The Irish Bride

by Sarah Woodbury

  Vigo’s eyes narrowed. “Why was he in the woods?”

  Dai obediently translated into Welsh for Steffan.

  “Tell him I overheard sailors talking about the fights and thought I’d look in. Tell him I’m a sailor, not a Dragon. I was merely walking into Dublin with Gareth. I don’t work for him!”

  Dai translated this for Vigo, who did the same for Donnell with Gaelic. It was both a brilliant and awkward way to communicate, and Dai had to make sure, when Vigo and Donnell spoke, that he kept his eyes unfocused, as if he was waiting to be spoken to again.

  Donnell slammed his fist into the palm of his hand, his anger barely contained. “Your fighting ring is a distraction we don’t need. I told you it was going to get out of hand. I don’t find these fights as amusing as you do.”

  “They have been useful. It’s through them that unrest against Leinster has spread throughout Dublin. Keep a man entertained; keep him fed; and he’ll do anything you want. Each man out there is a spark just waiting to burst into flame. Ottar never understood the people he ruled. I do.”

  Around Dai, none of the Danish men appeared to react to the disdain in Vigo’s voice. Either none spoke Gaelic, or they were so loyal to Vigo they didn’t care how little respect he had for their people.

  “Too bad we couldn’t have figured out a way for Ottar to survive the battle,” Donnell said. “He was more malleable than Brodar has proven to be. I regret the need for you to kill him.”

  Vigo’s chin jutted out. “It is a deed for which I am still waiting to be fully compensated.”

  Donnell frowned. “Patience, dear brother. The throne is within reach. If Diarmait had died, like he was supposed to, we might have taken the city today and be one step closer to total victory. Brodar would have listened to reason, stopped the wedding, and renounced Dublin’s subjugation to Leinster.”

  “Brodar might not have believed Connaught’s rule would have been any better.”

  “He would have if I promised him autonomy for Dublin.” Donnell made a disgusted gesture with one hand. “Now we have to start over.”

  “Perhaps.”

  It was what Donnell had tried to negotiate with Ottar, through the men of Meath, though the death of Merchant Rikard had exposed the plot and forced Ottar to march on them instead of becoming their allies. This new scheme appeared somewhat more straightforward than the first: kill Diarmait, maybe kill Rory too, and take advantage of the chaotic aftermath. With those deaths, Donnell’s path to the throne of Connaught and the high kingship would have been clear—and Dublin could rule itself.

  If Dai were Danish, he might think it was a good deal.

  As steward for Prince Hywel, Dai’s father was heavily involved in the running of Gwynedd. Hywel had many brothers, though so far there’d been no infighting to speak of amongst them. Within the Dragons, it was Aron who thought about political strategy the most, and with whom Gareth consulted when he had a problem he couldn’t immediately solve. Or, more often, when he knew how to solve it, but wanted to talk through the repercussions of his decisions and actions. Dai wished fervently that any of the other Dragons were here, because this was too big of a problem for him to solve alone.

  Vigo turned to Steffan. “I’ll ask one more time, why are you here? Is it at the behest of this Gareth? Or someone else?”

  Dai kept on translating.

  “I am just here to see the fights.”

  “He’s lying,” Donnell said.

  “Of course he’s lying,” Vigo said mildly.

  “We should kill him. Bury him in the woods where nobody will ever find him.”

  “We could do that,” Vigo said, patience evident in his voice, “but he is a Dragon and servant to the edling of Gwynedd. He might have told someone where he was going, and when he doesn’t return, this Gareth person will start asking questions—questions you don’t want answered. We are not ready yet.”

  “You don’t want them answered either, brother.” Donnell visibly ground his teeth, his temper building again. “We can’t let him tell what he knows. He has seen me.”

  “I did suggest to you earlier that you shouldn’t come here tonight,” Vigo said, again in that mild tone.

  Now Donnell turned on him. “It’s too great a risk to keep him alive. Get it done quickly and quietly.”

  “No.”

  Donnell’s eyes narrowed. “You are disobeying me?”

