скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Are you abandoning me?’ Her voice held a plaintive note.
‘I’m going the way which leads to safety, the only way open to us. Decide—do you want to live to enact your revenge against Olafr or do you wish to die, slowly and painfully?’
‘Wait! I’ll brave the marshes,’ she called.
Chapter Three (#u4558a4aa-23b8-5ce0-9759-4148cc3a6f7c)
Dagmar carefully picked her way through the bog with its squelching mud and hidden pools of bad water, following in the Gael’s footsteps, trying not to think about all the tales and legends she had heard about this place.
Old Alf had delighted in reciting them when they skirted around it earlier in the season—tales of unquiet ghosts and elves who lured men into the deep where they drowned. A king’s army had once ridden in and had never been seen again. However, on the days when the mist rolled out, then the sound of their dying cries echoed across the land.
She concentrated on the Gael’s broad shoulders and the way his cloak swung instead. The man moved far too arrogantly as if the entire world should bow to him. Women probably melted under his gaze and populated his bed. She’d encountered the type before. Her body’s earlier reaction to the Gael was definitely a result of the blow to her head. She’d be immune to him from now on.
‘Does your dog have a name?’ she called out when the Gael halted beside a particularly malodorous bog. She was certain he’d chosen to stop there simply to be awkward. The Gael was like that.
The mist had started to rise, obscuring even the limited view. The small wisps of cold resembled humans with outstretched hands. A few loons called out over the marsh, sounding precisely like men begging for help.
‘Mor,’ he answered without bothering to glance back. ‘My dog is called Mor. She is a wolfhound and dislikes imperious people from the north.’
‘I’m not imperious!’
He raised a brow. ‘That is for my dog to decide.’
Since they had entered the marshes, he had not bothered really to see if she was keeping up. It was only because his dog Mor kept stopping, turning to look at her every so often and occasionally returning to her to nudge her hand and prevent her from stepping in thick oozing mud, that she remained alive and not lost for ever in the growing mist. Something else to hold against him. Soon he’d have to admit that this trek was impossible and they’d have to retrace their steps and go the way she’d suggested in the first place. She wasn’t imperious, she simply had better ideas and wasn’t afraid to say so.
‘Mor as in big or Mor as in Sarah?’ she asked to keep her mind away from the way the mist had shrouded the few scrubby trees which suddenly punctuated the landscape.
He stopped so suddenly that she nearly bumped into him. ‘Of course, you know Gaelic. I forgot that you spoke to me in Gaelic when we first met. How did you learn it?’
‘My nurse when I was little was a Gael.’ Dagmar looped a strand of damp hair about her ear. ‘It was her name. Mor like Sarah.’
His brows drew together in a fierce frown. He cursed loud and long. ‘One of the captured women, forced to work for the Northmen, but all the while longing to be free.’
She concentrated on a tuft of dead grass. He made it seem as though it was somehow wrong to have had a nurse. ‘Thralls exist. Even the Picts and the Gaels have them. Estates could not function without workers. If you know of a better way, do tell me. My mother had other duties and both her mother and my father’s mother were dead, long before I was born. Someone had to look after me when I was little.’
She waited with a thumping heart. She did not doubt that if he could, the Gael would abandon her here. She had to be grateful that his desire for payment from her father was greater than his loathing of the people from the north.
‘Even so, the Northmen have captured too many of our women. My aunt disappeared before I was born. She never returned. There were rumours about my grandfather selling her, but I know the truth.’
‘Just as you supposedly knew the truth about my hair and tattoos?’
‘That is different.’
Dagmar regarded the ground and wished she had never said anything. The Gael obviously despised her and her kind. At least her mother had never sunk so low as to become a snatcher of women. ‘And you’re certain it was Northmen.’
‘From Dubh Linn, from the Black Pool, according to my mother. They came in their ships and took her.’
‘We have been at war with the Northmen from the Black Pool for as long as I can remember. My mother despised them and what they did to women,’ Dagmar said fiercely.
‘What happened to your nurse?’
‘My nurse was a second mother to me. Mor in the north tongue means mother and she truly was kind and loving. I revere her memory.’ Dagmar hated how her voice caught. Mor had been one of the few people to show tenderness to her, drying her eyes when she failed at her lessons.
‘How convenient.’
