Beyond the Sea Mist (7 page)

Magnus regarded the other man shrewdly. “I know what you’re up to. You’ll seize any excuse to go into the settlement.”

“Can you blame me?” Orm responded. “From what Sigurd said, we load the ship tomorrow and set off for home the day after. Then it’s over a sennight at sea, with no chance to even look at a woman until we reach Hedeby.”

“Since you lost what little silver you had in the dice game last night, you’re hardly in a position to do anything about it even if you do find a wench.”

“At least I can look. That’s better than being stuck here with naught to gaze upon but the ugly snouts of my shipmates.”

Magnus guffawed. Although he preferred to make the trip into the settlement alone, he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn Orm away. “Come on then. I’ll expect you to pull the cart at least part of the way. I didn’t get to be this strong by standing around while other men did all the work.”

“I’ll have you know I unloaded ten barrels of fish by myself,” Orm said they left the dock and guided the handcart between two warehouses. “I’m not such a weakling as you think.”

Magnus grunted in response, his thoughts returning to the Irishwoman. He didn’t have much time. As soon as he finished this errand, he must try to find a way onto the ship where she was held.

Abruptly, the trackway between buildings grew treacherous and the handcart got stuck. Several of the wooden planks laid down to create a walkway had been sucked down into the mud, and the cart’s wheels were on the verge of becoming hopelessly mired. Magnus swore, irritated at himself for not paying more attention.

Orm took hold of the back of the cart. Magnus grabbed the front end. Together they struggled to lift the iron wheels up and get the cart back on the planking. It took several tries, and by the time they succeeded, they were both filthy and sweating.

Magnus straightened and looked over at Orm. His crewmate’s face was splattered with mud. He laughed. “I doubt you’ll attract any maid looking like that. I’ve seen pig farmers cleaner than you.”

Orm made a face. “You don’t look much better. If your little Irish princess could see you now, she’d probably run away screaming.”

Magnus’s playful mood vanished. “But she couldn’t run away. She’s still a captive of that beast, Croa.” He gritted his teeth as the familiar frustration washed over him.

“Sorry,” Orm said. “That was a stupid thing to say. I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”

“We’d better keep moving,” Magnus said. “Otherwise, this will take all day.”

They finally got past the warehouse area and reached a trackway that was more stable. “Which way now?” Orm asked.

Magnus explained Sigurd’s instructions and they soon arrived in the market area of the settlement. Both sides of the trackway were lined with workshops. In front of each shop was a wooden sign with a picture of the kind of merchandise made there: shoes, jewelry, combs, weapons. Magnus examined each sign, looking for one that might indicate a soapstone carver. Finally spying what looked like a bowl on one of the signs, he gestured to Orm. “I think that’s the place.”

As they hauled the cart toward the shop, a woman stepped out in front of them. She paused, startled, and the hood of her sable-trimmed mantle fell back to reveal her carefully braided auburn hair and elegantly beautiful face. Her light brown eyes flashed over them, then she made a face and turned away, stepping daintily on her wood-bottomed shoes and holding her green and blue plaid mantle out of the muck. A moment later, a man dressed in the coarse garb of a servant came out of the shop carrying a cloth-wrapped package and hurried after her.

“Did you see that?” Orm asked.

Magnus snorted. “Aye. She looked at us as if we were two worms who’d just wriggled out from under a rock.”

Orm sighed. “What I would give to possess such a creature.”

“Don’t even think about it. She’s undoubtedly the wife or concubine of one of the jarls who live here.” As he said the words, Magnus thought of the princess. Was she destined to end up in similar circumstances? It didn’t seem so bad a life—to dress in fine clothing and have servants wait upon you. Yet he knew she’d hate it and always recall what it was like to be free.

“I suppose you’re right,” Orm said glumly. “She’s far beyond me.” He nodded to the cart. “We might as well get our errand over with.”

They found the soapstone carver’s shop and Magnus went inside to speak to the owner. The man told them to take the cart behind the shop—no easy task given the narrowness of the walkway around the building. Once there, they unloaded the chunks of soapstone into a pile. While the shop owner inspected his purchase, Magnus noted a small gray and gold cat sitting near the doorway of the shop, watching them with serene gold eyes. It reminded him of the one that had guided him to the storeroom behind Croa’s dwelling. Regret stabbed through him. He should have rescued the princess then. It would have been difficult, but far less challenging than what was ahead of him now.

Satisfied with his purchase, the soapstone carver unfastened a money pouch from beneath his tunic and held it out to Magnus. Magnus took the pouch and tied it to his cowhide belt. He nodded to the shop owner, then grabbed the handle of the empty cart and started back around the building. Orm followed.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the shop owner, Orm said, “How much do you think is in the pouch?”

Magnus reached down and hefted the leather bag in his hand. “Two pounds. Maybe more.”

“That would buy a lot of ale and willing wenches.” Magnus raised his brows at Orm, who quickly added, “Of course, since the silver doesn’t belong to us, it doesn’t really matter. On the other hand, I doubt Sigurd would miss a piece or two.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Magnus responded. “Sigurd will probably weigh the pouch when we get back to the ship. If it’s short, he’ll know we took some. Besides, it would be wrong to steal from Sigurd. Especially since he’s been fair and honest in all his dealings with us.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Orm said wistfully.

