Sigurd did not answer. Dag took another breath and continued. “After his valiant struggle to save your sons, I can’t think that Knorri would want you to beggar them by burning the Storm Maiden. Without the ship, you will have no means to go raiding. Without plunder, it will be difficult to purchase the skilled labor you need to rebuild the longhouse.”
“I am finished with raiding,” Sigurd said harshly. “I have not the heart for it.”
Dag nodded. Because of Fiona, he had learned to view raids through the victims’ eyes. Sigurd, through his own tragedy, had experienced that sickening awareness as well. “But what of trading?” he asked. “You’ll need a ship to take your goods to market at Hedeby.”
“We can build another ship.”
“When? Next sunseason you will be busy rebuilding the longhouse. Can you go a whole turn of the seasons without trading?”
“I’ll pay another jarl to carry my goods to market.”
“With what? I trow, it will take near all your wealth to rebuild the longhouse and furnish it once again.”
Sigurd was silent, his broad jaw set like a stubborn child’s. “I have announced my intentions,” he finally said. “I will not go back upon my word. ‘Tis bad enough that you freed the woman so I cannot punish her. Now you ask me to break another of my vows.”
“ ‘Tis not a sign of weakness to admit you erred. Except for Brodir, I think your oathmen will be relieved to learn that you do not mean to burn the ship.”
Sigurd’s look was swift and sharp. “You talk like a follower of that damned White Christ. Because of the woman’s influence, you forget true Viking ways!”
“Ah, true Viking ways—what do you mean by that, brother?” Dag’s voice rose in the low-ceilinged dwelling. “Do you mean mindless bloodshed? Raids that beget more raids? EJarbaric funeral rites that impoverish the living? Ja, brother, I have turned from those things, but it is not the woman’s doing. I simply no longer wish to indulge in such stupidity!”
Dag held his breath as blood fired Sigurd’s face and his blue eyes blazed. He had gone too far. He had insulted his brother gravely.
Sigurd clenched his huge hands into fists. Then he relaxed them and threw back his massive head and laughed. “Thor’s fury, but you are changed, brother. Where is that puny, freckle- faced boy I used to tease?” He poked Dag in the shoulder and laughed again, making the small timber dwelling nearly tremble with his mirthful outburst.
Dag exhaled and smiled with relief. His brother had not changed so much after all; beneath his burden of guilt and grief, Sigurd could still find humor in life.
They finished their ale, talking finally of Dag’s plans, then together they walked down to where the mourners waited. The women were dry-eyed now, pale and exhausted; a few held sleeping children. Nearby, the grim, silent warriors kept watch over the ship.
Sigurd stepped into the crowd. His deep voice boomed out, echoing across the torchlit beach. “Since the woman is gone, there is no reason to burn the ship. We will make a funeral pyre of the wood we have gathered and send Knorri to Valhalla with his weapons and armor. With his brave heart, he will need naught else to secure his place in the hall of heroes.”
A soft gasp rippled through the crowd, and Dag guessed it to be an expression of relief as well as surprise. Although their grief for the old jarl was genuine, the people of Engvakkirsted were undoubtedly concerned about their future without a ship. Except Brodir—how disappointed he must be that the woman had escaped her gruesome fate.
Dag looked around, suddenly realizing Brodir’s absence. A chill moved down his spine. He reminded himself that he had sent Ellisil after Fiona; his sword brother would protect her. The thought brought him little peace of mind. Brodir seemed capable of anything.
“Sigurd,” Dag called out, interrupting his brother as he led the other men in moving the oil-soaked timbers away from the ship. “I’m sorry, Sigurd, but I must leave. The woman awaits me.”
A look of bitterness crossed Sigurd’s face, but all he said was, “You will come back, brother—before you leave for Ireland?”
“I will come back,” Dag promised.
“Woman! Fiona! Open the door!”
The loud male voice jerked Fiona out of her fitful sleep. She sat up. Wolves! was her first thought, then she realized that wolves didn’t yell.
“Dag sent me. Let me in!” the man hollered.
Fiona climbed off the bedshelf and crept closer to the door. “Who are you?” she asked in a quavering voice.
