The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vincent, Renee

  But Domaldr was the quicker and hurled his dagger at the king.

  Nevan staggered on the steps and dropped to his knees, his hands gripping the knife in his shoulder. He managed to pull it out as he kept his eyes on the fleeing horse and the princess he was to guard with his life…until he could see them no more.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Mara could see a single man awaiting them at Dægan’s longhouse as she and Domaldr were coming fast on a rampant horse. When they skipped to an abrupt halt, Domaldr shoved her to the ground, still punishing the animal with a cruel bit lain sorely across its mouth.

  He slid off at her feet and pulled her to a stand by her hair, coldly shoved her into the man’s arms. “Behold your princess, Breandán! You and Soren have Dægan?”

  “We do,” Breandán said, though he seemed to still be reckoning with her actually in his arms. He gently pushed her hair from her face, his eyes kindly meeting hers as he saw both fear and pain pervade her tears.

  “Well?”

  Breandán dragged his eyes from Mara’s face. “He is in his longhouse. Soren awaits you.”

  “And Dægan’s men?”

  “They are still anticipating his arrival at the mead hall. Some are drunk and realize not the length of his absence. Thirty of your men are posted there, and the rest guard your flank as you have ordered.”

  “Good. Tell the men to set the mead hall afire. Let no man escape! Burn them all!” Domaldr slapped the horse’s rear and grabbed Mara from Breandán’s arms. “Come here!” he said, fighting against her squirming. “Do you not want to say farewell to your husband?”

  Breandán’s face shot up with those words. “Husband?”

  “Aye. It seems my brother beat you to it. But no matter, she will soon be widowed.”

  Domaldr’s words were as frigid as the ice in his grip, his fingers digging into Mara’s arms short of puncturing through her skin.

  She called for Dægan. But he never came. She called again, this time, unable to hold back her sobbing.

  “Enough, wench!” Domaldr ridiculed, and kicked the back door of Dægan’s longhouse open, propelling her inside.

  ****

  “Steinar,” Tait spoke from his stein, sniffing the air. “Do you smell that? Smoke.”

  Steinar and the other Northmen lifted their noses and stood to find the source, but suddenly, Thordia screamed from the back door. “We are locked in! I cannot open it!”

  Tait ran to the front door to discover the same. He shoved harder, using his shoulder and his hip. “Steinar help me!”

  The two men heaved and grunted, trying with all their might to break the door. The other men scattered and tried the same, but smoke had already started filtering in.

  “Tait, what is happening?” Thordia cried.

  Tait ripped his sword from his side. “Quick! Cut holes in the roof so the smoke can escape!”

  Thordia grabbed Tait’s arm and began panicking. “Why would Dægan do this, Tait?”

  “‘Tis not Dægan!” Tait reaffirmed.

  Steinar’s eyes widened in fierce hatred. “‘Tis Domaldr! He must have returned and made it past Vegard!” He, too, unleashed his weapon—a fierce battle-ax for battering the door.

  “How will we get out?” Thordia asked.

  Tait tore his kirtle from his chest and handed it to her. “Here, soak it with water. All of you! Remove your kirtles and soak them down. Wrap it around your nose and mouth! Do it!”

  As Thordia was told, she took everyone’s tunics and dunked them in the iron cooking pot at the hearth, dispersing them back to the others. “But what about you?”

  “Do it!” Tait yelled to Thordia and stood on the table. “Wrap it around your face, now!” He pierced the thatched roof and began cutting away, the smoke billowing from the new hole. He began coughing and gagging, as did the others in their fight. “Do not give up!” he called. “Thordia, get on the floor!”

  Tait’s mind raced as he frantically kept to the roof. He feared for their lives, his Thordia’s life…Dægan’s life. Where was he?

  He swallowed the rising bile in his throat and jabbed a bigger hole above him. He pulled at the hay and soil and grass, ripping the well constructed roof to shreds, until he had an opening as wide as his shoulders. “I have a way out!” he yelled, waving for the men to climb the table as he had. “Come on Thordia! You first!”

  “Wait!” Steinar shouted, grabbing her arm. “It could be an ambush. I will go first!”

  Steinar jumped to the table and Tait hoisted him to the opening, struggling to balance his hefty friend from the rickety old furniture.

