“But Nevan said he found you on the floor trying to crawl for the door.”
Dægan eyes widened. “Then Breandán did spare me. He cut me free so that I would live. But why? Who is this man? And why did he care enough to do such a thing?”
“I know not the answer to any of those questions, but let us hope he continues to be the lenient foe. We could surely use an ally on the inside.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Twenty-seven leagues and three days later, Dægan and his men finally arrived at the banks of the Loch Rí. All was quiet. All was still. But Dægan didn’t breathe easy just yet.
“Tait, take four scouts and search down river.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Dægan turned his horse and trotted back behind the lines, toward the two leaders of the mercenaries. “Havelock. Ingvarr. I believe we have made it. We did well. Tell your men to make camp two furlongs from the river, beyond those trees. When Domaldr and his men come up the waterway, I would like to have the element of surprise in my favor.”
“Should I send a scout?” Ingvarr asked.
“‘Tis already been done,” Dægan said, tasting the first small bite of satisfaction. “All we need to do now is sit and wait for him.”
Havelock looked over the confident warrior chieftain before saying, “You are definitely Rælik’s son.”
Dægan gave him a sideways glance. “You knew my father?”
“Aye, I knew him before you were even born, when he first scaled the north. He was a proud cock with a hoard of men at his side and a trail of women on his heels wherever he went. I believe that man could have sworn the sky was green, and no one would have thought twice on the matter.” Havelock paused and nodded with pride. “He was an impressive man, a sight to watch. And not just when he spoke, but when he wielded his sword. ‘Twas like muscle and iron were one. So when I heard I had the chance to fight along side his son, I nearly fell over myself to get here.”
“I assure you, Havelock, I pale in comparison to my father.”
Havelock chuckled deeply. “Ah, I see you acquired his modesty, too.”
Dægan shook his head. “Give me not credit at the moment, for being modest goes hand in hand with restraint, and I promise you, should anyone herald this day in my life, neither of those words will spill from their mouth.”
****
The Norse mercenaries grew impatient, for in their long journey from the Hebrides, the hope of fighting in a valiant war had taken root. But now as they sat in monotonous boredom for another full day, their anticipation for such a battle had all but vanished.
Havelock approached Dægan as he sat alone at the trees’ edge, looking down river. “My men have hunted well. Come, eat with us.”
“I am not hungry.”
Havelock assumed the stolid warrior would say that. “Then may I sit?”
Dægan stared straight ahead, but made no objection to the fellow chieftain’s request.
Havelock looked and listened as his steadfast comrade did, watching the tranquil water of the Loch Rí reflecting the tall dark trees and blue sky in its ripples. Despite the peacefulness of the setting, Havelock brought the turmoil of his men’s impatience with him and soon it spilled from his mouth. “What if Domaldr does not come?”
Dægan barely let him finish. “He will come.”
“How soon?”
“If I knew, I would not be sitting here.”
Havelock bit his tempered lip. “Let me rephrase, Dægan. How long will you sit here? How long will you expect my men to sit here and wait?”
“Have I not paid you well enough, Havelock? Is that it?”
“Of course not. We have been paid well-over expectation.”
“Then how is waiting more painful than fighting? Enjoy this small peace whilst it lasts, for I shall soon bring hell upon this Earth the moment my brother’s ships heave into view. There is not much I share in common with him, but that of determination. This I know. He will come.”
“Let us assume he does,” Havelock tried to bargain. “What is your plan? At least give me something to tell my men.”
“A strategy I can give, for there has been naught else on my mind but Domaldr’s fall.”
Havelock could see Dægan was on the verge of madness, and thought that before long, the young warrior might just take to the river and drag his belated, itinerant brother back to this very spot, just so revenge was not robbed him. “What did you have in mind?”
