Golden Surrender

by Heather Graham

  “No!” The ardent cry came from the top of the stairs. Olaf looked up to see that Erin stood, her fingers gripped over the bannister, her hair wildly tumbling over her shoulders, contrasting with the emerald flames in her eyes. She seemed to whisk down the stairway, and before he could stop her, she was bargaining with the Danish messenger. “Give him no such message!” Erin cried. “Tell him that I will come wherever he chooses, if he will but release the child. I would make a far better hostage, for I ride well and will cause him no delay. Tell him—”

  “Erin!” Olaf roared, at last catching her arm and swinging her hard against him. He turned to the messenger. “Go! Out of my hall now, ere I have you relieved of ears and nose. Carry my words to your jarl, not those of a screeching shrew!”

  Erin fought against Olaf’s strength and shouted. “Hear my words, for your leader would well want to hear them—”

  She did not know if the man heard her cry or not, for he had indeed heard the sincere threat in Olaf’s words and cared not to have a bloody pulp between his eyes with which to breathe for the remaining days of his life. She did not have long to ponder, for Olaf was suddenly shaking her ferociously. “Must you forever betray me?” he roared in grating, barely controlled rage. “Fool! You know not this Dane! He seeks to see me so only to slit the throat of my son before my eyes, before my execution. Idiot! You think he will trade the child for you? Nay, he will take you both. Are you so eager to know the Dane, to lie beneath him and feel his thrust?”

  Erin stared at him long and hard, feeling as if her head still spun and rocked from his shaking. “A Viking is a Viking,” she spat, trembling as she spoke, for she knew she must speak harshly when her words were a cry against her own heart. “It has seldom made any difference to the Irish whether they were invaded by Norwegian or Dane.”

  The piercing dagger his eyes struck within her was staggering, and yet she accepted the pain, for she must. Olaf was right; the Dane sought to kill both him and the child. But she knew she could manage to trick Friggid into releasing her son. Even if the sacrifice was herself, it would mean little, for Leith—and Olaf—would live. She had spent the time when Mergwin thought her safely sleeping planning carefully.

  Yet she hadn’t planned on the extent of Olaf’s rage. He pushed her from him with a furious oath, so cruelly that she staggered against Sigurd and would have fallen to the floor had not the Viking caught her. “See that my lady wife is chained,” he ordered, “and chained well lest she bring new treachery to this day!”

  Sigurd could have wept with the tempest and misery for those he loved. “I’ll take the queen to her chamber—”

  “Nay!” Olaf thundered. “The dungeons—for she is a vixen versed well in the ways of an enticing witch, able to beguile men to her will.”

  Sigurd held Erin by the shoulders, shuffling from foot to foot. “Olaf, I—”

  “I know well what I say, Sigurd. Obey me.”

  “Nay!” Erin screamed, but she was led away despite her protest. “Wolf bastard!” she shrieked, but it was doubtful Olaf heard more than the echo of her oath, for Sigurd was carrying her down the dank steps to the dungeons. Dear God, she wondered feverishly how was she ever to escape the stone and steel prison? She had to! The life of her child was at stake … and the life of the Wolf.

  Sigurd had not chained her, nor allowed her prison to be a miserable one. He had supplied Erin with warm mead and ample food and water and the finest pelts available for warmth. Yet she knew from the look on the Viking’s face that though he cared for her, he would loyally obey the jarl he had followed to Ireland, the Lord of the Wolves.

  She was too numb for further tears, too worried to think, and so she paced the cold stone floor with feverish agitation, hoping the release of energy might soothe her soul and allow her to plan. But the plans she had made had gone astray, and now, if she allowed herself to think, she would pine with hopelessness, for she was certain only she could save her son.

  Hour passed after hour and still her weary steps trod the stone. I must stop, she warned herself, for she was barely regaining strength from childbirth and she knew she could injure herself. But thinking of that made her think of her tiny, precious infant and her breasts would swell and pain her, instinctively filling. The pain was already noticeable and the babe had missed but two feedings.

  Tears finally came to her eyes again as she wondered if he cried, if he suffered, if he was hungry. “I mustn’t, I mustn’t think these things,” she voiced aloud, hearing her own voice echo dismally in the cell of stone.