  Steinar peered out into the night and saw no one. He squeezed his shoulders through the narrow hole and pushed himself the rest of the way up, standing on the mildly slanted roof. “‘Tis clear!” he shouted just before an arrow pierced his back. He fell forward, his arm and head dangling inside the hole.

  “Steinar!” Tait yelled trying to pull him back in.

  But Steinar jerked his arm away, his eyes red and tapered. He groaned and somehow found the strength to push himself from the hole to his knees. He cursed one last time and like a crazed berserker, he slid from the rooftop and ran toward the archer on the ground.

  In an instant, a host of arrows impaled Steinar’s body from all directions.

  Tait stopped and listened, Steinar’s voice fading into the night. “No!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Steinar!”

  Tait jumped from the table and ran to the back door, banging his shoulder and hip into it. An incredible surge pulsated throughout his body and he felt no pain, no bitter smoke sieving into his lungs. His shoulder started bleeding against the wood grain of the door and his chest constricted as he heaved and coughed, but he didn’t give up! He wouldn’t! He would die pummeling the door!

  ****

  Domaldr walked to the main room of Dægan’s longhouse where Soren stood guard over his brother who was out cold and tied to a chair. Mara saw him and ran to his side, crying in his lap, wrapping her arms around his lifeless body. “Dægan, are you all right? What have they done to you? Please wake up!”

  “You heard the princess,” Domaldr said, flipping his hand. “Wake him up!”

  Soren grabbed Dægan by his hair and slapped his face repeatedly.

  “Stop!” Mara shouted, pushing Soren away with meager punches. “You are going to hurt him!” She glared at Domaldr now. “How can you do this to your own brother?”

  “Quite easily,” Domaldr snipped at her starkly, grabbing an iron pot of water from the unlit hearth. “Dægan never once let himself think of me, nor would he now, for that matter. He would just as soon forget me as to look at me.”

  “You are wrong!”

  “Am I?” Domaldr asked, his question more of a jeering remark. “He killed five of my men!”

  “He knew not they were your men!”

  “He would not have cared otherwise. And just like him, I can do all this, and look the other way.” Domaldr dumped the water over Dægan’s head, bringing him to a waking jolt.

  ****

  Dægan shouted and cursed, his eyes failing him at first, for the pain in his head was strikingly fierce. He blinked and squinted, trying to free his hands and feet from the ropes that bound him to the chair. Failing that, he then saw Domaldr laughing in his face, Mara held captive before him.

  “I will kill you for this, Domaldr,” Dægan muttered amidst his defeat. “Mark my words. I will hunt you down and kill you!”

  “I see your hospitality has not improved much.” Domaldr chose another chair and placed it a distance from Dægan. “Sit,” he told Mara waving his dagger. “Now!” Soren put a firm hand to Mara’s shoulder and slammed her in the seat.

  Dægan watched his brother closely. “What have you done to my men?”

  Domaldr smiled as if happy to hear the question. “The gleam in your eye is most endearing, Brother. I almost hate to upset you.”

  Dægan’s revulsion began to rise deep inside his g
ut. His throat went dry and it felt like his heart was trying to pass a stone through its four chambers. “What did you do to my men?”

  “I burned them—every last one. Wait! Sh…you might be able to hear the screams of the last few who refuse to give up.”

  Dægan cursed and thrashed in the chair, trying like mad to pull his hands and ankles loose. The rope was wearing his skin, cutting him deep, surely to the bone by now. He cried out in anguish, his inner pain greater than the cords to his flesh.

  He thought of Tait, of Steinar, of Ottarr, of Hansen… He imagined their horror, their gagging, their slow, agonizing deaths.

  “How could you do this? They were once your family, Domaldr! Your people!”

  Domaldr shook his head. “They are not my people, Dægan. They never were.” He strolled across the room and picked up the sword he had long hated, the sword of his father. “But this, however, is mine.”

  “You have no right to even hold it!”

  Domaldr ignored him. “You know what this sword is to me? This is my suffrage and I shall take it along with Connacht.”

  “You cannot begin to claim suffrage, you bastard!”

