Sold To The Viking Warrior. Michelle StylesЧитать онлайн книгу.
it with him?’
‘His fingers had grown too fat and he took it off months ago.’ She placed it back in the pouch. ‘In his haste to rescue my brother, he must have forgotten about it, but I remembered and searched for it. Our priest told me that it would not make a difference, but I know it will.’
‘You chose not to listen to your priest. My mother was a Gael and I know how headstrong you Gaelic women can be.’ He gave Coll an absent stroke on the head. ‘A pity, but it will take more than willpower to defeat Thorbin and get your family back.’
Pity from him? From a Northman? What sort of fool did he take her for? She knew what form a Northman’s pity often took. She’d seen the burnt farms and the slain men. And then there were the sgeula-steach tana adhair, the women who had vanished without a trace. Fewer now that the Northmen had control of most of the islands, but every year one or two were still stolen.
‘So your father was a Northman. Your poor mother,’ she said instead. ‘She is the one I pity.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I presume she was born free, captured and remained a slave to the end of her days.’
‘You know nothing about it.’ His voice dripped ice. ‘You are the one jumping to conclusions. Perhaps I should leave you to your well-deserved fate, instead of trying to help you.’
‘But it is what happens. The women are taken and no one sees them again. These woods, hills and fields are chiselled in my soul. I will return to them a free woman. I will not die in a foreign land or become like one of those bodies in the wood.’ Liddy tightened her grip on Coll and hoped the man would overlook the trembling in her hand. She knew what happened to women when they were taken by Northmen, and how some had escaped after a ransom was paid. The necklace was something to bargain with and could get her home, if the ring failed. ‘I will not be a slave nor will any of my family.’
‘All for a matter of honour?’
‘If you like. We Gaels take our honour very seriously.’ She belatedly put her hand over her birthmark, her badge of shame.
‘My mother proclaimed she was the daughter of a king.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I later learnt that nearly every second woman makes such a claim.’
‘What happened to her?’ Liddy let out a breath. She was glad that she hadn’t told him of her parentage and that her father used to be a king before the Northmen came and settled. Islay had many kings then, too many as they always quarrelled and far too many men had died.
‘She was freed before she breathed her last.’
The impulse to ask if her body had hanged from a tree in a sacred grove threatened to overwhelm her, but one look at his face made the words die on her lips. For once she swallowed her words. ‘Who freed her?’
‘I did. I freed her from all torment. It was what she desired most in the world.’ He put his hand on his sword and his cloak fell away from his face. The shaft of dawn light which pierced the mist showed her companion to be one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. His golden hair fell to his shoulders, his lips were full, but his other features were hard. His eyes betrayed a steely determination. Here was no ordinary warrior. There was something about the way he moved and the set of his jaw. He was used to being obeyed. A leader of men.
‘Who are you?’ she asked and then regretted it. Her late husband always proclaimed that her tongue would get her into trouble, one of his milder rebukes. ‘If I agree to join forces with you, will you actually help me instead of lulling me into a false promise?’
She hated that hope grew in her breast. She should know by now that these things only happened in the bards’ tales. There was no one she could depend on, particularly not a cloaked Northman. Thrice cursed, her brother-in-law had called her after Brandon’s funeral. Meeting this Northman, rather than having an uneventful journey, proved it.
‘Give me your name,’ she said when he continued to stare at her. ‘Your true name, rather than a ridiculous nickname like the Northmen often go by. Give it or we shall never be allies.’
‘Sigurd Sigmundson, a traveller like yourself who hungers after justice.’ He tugged his cloak, hiding his features again. His cloak was more threadbare than hers. And yet somehow she couldn’t believe it was his. There was the way that he moved. And she had a glimpse of the sword underneath the cloak. It was far too fine for a sell-sword to use.
‘You mean to pass into the compound unnoticed. That is why you are wearing that old cloak,’ she exclaimed. ‘I mean you must be, otherwise you would row your dragon boat up Loch Indaal and land beside the stronghold.’
Sigurd Sigmundson reached towards her. Liddy took a step backwards and half-stumbled over a root. Coll gave a low rumbling in the back of his throat and Sigurd’s hand instantly dropped to his side.
‘Why would I want to conceal my identity?’ he asked, tilting his head to one side. She caught the sweep of his lashes and again the piercing blue stare.
‘Because the other way is the surest way to end up stuffed in a barrel and sent back to Ketil. Even where we live, we’ve heard rumours about how Thorbin treats his enemies.’ She covered her mark with her hand. ‘My late husband was a warrior. You move with a warrior’s gait, not a beggar’s. If you wish other people not to notice, then you should shuffle rather than stride. Free advice.’
He bowed his head. ‘What are you going to do with this knowledge of yours? Do you wish me ill?’
‘As long as you mean me no harm, it is none of my concern. Once my business with Thorbin is satisfactorily concluded, you may do as you will with him.’ She paused. ‘I, Eilidith of Cennell Fergusa, have reasons for wishing this. He is no friend to my family. But I go first.’
He was silent for a long while. She felt his gaze roam over her body. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her in that appraising way. She tightened the cloak about her figure, hoping it hid most of her curves. She had few illusions about her beauty. Her figure was passable, her mouth too large and her hair was far too red. Flame-coloured, Brandon had called it when he courted her. One of his few compliments.
‘I have come to complete the task Lord Ketil set me,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘This task comes before your quest, Eilidith of Cennell Fergusa. Thorbin answers for his crimes and then you find your father and brother. Provided they haven’t been executed as traitors.’
White-hot anger flashed through her. Who was he to condemn them? He had no idea of her story or how her father had sought to protect their clan from the worst of the invaders. ‘My father gave his pledge to Lord Ketil Flatnose the first time he travelled to this island. My brother was but a mewling babe at the time. The tribute has always been paid. No one has ever accused my father of treason...until now.’
Liddy shook her head. She refused to think about the pitiful state of the fields, barely tended in the summer sun. According to her mother, her father had hidden the seed and the gold before he left. Without fresh seed, they stood no chance of having a good harvest and making the tribute.
She gritted her teeth. ‘If necessary, I will go to Lord Ketil and remind him of his sworn oath to my father.’
She hoped he wouldn’t hear the lie in her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was to travel on the sea. The thought of being on the open sea, out of sight of land, terrified her.
‘Will you indeed?’
‘What other option do I have?’
Sigurd regarded the small woman who stood in front of him. The faint light showed him that Eilidith’s hair was auburn, not black as he’d first imagined it. Like the sun setting on a clear summer’s day. The butterfly-shaped mark under her lower lip took her face from bland to intriguing.
She’d shown courage to come to this place with simply a large dog for protection. The only other women he could think of who would have done such a thing were his mother and Beyla, the woman