She was so calm. So accepting. He asked, “Is there no one you leave behind whom you love, Regan?” What of her lover, her sister’s husband? he wondered.
“There is no one,” she said, and seeing the question in his eyes, she explained to him about Ian Ferguson. “My virginity was sacrificed to protect Gruoch and ensure my mother’s revenge on the Fergusons,” she finished. “There was nothing more to it than that.”
“You have never loved a man?” he asked her.
“I have never loved anyone, except perhaps Gruoch,” she told him honestly. “I am not even certain I understand what the word really means. What is love? My mother’s love for my father seems to have become naught but a desire for vengeance. What was it before that? Her love for Gruoch was equally flawed. Gruoch was nae more than a means to her revenge. She cosseted and cajoled my sister into believing what she believed. I was nothing to our mother. Only in the end, when I could be of use to her, did she speak with kindness to me. On her deathbed. Until that moment it was as if I dinna really matter. She never nursed me at her breast, nor bound up my wounds when I was a wee bairn. Gruoch was all I had, and then only when our mam dinna want her. Love? I dinna even know what it means, or if it even exists, Gunnar Bloodaxe.”
Now he understood why she had not cried out when he had raped her earlier. She was like a legendary ice maiden. He could almost envy the man who would finally awaken her spirit, her passions, her love. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Despite everything, she had an untouched, flawless perfection about her. She was clever, and would learn to bend, but no man would ever break her. There was no other like her.
His men began descending the hill, driving a small group of weeping women before them. When they had reached the beach, the men pushed the vessel from the sand into the shallows, some of them clambering aboard as they did so. One by one the women were lifted into the boat and herded into its stem beneath a small canvas awning, where they were told to sit down upon the deck. The remaining sailors boarded, the sail was raised, and the ship began to move away from the land. Almost immediately the women set up a loud wail, some even tearing at their hair.
“Why do you weep?” Regan demanded of a young girl next to her. She was a scrawny creature with a freckled face and big brown eyes.
“Why lady,” the girl sobbed, recognizing quality when she saw it, “we are leaving our homeland forever.”
“What did any of you hae here that was so wonderful you are loath to part wi’ it?” Regan demanded of them.
“They mean to sell us as slaves, lady,” one woman said.
“And were ye nae little else to those who raised ye, or to those who sent ye to Mother Eubh at St. Maire’s?” she demanded of them. “A woman is but chattel to her family. Ye but exchange one master for another,” Regan said in practical tones.
“But the Celts are said to be pagans!” a woman cried.
Regan shrugged. “All men are the same,” she told them, and then wrapping her mantle about her, she closed her eyes.
Around her the other women chattered in amazement, and then a small voice said, “Ye are verra wise, lady. I am nae so frightened now.”
Regan opened her eyes. “What is yer name?” she asked the freckle-faced girl. “I am Regan MacDuff of Ben MacDui.”
“Morag is my name,” the girl said. “I dinna know my parents. I was sent to Mother Una eleven years ago by the Kennedys, when I was just a wee bairn.”
“What happened to Mother Una?” Regan asked, curious.
“One day she had a fit and fell into a swoon. When she awoke,” Morag said, “she could nae speak. At first the nuns dinna know what to do, for Mother Una was so strong and always did for everyone else. Then Sister Eubh said that as none of them could decide what was to be done, she would take over for Mother Una. None of the others dared tell her nay. At first everything was the same as it had been. Then Gunnar Bloodaxe came. Mother Eubh said he was her kinsman. Some of the younger nuns, and then the novices, began disappearing.
“At first we did nae know what was happening. Then one day I overheard Mother Eubh and Gunnar Bloodaxe planning who next would disappear from St Maire’s. I listened further and learned that they were selling women for profit And I learned that Gunnar Bloodaxe was Mother Eubh’s lover! I ran to Mother Una to tell her what I had found out, but Mother Eubh overheard me and my own fate was sealed,” Morag finished.
“What did ye think a woman who could nae speak could do to help ye, foolish lass?” Regan wondered aloud.
“Aye, yer right,” Morag agreed cheerfully, “but I dinna know what else to do. The convent dinna suit me anyhow,” she admitted.
