‘I believe Breanne was betrayed by some of her foster father’s men,’ he said at last. ‘If they were the ones to sell her into slavery, then it is not safe for her to go alone.’
That seemed to satisfy Styr, and he thought a moment. ‘I understand. I will ask our men this night who would like to accompany you.’
‘My thanks.’
A sense of guilt slid through him at the half-truth. One of Feann’s men had taken Breanne and accepted payment for her—but after Alarr had hired him. He had fully intended to steal her away, only to be betrayed when she was sold into slavery. That same man might be there still, and if he were, Alarr intended to seek his own justice.
Yet, it still bothered him that no one had come to search for her. Dozens of men should have tried to find her, and he couldn’t understand why they hadn’t. It felt as if he were missing information that could later become a threat.
Alarr returned to his work and saw Breanne joining the women. They had gathering baskets and were talking to one another as they walked. Caragh was beside her, and the woman smiled at him when they passed. Breanne’s cheeks flushed when she risked a glance.
As Alarr continued to work on the longhouse with the other men, he let himself fall into the steady rhythm of the work. It felt good to labour while his mind drifted to his plans. Yet even as he worked, he couldn’t stop looking back at Breanne. Her red-gold hair was bound back into a long braid, and while she spoke with Caragh, she was smiling.
Alarr thought of last night when Breanne had massaged the medicine into his aching limbs. Her touch had aroused him deeply, and he had wanted nothing more than to spend the night pleasuring her. She allured him like no other, and when he’d kissed her, she had kissed him back. He didn’t know what was happening between them, but he knew it was wrong. She was an innocent, and he had taken advantage of her. Breanne had succumbed to temptation, but there could never be anything permanent between them. After he took her to Killcobar, she would never see him again. He was prepared to face his own death—but he didn’t want her involved. His honour was weary and worn, but in this, he would stand firm. She deserved a man who would be there for her, who would care for her.
As for himself, he was a broken shell of a man. Because of Feann’s sword, he’d lost his ability to fight. Even now, running was difficult without a hard limp. He felt like a cripple at times, and the truth was, he’d avoided any raids or skirmishes since he’d been wounded.
It was like a splinter in his soul, degrading him as a warrior. His need for vengeance wasn’t only about his father’s death...it was for himself. He despised Feann for what he had done, and he would never stand back and abandon the matter—even if that meant using Breanne and betraying her trust. He could not let himself soften towards her. There could be no emotion to threaten his resolve. He would kill her foster father, and he cared not what happened afterwards. He tightened the invisible bonds around his conscience, refusing to even consider mercy. Mercy was not shown to his father or to him. And Feann would pay the price for murder.
* * *
Morning shifted into afternoon, and eventually, Styr called a halt to their work. They climbed down from the ladders and began to walk towards the centre of the settlement, when suddenly, Alarr saw the women returning near the gates. Several were carrying baskets of apples, but Breanne was not among them.
Caragh came running towards her husband, and there was a stricken expression on her pale face. Styr caught her in his arms, and they spoke together in private. The leader glanced at several of his fighters, and his expression was grim. Then he fixed his gaze upon Alarr, motioning him to come closer.
‘We need men to help us search,’ he said. ‘Breanne has gone missing.’
The words took him aback, and for a moment, Alarr was torn between fear and wondering if she had taken the opportunity to escape. He had let down his guard too soon and had allowed her too much freedom. He had trusted that she would not leave, believing she would wait until he brought her home.
Yet, after he’d kissed her, he might have frightened her into thinking he intended to claim her body. He had wanted to, but he’d kept his restraint. Did she somehow believe he would force himself upon her? Never would he claim a woman without her consent.
But she might not know that.
He had become too complacent. In the end, she was his slave—and she had likely seized the chance for her freedom. He could not allow her to destroy his plans for vengeance. Not after he’d come this far. He turned to Styr. ‘I need a horse.’