“My name is Ellisil, son of Skirnir. I am sword brother to Dag. I rode with him to rescue you.”
Fiona took a deep breath, trying to decide whether to believe this man who so harshly demanded that she let him in. She did not know his voice. How was she to be certain he was not someone sent by Sigurd to drag her back to Engvakkirsted?
“Damn it, woman, I’m cold and weary and the wolves are circling closer. If you don’t let me in, I’ll get my horses and ride off.”
“Those are your horses?”
There was a slight hesitation. “They are my father’s horses, although I have had the care of them since they were foals. Skirnir agreed to let Dag and me ride them so we could reach the steading before Sigurd put you to death.”
Fiona made up her mind and went to unbar the door. The mare had been well-cared for and expertly trained. A man who took such an interest in animals was more likely to be a friend of Dag’s than Sigurd’s.
She only had a glimpse of the man’s silhouette before he joined her in the blackness of the shieling. Other than the fact that he was smaller than Dag, she had no idea what he looked like.
Ellisil shut the door. “Thor’s hammer, I am half-froze. Have you no flint, woman, with which to make a fire?”
“There may be some in the horse’s pack, but I did not take time to look. After I found the food, I heard the wolves....” Fiona’s voice trailed off in a horrified gasp. “What if the wolves attack the horses?”
“My horses are trained to fight. Any wolf who ventures into the lean-to will get his skull smashed. It is not so late in the season that the wild creatures are desperate for food.”
Fiona relaxed slightly, acknowledging the wisdom of his words. She heard rustling sounds as the man opened a pack of some sort and fumbled inside. A flint flared near the hearth. In moments, Ellisil had a fire going.
He added wood from a pile by the door to the growing blaze, then rubbed his hands together over the flames. Fiona shivered and moved forward, suddenly realizing how cold she was, even with Dag’s heavy fur-lined tunic. Her bare feet were the worst, so numb by now that she could scarcely feel them. She lifted the ornate kirtle and stuck one foot close to the blaze.
Ellisil turned toward her, and she recognized him as the man she had seen Dag talking to at the Thing. His gaze moved over her, lingering for a moment on her leg bared to the fire’s warmth. Unease replaced her relief. The warrior’s eyes returned to her face; there was awe in his expression, and a hint of fear. “Are you really a volva?” he asked.
Fiona lowered her leg and covered it with the flowing skirt of the kirtle. “What’s a volva?”
“A woman who can foretell the future and cast spells.”
“You mean a wise woman?”
“Nei. Most steadings have a healer, but the ability to do true magic is rare.”
“Did Dag tell you I was?”
Ellisil shook his head.
Fiona sighed. “If I knew magic, do you think I would have bungled things so badly that Sigurd almost had me executed?”
Ellisil stared at her, then laughed, banishing the tension between them. The Norseman dug inside his pack again and took out a skin. He offered it to Fiona.
She shook her head. “We should save it for Dag.” Thinking of her lover, alone at the steading, her grinding fear resumed. “Do you think Sigurd will listen to Dag?” she asked.
“I do not think Sigurd will imprison his brother, if that’s what you ask. Whether he will hear the sense
in Dag’s words is another thing. I do not know Sigurd well enough to say.”
“Dag told me that you knew each other as boys,” Fiona said.
Ellisil nodded.
“Were you and Dag close?”
Ellisil smiled and shook his head. “Not so you would notice. We met every year at the Allthing and fought constantly, as boys will. Always we were rivals, vying to beat each other in races, wrestling, battle practice, every sort of skill. Then Dag grew bigger than I, and except for footraces, I could no longer beat him. I almost hated him then.” He laughed again. “But now we are men, planning a great adventure. I am pleased Dag asked me to make this journey to Ireland with him. It seems almost too good to be true—to have land of our own.”
“What do you mean?” Fiona’s throat felt dry. Did Dag plan to claim her father’s lands? The thought startled her.
Ellisil gave her a curious look. “Dag said you had agreed to help us.”
