Bors grimaced. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?” Magnus asked.
“Croa’s had some troubles, and I don’t think it bodes well for him...or anyone sailing on his ships.”
“We’d heard that one of his warehouses caught fire last night,” Magnus said cautiously. Remembering the things he’d said about Croa and the Irishwoman, he worried Bors might guess he was behind the blaze.
“Aye. There was the fire. But that’s not all of it. While most of the crew were off fighting the fire, the two men guarding the ship were attacked. They both claim some kind of invisible creature crept up on them in the fog and struck them down. Neither of them will go back to the ship.” He cocked his head. “I probably wouldn’t think too much of it, except for the Irishwoman’s curse.”
Magnus shot Orm a look of astonishment, then again focused on Bors. “The Irishwoman’s curse? What are you talking about?”
Bors jerked his head in the direction of Croa’s ships. “It seems Croa took some well-born Irish wench captive. They say she’s fine to look upon, but as ill-tempered as a wet cat. She cursed Croa. Called on her gods to bring him misfortune.” Bors spat. “It might simply be some nonsense she thought up to try and scare him. But you never know. There’s all sorts of tales about Irish magic and sorcery. They’re a strange and fiercesome race, especially the women.”
“So, you’re leaving Croa’s crew?” Magnus struggled to keep the incredulity from his voice. He’d never dreamed that his actions in setting the fire and disabling Croa’s crewmen would have this effect.
“Aye, and I’m not the only one. You younger fellows may scoff at such things, but I didn’t get to the age I am by ignoring omens of ill-fortune.” Bors touched the Thor’s hammer he wore around his neck. “More than once I’ve had a premonition that something bad was going to happen on a particular voyage, then later learned the ship went down or there was other trouble.” He shook his head. “First, Croa’s warehouse catches fire. Then his men are attacked under strange circumstances. That’s a lot of ill-luck for one man. Of course, if you want to take your chances and hire on with him, I’m sure Croa will pay you well.” He met their gazes with a meaningful look. “It’s up to you what you value more—silver or your life.”
A few awkward moments passed. Then Magnus said, “Thanks for the warning. I would urge you to seek out Sigurd as you planned. He should be eager to hire you, as we’ve left him two crewmen short.”
Bors narrowed his eyes at them, then shook his head again. “Young fools,” he muttered as he walked away.
“Well, that was good fortune for us,” Orm said. “And for Sigurd as well. He’ll get an experienced crewman to replace us.”
“Aye,” Magnus agreed. “What a clever ploy on the part of Ailinn. If we can get on Croa’s ship and cause a few more unfortunate things to happen, perhaps we can unsettle even more of his crew. That might aid us when we get to York.”
As they started down the dock, Orm let out a guffaw. “I was biting my tongue the whole while. Superstitious old fellow.”
“There are a lot of men like him,” Magnus said. “Which is what I’m counting on.” He looked at Orm and grinned.
A moment later, he glanced down the dock and saw Croa approaching. Magnus’s mirth vanished. As Croa drew near--accompanied by two warriors Magnus hadn’t seen before—Magnus took a sharp breath. He felt more than a hint of anxiety at the thought of joining Croa’s crew and being trapped on a ship with him. “Croa? Croa Ottarson?” he called out.
Croa halted. “What do you want?”
“My name’s Magnus Gunnarson. I’d heard you might need some more crewmen.”
Croa’s piggish eyes narrowed and he scowled. “Why would you think that?”
Magnus’s heartbeat quickened. It seemed very unwise to bring up Croa’s recent run of bad luck and its effect on his men. A moment later, a plausible response came to him. He gestured to the nearby dragonships. “I hear you’re sailing with three good-sized vessels. You’ll require a substantial number of experienced seamen to handle such a fleet.” He motioned to Orm. “My companion and I offer our services.”
Croa’s gaze raked them. “Who have you sailed with previously?”
“We came here as part of Sigurd Hroldson’s crew. While I have no complaint against him as a captain, this is the only journey he plans to make this season. It’s not yet high summer and there’s a lot of time yet for traveling upon the waves. I’d heard you’re making several more stops before heading north.” Magnus held his breath as he finished.