Styr barked a command to one of his men, and soon, one returned with a gelding. ‘Alarr.’
He turned back and met the leader’s gaze. ‘What is it?’
‘Caragh doesn’t think she ran away. She believes Breanne was taken.’
He stilled at that, and his anger hardened into resolve. If another man had dared to take her away, Alarr would bury his blade into the man’s heart. Instinct roared within him that she belonged to him.
And yet, she didn’t. She had never been his, though he had bought her. Breanne had remained fiercely independent, and he had been attracted to her proud spirit. But if someone had dared to take her, Alarr would not ignore the threat. He would track down her assailant and punish him for what he’d done.
Styr added, ‘It happened so fast, Caragh didn’t see them. One moment Breanne was helping them with the apples, and then the next, she wasn’t there.’
Who could have taken her? Was it one of Feann’s men? Or had his earlier instincts been correct, that she had run away? It hardly mattered now—the only thing of importance was getting her back again.
Alarr mounted the animal and rode hard towards the gates. Within seconds, four other men joined him, Styr among them. He realised, too late, that he should have questioned Caragh further about what she had seen. Instead, they would have to track Breanne, hoping that there was some trace left behind. Though she was his hostage, he could not stop the flare of worry. An unprotected woman could easily become another man’s prey.
Alarr rode hard towards the small grove of apple trees further inland. The trees grew in a clearing surrounded by a deeper forest that stretched across the western side of the peninsula. His emotions knotted, but he shut them down, focusing all his efforts on finding Breanne. When he reached the trees, he dismounted and searched for signs that she had separated from the group of women. He examined the grasses, even the slightest bent twig for a clue to discover where she’d gone.
There. He saw a footprint on the edge of the clearing, close to the stream. It disappeared, and he guessed that she had crossed the water and gone into the wood. Though he would have preferred to go on horseback, the woods were so thick, it was not possible. He turned back to the other men. ‘Will you take the opposite side and search for her? I will look among the trees.’
Styr gave the orders to split up, and it was then that Alarr realised his brother Rurik was not among the men. He frowned, trying to think when he had seen Rurik last. Yestereve, possibly. Had Rurik gone in search of Breanne?
He tried to hasten his step, but his right leg was unsteady as he tried to run. His left leg was more stable, since the blade had not cut as deeply. But as he continued to limp through the woods, it soon became clear that no one had come this way. He returned to his horse, frustrated that there was no sign of either Breanne or his brother.
Alarr continued to search all afternoon but came up with nothing. He expelled a curse, wondering how he would ever find them.
* * *
Breanne glared at her captor, seething at this turn of events. ‘Let me go,’ she demanded.
‘No.’ Rurik led her deep into the woods, and branches scratched at her arms as it grew darker. ‘Let him believe you ran away.’
‘You were supposed to take me home,’ she insisted. ‘It’s why I didn’t run away.’ She jerked back from him and spat. ‘At least I showed
honour. You have none.’ It infuriated her that Rurik would do something like this. She wasn’t afraid of him, and yet, she knew not what his intentions were.
‘My brother is going to get himself killed. And you’re not worth the cost of his life,’ Rurik said. He seized the ropes and pulled hard. ‘I am taking you back before he begins a war.’
What did he mean by that? ‘Alarr isn’t starting any kind of war,’ she muttered. ‘He wants a ransom, that’s all.’
Rurik’s face twisted. ‘Is that what you think?’ He let out a sound of exasperation and forced her to continue walking.
Breanne recalled Caragh’s warning that Alarr had no need of silver. It sounded as if it were true, now. ‘Well, what else am I to think? It’s all he’s ever told me.’
‘And why would he tell you the truth?’ Rurik continued his dogged path, and his words cut her down. She had the sense that he was hiding a great deal, and she pressed the point.
‘Then what is the truth, Rurik?’
He would not say but forced her to duck beneath a thick oak branch. ‘Keep walking, Breanne.’