  “You are not my liege lord, brother.” Vigo spat out the word. “We are in this together, for what we both achieve if you inherit the throne from our father.” Then he put up a hand and softened his tone. “Why waste good Welsh muscle? Ever since Father put a stop to our raiding, our income has dropped precipitously. I have buyers in the north who would pay well for these two.”

  Vigo gestured to Danish men behind Dai. And then, between one heartbeat and the next, two of Vigo’s men had Dai against a pillar. A moment after that, his hands were tied in front of him, with the rope looped around his neck.

  Vigo had a smirk on his face. “There. That’s better.”

  Dai was shocked—and ashamed—to have been taken so much by surprise. “What-what are you doing?” he stuttered in Danish.

  Steffan had surged to his feet with a look of horror on his face.

  Vigo’s face was a mask of hostile amusement. “Tell him as long as he behaves, you will live. If he fights or tries to escape, we will first hurt you, and then kill you.”

  Dai managed to translate through his mounting horror, and though Steffan glared ferociously, he didn’t fight when the man who’d tied Dai wrapped a rope around his wrists too.

  When Vigo next spoke, his tone was full of satisfaction, and his words were for Donnell, since they came once again in Gaelic. “Just as I thought. A Dragon.”

  Donnell frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Vigo motioned with his head for them to lead Steffan and Dai out of the byre, which their captors did. Once outside, they were both forced to their knees. “It means our prisoner is so stuffed full of honor he values the life of a Welsh boy he only just met. He will behave if it means I don’t hurt the boy.”

  Donnell looked Steffan up and down and laughed. “You always did have the luck of the devil, brother. Send word to me when Diarmait is dead. It better be soon. I’m tired of waiting.”

  He strode to his horse, and the half-dozen men he’d brought with him sprang into action. Within a count of ten, the whole company had ridden away north, leaving Dai and Steffan beside the byre, with four heavily armed guards around them.

  Vigo made another motion with his head towards Steffan. “Take them to the steading. I’ll arrange for their transport tomorrow.”

  This time Steffan came up from his knees a little stiffly, which Dai hoped was an act but feared was not. “I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

  “Translate!” Vigo grasped Dai by his hair and hauled him to his feet too.

  Dai obeyed, trying to breathe evenly like Steffan was. Of course, Vigo was right that Dai made an excellent hostage to Steffan’s good behavior, just not entirely for the reasons he thought.

  “I’m making a calculated choice.” Now that Vigo had the true upper hand, he appeared to be even more talkative and willing to answer questions.

  “In allying with Donnell, you’re exchanging one master for another,” Steffan said. “How can that be a calculated choice? You are Danish, aren’t you?”

  After Dai translated, Vigo tsked. “Half-Danish.”

  Dai hadn’t yet explained to Steffan that Vigo and Donnell were half-brothers, both sons of the high king. and there wasn’t time now either because Vigo ordered his men to tie the other end of the ropes that bound Steffan and Dai to the saddle of one of the horses. At least neither had a sack over his head, so they could still see and hear.

  When they were both secured, Vigo said, “Your only concern is to do as I ask, when I ask it.”

  Dai translated.

  “How do I know you won’t kill him anyway?”r />
  “I give you my word.”

  Steffan scoffed. “Why should I believe you?”

  Vigo laughed. “He is worth more to me alive than dead. As long as you behave, you both will live.”

  “To be sold,” Dai added bitterly.

  Steffan paused. “My fate aside, am I correct in thinking this is about overthrowing Brodar?”

  Dai knew it wasn’t now, but rather than explain to Steffan, he translated in order to hear what Vigo had to say.

  In reply, Vigo scoffed yet again. “If Brodar is the practical man I think him to be, he can keep the throne. Once Diarmait is dead, Leinster will be weak. Brodar knows what it means to be a real Dane. He just has to be reminded.”

  “What do you get out of it?” Dai was genuinely curious. “Donnell becomes High King and King of Connaught and you get ... what?”

  “Leinster,” Vigo said with satisfaction.

  “Do you really think Donnell will give it to you?”