Ignoring the Gael and his ill humour, she went and knelt beside the dog, holding out her hand and softly called her name. Mor the dog sniffed her outstretched palm and then gave it a tentative lick with a rough tongue. ‘Mor, I mean you no harm. I’m grateful for your nose which has led us thus far and I pray to Thor and Freyja that you lead us to safety.’
Mor cocked her head to one side and gave a small woof with a wag of her tail.
‘She approves of you,’ the Gael said with a frown.
‘As someone from the north, I’m honoured not to be considered imperious.’
‘It takes time for her to fully trust someone.’
Dagmar attempted a smile. ‘Like her master.’
He gestured towards the thickening mist. The bog in front of them looked particularly treacherous. The gesture revealed the breadth of his shoulders and the power in his arms. ‘Shall we get going?’
Dagmar gave the dog one last pat. ‘You’ll get us through, won’t you? You won’t allow the elves who lurk in such places to capture me.’
‘There are no such things as elves.’
‘Says the man who believed a woman could have snakes for hair.’
Mor woofed in response and started off, picking her way through the oozing mud and pools with complete assurance.
Dagmar concentrated on following the dog and ignoring the Gael. He was a temporary irritation. She would get rid of him as soon as she no longer required his dog.
He stopped abruptly and she banged into him.
‘What happened to your nurse after you finished with her?’ the Gael asked, breaking the uneasy silence that had sprung up between them.
‘Do you truly want to know?’
‘Yes. I’ve no idea what happened to my aunt. I made enquiries, but discovered only silence. I’ve accepted that I will never know. Maybe your nurse’s fate is hers. Maybe she did find some measure of happiness.’
Dagmar gave a careful shrug. How much to tell? She had learned that lesson long ago that no one needed her life story, particularly about things which had happened before the divorce, the bloody battle between her mother and her father’s chosen champion and then their terrifying flight off her father’s lands through the dark forest.
Her mother hated her talking about it and had once slapped her face when she discovered Dagmar clinging on to the small carved doll Mor had slipped her as they’d parted. The slap had startled her mother and she was instantly sorry, hugging Dagmar and weeping in a dreadful way that she’d never heard before or since. But Dagmar had learned her lesson—she never mentioned her nurse after that and she threw the doll away before her mother spied it again.
‘I’ve no idea,’ she confessed. ‘My Mor was one of the people I left behind when my mother and I departed my father’s lands. I presume she looked after my half-brother. She was a good woman who loved babies. For years, I used to recite her stories in order to get to sleep at night.’
Her throat closed. She could hardly explain how much that woman had meant to her, not to this man. He would only laugh at her. He wouldn’t understand that until the divorce, her mother had been so distracted with the demands of the running the estates and settling disputes, she’d had little time for wiping Dagmar’s tears when she skinned her knee or when her threads tangled or when she woke from bad dreams.
‘No, I’ve no idea what happened to my nurse,’ she reiterated instead. ‘If my mother knew, she kept it to herself.’
‘You’ll soon find out, if you are bothered. Perhaps she will have remained with your father’s family. Perhaps you can do the decent thing and prevail on your father to return her to her kin. She may have a home with my people if her kin have vanished.’
‘I am bothered and it is always best to see what a person desires before making decisions for them,’ she said. ‘You have given me a good reason to look forward to getting to Colbhasa. I thank you for that kindness.’
The Gael grunted.
‘My father must have given you a reason for bringing me back. You must have some idea,’ she said to keep her mind away from the potential reunion with Mor and the fact that she desperately wanted to see her again. She wanted to believe that Mor had been well treated and rewarded for staying with her father. Her mother had forbidden any talk of her previous life when they left the compound on Bjorgvinfjord.
Your life before must be as nothing, keep your face turned to the future.
‘You must ask him when we arrive on Colbhasa. He failed to inform me of the specific reasons, but he is eager to see you and the sort of woman you have become. It was part of the message he sent.’
‘May I hear the precise message?’ She pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders. ‘I was rude earlier and I apologise. My only excuse was that the battle was about to begin.’
‘It has been overtaken by subsequent events, but here goes.’ The Gael stared out at the marshes, rather than looking at her. ‘Your father requires that you attend him 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.’
‘And you pay your debts.’
‘Being beholden to anyone causes difficulties particularly when they appear with longships, ready to raid.’ His face became grimly set. Dagmar silently cursed her father. Typical of the man. He used others to enforce his will. ‘I will not allow Mhairi or her brothers to remain enslaved.’
‘Who is this Mhairi?’
‘A woman I know.’
‘Your wife?’