Did he truly believe she would stay silent and obey? Her own frustration mounted higher. ‘And what if I don’t want to? I know you even less than I know Alarr. What if you are lying and your intention is to sell me back into slavery?’
At that, he shoved her back against a tree. His blue eyes gleamed with fury. ‘My intention is to save his miserable life. And yours.’
‘I don’t trust you,’ she shot back. ‘You’ve dragged me out into the middle of nowhere, and everyone is searching for us. And you can only claim that you’re trying to save him.’ She raised her chin. ‘Why would you need to save him? Why would you think Alarr is going to do something foolish?’
He stared hard at her, as if trying to decide what to say. She saw the indecision in his eyes, and finally he came to his own conclusion. ‘Because Feann is the reason why Alarr has those scars. He cut him down, and now my brother cannot fight any more.’
‘What do you mean?’ An invisible frost seemed to slide within her veins. There was no doubting the seriousness of his words. She had touched the scars, and she knew how much Alarr suffered when he overexerted himself.
But Rurik refused to answer. Instead, he seized her ropes and demanded, ‘Walk.’
Numbly, she obeyed. Though she ought to be somewhat grateful that he was taking her home, it was a day’s journey from here, perhaps longer. They had no horse, no shelter, and no food. It was clear that Rurik had acted on impulse, and she wondered if he even knew where he was going.
Strange that she should now be wondering how to return to the Lochlannach settlement, instead of being eager to go home. Alarr had made her feel safe, whereas she didn’t trust Rurik to protect her. He was only one man.
She thought about his claim, that Feann had caused Alarr’s wounds. How could that be true? Her foster father had never gone to Maerr, to her knowledge. He had only ever travelled to Britain two summers ago. Surely Rurik was mistaken.
Or had Feann lied?
She decided to try another tactic. ‘I need a moment to catch my breath.’
‘We have no time. Else they will find us.’ The determination on Rurik’s face revealed that he was not going to let her ruin his plans. She weighed her options, wondering who she trusted more. Rurik claimed that he was trying to avoid a war...but she was more concerned about Alarr. She believed in her heart that he was a man of honour, for he had never forced her or claimed her as his concubine. Even when he had kissed her, tempting her into surrender, he had not demanded her body. He had treated her as a woman of worth, and that meant something.
She preferred to travel with Alarr, and though he would be angry at his brother, she wanted no part in this escape. Seeing no other choice, Breanne let her body fall slack to the ground, making herself into dead weight.
‘I am not going,’ she said. ‘If you intend to take me, you’ll have to carry me.’
The black rage on Rurik’s face frightened her, but she forced herself to stare back. Once, Alarr had told her that his brother was known as Rurik the Dark at home. Though it had been a name describing his dark hair, she saw that it also implied a darkness to his mood.
‘Get up,’ he demanded. There was no mercy in his voice, only a quiet rage.
Breanne drew her knees up, shielding herself in case he decided to hit her. But she did not rise from the ground.
With a grunt of annoyance, Rurik lifted her up and slung her over his shoulder. ‘Stubborn woman.’
‘I could say the same of you. This isn’t safe, and you know it. Alarr will be furious with you.’
‘It was my only chance to stop him.’
He strode through the trees as if she weighed nothing, but after a time, he shifted her to the opposite shoulder. She didn’t know how to talk her way out of this, but the trees were thinner in this part of the forest. Ahead, she spied a clearing. At least she could gain a sense of where she was.
Rurik slowed his pace and set her down as soon as they reached the edge of the trees. He took her bound hands and pulled her forward. ‘I do not want my brother to die. And if Alarr brings you back, Feann will not hesitate to slit his throat.’
‘My foster father has never seen him before.’
Rurik shook his head. ‘Ask Feann yourself. He will tell you of the raid in Maerr and what happened on Alarr’s wedding day.’
She stared back at him. Alarr had never once spoken of a wife. If anything, she had believed he was a lonely man from the way he’d held her at night. ‘His wedding?’
