurd plan. I would speak to him ere he goes.”

  Lygni nodded. “Do what you can. Other men with restless women thralls depend upon you to keep Dag from this ill-conceived venture.

  * * *

  “Turgeis and his men have settled in the north, but we could control the south.” Dag spoke intently, so on fire with his plans he scarcely noticed the rain falling on them as they walked. With the sto
rm coming, he had convinced Ellisil not to wait until morning, but set out for Ferjeshold immediately.

  “Think of it, Ellisil, land of your own, and a fair Irish maiden like Fiona. I trow, such a prospect seems to me worth dying for!”

  “I have heard it is a forbidding isle, Ireland is,” Ellisil responded. “Their dead sleep uneasily, and the place is overrun with supernatural beings. I’m not certain I want to dwell there, even as jarl of my own steading.”

  “For land of my own I would be willing to dwell among a band of trolls,” Dag retorted.

  “Do you know the language? Did the woman teach you to speak her tongue?”

  “I learned enough to converse with her about commonplace things. Fiona knows the territory and the other chieftains in the area. That will making settling there much easier.”

  “And she has agreed to help you?”

  Dag hesitated. He and Fiona had never discussed the details of the expedition. Would she be willing to aid him in subduing her people and gaining control over her father’s lands? Even if he took her to wife and made her his queen, would she accept his rule over Dunsheauna? His jaw tightened. She must. It was the only way they could be together and both retain their freedom and their pride. “The woman would be a princess of Eire again,” he answered. “She wishes to return to her land and recover her inheritance. I offer her the opportunity to do so.

  Ellisil sighed. “Tis a bold plan, but for every warrior who succeeds in settling in a foreign and hostile territory, dozens die trying. I wish I had more time to think on it. Could the journey not wait until spring?”

  “If we wait, it may too late. Other Norsemen will soon realize Ireland’s vulnerability as we have. If we hesitate, they will take the best land.”

  Ellisil didn’t respond. Dag grew impatient. Dare he ignite the old competition which had been between them since they were boys? If he goaded Ellisil, he might make an enemy for life. But he was desperate to make the other man see his viewpoint. “I can’t believe this.” He made his voice cold with disgust. “You’re afraid of the Irish!”

  Ellisil jerked to a halt beside him. “Are you calling me a coward? Do you suggest I am a soft, weak man to be left behind while others challenge the boundaries of the Norse world?”

  “Nei, I suggest no such thing. I know you are a brave and fierceless warrior. That is why I would have you with me.” Dag held his breath.

  Ellisil laughed. “You have learned tact and persuasion in the years since we were boys. I vow, you will manage to beguile my father with your silky words and he will demand I go. He wishes to see me settled and wed, so it does not trouble his conscience that he has no land to give me. Your plan will fit perfectly with his.”

  “If Skirnir provided a ship and some of the men, we would share our profits equally with him. Eire is a rich land; we could make him wealthy. Think of it, Ellisil,” Dag continued. “We would live in a fortress on a soft green hill within a stout palisade, mayhap even a wall constructed partly of stone—there are stones everywhere on that isle. We would have cattle, sheep, and horses—and hounds, big fluffy-coated beasts like my old dog, Ulvi. On winter nights, we would let the dogs into the feasthall to warm themselves before the fire while the skald performed. Fiona says that many Irishman play the harp as well as telling tales. Bards the Irish call them. The hall would with ring with music and the clink of horns and beakers as the warriors drank and boasted. And there would be women, smooth-skinned, graceful women.”

  Ellisil laughed. “You have almost convinced me, Dag. But tell me more about the women.”

  “We would find you a princess, sword brother. One fearless and beautiful. Her skin would be as white and fair as the mist, her voice as soft and seductive as the wind through the reeds, her body as gently rounded as the Irish hills and as supple as a silvery stream. You would breed great warriors upon her body.

  Ellisil groaned. “Curse you, Dag! You should have been a skald.”

  Fiona struggled to escape the tendrils of her dreams. Even as she woke, she was aware of a sense of loss. She instinctively reached out for Dag. Her eyes snapped open as she found cold, empty space beside her. She sat up, remembering. Dag had left her to find a ship and men. He had asked her to trust him.

  She rearranged her clothes hastily, tidied her braid, then left the tent to go out in the rain. Nothing remained of their camp except the tent she had slept in. She looked around uneasily. Spying the cart, she hurried toward it. The horses were already harnessed to the vehicle, and the cart was piled high with supplies. Sigurd came up, grunting as he loaded his rolled-up tent.

  Fiona snapped at him. “Why didn’t you wake me? Did you mean to leave me behind?”

  Sigurd’s cold, blue eyes flicked to the tent she had just left. “I would not desert a valuable tent, and you were inside it.”