“Ja, of course I will.” Fiona could not decide if she were elated or angry. Dag did not mean to return her to Ireland and then sail away, but instead, intended to conquer her people and set himself up as chieftain. It was a bold, audacious plan, and she could not help but admire it. Even so, she was hurt he had not discussed the matter with her. He arrogantly assumed she would be delighted to hand over her inheritance to him.
“Dag is the ideal leader for this voyage,” Ellisil enthused. “A superb seaman, valiant warrior... and he knows the Irish language and terrain as well. If anyone can conquer the Irish, it is he.”
Fiona gritted her teeth. She had not been conquered! She had given her love freely; if Dag did not understand the difference...
There was a thudding sound at the shieling entrance, and a voice spoke, low and urgent, “Fiona? Ellisil?”
Ellisil jumped up to unbar the door and let Dag in. Fiona remained seated, staring into the flames.
Dag ducked through the doorway, his tall form filling the small shelter to bursting. Fiona tried not to look at him, but she could not help it. One glimpse and her heart turned over.
“Fiona,” Dag said huskily. He stepped awkwardly around the hearth, then knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms.
Fiona exhaled in a gasp. Nothing mattered but to have Dag hold her. She could not resist this man. He possessed her, stole her soul. No matter what he did, she would not stop loving him.
“Fiona. Macushla.” Dag sighed against her hair. “I will never let you go.”
Chapter 32
Dag climbed onto the bedshelf and pulled Fiona close to his chest. She had hardly said a word to him since his arrival. No doubt she was still in shock. Stroking his fingers through her tangled hair, he listened to Ellisil’s soft snoring and tried to relax. Although he had saved Fiona and his brother’s ship, threats still clouded the future. Brodir, mad with hatred as he was, could strike at anytime.
Fiona touched his face. “Dag, why do you not sleep?”
Dag gathered her more tightly against his chest. “I was thinking about all that is ahead of us.”
There was silence, then Fiona asked, “Is it true you mean to claim my father’s lands?”
Dag took a deep breath. He could not tell from her voice what she thought of his plan. Would she agree to aid him? “Ja, I do.”
She made an indigant sound and sat up. “And you assumed I would help you. You didn’t even bother to ask me!”
Dag felt his heart begin to pound. “I... I had hoped you would approve of my plan. If you wed me, my claim to the land might have weight with the other chieftains.”
“Wed you! Who said I would agree to wed you? You have not even asked!”
His heart seemed to shrivel and grow cold. Had he been wrong to think she cared for him?
“Men!” Fiona’s voice rose in exasperation. Dag knew Ellisil must surely be awake and listening. “They never think to explain their reasoning,” she fumed. “You treat me as if I were a little child! If only you would share things with me, Dag, ask for my help...”
“I am asking,” Dag said desperately. He saw his whole drearn crumbling before his eyes.
“Asking what?”
“I am asking you to wed me! To aid me!”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Ja, why do you do this? Why do you want my aid?”
Dag took another deep breath. “This is the only way we can be together, Fiona. I have my pride as well. I can’t give up everything for you—my home, my people—without having a plan for the future. I won’t live in exile or start over again as oathman to another jarl. I want to be master of my own lands, my own hall.”
Fiona was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “I love you, Dag. I would not want you to be less than you are—a warrior, a trader, a seaman, a leader. I think you will make a fine chieftain.”
“You will wed me?” Dag asked, half incredulous. “You will validate my claim to your father’s lands?”
“Ja, Dag, you had only to ask.”
He pulled her down next to him, burying his face in the warmth of her neck. “Ah, Fiona, how I love you.”
Ellisil raised his head from his pallet on the floor. “Odin’s fists, Dag, will you go to sleep? Between your bickering and your love prattle—I vow I have a headache from listening to you!”
Fiona giggled and snuggled closer. Dag sighed contentedly and whispered, “I have waited long to hear you speak of love.”
“ ‘Tis true. I do love you, Dag.”
“As I love you, Fiona.”
“Viking and Irish—we will go back to Eire and found the dynasty my father dreamed of.”
Dag closed his eyes. With Fiona at his side, he could do anything.
