Beyond the Sea Mist Page 4

  Ailinn ducked back in the storehouse. “Wake the other women,” she whispered to Brina. “Tell them to gather together their things. This is our chance to flee.”

  Brina did as she asked, and soon all four women had joined Ailinn at the door. “Are you certain it’s safe?” Little Ullach drew near to Ailinn, her voice trembling.

  “The guard’s asleep and probably drunk as well,” Ailinn responded.

  “But where will we go?” Gormlaith asked, still sounding half asleep.

  “The quay,” Ailinn answered. The idea had come to her like a bolt of lightning. They would find the Norseman and ask him for help. But doubts gnawed at her. After the way she’d spoken to him, he might not be willing to aid them. Somehow she would persuade him. For a brief moment she wondered at the price he might demand for helping them. Her body was the only thing she had to barter with. She forced her mind away from such thoughts. First, they must get free of this place.

  Ailinn put on her warm cloak and grabbed the bag containing the few possessions left to her, then looked around to see if the other women were ready. Brina, Ullach and Gormlaith had collected their things and were huddled together, looking terrified. Cailin stood nearby, gazing at Ailinn with a sullen expression. “Your plan is witless,” she said. “We’ll never make it.”

  “We have to try,” Ailinn responded in a taut whisper. “I’m not going to stay here and do nothing when we have this chance.”

  “If you weren’t always insulting Croa and the other men, they might treat us better.”

  Fury leapt through Ailinn. She wanted to slap Cailin. Glaring at Cailin, she said, “Perhaps you don’t care if you end up as a bedslave to one of these foul beasts, but the rest of us have no desire for such a life.”

  Jerking around, Ailinn picked up the smoking candle in its pottery holder and headed for the door. The other women followed.

  Outside, Ailinn turned to see Cailin in the doorway, a defiant expression on her pretty face. The guard continued to snore, but he might wake at any moment. Ailinn stared hard at Cailin, willing her to come to her senses and not ruin all their chances. Beside Ailinn, Brina mouthed pleading words, begging their companion to join them.

  Time seemed to crawl by. Ailinn felt herself sweating. Who did Cailin think she was? She might be the daughter of one of Ailinn’s father’s wealthiest client farmers, but she had no right to endanger the rest of them with her obstinacy.

  Ailinn held the other woman’s gaze, and Cailin finally slipped through the doorway and joined them.

  They hurried away from the sleeping guard and assembled in the narrow passageway behind the storehouse. “We’ll have to keep to the rear of the buildings,” Ailinn whispered. “It’s the only way to avoid being seen.”

  Except for Cailin, the women nodded, their eyes wide with fear and dread. Ailinn drew a sharp breath as she contemplated what was ahead. They would have to make their way through the settlement and find the quay. Although she had a general sense of where the river lay, between it and them was a daunting maze of buildings and walkways. And if anyone saw them... Her stomach lurched at the thought. Unprotected in this savage settlement, they might well end up raped and brutalized.

  But this was their one chance to get away and she intended to seize it. For the sake of the other women, she must be strong. They were depending on her, believing she could save them. Somehow, she must do so.

  “This way,” Ailinn whispered as she moved forward. A disgusting odor assaulted her nose, near gagging her, and she used her free hand to lift her skirts from the muck around her feet. The reek of garbage and dung was strong and she shuddered as she spied the rotting corpse of a dog lying among the debris. Dark shapes swarmed around it. Rats. Behind her, she heard one of the women gagging. “Come on,” she whispered sharply. “The faster we move, the sooner we’ll be away from here.”

  The buildings didn’t seem to be laid out in any particular order. Sometimes there was a large area behind a dwelling, with room for a garden or storage shed. Other houses were built so close together the women could barely squeeze past. In some places planks or wattles had been laid over the mud. In others, their leather shoes sank into the ooze.

  What time was it? Well past midnight, Ailinn felt certain. She glanced anxiously at the sky, hoping morning wouldn’t come too soon.

  “Ailinn, lady, do you know where we’re going?” Brina whispered.