Regan laughed. “It dinna suit me either,” she told Morag.
The voyage to Ireland was an uneventful one. While the other women alternately wept and prayed the time away, Regan MacDuff and Morag became friends. Both of them thought their companions foolish creatures to bewail a fate that could not be changed.
The ship upon which they sailed was a sturdy vessel. Because the light summer winds could not fill its sails, the twenty men at the oars were kept busy. The women were fed bread and dried smoked fish, and given water to drink from a large barrel that stood by the main mast. During the day they huddled nervously together in the stern, whispering, while at night they slept restlessly beneath the canvas awning. A single bucket was provided as a necessary, and emptied into the sea each time it was used.
Regan had certainly never considered her life at Ben MacDui a luxurious one, but by comparison to her current circumstances it seemed sumptuous. The other women were peasants. They knew no better. What would Gruoch think of this? Regan wondered. Did Gruoch even consider what might be happening to her twin any longer? Or was her life as Ian Ferguson’s wife all she wanted or needed now? She would never know.
The afternoon of the fourth day out from Strathclyde they sailed across Dublin Bay and into the mouth of the Liffey River, where they anchored for a short time awaiting the tide. Regan had never seen a town before, but the ragtag cluster of wooden buildings that made up the settlement called Dublin didn’t particularly impress her. Gunnar Bloodaxe strode to the stern, sending the fearful women scuttling into a whimpering knot, but for Regan and Morag.
“I want ye with me now,” he addressed her harshly.
“Morag too,” she told him boldly.
“I canna sell her to Donal Righ,” he said impatiently. Why was he even arguing with her? “Yer the prize in this batch, wench.” Gunnar Bloodaxe gestured impatiently.
“Do ye think only my beauty will affect this Donal Righ?” she asked him. “I think he will be even more impressed if I have my servant wi’ me. I am, after all, a laird’s daughter, Gunnar Bloodaxe.”
He silently debated her contention, and decided that she was absolutely correct. A nobleman’s daughter and her servant. Donal Righ would pay well for such a purchase, and he would be affected by its elegance. Donal Righ was a man who appreciated style. “Very well,” Gunnar Bloodaxe agreed, “your servant comes too.” He turned about, and hearing the obedient footsteps behind him, smiled, satisfied.
Regan grinned conspiratorily at Morag. They had planned this together the previous night while the other women slept. Neither of them had ever had a friend before, and they did not want to lose one another.
The ship’s anchor was finally pulled aboard. The vessel moved slowly under oar power up the river to a long wooden dock where it was made fast The women in the stem of the boat began to wail again.
Gunnar Bloodaxe looked thoroughly disgusted. He turned to his first mate, Thor Strongbow, and said, “Dispose of them in the usual manner while I take this prize and her servant to Donal Righ. Don’t let Lars Silversmith cheat you. You have ten women. All are in their prime, and none is ill or weak. They’re excellent slaves. I will expect a goodly weight in silver for them.” Then he looked at Regan and Morag, who were close by his side. “Come then,” he said, and hurried off the ship, the two young women behind him.
They followed him down the long wooden dock, gazing with interest at the other vessels tied up there. Some were smaller than the boat they had traveled on, but others were much larger and more elaborate. The men upon the decks were equally interesting to the two girls. Some were fair, others darker-skinned, and to their amazement, there were a few who were actually black in color. They were fascinated, and a bit afraid, as they hurried along after Gunnar Bloodaxe.
Dublin was the first of the Viking settlements of any note in Eire. It had been founded over a hundred years ago upon the site of two earlier Celtic settlements. The Vikings called their town Dubh linn, meaning dark pool, after the place where the river Liffey and a smaller stream called the Poodle met and joined. The Norwegians and Danes had battled for supremacy in the town over the past century. It had been destroyed once by the Celtic tribes, but within twenty years was flourishing once again. It was in Dublin that the Vikings had introduced the lucrative slave trade to the Irish. It now flourished along with other commerce. Until recently cattle had been the currency of exchange, but of late the Norsemen of Dublin had taken to coinage of gold and silver. It had made trade far more interesting, and easy.