  “I can claim anything I want,” Domaldr replied darkly. “Including this lovely woman here.” He neared Mara, petting her cheek with his dagger. “She is a smart one though, Dægan. A little too smart, for even the likeness of my clothes fooled her not.”

  “Leave her alone!”

  “I think she figured me out the moment my tongue filled her mouth. Is that not right, lass?”

  Dægan watched in misery as Domaldr caressed Mara’s shoulders while his knife was pressed deeply against her windpipe. His face burned, his raging tears evaporating, his wrath growing beyond his control from being forced to witness his brother’s blatant defilement of his wife. His breath became so thick and heated, so hard to draw that he feared his own throat was closing on him. And why not? At least if he couldn’t breathe, he would soon pass out, and he would be spared this horrible sight, this wretched betrayal from his own brother’s hand.

  “Imagine that, Dægan,” Domaldr continued to torment him, now straddling Mara on the chair. “We look exactly alike and yet, she can still determine your kiss from mine. Which means…you must have been giving it to her quite often, aye? Even I am impressed with that.”

  Domaldr leaned in, taking another kiss from Mara, but she kept her lips sealed, until he simply pricked her chin with the dagger. His tongue filled her mouth.

  Dægan assaulted the chair with a vengeance for it was all he had within his reach. “Get off her! She has done naught to you! You wish to humiliate someone, then do it to me! Leave her be, you poor excuse for a man.”

  Domaldr rose from Mara’s lap and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Now, I did no harm to you, did I? ‘Twas just a kiss. I would not think of hurting you.” Domaldr looked her over crudely and suddenly his face grimaced in disgust. “Although…you are married and you lack the innocence of a virgin, but—I doubt my men would ponder that thought more than once.”

  Mara spat in his face.

  Domaldr grinned and casually wiped his upper lip of her saliva, before he grabbed her by the throat and lifted her from the chair. She raised her hands to his arm, trying to pull his hand free, but he only laughed more.

  “Let her go, you bastard! I will cut your heart out and—”

  “Shut him up!” Domaldr shouted over his shoulder.

  Soren’s boot came swift at Dægan’s chest, ribs crushing under foot, and he and the chair fell backward.

  At that same moment, a man burst through the door. “Christ, Domaldr! Let her go! Let her go, I say!” The man ran to Domaldr and jerked his hand from Mara’s throat, watching her collapse in a choking heap on the floor.

  Dægan—breathlessly red faced as he tried to draw air within his broken rib cage—looked up at the dark haired man who had entered his home and demanded the princess’ life. He thought it strange an Irishman would give demands so freely to his brother, and likewise, that Domaldr would stand for it.

  “You nearly killed her!” the man shouted, kneeling at her side, looking up to find Domaldr staring down at him oddly.

  Dægan listened as the Irish intruder fixed his compassionate voice to that of a nefarious man. “Forget not the bigger spoil! If she is dead, you will have nothing for which to gain Connacht! And we cannot hold back the Irish on this isle much longer! We have got to get to the ships!”

  “Fine, Breandán!” Domaldr barked and walked over to Dægan, still confined to the chair like an upturned turtle. “I am sorry my visit must come to such a short end. See you on the other side, Brother.” And with that he brought the pommel of his father’s sword down hard on Dægan’s head, knocking him unconscious again.

  “I will take the girl with me to the ship,” Domaldr said, slapping his dagger to Soren’s chest. “Here, slit his throat and take what you want before it all burns.”

  Breandán stood dumbfounded as Domaldr ripped Mara to her feet. He struggled to swallow everything at once—Mara crying, Dægan beaten and tied, and Soren about to kill him in cold blood.

  Domaldr’s eyes darkened. “Breandán! Are you coming?”

  Breandán blinked his way back into reality. “Nay,” he said methodically. “I mean, I will do it. I will kill him.”

  Domaldr stepped forward, skeptical of Breandán’s sudden interest in murder. He brought Dægan’s sword to rest on Breandán’s shoulder. “Now is not the time to try me with games. I had better see a whole lot of blood on that knife when you are through.”

  Domaldr did not wait for a response and left quickly, dragging the girl behind him, Soren to follow after he relinquished the dagger into Breandán’s hands.