  “Erin!”

  It was barely a whisper, and as she went silent, she wondered if she hadn’t imagined the sound of her name. But the whisper came again, and she hurried to the thick wooden door and stared out the small barred square. To her vast relief, she heard the rattle of keys.

  “Who is it?” she hissed in anxious question.

  The door creaked and she trembled with relief as she saw it was Mageen, a look of terror in her eyes. “Hurry, Erin, for if Olaf catches me, he will surely have me flayed alive.”

  Erin did not think to dispute Mageen, for she had never seen Olaf in such a fury as today.

  “Bless you, Mageen, bless you!”

  “Oh, hurry, please, please, hurry!”

  Erin followed Mageen through the winding tunnel beneath the royal residence. “We can reach the kitchen through here, and hopefully escape to the rear court unseen,” Mageen whispered. “The dawn will break soon; most likely the men seek sleep before they must awaken.”

  In a short time they emerged from the dark dank depths to the kitchen, and as Mageen had prayed, the servants who had attempted to remain awake through the night had dozed in their chairs and on clean rushes on the floor. The two women were able to make a silent escape into the not yet unbroken darkness of the night.

  “Bless you, Mageen,” Erin whispered again fervently. “But I must now have a dagger and a horse!”

  Mageen hesitated in the darkness, her voice quivering, but her words courageous. “If you ride to the Dane, I ride with you.”

  “Nay, I must go. You but put yourself in needless peril.”

  “Who will bring your lad to safety?”

  After a long moment Erin sighed. “May God care for you all your days, Mageen, and truly know that you are noble. Now, we must first get past the guards.”

  Mageen chuckled, and though the sound was still touched by her fear, it was with a certain, cunning pride. “I have become friendly with an Irish smithy who travels from town to town with his craft. He will lead our mounts past the guard, and we will meet him by the west wall where there is a hole left by the absence of a water log they must replace because of the rot.”

  The dawn was coming fast as they finally cantered for the western forest. Terror beat in Erin’s heart, and she silently blessed Mageen again, for she knew the other woman was twice as afraid as she was. Yet she could not allow her fear to govern her actions, for she couldn’t afford even a trivial mistake.

  As they approached the trees, Erin nervously turned toward Mageen and warned with her eyes that they should stop. If Friggid was within the forest he would know she was there, and she had to have space to assure the success of her venture.

  A rustling within the trees told her she had calculated well; Friggid was indeed there, and he watched her, certainly waiting to spring.

  She forced herself to call out boldly. “I take no further steps, Friggid the Bowlegs. Show yourself, and do so carefully, for I can turn and ride back as well as forward.”

  She heard a deep chuckle and then the Dane appeared, flanked on either side by heavy guards. “I have been expecting you, Erin of Tara. I bid you welcome.”

  He spoke his Irish words well, and it was at that moment that Erin recognized him as the man who had led her astray that day on the cliffs when she had faced Olaf. A sickness churned in her belly, yet she allowed no sign of it to show on her face. “I want my child returned to the city of Dubhlain, and then I will ride
with you willingly.”

  “Willingly?” Friggid raised a lascivious brow and chuckled deeply again so that ripples of fear scathed Erin in the pit of her stomach. “Why should I give up the child?” he demanded more abruptly. “The Wolf will come for his son—and I am aware that he is oft at odds with his wife.”

  “You do not seek the life of the child, Dane, only that of his sire,” Erin said coolly. “And Olaf is a possessive man. He will come for me. I am much lighter a burden than a child. I require no special care.”

  Again Friggid laughed, and the sound of it made Erin’s stomach churn. “Erin of Tara, you are a prize. Aye, perhaps you are the better hostage, for there is pleasure to be found with you that the child cannot give. Dismount from your horse, my lady, and draw near so that I may see all that I am offered.”