  “He has to. He knows I have the power to destroy him.”

  “Then he could just have you killed.” At this point, Dai figured he had nothing to lose and would ask questions as long as Vigo would answer.

  Vigo sneered. “He can try.” Then a genuinely pleased expression crossed Vigo’s face. “You are a smart boy, aren’t you? I might have to keep you.”

  “Slavery is illegal in Dublin,” Dai said instantly.

  “Not for long. And not in the rest of Ireland. Many things will change when Donnell is crowned High King.”

  And when Dai translated this last bit for Steffan, it was the first moment Steffan looked genuinely shaken.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Day Four

  Cadoc

  Cadoc’s Danish was very bad, but his Gaelic was excellent. He was close enough to the byre to have heard a few names bandied about, Donnell and Connaught being the most momentous, and to see that things had gone awry very quickly down below him. He’d found a perch in a tree not far from where Dai and Steffan were being roped to the back of a horse, but now he couldn’t come down without risking exposure.

  He would have just shot them all. Part of him thought there was no reason not to, and it would have solved a great many problems. But it might have created a great many more.

  He could kill the heir to the High King of Ireland. That was as simple as nocking an arrow and loosing it.

  None of them might survive the aftermath, however, least of all Dublin itself.

  Still, if Dai and Steffan had been in real danger of being murdered on the spot, Cadoc would have thrown caution to the winds and shot everyone anyway.

  But as it was, he did nothing, just watched the villain Vigo lead his friends away.

  Unfortunately, once they were gone, Cadoc faced a real dilemma whether to track them through the woods now or get help and then track them. Steffan was more than competent, and likely had a knife his captors hadn’t found tucked into some piece of clothing. He could free himself and Dai if he could live long enough to get to it.

  But Cadoc couldn’t leave them alone for that long, so, after they left, he made his way down from his tree. Vigo’s men had taken the torches with him, but the full moon and clear night meant Cadoc could still see. After listening for a count of thirty, during which time Cadoc settled his heart and his breathing to a manageable level, he started after them, though he quickly realized the pace they were setting was near to crippling. Dai and Steffan would have to be running to keep up, an uncomfortable prospect tied to the back of a horse.

  Initially, the trail was easy to follow, but once they came out of the woods and reached a crossroads, Cadoc was forced to stop and reassess.

  He couldn’t see or hear them. So many people had passed this way recently that hoofprints couldn’t be read as meaningful either. He didn’t know which way they’d gone.

  But then, on the path north, a bit of pale fluff caught his eye, followed by a second and a third farther on. As he bent to the first one, he saw it was a crumb of bread, as were the others.

  He straightened, looking west, which was the only other real option for where Vigo could be taking Dai and Steffan. If Cadoc were Vigo, he would have gone west, into Irish lands. But these men were Danish, even if allied with Donnell. North made sense too. He hoped too that Vigo wasn’t going to take his prisoners far, not at three in the morning.

  Once Cadoc committed to the road, he was able to move fast enough that it took less than a quarter of an hour to catch up, aided by the trail Dai had left behind. Cadoc heard them before he saw them, giving him time to take a shortcut through a patch of woods that cut off some distance due to a bend in the road around a hillock. They’d come maybe two miles from the crossroads. It wasn’t so very far in actuality, but it was a long way to run behind a horse.

  Which is perhaps why the entire company had come to a halt. As Cadoc crouched behind a tree on a little rise above the road, he saw Dai on his knees, his head down and breath coming hard. From the marks behind him, the horse had dragged him twenty feet before the group stopped.

  Cadoc’s heart warmed to the boy. He could be tired. But as Dai bent over, his forehead almost to the dirt, his bound hands went to the pocket of his coat.

  Then his captors hauled him to his feet again, and they set off, at a slower pace, with Dai continuing to stumble along behind them. Somewhere along the way, Vigo had taken a different turning, leaving only four men guarding Dai and Steffan.