  “Aye. We’re going to the docks,” Ailinn answered. Please, God, let it be this way, she breathed silently to herself.

  “But what if we encounter Croa’s men?” Ullach’s voice hovered on the edge of hysteria.

  “We’ll have to risk it. Our only hope of escape is by sea.”

  The buildings they passed seemed to be larger and the smell of ale and urine grew strong. Ahead, Ailinn saw a man staggering around. She halted and gestured for the other women to do the same, but the man must have heard them, for he turned and looked at them. His eyes grew wide. He muttered something and grabbed for the amulet he wore around his neck.

  The Norseman was drunk, Ailinn realized. Perhaps if they moved by without speaking, he would think they were some vision conjured by his ale-soaked wits. Keeping her gaze straight ahead, she walked forward. The skin on her neck prickled as they passed the man. At any moment, she expected him to call out or try to stop them. But nothing happened. As they moved into the shadows of an adjoining building, Ailinn exhaled in relief.

  They were nearing the docks. The fresh smell of the sea replaced less pleasant odors, and large, stoutly-built structures loomed up around them, storehouses meant to shelter vast amounts of trade goods. This area was also better lit than the other part of the settlement, with torches burning near several of the buildings. And there were guards. Her heart seemed to leap into her throat as she spotted a burly warrior dozing against one of the warehouses, his war axe propped up beside him. She motioned for the other women to keep silent, then stealthily led them in the other direction.

  They finally reached the open area of the quay. It was getting light and Ailinn could make out the looming silhouettes of the vessels moored there. Now they must discover the right ship, and somehow, the right man. It seemed a futile quest. But the only alternative was to meekly accept her fate, and that seemed worse than anything they might encounter here.

  Ailinn turned to face the other women. Gazing into their pale, exhausted faces, her own weariness and sense of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. You can’t give in. You’re a Donovan. Donovans fight to the death. “Wait here,” she told them.

  As she moved past the shelter of the warehouses, the stinking candle began to gutter, and Ailinn blew it out. It was light enough to see without it anyway. Which meant they had little time. Soon, the sleeping guard would wake and discover the unlatched door. Once Croa knew they were gone, he would send his men searching for them. She shivered, feeling very vulnerable on the open quay.

  Her gaze swept the nearby ships. None of them looked familiar. The damp morning air pierced her cloak, chilling the sweat that coated her skin. She squinted into the gray veil of morning light and knew a sharp relief as she recognized the distinctive dragon-headed prow of the Norseman’s ship.

  She didn’t see anyone guarding it. The crew must be aboard. Now what did she do? How could she alert her potential rescuer?

  She gazed at the ship a while, watching it shift in the water, its timber hull creaking faintly. Counting the oar holes, she decided there were at least sixteen men on the vessel. Most of them probably weren’t anything like the blue-eyed warrior, but were as rapacious and crude as Croa’s men. If only she knew the Norseman’s name. Then she could call out for him. If only she hadn’t insulted him but listened to what he had to say. If only...

  She couldn’t change the past. All she could do was try to shape the future, to wrest back control of her life. Even if this ill-fated escape led to her death, that was better than enduring the rest of her life as a helpless thrall, knowing that she’d done noth
ing to try to change her fate.

  Her body stiff with resolve, she raised the pottery candleholder and let it fly. It struck the side of the vessel with a crash, which was immediately followed by a man’s startled exclamation. She heard muttering and cursing in the Norse tongue, then a man’s head appeared above the deck of the vessel. It wasn’t the handsome face she’d hoped to see, but the heavy-jawed, leathery countenance of an older warrior. He gaped at her, his amazed expression implying that she was the very last thing he expected to see standing on the dock.

  “I’m Ailinn, daughter of Conlach O’Donovan of Locha Lein,” she called out to him in Norse. “I would like to speak to a member of your crew. He’s very tall, with tanned skin and light brown hair tinged with gold.” As she spoke, Ailinn considered how witless her words must sound. Most Norsemen were tall. And the hair of all seafaring men was lightened by constant exposure to saltwater and sun.