‘Ask him what happened to Alarr’s bride.’ His voice was like stone, hard and unyielding.
‘Tell me,’ she whispered, though she suspected the truth already. From the harsh look on Rurik’s face, the woman must be dead. And if he was somehow right about Feann’s misdeeds, then Alarr had a very different reason for wanting to see her foster father.
She started to take a step forward, outside the trees. But a moment later, Rurik jerked her back. ‘Wait.’
She didn’t understand why he held her, until a few moments later when she heard the sound of a horse approaching. If it was Styr’s men searching, she wanted to be found. Before he could stop her, she screamed for help.
Rurik clamped his hand over her mouth and let out a foul curse. ‘Be silent.’
She could feel his anger from the way his thumbs dug into her jaw, but what choice did she have? The rider was her only hope.
When she caught sight of them, she saw four men, with only one on horseback. Rurik picked her up, running through the trees. Breanne nearly struck her head against a low branch, but within moments, the rider caught up to them. He reached for the rope binding her hands and pulled it hard. Breanne lost her balance and fell to the ground, and Rurik stumbled backwards since he had tied one end to his arm.
‘What do we have here?’ the man asked. Breanne kept her head down but recognised him as Oisin MacLogan. Her foster father had welcomed him once, and Oisin had wanted to court her as his bride. Something about the man had made her skin crawl. His words were kind, but she had sensed the insincerity beneath them. She had refused him as a husband, and after she’d turned him down, Oisin had been furious.
Breanne prayed he would not recognise her and kept her face hidden beneath her hair. She was angry with herself for alerting Oisin to their presence before she’d known who it was. Rurik had been right about wanting to remain hidden. It was her fault that they’d been found.
‘Such fiery gold hair,’ Oisin said, dismounting from his horse. ‘I know who you are.’ The other three men joined him, and they formed a circle around Breanne and Rurik, making it impossible to escape.
Her pulse quickened, but she could do nothing when he jerked her to her feet.
‘Hello, Breanne. Such a pleasure to see you again.’ A thin smile spread over his face. �
��Now why would the foster daughter of King Feann be a captive? Did you try to refuse this man as your husband?’
She sensed his unspoken words: The way you refused me.
Breanne didn’t answer, keeping her gaze fixed upon the ground. She didn’t dare look at him, for Oisin was a dangerous man. Danu, why had she screamed before she’d seen who it was? She’d been so foolish, and now they would both pay the price. Oisin believed he was above everyone else, and he still resented her for not choosing him as her husband.
He reached out and smoothed her tangled hair. ‘Not so highborn now, are you, Breanne?’ With a nod to his kinsman, he said, ‘Kill her captor.’
Horror washed over her, and Breanne screamed again as loudly as she could, hoping someone else would hear. When one of the men approached Rurik with a blade, he answered the threat by unsheathing a pair of daggers from his waist. The blades were short, and he would have to move in close to strike a deadly blow.
Breanne picked up the slack in the ropes binding them together. She needed to free herself before the restraints were used against him. She moved in closer, holding the rope so Oisin could not seize it. When his companion lunged towards her, she dodged behind Rurik. He shielded her, but they were easily outnumbered. She needed a weapon of her own. Behind her, she spied a broken branch lying on the ground. It would have to do.
Breanne dropped the rope for a moment and reached for the branch. Though she didn’t truly know how to fight with it, she was only trying to keep the men away. She called out once again for help, even knowing that it was futile. A rush of fear filled her as she held on to the length of oak.
The last time she had tried to show courage in the slave market, her escape attempt had ended within moments. She had tried to fight back, only to fail. How could she dare to try again?
Her mind was racing with thoughts of death or being defiled by these men. Oisin would be delighted by the idea of claiming her innocence. He would punish her for daring to refuse him. Nausea roiled within her, and she hated the feeling of being so powerless to fight back.
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