Sold To The Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles
he requires than to acquire slaves?’
She tucked her chin more firmly into her shoulder, the better to hide her cursed mark. In her ignorance, she’d nearly condemned Coll to death. ‘But you know of a way that might work, one which wouldn’t lead to Coll’s death.’
‘There might be, if you are brave enough. We could be allies, you and I.’ He jerked his head towards the trees. ‘Better than ending up somewhere where you most definitely don’t want to be.’
A prickle crept down her back. She tried to dismiss it. It was no more than her priest or her mother had warned her before she set out yesterday.
Liddy raised her chin and repeated the same speech she had given her concerned mother. ‘I will succeed. I will make Lord Thorbin listen to reason. His overlord’s sacred oath must have meaning. He will honour it or be damned in the eyes of his war band.’
The man stilled. ‘Do you have a token of Lord Ketil’s esteem? Or merely the words of your father, who is now imprisoned?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Liddy dug into the pouch which hung from her belt and withdrew the ring her father had forgotten when he left home. ‘A ring Ketil Flatnose personally put on my father’s finger.’
She took quiet satisfaction from the way the man leant forward and the intensity of his gaze increased. That would teach him to mock her.
‘Why did your father leave it at home rather than taking 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