By Love Enslaved (47 page)

There was much to be done to prepare for the coming raid on Trom’s camp. There were weapons to polish, helmets and shields to sort out, and heavy leather tunics and shirts of mail to unpack. While there was no need for silence in the deserted harbor, the men went about their tasks with few words. All thoughts were focused on the night ahead, and Dana wished with all her heart she had some useful job to perform to lift her spirits from the depths of dread where they had sunk.

She had not helped prepare meals, but she did so now, even though she had little interest in the taste of the food. When night fell, she was too excited to sleep, and argued when Erik walked her to her tent. “I want to go with you. I can stay down by Trom’s docks until you send someone for me, but I can’t bear to stay here all by myself. Not knowing what’s happening would be torture for me.”

Exasperated by her request, Erik refused to give in. “You’ve made the journey, and you’ll be there in the morning to greet Haakon and Svien, but there’s no need for you to put yourself in danger by entering Trom’s camp before it’s safe. Brendan would be furious if he knew that you’d asked to go. That’s why you didn’t mention it to him, isn’t it?”

“Let’s leave him out of this,” Dana insisted stubbornly. “It has nothing to do with him.”

“It has everything to do with him!” Erik hissed through clenched teeth.

Instantly Dana raised her hand to cover his mouth. “Hush!” she implored him. “Isn’t it plain that whatever there was between us is over?”

Erik grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand away. “And whose decision was that—yours or his?” When Dana lowered her gaze, he had his answer. “There will be time enough to settle this tomorrow.”

“There is nothing to settle,” Dana replied sadly. “It’s over.”

“If you think I’ll allow some swaggering Celt to break your heart and get away with it, you’re very wrong. With Haakon and Svien to help me, he won’t stand a chance.”

“You mustn’t tell!” Dana grabbed hold of Erik’s kirtle in a desperate clutch. “This doesn’t concern you or them.”

“You won’t change my mind, Dana. Now just go to sleep and tomorrow when you wake up, it’ll all be over.”

Dana could not recall ever seeing Erik in so belligerent a mood, and while she continued to argue, her words made no impression on him. In his opinion, Brendan had treated her shamefully, and she found it difficult, if not impossible, to dispute that view.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything about this tomorrow. You’ll only endanger your own life if you’re thinking about punishing Brendan when you should be concentrating on Trom.”

Erik hesitated, but knowing she was right, he finally agreed. “All right, I’ll do it your way, but I mean to confront him about this, Dana.”

“Please, let’s talk about it again before you do.”

Reluctant to make that promise, Erik brushed her cheek with a hasty kiss, then turned away, eager to move Jarald’s men into place for the coming attack.

Hoping to spend a few moments alone with Dana, Jarald had been waiting in the shadows nearby when she and Erik had approached her tent. He had expected them only to wish each other good night, but their unguarded conversation had swiftly confirmed his worst fears. To find that the beautiful young woman he had courted so diligently had slept with a slave, who apparently had tired of her, was so outrageous a happenstance his hand went immediately to his knife. He would kill Brendan, that much was certain, but Dana had wronged him too.

“Dana?” he called out as he stepped up to her tent.

Seated just inside, Dana leapt to her feet and came to the opening. “Yes, Jarald, what is it?”

He had not gotten used to seeing her in Soren’s clothes, and with her hair tumbled around her shoulders in casual disarray she had a childlike innocence he knew she did not deserve. “I don’t want to leave you here alone. Come with me now, and I’ll take you on ahead to a place where you’ll be safe.”

When he offered his hand, Dana took it eagerly. “Thank you. I tried to convince Erik to do just that, but he refused.”

Jarald smiled, then put a fingertip to his lips to warn her to be silent. He led her away from the fire where his men were gathered, down past the ship, and then into the woods. Once he was certain they had gone far enough not to be overheard, he grabbed the knife she wore at her belt and pulled her around to face him. “I know all about you,” he began in a low growl as he tossed her blade aside. “You’ve teased me for the last time, Dana. Tonight I mean to have what you’ve been giving so freely to your slave.”