  She wondered if she should mention that her potential rescuer was young and handsome. But such a description would be meaningless to these crude seamen. They wouldn’t recognize comeliness in a man.

  Yet their ship was beautiful, a part of Ailinn’s mind noted, possessing an elegant grace. The long, sleek hull was as well shaped for traveling upon the waves as any water bird. If only she and the other women were allowed to board. On such a vessel they could sail far, far away from Croa and avoid his awful plans for them.

  More men appeared on deck. Ailinn perused them anxiously. Her nerves stretched to the breaking point. It was almost full light now. If some of Croa’s men had been left behind to guard his ships and those men saw her... She took deep, steadying breath. Please, she begged silently. Please let the young Norseman be on this ship.

  A moment later, she spied his tanned countenance among the other men. She gazed up at him, her heart leaping. Yet her elation was mixed with an unease that set her empty belly churning. How could she make up for her lapse of manners at their last meeting? How to impress upon him the desperation of her situation?

  He made his way to the edge of the ship and stared at her, looking stunned. A moment later, he turned and moved away. Panic slammed through her. He wasn’t going to aid her! But then he returned, climbed over the side of the vessel and jumped down to the dock as easily as a cat leaping from a fence.

  Her heart beat faster as he approached. Her memory hadn’t tricked her. He was as big as she recalled, and just as pleasing to look upon. She drank in the sight of him—his proud, masculine features and striking blue eyes. The way the soft light of dawn burnished his skin tawny beige and gilded his hair with golden warmth.

  He appeared so strong and substantial. So comfortingly male. Ailinn wanted to collapse into his arms and press her face against his broad chest. With effort, she reminded herself he was a stranger and a foreigner. And after the way she’d spoken to him when they last met, he was unlikely to have any fond feelings for her.

  And yet, for a moment she saw a look of such concern on his face that she was stunned. Then the look was gone and he spoke in a curt voice. “Where’s Croa? How did you get away? Where are the other women?”

  She answered his questions as rapidly as she could. “With luck, Croa is still asleep back at his dwelling and has no idea we’ve escaped. We were able to sneak past the guard he set at the door because the man drank too much. As for the other women...they’re over there.”

  His gaze flicked in the direction she’d gestured, then returned to her. In clipped tones, he said, “If it were up to me, I would take you all aboard right now and sail away without delay. But as you pointed out when first we met, this isn’t my ship. I must speak to the captain and see if he will aid you.”

  The bitterness in his voice was evident. Recalling her harsh words at their first meeting, she knew she must try to make it up to him. She smiled at him. “I thank you for your kindness, sir. It does you credit. But...” she couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice, “...please hurry. I don’t know how long it will be before Croa discovers we’re missing.”

  Their gazes met and she let him see just how terrified she was, how close to utter despair. He nodded and a fierce expression came over his face. A moment later, he returned to the ship, grabbed a mooring line and used it to scramble back on deck.

  * * *

  She was here. She’d sought him out. She’d smiled at him. Magnus felt a glow of pleasure as he climbed back on the ship. The image of the Irishwoman’s face seemed etched upon his vision. Even when her demeanor was haughty, she was a lovely maid. But when she smiled—by Freya—then she was truly beautiful. A sight to haunt a man for the rest of his life.

  Which is exactly what would happen if he didn’t find a way to aid her. If she fell back into Croa’s clutches, he’d never see her again. And when she thought of him it wouldn’t be with a smile on her face, but an angry scowl.

  Sobered by his dark thoughts, he made his way to where Sigurd and the rest of the crew were sitting on their otterskin bedsacks breaking their fast. Sigurd must already have done some trading, for the men were eating cheese and fresh bread rather than the usual fare of flatbread and salted fish. Magnus’s stomach rumbled at the sight of the food, but he pushed the yearning aside and crouched down near Sigurd.

  “You certainly work fast, Magnus,” one of the men chortled. “We’ve only been here a night and already you’ve got a wench asking after you.”