  When they had reached a point fifty yards ahead, Cadoc stepped into the road and bent to the cloth Dai had dropped. It was hemp, rough woven and designed to hold food for a journey—in this case, the bun from which Dai had been scattering bread. Cloth in hand, Cadoc started after them, though again making sure he remained well back. He was less afraid of losing them now than being spotted.

  Fortunately for everyone involved, Cadoc included, the company turned off the road a short while later, this time into a more substantial holding than the lean-to, consisting of a thatched-roof hut with outbuildings. Smoke rose from the hut, but Steffan and Dai were taken to the adjacent barn, which significantly larger than the house. White sheep dotted the adjacent field. They’d arrived at a working farm.

  To whom the farm belonged could wait until Cadoc had figured out the more important issue of what to do next. Dai and Steffan had been brought to the farm by four men, all on horseback, which was an indication of the money and status of the people involved. Ordinary peasants had cobs—horses to pull wagons and plows but untrained for riding the way these horses had been ridden. That made the men around Vigo warriors of a sort. They could be common Danishmen, but Cadoc thought they might be higher ranking than that, more on the level of a teulu, a personal guard.

  He was rising from his hiding place to move closer to the barn, in hopes of hearing what was happening inside—and preventing something bad, if he could—when two things happened at once: Vigo rode into the clearing with three more men—and a hand came down hard on his shoulder. “Stay still.”

  He turned to find Aron, followed closely by Iago, stooping low just behind him. A rush of gratitude flowed through him to see two more of his fellow Dragons in his hour of need. They were brothers in a way he’d never known before, and a fellow brother was in trouble—not to mention their brother-in-training.

  “How did you find me?”

  Aron grinned. “We never lost you.”

  “You can run, I’ll give you that.” Iago grunted. “A few times I was afraid you’d get too far ahead, but Aron here—” he elbowed the younger man, “—has a good nose for the forest. Who knew?”

  Aron ignored Iago’s compliment entirely, his eyes focused on the house and the barn. He knew his own worth.

  “What do you see?” Cadoc said.

  “Too many men.” Aron grimaced. “We may not have a choice about going in, however. I overheard the bit about selling Steffan and Dai as slaves. I don’t like the look of these newcomers either, and I don’t trust Vigo not to change his mind and ki
ll them outright.”

  Cadoc could only agree.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Day Four

  Gwen

  “My lady! Your son is here!”

  Gwen swept her cloak over her shoulders and came to the edge of the railing that overlooked the main floor of Godfrid’s house. Cait was already heading down the stairs. Her long night braid hung over one shoulder, but she was fully dressed. She’d slept in her clothes as Gwen had, having stayed the night, heedless of questions of propriety. But of course, Godfrid hadn’t come home.

  Gwen looked down to the fire to see Llelo looking up at her. “Mam.”

  She was down the stairs by the time Cait reached Llelo. She would have flung her arms around her son, but the warning look in Llelo’s eyes told her to wait. “What has happened? Just tell me.”

  In a few sentences Llelo explained what he’d seen, ending with, “Dai was well, last I saw.”

  Gwen put her hand to her heart and looked to Cait. The plan, upon which everyone had agreed before Godfrid and his men had ridden north, was not to engage with the fighters, but simply to watch and learn. Nobody had thought the gathering would be this extensive, or that Dai and Conall would be roped into fighting. And because of the secrecy involved, they hadn’t let the watchmen on duty in the city or palace know what was happening until it happened.

  Fortunately, Godfrid’s house wasn’t far from the palace and, with Llelo in tow and Cait’s remaining bodyguard, Bern, jogging beside them, they arrived in the courtyard to find a dozen men and horses already preparing to ride. Hywel himself was tightening his horse’s girth.

  Gwen ran up to him. “How did you know to be ready?”

  “I didn’t. I woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep. I had what I thought was an unwise idea to ride out with Evan and Gruffydd, perhaps to greet Gareth and the other Dragons returning. I met Brodar crossing the hall.”

  “As it turns out, you’re needed.” And she explained why and where, as Cait was doing with Brodar.

  “I can lead the way,” Llelo said in Welsh, “but I left my horse at Godfrid’s house.”