The Warrior's Viking Bride. Michelle StylesЧитать онлайн книгу.
on Colbhasa immediately. He has much to say to you and is eager to see you again after all these years. He wants to see the sort of woman you have become. Do as he requires without delay and all will be well.’
Her mind buzzed. That part of her which had remained a little girl who adored her father wanted desperately for it to be true, that her father had belatedly remembered her and the way they used to be. Just as quickly she remembered the bitter parting—at her stepmother’s urging, he had given them until nightfall to leave his lands or be hunted like wolf’s heads—people who could be slaughtered without having to pay a blood price to their next of kin because they were vermin and not fit to live. Then he’d turned his back on them.
He would want to dictate her future and who she’d marry, but he would soon learn that she was the one who would choose what happened to her. She had earned that right. The Gael would also discover that her fate ran along a different path from the one her father plotted for her, and she looked forward to seeing his face when he realised it irrevocably.
She caught the Gael’s arm. ‘Why does my father want to see the sort of woman I have become? He has another child, a son.’
His eyes blazed and he pulled away from her as if her touch burnt him. ‘His son has died. A snake bite. None could save him. Kolbeinn’s wife claimed it was your mother’s curse. After your half-brother was born, all her other children were either stillborn or died shortly after birth.’
‘Was my brother a robust child?’
‘It doesn’t matter if he was. He is no longer alive.’
Her half-brother, the boy she had never met. The one whose existence had changed hers irrevocably. And now his death was about to change it again, if she allowed it. Her father wanted to secure his legacy. He would certainly have a warrior in mind for her to marry.
She glanced at the Gael and rejected the idea. After what had happened, her father would never risk his chosen bridegroom on retrieving her. This Gael was simply the messenger, the one whose throat she had been supposed to slit. She’d acted like his unwitting executioner.
‘I won’t pretend sorrow.’ Dagmar lifted her chin up. ‘I never knew him. I’m sorry that my father is upset. Tell him that. Tell him that I’ve become a fine and honourable warrior, but I am required elsewhere.’
He inclined his head. ‘You will have the opportunity to tell him that yourself when we reach his hall.’
‘I won’t be seeing him. You may take me back, but it’ll be my stepmother who deals with me. I know who runs that household. Similar sorts of messages have arrived in the past. They were all designed to lure me and my mother into a false sense of security before they attempted to end my life. The messengers all came from my stepmother, rather than my father. Old Alf knew, but how he knew, I couldn’t say.’
Dagmar swallowed hard, remembering how her mother had dispatched one of the messengers and sent the head back—the one who demanded Dagmar make a marriage alliance with a man old enough to be her grandfather, but who had also concealed a knife in his boot.
Her mother had believed that Dagmar should be able to follow her destiny of being a great warrior, rather than being trapped into any sort of marriage.
‘I carried your father’s sword, a parting gift from your father’s current mistress. Old Alf understood its intended meaning.’ A dimple flashed his cheek. ‘He said that he was the only one left who remembered the signal your father had agreed with him.’
‘And how would his mistress know such a thing?’
‘Who knows? She is an older woman.’ The Gael shrugged. ‘I didn’t realise its import myself until I met Old Alf.’
Dagmar clenched her fists. Just when she was starting to feel charitable towards the Gael, he said something so arrogant and short-sighted that it took her breath away. ‘What is it about that particular sword? What is its meaning?’
The tone she used would have her men running for cover, but the Gael dusted an imaginary speck from his cloak as he shook his head as if her antics had no more significance than Mor chasing her tail round and round.
‘Kolbeinn’s wife has died. She lost the will to live when her son died and faded away. I believe the sword signifies that you are no longer in danger.’
Dagmar’s jaw dropped and she staggered back a step, only avoiding falling into a puddle because the Gael’s hand shot out and hauled her back. She shook him off. ‘Dead? My stepmother has perished?’
‘You could see her funeral pyre blazing away across the seas.’
Her stepmother and her son were both dead. The words hammered against her brain. The witch who had featured in her nightmares, the woman who had vowed that she would ensure that Dagmar would not take anything from her children was dead. She no longer had to fear the killers in the night.
‘Forgive me. My head pains me.’ She sank down heavily on a rock and stared at the vast marsh which stretched out in front of her. A faint mist rose off the many pools of water. ‘I can’t pretend anything but joy at the news. She wanted me dead. For the past ten years, I’ve expected an assassin, not a saviour.’
‘Your father wants you alive and with him. Now. I can’t answer for the past.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. To prevent her from running away or to give comfort? Dagmar found that she didn’t care. She drew comfort from it. The last person to touch her like that had been her mother before she’d faced her first battle. ‘Will you come quietly now? Meet him with an open mind?’
‘Does he know about my mother’s death?’ she asked, standing up and moving away from him and the dangerous comfort he offered.
‘He made no mention of it. Kolbeinn kept certain information close to his chest.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He has his reasons. Mayhap he wanted rid of a thorn in his side and I was foolish enough to take him up on the offer. I arrogantly considered I could win the wager without too much trouble.’
‘Wagering with my father is unwise.’
Dagmar tapped a finger against her mouth. She could see her father’s reasoning for the wager. He won either way—if she eliminated Aedan mac Connall, he got rid of someone troublesome, but if Aedan returned with her, he gained control of his daughter and his legacy, but it still added up to the end of her dream of independence. He would not understand her desire to stay a shield maiden. He would marry her off to his chosen warrior and increase his own power and prestige. She simply had to figure out a way to get what she desired.
A sudden suspicion made her miss her step. Mor instantly stopped and looked back at her, giving a low woof. The Gael instantly stopped. ‘Why did he choose you, a Gael, and not one of his men? What reason did he give you?’
His eyes grew shadowed. ‘I failed to enquire closely enough it would seem. I was simply grateful of the opportunity.’
‘Why?’ She pressed her hands against her eyes. ‘Surely you have to know the fate of the other messengers. Why risk your life for the promise of gold? You had best tell me all the terms. My father can be trickier than Loki.’
He gave a half-smile. ‘The fate of those other men was hidden from me. We wagered about a debt I owe him. I fulfil the wager and the debt is forgiven. Additionally I get an amount in gold equal to what I owe him if I return with you in the allotted time. He has kept hostages to ensure that I do as he commands. Time marches ever closer to All Hallows.’
Dagmar winced. All Hallows was in a little over a week. She could begin to understand now why this Gael was willing to brave the marshes. ‘What happens if you return with me outside the time?’
‘I lose and become his personal slave and everything I own will belong to him.’
‘How came you to owe him the debt?’
‘It was my brother’s doing. I inherited it when he died.’