  Magnus ignored the jest and spoke to Sigurd in low, urgent tones. “The woman’s situation is desperate. She and four other women were stolen from their homeland and enslaved. They’ve escaped their captors for now, but if they don’t find a place to hide, they won’t long remain free.”

  Sigurd grunted. “Are you suggesting we take them aboard?”

  Magnus nodded. “I’d take full responsibility for them.”

  “Who’s their captor?”

  “Croa Ottarson.”

  Sigurd’s blond brows shot up. “Not a man I want to cross.”

  Magnus felt his body grow rigid. He’d feared Sigurd would be reluctant to get involved. Recalling the dread he’d seen on the woman’s face, he went on, “But these women have no one else to turn to. Their families have all been killed. They’re completely alone and at Croa’s mercy.”

  “And so you think I should offer them shelter on my ship?”

  Almost breathless with hope and dread, Magnus nodded.

  Sigurd shook his head. “That would be no different than if I broke into one of those warehouses and took a pile of hides or a bale of wool. I would be stealing from another trader, a merchant of my own race. I can’t do that. I have my reputation to consider. When I travel to a foreign port, men there must say, that is Sigurd Hrolfson. He drives a hard bargain but he’s a fair and honest man.”

  Magnus’s spirits plummeted. He’d feared this would be the captain’s response. Even so, he tried again. “These are well-bred gentlewomen who’ve fallen into unscrupulous hands. What if it were your sister or mother who was so cruelly enslaved?”

  “Such a fate would never have befallen my sisters or my mother. They all had strong husbands to protect them. If the men responsible for these women failed to keep them safe, then it’s inevitable they end up as thralls. It’s the way of world. The strong always prey upon the weak.”

  “Even so, I—”

  Sigurd put up his hand. “You won’t sway me, Magnus. I’ve a duty to my crew. I must consider their safety above that of a group of foreign women.” His expression softened. “Don’t look so grieved. If these females are all as young and fair to look upon as the one standing on the dock, they won’t have difficult lives.”

  Magnus got to his feet, mentally cursing himself. He should never have approached the Irishwoman, never pretended he had the means to aid her. She’d come all this way for nothing.

  But as Magnus returned to the side of the ship, another thought came to him. What if he hid her away in the one of the warehouses until Croa gave up searching for her and left Dublin? The captain must know som
eone who had a warehouse near here.

  Magnus turned around to ask Sigurd, but before he could approach the captain, there was a commotion on the quay. Magnus rushed to the side of the vessel and watched in horror as a group of men surrounded the Irishwoman. She spat at her captors, and one of them grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head back. Magnus clenched his hands at his side, breathing hard. It would be so easy for this brute to kill her.

  The next moment, one of the women who had been hiding behind the nearby warehouse came rushing up, screaming in the Irish tongue. The plump, red-haired wench launched herself at the man who had grabbed the princess, and was immediately seized by one of the other warriors.

  Magnus didn’t wait to see more, but hurried to his sea chest and snatched up his swordbelt. He hadn’t even gotten it buckled when Orm was beside him. “What are you doing?” the younger man demanded.

  “I’m going to try and help her.”

  “How? There’s a half dozen men down there, all armed to the teeth. Even you can’t take on that many at once.”

  Oh, aye, I can, some part of Magnus’s mind argued. Right now I’m angry enough to take on a whole army. As the image of the man jerking the Irishwoman’s head back flashed into his mind, the roaring rage inside him swelled out of control. Then he heard the hiss of a blade being drawn and was startled back to awareness.

  “I can’t let you do this,” Orm’s pale eyes regarded Magnus with determination as he brandished his sword. “You saved my life last night. Now I’m going to do the same for you.”

  Magnus scowled at him. “Step out of my way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “What about me?” Skulli broke in. “If you want to get off this vessel, you’ll have to fight me as well.” He also had his weapon out.

  Magnus gritted his teeth in frustration. He didn’t doubt he could defeat both these men, but the thought repelled him. Besides, by the time he got them out of the way, it would be too late to save the Irishwoman. “Put down your swords,” he told them.