  Fiona bristled at Sigurd’s implication that she was less than baggage. Then she remembered that Dag had asked Sigurd to look after her. It might be wise to temper her hostility and seek Sigurd’s favor. “Is there any way I can help?” she asked.

  “Nei, I think you have done enough already.”

  Glancing at Sigurd, Fiona was suddenly aware of the rage in the huge man’s face. The sight sucked the breath from her body.

  “If I could choose,” Sigurd continued in a slow, deliberate voice, “I’d leave you here, my gift to the men gathered for the Thing—all of them.”

  Fiona flinched. What had Dag done—leaving her under this man’s protection?

  Sigurd stepped back, as if the sight of her disgusted him. “Unfortunately, my brother made me promise to see you safely back to Engvakkirsted, and I must honor his wishes. Get your things together, quickly and quietly. I don’t need any excuse to discipline a wench who has subverted my brother’s loyalty.”

  Feeling as if she had woken to a nightmare, Fiona scurried to obey.

  Chapter 27

  The journey back to Engvakkirsted took twice as long as anticipated. The storm followed them, slowing their progress as the heavy cart foundered in the mud. The wind whipped the rain against their faces, and their garments grew sodden and heavy. Fiona trudged along listlessly, overwhelmed by the struggle to keep warm, to keep walking.

  The second day, the mud grew even deeper, the rain colder. After Fiona stumbled and fell several times, Sigurd, swearing, finally allowed her to ride in the cart. She climbed among the barrels and sacks of supplies and sank down into a deep, empty sleep.

  When she awoke, she was lying on a pallet in the slaves’ dwelling. Breaca leaned over her, a beaker of hot liquid in her hand. “Drink, Fiona, ‘twill warm your blood.”

  Fiona drank, then choked as memory returned. She was back at Engvakkirsted, and Dag was gone. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Fiona, what is it?”

  She looked up at Breaca’s young face, scrunched up with worry. “Oh, lass, I don’t know what to do. Dag means to take me back to Ireland.”

  “But that is what you wish, isn’t it?”

  Fiona shook her head. “No longer do I know what I wish. I can’t deny that it breaks my heart to think of leaving Dag.”

  “You must speak to him,” Breaca said. “I’m certain Dag won’t make you go if you don’t wish it.”

  “I will. If I ever see him again. Dag has gone to another steading to secure the use of a ship and a sailing crew. He has left me in Sigurd’s care, and I worry I will survive ‘til he returns.”

  “That’s nonsense. Sigurd wouldn’t kill his brother’s thrall. Besides, he owes you a debt for saving Gunnar’s life.”

  Fiona shook her head grimly. “I fear Sigurd has learned of Dag’s plans and blames me for driving his brother away.”

  “How could Sigurd know?”

  “I foolishly boasted to another woman thrall that my master meant to return me to my homeland. I’m certain Sigurd found out my words from the woman or the woman’s master.” Fiona sighed heavily. “I am doomed. Even if Sigurd doesn’t order my death, Brodir means to kill me and Sigurd
has little reason to stand in his way.”

  “I can’t believe Dag would leave you unprotected.”

  “He did his best. He went to Sigurd and obtained his promise to keep me safe. Dag couldn’t know that Sigurd would learn of his plans and blame me.”

  “Sigurd is a man of honor. If he made such a promise to Dag, he will keep it, no matter how much he might despise you.”

  Fiona shook her head again. “I would like to have faith in Sigurd’s honor, but my heart is cold with dread.”

  “ ‘Tis only that you are tired and ill,” Breaca soothed. “Drink the rest of the broth, then go back to sleep. You will feel better soon.”

  Fiona lay back, so exhausted she could not keep her eyes open.

  Almost a day later, she awoke. As it might heal a fever, sleep had burned away the worst of her anxiety. If she could avoid the notice of Sigurd and the other men, they might ignore her until Dag returned.

  She rose unsteadily, looking for Breaca. The slave dwelling was deserted. A cauldron of pottage sat near the fire. Fiona stuck a finger in the congealed broth and licked it. She made a face. No wonder the other thralls had been so appreciative of her cooking skills. She would resume her duties as soon as possible.

  She returned to her pallet, searching for her warm clothes. They lay beside the bedplace, neatly folded. Fiona picked up the fur-lined tunic and lifted her arms to put it on. A stale, unpleasant smell wafted to her nostrils.

  “Saint Bridget, but you stink!” she said aloud. She looked down at the dirty kirtle she wore. All those days of travelling, and no opportunity to bathe properly. At the Thing, what with dozens of men around, she had been unable to do more than wash her face and hands. Now she sorely needed a bath.

  She bent over her pallet, searching beneath the straw mattress for a change of clothes. There was only one clean linen undershift left from the days when she’d slept in Dag’s bedcloset. She would have to wear that under her tunic until her kirtle could dry.