Croa grunted. “I could use a couple more oarmen, and you look big and brawny enough to do the work. But your companion...” He jerked his thumb at Orm. “I’ve no use for a puny fellow like him.”
Two heartbeats later, Orm had drawn his knife and sent it whizzing across the dock. It landed—hilt quivering—in a sack carried by two slaves. The slaves gaped at Orm. Orm smiled grimly at Croa, then went to retrieve his knife. “I may be small, but I have other skills that might be of use to you.”
A muscle twitched in Croa’s jaw. Then he said, “We’ll leave before mid-morning.” He turned to Magnus. “You’ll sail on the Dragonsbreath with me.” He motioned with his head to the middle ship. “And you... ” He gestured to Orm. “You’ll be on that vessel.” He indicated the ship next to them, then moved away and started bellowing at the slaves to hurry up and finish loading.
“I couldn’t have asked for better luck,” Magnus said when Croa was out of earshot. “He’s placed me on the ship where the Irishwoman is.”
“But not me,” Orm said sourly. “I wonder why he decided to split us up.”
“Croa may worry that if we’re together on the same ship we might somehow plot against him.”
Which was exactly what they’d planned, Magnus thought. He met Orm’s gaze. “I wouldn’t blame you if you’ve changed your mind. I’m certain Sigurd would willingly have you back on his crew.”
“Nay, I want to go,” Orm responded. “Besides, you’ll need my aid when we get to York.”
“Very well,” Magnus said. “But be careful. These men aren’t like those on Sigurd’s crew. They’re hardened sorts who only look after their own interests. Remember that in your dealings with them.” He fixed Orm with a fierce look. “I won’t be able to rescue you if you get into trouble.”
“And I won’t be there to guard your back either,” Orm responded, glaring back at him. “So don’t do anything stupid. No woman is worth dying for.”
“I don’t intend to die,” Magnus answered. “As for my plans, other than trying to spook the crew, I really can’t do anything until we reach York.”
“And then what?” Orm challenged. “Even if you get her free of Croa, York’s a very long way from the western coast of Eire, which is where you said she hails from.”
Put in those terms, his goal did sound impossible. But Magnus wouldn’t let himself think like that. He’d managed to remain near the Irishwoman. Now he had only to wait for a chance to free her.
“Have a care for yourself, Orm,” Magnus said as the two prepared to go their separate ways. “Although your skill with a knife is impressive.” He motioned to the dagger tucked into Orm’s belt.
“When you’re ‘a puny fellow’ you have to find ways to even the score.” Orm gave Magnus an affectionate punch in the shoulder and said farewell.
* * *
Magnus boarded the ship and looked for a place to stow his supplies. The opening to the cargo area was on the prow side of the mast, but on the other side there was a small hide shelter where the women would probably be moved before they set out on the voyage.
He made his way toward the hide shelter, carefully avoiding the rolled up sail and rigging. The deck was lined with large sea chests that were nailed down so they wouldn’t slide around if the sea was rough. Magnus went to the one nearest the shelter, and saw that some other man had already claimed it by laying his sheathed sword on top.
“Looking for a place to settle in?” s
omeone called.
Magnus looked down the deck and met the gaze of a sturdy man with wheat-colored hair. Recognizing him as the warrior he’d talked to before boarding the ship the first time, Magnus knew a tinge of unease. Would this man remember all the questions he’d asked?
Magnus approached the man and nodded in greeting. “Magnus Gunnarson.”
“Asgar Ranaldson. I guess you decided to hire on with Croa.”
“Aye.”
“Good thing, too, or we’d be an oarman short. Lost another one just a bit ago. Heard about the fire, did you? And the attacks on the men?”
“Aye.”
Asgar nodded, looking thoughtful. “I don’t believe any of that nonsense about a curse either. If you ask me, some man set the fire and bludgeoned the two crewman to make Croa look bad.”
Magnus’s mind raced as he tried to think how to respond. “Does Croa have a lot of enemies?” he asked.
Asgar shrugged. “Any man with wealth and power is going to have enemies. No one’s using that sea chest,” he added, pointing to the one across from his.