“I have learned through my own experience that revenge is often too swift and quite unsatisfying. So to thwart my brother before he learns the true identity of his attackers would be far too kind. When the scouts return, I want you and half your men to ride east a bit, turn around and then come back, meeting Domaldr at this lake. Tell him you are part of Sigtrygg’s eastern front and have orders to make camp and wait for his signal—that a strong flank position is needed, as the Irish will soon be retreating from their fallen Baile Átha Cliath.”
Havelock narrowed his eyes. “All right…”
“Make camp with him, befriend him and his men if you must, especially a man named Breandán. He stands out amongst his peers as his hair is as black as midnight. Spare him and keep him from my brother, but above all, find out where Domaldr keeps my wife. Once you send word, we will strike hard and do unto him that which he has done to me. Every last of one of his men will die, and he will watch, as I did, everything being ripped from him and burned to the ground. I want to see him beg. I want to see him grovel for my mercy, and only then will I be satisfied.”
Tait suddenly appeared through the thick of the forest on his galloping horse, in lead of his scouts. “Dægan! He is here! Domaldr has come!”
Dægan looked at Havelock and offered the start of a smug yet well-composed smile. “Bring to me the news of my wife and I shall give your men the blood-thirsty battle they want.”
****
Hours had passed. And it wasn’t long before evening had approached and Domaldr’s men were settling down for the night.
The flap of Mara’s tent lifted and Domaldr and Breandán entered, sending her guards on their way.
“You might as well make yourself comfortable, m’lady!” Domaldr spat. “It seems Connacht will have to wait a few more days for its new sovereign. And Breandán, just to show you how grateful I am to you for bringing me this much closer to my faming, I offer you the girl you wanted, in advance, if you will. Consider it a gift for your loyalty.”
Breandán grew hot with playing this charade. He kept his eyes on Domaldr, as it was easier than facing the princess.
“When you are finished having your fun, I want at least ten men guarding her. Can you see to that for me?”
“Aye,” Breandán said, his voice almost shaking.
Domaldr untied a ring of rope from his belt. “See that she is securely tied up, gagged, and blindfolded before you leave, too. I would rather Sigtrygg not know of her, for I am certain he would not think twice about stealing Connacht right out from under me. And you know I care not to share my spoils with others.”
Breandán remained silent.
“Ease up, Breandán,” Domaldr said, slapping his back. “You act as though you have never taken a woman before. I assure you, ‘tis quite arousing and easy, especially when there is no husband to yield to.” Domaldr took one last look at Mara, who was now inching backward to the far corner of the tent. “Be kind, wench.” And with that he left.
Breandán released a long breath and looked at Mara, his eyes demanding forgiveness. “Please rest easy. I could never do such things to you.”
Sweat gathered at his brow, the evidence of his heavy mind perspiring through his skin in droplets. He sat down on the ground with his knees raised, and hung his head between them. He threaded both of his hands deep into his hair, mumbling to himself as he molested his scalp.
Despite the ongoing conversation he was having with his overwrought brain, he heard Mara slowly approach and felt her presence as she eased
herself in front of him. Her hands timidly pulled on his wrists and he lifted his eyes to see her staring at him closely.
For the first time, he was able to return the gaze without the threat of someone else noticing. His eyes were fixed on the green of hers, the daintiness of her nose, and the intriguing way her lips parted as she uttered his name.
“Breandán, why are you doing this? You know me not.”
He smiled kindly, his mouth dry with nervousness. “But, I do. I have seen you many times in the meadow, on the Shannon, as I was hunting. I thought I could save you and bring you back to your father. Had I known you were married, I would not have interfered.”
“Even if I were not married, why risk death to save me?”
“Because I hoped maybe then you would notice me.” Breandán watched Mara tumble into that thought. “‘Tis all right, though. I expect you not to look upon me with your noble eyes. I am but a commoner.” Breandán stood to humbly distance himself. “I should go.”
Mara neared him quickly. “Please, leave me not! What if Domaldr returns and he wants—”
Breandán saw the sheer terror in her eyes and instantly, he wanted to embrace her. To comfort her. But he physically retrained his arms at his sides. “He will not.”