Terrified by the threat, Dana tried to break free, and failing that, she attempted to kick him, but Jarald was so tall and strong he simply held her at arm’s length and laughed at her futile efforts to harm him.

“You’re no more able to hurt me than Brendan will be tomorrow. I mean to kill him, Dana. You’ll need him no more now that you have me.”

“I don’t want you!” Dana screamed, and Jarald responded by slapping her so hard her head snapped back with a force she feared had broken her neck. He shook her then, making her so dizzy that when he began to slap her again she could barely stay on her feet. Each time he struck her, he cursed her with filthy words she did not even understand, but still she refused to meekly submit to his superior strength.

“Did you ever fight Brendan?” the husky brute asked. “Did you ever tell him no when he hungered for you?”

“Never!” Dana shrieked, determined to fight him as long as she had the breath to do so.

Enraged by the insulting response, Jarald wound his fingers in Dana’s flowing curls, hauling her close for a brutal kiss that ended when she sank her teeth in his lower lip.

“Bitch!” he shouted, and unmindful of his own strength, he hurled her against a tree with a force that instantly rendered her unconscious. She went limp, slipping from his arms to the dirt at his feet. Disgusted, he sent his toe into her ribs. When she did not moan, he cursed her all the more loudly. He enjoyed her spirit too much to take her when she would not even recall what had happened.

“Slut,” he hissed before spitting on the ground. “That’s nothing compared to what Haakon will do to you when he learns you’ve been sleeping with slaves. You needn’t worry, though. I’ll offer to marry you despite that disgrace, and I know Haakon will be too grateful to me to allow you to refuse.”

Chuckling at his own cleverness, Jarald scooped Dana up into his arms. With the same stealth with which he had left the camp, he carried her back to her tent, certain she would still be there when he was ready to hand her over to her father for another beating.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Haakon heard a muffled thud as the guard at the gate of the stockade fell. Grabbing Svien by the shoulder, he gave him a shake. “Wake up, someone’s coming.”

Instantly alert, Svien peered into the darkness that surrounded them, but in the pale moonlight he could barely make out his father’s face and could discern nothing in the shadows beyond. He heard the gate being pulled open slowly rather than being flung wide as it usually was. Whoever was coming carried no lantern, and the oversight perplexed him. “Who can it be?” he whispered.

Haakon shook Per, who lay asleep on his left, then clamped his hand over his mouth before he could speak. There were more than forty men inside the stockade. Shackled together in groups of three, they were as restless that night as on all others, and like a silent wave, they awakened and leaned forward, to a man straining to see who was moving toward them through the darkness.

From bitter experience, Brendan knew the captives would be huddled against the wall of the sturdily built log enclosure, but he stepped carefully so as not to trip over any outstretched legs as he slipped through the gate. “I have come to set you all free,” he promised in a hushed voice. “Where is Haakon?”

Suspecting a trick of some kind, Haakon hesitated a moment, but then thinking his situation could be no worse, he called out, “I am here.”

“Come to me,” Brendan ordered, unwilling to risk making his way to him. “I’ve come with Erik. Hurry, it will soon be dawn.”

After nearly a month of captivity, Haakon, Svien, and Per, who was shackled with them, had learned to coordinate their motions, if not smoothly, then without frequent mishap. In the darkness, however, it was no small feat for the men to shuffle their way to the gate. Also eager to go, their companions struggled to their feet, but none dared dispute Haakon’s right to be the first to leave.

“Where’s Jørn?” Haakon whispered anxiously as he reached Brendan.

“Erik will explain everything later,” the Celt replied, determined to see that Erik received the major portion of the credit for his father’s rescue. “I have the key. As soon as I remove your leg irons, walk through the gate, then wait just outside for me.” As Brendan bent down to unlock the iron cuffs encircling Haakon’s ankles, he recalled vividly the humiliation of wearing chains. That was only one of the many crimes for which he intended to make Trom pay.