Although this chest was farther down the deck than he would have liked, Magnus decided it would serve. He put down his bag of supplies and sleeping sack. Opening the bag, he began to take out his things and stow them in the chest Asgar had indicated. “I hired on with Croa because I didn’t want to return to Hedeby,” he said. “But I really don’t know what to expect as a member of Croa’s crew.”
Asgar nodded. “He’s said to be a harsh captain who doesn’t tolerate anyone questioning his orders, but he makes up for it by paying his crew very well. And he has the means to do so. This is a big ship, and the hold is filled to the top with valuable goods: casks of wine, crates of glassware, hides and grain.”
Asgar didn’t mention the women, and Magnus wondered if he knew about them. Asgar might have hired on after the women had already been loaded onto the ship.
“Most of the crew were newly hired here in Dublin,” said Asgar. “I’ll bet not more than a half a dozen of them have ever sailed with Croa before.”
“That seems strange.” Magnus continued to unpack his things.
“I was told that’s how he usually works. He’d rather hire men as he needs rather than keep a regular crew.”
“I would think that a regular crew would be more loyal than a group of strangers.”
Asgar shrugged. “Perhaps Croa thinks he pays so well that he doesn’t need to worry about loyalty. And he does have some men who’ve been with him a long time.”
More and more crewmen were boarding the ship. Asgar motioned with his head. “See that fellow over there, the one with the nasty scar on his face? That’s Hafgrim. He’s Croa’s right-hand man. Scarce ever leaves his side.” Magnus shot a glance in the direction Asgar had indicated. He recalled Hafgrim as one of the warriors who’d been with Croa the first night in the ale house.
“There’s another fellow who always seems to be around Croa,” Asgar continued. “I think he might be his nephew or other kin, although he doesn’t look like him. His name’s Thorvald. I’ll point him out to you when I see him.”
Magnus nodded.
Asgar’s expression grew rapt as he took in the length of the deck. “I’m pleased to be traveling on this ship. It’s a superb vessel. I can hardly wait until we’re out on the open sea. Then we’ll see what this beauty can really do.”
At this moment, Magnus found it hard to focus on the joys of sailing. His thoughts were all on the challenges ahead of him.
Chapter 7
A little past mid-day, the ship’s anchor was raised, and men began to grab up the long oars stored on the sides of the vessel and fit them into the oar holes. Magnus did the same, then took his place on the sea chest he’d claimed. As soon as the order was given, he began to row, and the ship moved slowly away from the dock. As they glided down river, Magnus knew the thrill of beginning a voyage. But this time it was tempered by his unease over what would happen on this journey, as well his awareness of the Irishwoman and her companions, crowded into the dank, dark hold below deck.
He’d thought Croa would have the women brought above deck before the ship set out, but perhaps Croa was waiting until they were well away from the longphort and out to sea to free his captives from their unpleasant prison. Magnus savored the idea of seeing Ailinn’s lovely face once again. Getting a glimpse of her would quell the doubts and worries gnawing at him. He couldn’t help wondering why he was completely altering the direction of his life for a woman he scarcely knew. What had happened to his dream of having his own ship some day?
He told himself he hadn’t given up his dream, but was merely putting it off for a time. Besides, part of the reason he wanted to have his own ship was the freedom to see new places and experience new things. Here he was, off to York, a place he’d never been before.
When they reached the mouth of the river, two of the crew raised the great red and white wadmal sail. Watching the huge piece of fabric catch the breeze, Magnus experienced another surge of excitement. Asgar was right. This was a magnificent ship, and he appreciated the chance to sail on her, no matter the circumstances.
The order came to halt rowing. Magnus pulled in his oar and got up to stow it in along the side of the ship as the other men were doing. As he returned to his sea chest, he observed a small gray and gold cat moving daintily along the deck. He stopped to admire the graceful creature, wishing he could take on its small, sleek form for a time. Then he could easily climb down into the hold and see the Irishwoman.