Upon a rise within the town they stopped before a structure erected from both stone and wood. Gunnar Bloodaxe rapped sharply upon the large oak doors of the building with the hilt of his sword. Within moments the door was opened a crack and a small dark face peered out curiously. Then the visitor was recognized, and the door opened wider to admit him and the two girls.
“Greetings, Abu!” Gunnar Bloodaxe boomed in his rasping tones. “I see the Gods still allow you to live on in the house of Donal Righ.”
“I survive, Gunnar Bloodaxe,” a high, piping voice responded.
“I never saw anyone so small,” Morag whispered to Regan.
“What kind of a man is he?” Regan asked Gunnar.
“He’s a pygmy,” came the answer.
Regan did not understand, and she shrugged at Morag, who was equally confused. They were in a courtyard enclosed by the building’s walls. It seemed overcrowded with goods and bales of all sorts and shapes. Gunnar turned about, gesturing to them to keep up as they followed Abu into a separate section of the building.
“Wait here,” Abu ordered them, then hurried on short legs through a door. But a brief moment later he popped back out and called, “Come! My master will see you, Gunnar Bloodaxe.”
They entered the room. Both girls were astounded by what they saw. The walls were of polished wood, hung with silk tapestries. The floor was of polished stone. There were no windows in the room, but a neat fire pit burned applewood, lightly scenting the air, and taking the chill out of the cloudy day. Lights such as they had never seen—tall, of metal, and footed—lit the room. There was a dais. Seated upon it in an armed chair with a leather seat was a man with light brown skin. He was a very round man, from his body to his smooth polished pate, and his hairless face resembled nothing more than a benign full moon. He was the most foreign-looking creature either of them had ever laid eyes on, yet when he spoke, his accent was familiar.
“What have ye brought me, Gunnar Bloodaxe?” he demanded, wasting no time on amenities. He wore a wonderful robe of silk, striped in purple, red, blue, and yellow, and his pudgy fingers were richly beringed.
“A nobleman’s daughter, Donal Righ. Plucked from her convent on the Scots coast of Strathclyde,” Gunnar Bloodaxe replied. Reaching out, he pulled Regan’s mantle from her, revealing her face and long pale gold hair, which was loose. “This maid is worth a fortune. The other girl is her servant.”
“She is a virgin?” Donal Righ demanded.
“Alas, my lord, she is not,” Gunnar answered him. “She was sent to the convent for taking her sister’s husband for a lover.”
“And you tried to be certain her virtue was indeed lost,” Donal Righ said dryly. He shook his head. “Half her value is gone, Gunnar Bloodaxe. You know that.”
“If she were any other girl, perhaps,” Gunnar argued. He gestured at Regan to remove her tunic, pulling at it to hurry her along. “Look at her, Donal Righ!”
Regan now stood naked before the man, her long golden hair her only covering. Her belly was flat. Her breasts, though small, were mounds of snowy flesh, each topped by a deep pink berry of a nipple. Her legs were slender, tapering to slim ankles and high-arched, narrow feet. At the impatient prodding of Gunnar Bloodaxe’s thick finger, she turned slowly, revealing the graceful sweep of her back, leading into the firm, rounded twin moons of her buttocks.
“Hmmmmmm,” Donal Righ considered, his gaze carefully assessing the woman before him. She might not be a virgin, but there was a delicious freshness about her.
“She is a jewel beyond price!” Gunnar Bloodaxe enthused.
“What is your name, girl?” Donal Righ asked her.
“Regan MacDuff, my lord,” she told him.
“How many men have you known, Regan MacDuff?” he said.
“I lay wi’ Ian Ferguson one time, my lord; and Gunnar Bloodaxe forced me once when I said I was nae a virgin,” she explained to him.
“Why are you not afraid, girl?” His black eyes bored into her.
“I am afraid, my lord, but what can I possibly do to alter my circumstances? To weep and wail would be useless, would it nae?” she said.
He nodded. She had distinct possibilities. Her beauty would have been enough for most men, but he had a very special man in mind to master this girl. A man who would be as intrigued by the girl’s intellect as he would be by her beauty. “She is very outspoken,” he complained to Gunnar Bloodaxe nevertheless. “A slave should be humble.”