It was too dark for him to make out Haakon’s features or those of the men with him, but even so, Brendan got the distinct impression not only of height, but of strength as well. He assumed Haakon’s crew would be as well disciplined as Jarald’s and understood the necessity for stealth without being told, and he was not disappointed. Placing the key in an outstretched hand, he instructed the man to free himself and then pass on the key. Soon the key was moving from one shackled trio to the next with a steady rhythm, with each newly freed captive following the man ahead of him through the gate.

When the last man had cast off his chains, Brendan led the Danes in a silent procession up the river and around a bend to where he had left his own men waiting. It was not until Haakon moved into the light of their lanterns that he realized they had been rescued by a group of total strangers. While Haakon surveyed the Celts with a confused mixture of relief and suspicion, Brendan took the time to study him.

All he had heard of Dana’s father had led him to expect someone of Jarald’s robust build, but while Haakon was well over six feet in height, he was lean rather than stocky. His kirtle and breeches were ripped and stained, but his stance was still a proud one. His blond curls were touched with gray, as was his beard, but his blue-violet eyes were alight with a youthful curiosity. He was one of the handsomest men Brendan had ever seen, and he now realized that despite the difference in their coloring, Erik resembled him closely.

“Who are you?” Haakon demanded, not pleased at being observed so intently.

Readily understanding the man’s confusion, Brendan again introduced himself as a friend of Erik’s, then continued, “I am Brendan, a prince of the Dál Cais, and these are some of my people. We have come to put an end to Trom and his evil band. You and your men may either wait here to stay out of our way, or if you want to join us, we can supply you with the weapons to do so.”

“Erik would have mentioned a prince had he met one,” Svien announced as he stepped forward to regard Brendan with a decidedly skeptical stare. “He has no friends that I don’t know.”

Svien was blond like his father and, like Soren, had inherited his mother’s blue eyes. He was also a handsome man despite his filthy attire. His challenge brought a smile to Brendan’s lips, for it reminded him of something Dana might say to a stranger. “He does now,” the Celt assured him with an engaging grin. “At dawn he and Jarald will move into Trom’s camp from the river, while my men and I will enter the way we just came. What is your choice? I know Trom has treated you badly. If you lack the strength to fight, none of us will think you cowards.”

That comment was greeted with such loud protests Brendan had to raise his hands in a plea for silence. “How many men does Trom have with him now?”

“No more than a hundred,” Haakon replied.

As they talked, Brendan had hurriedly counted the Danes. Including Haakon and Svien, there were forty-two. He was certain they had left Fyn with more, but knowing how cruel Trom was, he thought it remarkable so many had survived. He had found nearly that many among his people eager to fight Trom, and counting the men with Jarald, it would be nearly an even match. Jarald and Erik would be surprised to see he had freed the captive Danes without waiting for them, but he had feared a bloody brawl where many might lose their lives if the prisoners were not free to fight at the outset. Besides, having Haakon’s men on his side at the start of the attack greatly improved his chances of killing the pirate who had caused him so much torment.

“Trom’s men are like vermin,” Brendan said, and there was an outpouring of far more insulting terms from the Danes. “Without their leader they’ll swiftly scatter. It’s only Trom I want. What you do with the others won’t matter, but you mustn’t set any fires. We don’t want to make any of the Norsemen in Limerick curious enough to come downriver to find out why Trom’s camp is in flames.”

As they continued to plot how best to surprise the sleeping pirates at dawn, Haakon eyed the confident Celt with growing admiration. Brendan impressed him as a man of his word, and he did not doubt that he would fight Trom to the death. The outcome of such a match was by no means certain, however. “I’ll give you the first chance to kill Trom, but if you’re wounded, I’ll push you aside and finish him off myself. Now where are these weapons of which you spoke?”

“He’ll not harm me,” Brendan replied, but rather than argue the issue further, he distributed what weapons they had to share. “We mean to open the storehouse where Trom has your belongings, so do not complain if these swords and axes are not as fine as your own, because you’ll soon have them.”