Croa still hadn’t ordered the women brought up on the deck. Did he really mean to leave them down there for the whole journey? Of course he did, Magnus realized bitterly. To a swine like Croa, they were no different than his other cargo.
The familiar anger seized hold of him. A beautiful, well-born woman like Ailinn shouldn’t have to endure such rude treatment. Magnus set his jaw, more determined than ever that he must see this thing through.
* * *
Ailinn turned away, grimacing as Brina vomited into a hide bucket. The smell made Ailinn’s stomach roil, but she fought back the nausea with all her might. I won’t be sick. I won’t.
She shifted a tiny distance away from her maid, although there really was nowhere to go. The ship’s hold—which had seemed crowded when they first boarded—was now packed with supplies for the journey. Between the barrels, bags and boxes, there was barely room for the four women to sit or lie down on the sheepskin pallets their captor had provided.
On Ailinn’s other side, Ullach let out an agonized groan. Ailinn shuddered, torn between revulsion and pity. She’d thought their journey to Dublin had been unpleasant, but this was proving to be far worse. The ship’s hull shifted up and down with a nauseating rhythm. She wondered if the seasickness came about because they were in the hold rather than on deck breathing fresh sea air, or if the sea was rougher this far from the shore.
A pang of misery went through Ailinn as she realized they were moving farther and farther away from her homeland. With every passing moment, it seemed less and less likely that she would ever find her way back to Locha Lein. A wave of despair afflicted her. Her situation was hopeless. No one could help her. Croa was too powerful. She thought of the young Norse warrior and the vow he’d made to help her. What a fool he was to think he could get her away from Croa.
But if he was a fool, he was a brave, noble one. At least he’d tried. The memory of his strong callused hands cupping her own brought tears to Ailinn’s eyes. He was so handsome, so kind. Something about the young Norseman made her want to yield to him. To let him put his arms around her and hold her tight. To rest her head against his broad chest.
The comforting image vanished as the sound of Brina’s retching pierced Ailinn’s consciousness. Surely by now her stomach must be empty, Ailinn thought.
Brina let out a moan. “Oh, Ailinn. I want to die.”
“Don’t speak such nonsense,” Ailinn said wearily. She sat up and reached over to strok
e Brina’s shoulders. After all the times her maid had comforted her, the least she could do was return the favor. She soothed Brina, saying, “Soon you’ll grow used to the movement of the ship and start to feel better.”
“Nay. With each passing moment, I only feel worse.” Brina let out another agonized moan, then jerked upright and grabbed for the bucket.
Ailinn inched back, wondering if she’d ever felt as bleak and helpless as she did at this moment. She thought again of the Norseman. He was far away now. All hope he might rescue them was gone. Ailinn closed her eyes and tried to summon up some spark of determination to go on. What was it that Brina was always telling her? As long as you’re alive, there’s always a chance things will get better. You’re a Donovan, the last of a proud and courageous line.
Bolstered by these thoughts, Ailinn fought back the crushing anguish and reached over to once again stroke her maid’s sweat-soaked back.
* * *
Magnus turned over in his bed sack and let out a sigh. At this rate, the ship would reach York before he had a chance to speak to Ailinn. So far on the voyage, Croa had stayed near the opening in the deck, although Magnus had seen Hafgrim and Thorvald go down there. They must be the only ones Croa trusted to have dealings with the women.
Magnus tensed with frustration. Somehow he must think of a way to get into the hold and speak to Ailinn. But how? If he tried to climb below deck and Croa saw him, there was no telling what the big man would do. Croa wore his sword at all times.
He needed an ally. If Orm were here, he might be able to cause some sort of distraction that would divert Croa’s attention. But Orm was on one of the two ships barely visible on the starboard side. The only man he knew on this vessel was Asgar. Was there any hope the fair-haired man would help him? Why should he? The small bit of silver Magnus had left was hardly enough to tempt anyone. What else did he have to barter with? His sword, but he would need that once he got to York.
The more he thought about it, the more hopeless it seemed. Perhaps he would have to wait until they arrived at their destination to speak to Ailinn. It would be torture, pure torture, but in the long run, it seemed like the soundest course of action.
Beyond the Sea Mist Page 8