  Mageen uttered a sound of protest, but Erin moved quickly to obey for she had counted heavily upon this very moment. She walked with a cool and calculated sway toward the Dane, hearing his words. “Ahh … my lady, now I have both child and wife—”

  His words were cut off with a strangled gulp as she moved with an agility he had underestimated, bringing the sharpness of her well-honed dagger against his groin. It was she who spoke with command. “My life means naught if my son dies, Dane, I am willing to die; you will not be so lucky. You will live out the remainder of your days as a woman rather than a man!”

  “Halt!” Friggid commanded as his guards started to draw near. He felt the surety of the blade pressed to his groin and quickly grated out a command. “Have the child brought to the queen’s woman.”

  Erin did not release her hold until she saw the blanketed bundle that was her son brought to Mageen. She held her breath until she heard a squall that assured her that her child lived, yet even then she could not allow her death grip upon her dagger to falter.

  “She rides to the gates, Dane, before you move. I am very nervous, and I would not want my hand to jerk.”

  Friggid paused, his gaze tense as he returned hers. He grinned with slow sarcasn. “The child is hungry. Perhaps you would feed him before we ride away. I would enjoy such a … domestic … scene.”

  “I would not,” Erin replied. Without glancing from his eyes she called to Mageen. “Go now, I will not turn until I know you have reached the wall.”

  Erin felt Mageen’s hesitation, and then heard her voice ring out with startling clarity and fervor. “Think on this, Dane. The lady Erin is but three weeks from a trying childbed. Touch her now and you will kill her, and you will have naught with which to bait the Wolf.”

  Friggid’s rapacious eyes moved slowly from Erin to Mageen and back to Erin. “She is a prize for which I am willing to wait.”

  There was another pause, and then Erin heard the sound of hoofbeats against the turf as Mageen finally pounded away. It took all Erin’s willpower to continue to stare into the mocking eyes of the Bowlegs, but she did so, waiting … and waiting. She was tempted to draw the knife against him anyway, but then she would die, and as ludicrous and hopeless as it all seemed, she was not without hope. Her son lived.

  At long last Friggid spoke. “Your woman approaches the wall, my lady. Drop your dagger now for I do not seek to kill you, but I am a master in the art of pain.”

  Erin allowed the dagger to drop through her fingers. She could have held it no longer. She clenched her teeth as Friggid’s hands clutched into her hair and grazed over her swollen breasts. He laughed as her face paled. “I think I have made a fair trade, Erin of Tara, for surely I have never met a female so fine or courageous. Another three weeks, eh? I will grant you that time to heal from the child, but be not dismayed, for then I will take what is Olaf’s and use it well.”

  Erin forced herself to smile in return. “You have made no trade, Dane. You will not lure out the Wolf, for he cares not and sees himself as betrayed—by my hand, so carefully twisted by yours. You have nothing but a woman, Dane.”

  Friggid merely grinned. “We tarry too long here. Get on your horse and attempt no tricks, or perhaps we can shake Olaf by sending him a delicate finger rather than a lock of hair. Perhaps he will not come, Erin. But I am still pleased with what I hold.”

  He shoved her toward her horse. Well aware that he would slice her fingers from her with no remorse should she disobey. Erin tossed back her hair and mounted her horse, wondering furiously where he took her.

  “Into the forest!” he commanded.

  “Perhaps he will follow us now,” Erin murmured.

  “Nay, my lady. For within your babe’s blanket is a warning that you will die if I am not given a day to retreat. If and when the Wolf comes, he will face my defenses. Now ride!”

  He meted her horse a sound whack on the rump and she scrambled for balance as the animal jumped and leaped to race with the others that tore through trees and brush. How many men did he have? she wondered, trying to count those she followed. A hundred? More. Easily more.…

  She swallowed back tears of dismay. She’d had no sleep, and her body seemed to weaken by the moment; the ride was painfully jarring. Yet it was evident that Friggid now planned to put distance between himself and Olaf. It seemed apparent that he had planned this all along, aware that the Wolf would not fall prey to panic and ride out unguarded to be slaughtered.

  Olaf was astounded to see Mageen stride into the hall with his son, so stunned that he could only freeze and then reach demandingly for the child, burying his face against his son’s blanket despite the babe’s squalls of protest. Assured that the babe was well, he then turned to face his ex-mistress with rising fury. “How has this come about?” Mageen could barely speak. “Erin … Erin.…” Olaf called sharply for Moira and handed the child to her. “Care for him as you do your daughter,” he requested softly, and then the hard frost returned to his voice and eyes. “Erin betrayed me once more,” he stated coldly.