“How can you be so certain? You heard what he said about taking a woman. Perhaps, after he is drunk with mead, he will want the pleasures he has awarded you.”
“To him, Dægan is dead. The need to take more from your… husband…is gone. ‘Tis taking from your father that spurs him now. And—” he stopped, realizing his next reason was not suitable for a lady’s ears.
“And?” Mara probed.
“The rest is just an insult.”
“Please, tell me. I spend every waking moment dreading that he will come for me. Tell me so I may close my eyes in peace.”
Breandán thought for a moment, struggling to mend the choice of vulgarity Domaldr had used in front of the men. He sighed before speaking. “Domaldr is repulsed by you, because he knows his brother had you first.”
Contrary to what he said, Mara didn’t look the least bit insulted, but utterly saddened by it. “How many days has it been, Breandán?”
“Four.”
She covered her face now, hiding her tears. “Dægan has to come. He has to.”
Breandán felt the weight of blame heavy on his shoulders. “Right now, I have to assume he cannot, and I must figure a way to get you home on my own. Be ready, Mara. When everyone sleeps, I will come for you.” Breandán defied his better judgment and allowed himself to touch her face, wiping a tear from her eye. “Domaldr will not hurt you. I will die first.”
****
Dægan, Tait, Hansen, Ingvarr, and a few other choice men eagerly gathered around Ottarr.
“M’lord, you will be pleased to know that Havelock and his men have been very successful tonight. Your brother believes wholeheartedly that they are, in fact, Sigtrygg’s troops from the east and he has welcomed them to stay. Havelock says that he, himself, has made camp on the east side, just short of the Loch Rí, far enough away from our archers reach. This way, they have both created a protected flank and a barricade for those who wish to retreat once the charge is commenced.”
Dægan shook his head impatiently. “I want to know of my wife.”
Ottarr tried to rush things along without slighting important details by drawing a square in the dirt with his finger. “This is Havelock and his group. Over here, just north is where Domaldr has made his camp, and he is drinking like a fish.” Ottarr drew an X in the dirt on the southwest corner of the square. “Your wife is here. But she cannot escape on her own. She is bound, blindfolded, and gagged.”
“Is she alone?”
“Nay. There are ten guards that line her camp.”
“And how is it we know all of these minute details?” Dægan interjected.
“From your Irishman. Havelock says he but mentioned your name to Breandán, and he was very forthcoming. Astonishingly though, he has found the gall to make demands—one being that he goes wherever the princess goes.”
Dægan thought for a moment. “Fine. I shall allow it. In fact, I think it best I send them both back to the king.”
“Send her back?” Tait growled. “Are you mad? Listen to what you are saying!”
“I cannot possibly protect her whilst I engage in battle. Besides, I have to deal with the king regardless.”
“You only give the king the upper hand in doing this!” Tait argued.
“What I give him is his sanity, knowing his daughter is all right. I have been fortunate enough to be given that blessing tonight and he deserves the same.”
“And what will keep him from suiting up for war against us?”
“Hopefully my wife and my new Irish ally,” Dægan said plainly. “I do not think Breandán spared me because he lacked a backbone, Tait.”
Dægan thought for a few more moments before giving his orders to the rest of the men. “All right. Tait and I will take a small group of twenty and rid the princess’ camp of her guards. Once I have seen to Breandán and Mara leaving safely, I will launch an arrow to signal the archers to light the entire camp afire, including Domaldr’s ships. Ingvarr and Ottarr will lead their men in a full frontal attack, Havelock from the east, and I will meet you all in the middle from the south.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
The night air was still and it was as if the moon was a faithful, silent ally perched high in the sky, lighting Dægan’s path around the Loch Rí. Regardless of its vivid brightness, the lunar light cast many shadows within the thick, tall trees—also giving Dægan and his men the shaded camouflage they needed to invisibly press forward into their positions.