  He hadn’t much time, hearing the distant shouts of the local Irishmen outside and the chaos of the Domaldr’s men retreating. He looked at the dagger and then at Dægan, knowing he couldn’t kill this man anymore than he could kill himself. He exhaled heatedly, trying to find the nerve of all things, and then hopefully the clarity of an ingenious mind for which to fool Domaldr.

  He knelt at the warrior’s side, cutting first the chair from each of Dægan’s four limbs, taking heed of their weight as they dropped heavily to the ground. Even in his vulnerable state, Dægan still looked like a man not to be meddled with.

  He slapped Dægan’s face to try to awaken him. “Dægan! Come on, wake up! Your brother is taking your wife from you! Are you going to just lie here and let that happen? Wake up! I cannot save Mara on my own. Come on, she needs you!” Breandán shook him this time. “Wake up, you fool!”

  The commotions outside the longhouse grew stronger and Breandán panicked as Dægan lay still on the floor. If he wanted to ensure Mara’s safety, he had to leave and get on Domaldr’s longship… but not before the knife was layered with blood.

  In total desperation, he decided to cut himself in a place that could be hidden from Domaldr’s eyes, should it happen to bleed profusely. He pulled his boot from his own foot and laid the knife assuredly at his heel…

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Mara sat at the stern of Domaldr’s warship, watching the men heave and ho to a rhythm she soon fell in trance to. She had cried in her solitary place for what seemed like hours, reliving over and over again the sight of Dægan’s blood on the Irishman’s dagger. Yet, her sobbing seemed to fall upon deaf ears, for the men cared only to please Domaldr. And Domaldr cared only for the speed of his ships.

  How could his vengeance be more important than the life of his own brother? It was a question she kept asking and an image she kept relentlessly rehearsing. She remembered Dægan’s howling under a sound beating, his ribs cracking, his breath drawing in laborious gasps, Domaldr’s laughter in loud tormenting bursts as he watched his brother fall, and the cowardly swiftness of it all—she couldn’t rid it from her thoughts. It haunted her.

  But what man on this ship would feel her pain and sympathize with her sorrow? Certainly no one here, she thought
, for these men would celebrate it, tell stories of it, and proudly drink to it. And never, in all their time of reliving their adventure, would they come to speak of her grief. To them, Dægan’s defeat was glorious.

  “Gentle lady,” a voice spoke to her. “May I sit?”

  Mara slowly looked up and stared into the eyes of the man who had killed her husband. Breandán, she remembered as they called him. His eyes were kind and empathetic as he awaited her response.

  “Nay, you may not,” Mara said as firmly as she could muster. “And how dare you look at me with pity. How dare you speak to me in noble tongue as if you are worthy, as if your hands are clean of Dægan’s blood! May God have mercy on your soul, because I will not!”

  Breandán took a humble step backward and dropped to his knee, his eyes at her feet. “I wish only to tell you to look to your right, beneath the cover.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because if you do not, ‘twill fall into Domaldr’s hands.”

  “So what if it does? There is not much more he can take from me. Now leave!”

  “I insist you cast your eyes in the direction I speak. Dægan would want you to.”

  Mara slapped his face. It wasn’t hard enough. She aimed to do it again, but he caught her wrist and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “Your husband lives. I slit not his throat.”

  “You lie!” Mara cried. “I saw the blood! I saw the blood on your dagger, you despicable—”

  “What you saw was not his blood, but my own. I swear to you, he lives!”

  Mara caught her breath. It was too good to be true. “Why do you tell me this?”

  “Because just as you have fallen victim to Domaldr’s plans, I, too, am caught up in all of this. My name is Breandán, son of Liam. My father is a clansman, serving under the overlord of the Uí Bhriúin Aí and your father is chieftain. Henceforth, I serve you. ” Breandán hesitated and looked over his shoulder. “These men think I will help them overtake Connacht, but I have only pretended to agreed in order to save you. I have no part in their scheme, but I still have a role to play amongst them. My words may very well turn your stomach, but please realize they are not my words. I mean you no harm. Speak not to anyone of what I have just told you, else it means my death…and yours as well. To solidify your trust in me, I do hope that you will look under the cover as I have requested. What I bring you is from Dægan’s home. ‘Twas the only thing I could find worthy of proving my fealty. Your Dægan lives, gentle lady. Pray he comes soon.”