“The boldness can be beaten out of her, Donal Righ,” Gunnar Bloodaxe replied. “There are some men who might even enjoy such an exercise in discipline,” he suggested with a smirk.
“Give the girl back her gown,” Donal Righ ordered the Norseman. “I have seen enough. She is fair, but not a virgin. She is too forward, but perhaps with proper training I can eke out a small profit on her. Mayhap.” He appeared to consider a moment, and then he said, “What do you want for the girl, Gunnar Bloodaxe, bearing in mind, of course, that her fairness does not make up for her many deficiencies?”
Gunnar Bloodaxe named his price, and Donal Righ winced delicately. He counteroffered, saying as he did, “The serving wench is to be included in the price as well. I cannot have the girl parted from her companion, lest it sadden her and she sicken and die. Too many of these girls will do that, you know, and then the entire investment is lost.”
“If you would have the servant, Donal Righ, you will have to better yer offer,” Gunnar Bloodaxe told him. He was not fooled. The slave merchant wanted his fair captive, as he had known that he would.
Donal Righ’s short, stubby fingers worried the fabric of his sleeve. Properly trained, and he knew what she could be, the girl was perfect for what he had in mind. The Norseman was a wily, stubborn fellow fully capable of selling her as a whore to some Celtic brothel keeper just to get what he felt was a fair price. Donal Righ upped his offer by half again, and Gunnar Bloodaxe, who had not expected to get that good a price for Regan, was stunned. He nodded mutely.
“Abu, take the women to the baths, and see that they are made comfortable,” Donal Righ instructed his servant quickly, before the Northman could change his mind. “Then bring me my strongbox, and send Gerda for wine, that Gunnar Bloodaxe and I may toast this sale between us.”
“It is a good bargain,” the Norseman said slowly, still amazed by his incredible good fortune. Eubh would certainly be surprised … if he told her. He looked up to discover that the two girls had been shepherded from the room by the tiny Abu. “What will you do with her?” he asked Donal Righ. “You must have some purpose in mind, I know.”
“I owe a debt to a certain lord in my mother’s homeland,” Donal Righ answered him. “I shall send the girl to him in gratitude for his patronage. Fair-skinned and fair-haired girls are greatly prized amongst the Moors. He is a man
who enjoys a variety of women. She will undoubtedly please him, furthering the lord’s gratitude to me.” He smiled broadly at Gunnar Bloodaxe. “I have paid you too much for the girl, my friend, but it pleases me to do so, knowing the advantage the girl will give me with my lord.”
“Yer a sly old fox.” The Northman chuckled, feeling expansive now that he believed he had gotten the upper hand with Donal Righ.
“Will you be back in Dublin before year’s end?” Donal Righ asked Gunnar Bloodaxe.
“I think not I would be home in time for the midsummer festivities. I’m taking another wife then, and my oldest two sons cannot get in the harvest without me. Besides, my cousin, Eubh, the abbess, will not have another shipment of slaves readied for me until next spring. Her convent is where I got this beauty. Mostly they are just peasant girls with small dowries sent to be nuns. Their families never expect to see them again. It makes it easy for us. If I ever get another like this one I’ve just sold ye, I’ll bring her to ye, Donal Righ.” He chuckled good-naturedly.
Abu returned, his little legs almost buckling beneath the weight of his master’s strongbox. He was accompanied by a tall, spare woman carrying a tray with wine and goblets. Gunnar Bloodaxe watched, astounded, as Donal Righ removed small bars of silver from the brimming chest. The Norseman was a simple man with a single ship, a farmstead in Daneland, and two wives. In his entire life he had never seen so many riches. He wondered if there was some way in which he could steal the money box, but then decided there was not. Donal Righ’s house was too well fortified.
Donal Righ shoved the bars of silver across the table to Gunnar Bloodaxe. “The price agreed upon,” he said, closing the chest. He signaled to Abu, who picked it up and tottered from the chamber.
The serving woman had already poured them goblets of wine, and now stood deferentially by, awaiting her master’s further orders.
Donal Righ picked up his goblet, nodding to his companion to do the same. “Skaal!” he said, and drank the wine down in a single gulp.
The Love Slave Page 6