The journey back to Skirnir’s steading took all of the next day, but no one minded. They were busy discussing plans for the journey to Ireland. The ship was ready; now they had merely to pack provisions and armaments and gather warriors to accompany them.
“Who of Sigurd’s oathmen will want to join us?” Ellisil asked as they rode among the steep hills, Fiona riding astride in front of Dag on the stallion.
Dag shook his head. “I would have a care who I took. I don’t mean to rob Sigurd of the men he needs to rebuild the longhouse. I would sail with only younger, unmarried warriors who have lesser ties to Engvakkirsted. Rorig, Utgard, and Gudrod, perhaps.”
“Rorig means to wed Breaca,” said Fiona.
“Truly?” Dag asked in surprise. “Where did he get the wealth to buy her?”
“In the last raid. Sigurd and the others were not there when the longhouse burned because they went to hunt down the Agirssons. Apparently, they received a reward from the Thorvald family for capturing the outlaws and Sigurd gave Breaca to Rorig as his portion.”
“And what happened to the Agirsson brothers?” Ellisil asked.
“I didn’t hear.” Fiona shuddered. “In truth, I didn’t want to know.”
“I will ask Rorig to come with us,” Dag decided. “And bring Breaca to keep you company. Although I mislike taking Breaca away when Mina needs her services.”
“As Breaca is breeding, she will not be able to do as much this winter as she once could.”
“She is with child? When does it come?”
“Not until sowing time, I believe,” Fiona answered. “I did not ask Breaca much about it. I was preoccupied with my own troubles, and I admit to being jealous as well.”
“Jealous?” Dag asked in surprise. He grasped her shoulder and turned her around until her eyes meant his. “You wish you carried my babe?”
“Ja, Dag.” Fiona smiled.
The blue of his eyes deepened until they gleamed like the fairest of summer skies. “I vow, I will give you a babe.”
She blushed and looked toward Ellisil.
Dag leaned close to whisper in her ear, “We will begin tonight, Fiona.” A hot thrill went through her, making her ache. How she had missed Dag’s loving!
“Would you purchase the thrall named Aeddan from yo
ur brother?” Ellisil asked, ignoring their intimate conversation. “He seems a likely boy, and that he rode so far to warn you of Fiona’s plight speaks well of his loyalty.”
“Ja, I would have one such as him to tend my animals, when I have them,” Dag mused. “I wonder if any of Donall’s horses escaped the flames.”
“How could they?” Fiona asked. “Penned in the palisade as they were, they surely succumbed to the smoke.”
“Nei, I freed them.”
This time, Fiona jerked around to face Dag. “When?”
“After I rescued you from my brother. A fool thing to do, wounded as I was, but I couldn’t help myself. Never I could I bear to see beasts suffer.”
Fiona stared at Dag, amazed.
“You are pleased?” Dag asked, his mouth quirking.
“Of course I’m pleased. Do you fish for words of praise for your brave deed?” she teased.
“We don’t know that the horses live,” Dag reminded her. “They might have been trapped by the flames and perished.”
“If the chieftain’s horses remain alive, that would aid us greatly,” Ellisil said. “But it will not feed us this winter. What of other livestock and grain? ‘Twas it all destroyed in the raid?”
Dag shook his head. “I told Sigurd not to fire the grain supply, and he did not. Dunsheauna’s cattle and sheep were also left untouched, although they were likely scattered and are now claimed by other chieftains. We may have to purchase stock to survive through the winter.”
“Or raid for it,” Ellisil suggested, his eyes gleaming.
“Nei, I’d not make enemies of my neighbors so soon. If we are to be accepted as settlers rather than raiders, we must not fight except to keep what is ours by right of Fiona’s inheritance.”
“But we will raid,” Ellisil insisted. “If not this winter, then the next. Our food supply will be secure by then, and we will take what we want.”
Fiona felt Dag stiffen behind her on the horse. She guessed that he no longer shared Eliisil’s taste for raiding, but declined to speak of it to his companion. A shiver of unease went through her as she considered that many of the warriors who accompanied them to Eire might be eager to make their fortunes rather than peacefully settling the land. Could Dag hold them in control or would they someday foreswear their allegiance to him and become enemies?
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