They rode as far as they could without being noticed and descended from their horses like liquid silhouettes, sneaking within the forest around oaks and birches, crawling amid brush and boulders, until they came to the princess’ tent.
It was dark and quiet, a little too quiet for Dægan’s taste. He had hoped to hear Mara’s voice, possibly a song she might try to hum in an effort to calm herself to sleep, or even the sad sound of crying. He’d take anything at this point. At least it would be something to let him know she was all right, that Domaldr hadn’t grown weary of her and taken her life.
Nay, he convinced himself. Domaldr would not waste ten men on a dead woman. Mara was there, alive and well, as it was to Domaldr’s benefit that she remained more than just a returnable item. He’d not get any of Connacht if she were dead, only a war with her father, and that was the last thing Domaldr would want to bring upon himself. War was too difficult, too dangerous, too risky—as everything could be lost in a matter of seconds, taken by a swift fleet on an unprotected flank—or worse yet—his own life amongst those who might otherwise neglect to protect him. She was there, and Domaldr’s excessive armada, with a ten-to-one ratio, more than proved it.
He surveyed the land surrounding them with eagle-eyes, discerning no one else was walking about in the night. It was just as Havelock described…everyone sleeping, save ten.
Gesturing a series of fingers in a circular motion, Dægan signaled for two groups of five to split up and surround the camp, giving cover should Domaldr’s men stir and wander out.
Tait and the ten others followed Dægan as he advanced, each taking cover behind whatever was blessed them, directly in arrow’s line of the guards. Dægan checked his men’s placement with a casual glance, pleased that the guards were still unaware of their presence. He motioned for the archers to proceed as planned.
Each removed an arrow from their shoulder quivers and fitted it slowly and quietly to their bows, taking aim at the corresponding man in front of them. Dægan and Tait crouched into position, their hands white-knuckling their sword hilts, ready to lunge forward.
Ready to kill.
Tait nodded, his helmet barely rocking in the dimness of the trees.
Dægan nodded back, took two long breaths and whistled once, commencing a si
multaneous barrage of ten whizzing arrows. Then he and Tait jolted forward to quickly end whatever agony the guards had left in their gasping lungs.
****
Mara jumped.
She heard something! Holding her breath, she listened, for an eerie silence soon fell around her. Through the ghastly stillness that followed, panic crawled beneath her skin like a thousand willowy spiders.
Domaldr!
She knew it! For despite Breandán’s insisting, she found Domaldr eyeing her wickedly from time to time. And now he was probably drunk and the thought of Dægan having her first was no longer a foul pretense, but a worthwhile spoil. And who would know? Who would dare stop him, for what he said was law. He had probably waited for Breandán and everyone else to fall sound asleep before wandering to her tent for an arousing and easy pleasure!
She twisted her wrists about, trying to squeeze her hands from the sound rope, trying to free herself from Breandán’s cursed extra knots, the ones he placed with the hope that no one would insinuate her part in it all.
Now she heard footsteps, determined ones, steps that were long and dire as they grew closer to her tent. She frantically rubbed her shoulder against the side of her face, slightly pulling the blindfold from one eye. Perhaps, it wasn’t Domaldr. Maybe Breandán was coming for her, making quick at a daring escape.
Aye, it could be done! They were only a few leagues from home, and being this close to her father, she swore she could run forever without tiring.
To ready herself for such an escape, she rubbed the other side of her face, completely ridding the blindfold from her eyes and working like mad on her wrists, pulling and stretching, twisting and jerking.
At that fateful moment, she saw a man enter her tent briskly. Much too brawny for Breandán, she noted. He stood with legs definitively spread, his shining sword marked with the color of violent death, and his flaxen hair curling from under his helmet. He removed it with one jerking motion and dropped it at his feet. Her stomach coiled and turned over, her breath tethered in her chest, her eyes fixed on Domaldr’s awful face.
The Emerald Isle Trilogy Boxed Set Page 27