  “Nay, my lord,” Mageen pleaded, fearfully aware that she could meet his wrath herself. “She did as any mother, seeking only to save her child … and husband.”

  Olaf emitted a furious oath. The pain within him could only be expressed with anger, his terror held at bay with strictest control.

  Mageen shivered as she stood before him. “The Dane holds her now, Olaf,” she whispered in anguish.

  She saw the shudder that ripped through his muscular body. Yet his voice was still harsh. He spoke not of love, but of possession. “He will hold naught that is mine. I shall have her back.”

  He turned from her, and she did not see the glaze of fevered agony that clouded over the sharp blue of his eyes. His shoulders straightened and he was suddenly shouting orders. “Sigurd—send men both north and south, to Tara and Ulster. This time, the Dane will die. He will scourge this land no more!”

  Mergwin, brooding against his terror by the hearth, gazed up with ancient eyes darkened with the most grievous sorrow, and yet he wondered if the Viking Wolf were aware he had truly become an Irishman. He prayed to his old gods that the Wolf would know the value of the treasure he possessed and seek forgiveness of his wife, but at the moment, all he could do was sigh with relief. Motive was not essential; that the Wolf rode to rescue was.

  And that he did not ride too late.

  For the vision of fire was strong; the scent of smoke that teased the old Druid’s senses brought a chilling fear.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Day wore into night, night became day. Days passed into weeks. And still they rode from the break of dawn past the setting of the sun.

  At first, Erin had been certain that she would die. The Danes had taken great pleasure in taunting her, and the pace they set was such that she didn’t believe her health could sustain it.

  But in those first days when she had believed that Olaf would come, her heart had been heavily mixed. She knew Friggid desired nothing less than Olaf’s death, and he cared not who else was slaughtered in his course. If Olaf raised forces to come for her, a multitude would die.

  So it was better for her to ho
pe that Olaf thought himself betrayed one time too many, to hope that he would feel good riddance to a most annoying problem. Still she dreamed when she collapsed at night that he rode behind, yet the dawn would come, and she would be alone in the winter cold with the Danes riding ever eastward, fearing the passage of time as Friggid caught her eyes each morning, counting off the weeks and days upon his fingers and filling the air with his sardonic laughter.

  She missed the babe so badly with her body and soul, but at least his father would guard him, and Moira and Mergwin would love him.

  Each day she panicked afresh. She was running out of time.…

  The Danes were not cruel to her; she was Friggid’s prize, and so they let her be. Some were even kind, for it seemed they believed she had courage, and for that they gave her a certain respect. Still it was miserable to travel, and more miserable to think of reaching their destination. But the day came. They had been riding for nineteen days, when at sunset they finally reached a camp in the midst of preparation. Erin felt vast dismay as she stared at the settlement, for Friggid had far more men than she had assumed.

  He was building on the site of a decimated Irish village; she knew that this was so, for amid the new buildings being created by the Danish invaders stood several of the distinctly Irish wattle-and-daub huts. Earthworks rose to ring the encampment, and staunch walls built in wood. There was much work still to be done, but a firm defensive post was well on its way to sound existence. A great hall stood in the center of the complex, and to the far rear was a raised dais surrounded by a short fence of crossed logs.

  Erin puckered her brow at the sight of the dais, wondering what form of macabre punishment Friggid practiced on that platform and at that center stake.

  Friggid came upon her as she stared about. “Your Wolf comes too late, Princess, if he comes at all. Within days my stronghold will be impregnable.”

  Erin said nothing. Her feeling of desolation was overwhelming.

  “Come, Princess,” Friggid urged her, and she was lifted from her horse to be led to the hall. It was patterned after Olaf’s, Erin noted, if on a much smaller scale. She was taken to a chamber at the head of the stairs and roughly pushed inside. “Relish your time, my lady, for my waiting is at an end. Tonight is the last that you shall enjoy alone.”