Even as he explained to Orm why they dare not take the silver, Magnus couldn’t help wondering if the amount in the pouch would be enough to purchase the princess. Hardly. Soapstone was a useful commodity—almost any household Magnus had ever been in owned several bowls and a lamp or two made of the material—but it wasn’t a particularly valuable one. The princess’s worth was more in line with the merchandise the well-dressed Irishwoman had purchased at the jewelry shop. Besides, it didn’t matter. The money wasn’t his. And he wouldn’t steal—even for her.

“You’re deep in thought, Magnus,” Orm said. “Are you still worrying over the Irishwoman’s fate?”

Magnus nodded. “I can’t help myself.”

“There’s nothing you can do. You have to forget her. She’s as unattainable as the amber-eyed beauty back there is for me. If you must think of her, do it when you’re alone in your bedsack under the stars.” Orm winked.

“It’s not like that,” Magnus said. “My feelings for her go beyond lust. She reminds me of a trapped wild creature. A beautiful, caged bird I long to set free.”

“All I ask is that you don’t risk your own freedom—and your life—to secure hers.”

Magnus nodded. Sound advice. He must be careful and wait for the right opportunity.

On the way back, Magnus spotted a cistern, and he and Orm washed their hands and faces. Then they returned to the ship and Magnus handed over the pouch of silver to Sigurd. The captain hefted the pouch much as the merchant had done. “Well done, Magnus. Now you’re free to enjoy yourself for the rest of the day. I won’t need your services until tomorrow morn when it’s time to load up our new cargo.” Sigurd went back to bartering with a dark-haired Dane over the value of a pile of furs.

Magnus returned to where Orm waited. “Sigurd says he won’t need us the rest of the day.”

Orm grinned. “Which means I’m free to go back into the settlement and enjoy myself.”

“No dice games, though,” Magnus said sternly.

Orm’s grin widened. “You’ll have to come with me to make certain of that.”

“Nay. I have other things to attend to.”

Orm’s expression grew serious. “Be careful, Magnus. Remember what I said.”

Magnus nodded.

“I guess I’ll have to find someone else to go to the alehouses with me.”

“And you might want to change your tunic first.”

Orm glanced down at his mud-spattered garment. “It’s the best one I have. I’ll wait until it dries, then brush off the dirt.” He gave Magnus a quirky grin, then took off in the direction of the settlement.

Remembering the Irishwoman’s scorn when he first approached her, Magnus decided he’d best follow his own advice. He found a clean tunic in his sea chest and put it on, then disembarked from the
Waverunner
and started down the dock toward Croa Ottarson’s ships.

Approaching the warrior standing guard nearby, Magnus said, “I’m looking for a man named Bors Ulfarson. He’s about forty winters old and wears his hair pulled back in a knot.”

“Don’t know him,” the man responded. “But then, I just hired on with Croa myself.”

Magnus nodded and focused his gaze on the middle ship, which was much larger than the other two. He felt certain the women must be on this vessel. “What sort of cargo are you carrying?”

The man’s deep-set blue eyes fixed on Magnus. “Why do you ask? Where do you know Bors from?”

“I met Bors last night at the ale house. He mentioned Croa might be interested in hiring more men for his upcoming voyage. I’ve just arrived in Dublin on another ship, but I don’t fancy heading home so early in the sailing season. I was looking for another crew to hire on with.”

The man looked him up and down. “You appear stout and strong, but are you skilled with weapons? Wielding an axe to chop wood is much different than cutting an enemy’s throat.”

In the space of a heartbeat, Magnus snatched his knife from his belt and held it to the man’s neck. “Is this skilled enough for you?”

The man’s gaze flicked downward to where the blade rested on his throat, then back to Magnus. “Aye. If Croa’s wants a recommendation of your skill, I’ll give him one. When he returns, that is. He’s off in the longphort right now, finishing up his business.”

Magnus released the man and resheathed the knife. “Then I’ll wait until he returns. Can you tell me how soon Croa plans to leave?”

“Tomorrow we set out.”

Tomorrow. That didn’t give him much time. Magnus glanced up at the dragonship. “Would you have any objection to my boarding the ship and seeking out Bors? I’d like to thank him for suggesting I hire on with Croa.”

The man shrugged. “Look around if you wish. Most of the cargo I’ve seen loaded is bulky stuff—hides, casks of wine, bags of grain. Nothing a man can walk off with.”

Magnus nodded, surprised by the man’s cordial tone. Most warriors would be a little more wary, and perhaps even hostile to a man who’d just held a knife at their throat.

“Perhaps I’ll see you later, if Croa hires me,” Magnus said.

“Aye,” the man responded.

Magnus climbed up the boarding plank to the ship. This was a much bigger vessel than any he’d been on before. Croa was certainly a wealthy man...and with wealth came power.

In the midsection of the ship, near the mast, was an opening that led to the storage area below deck. Magnus guessed that was where the women would be held. His heartbeat quickened as he considered the risk he was taking. The deck was deserted right now, but crewmen could come aboard at any moment. Then he thought of the Irishwoman’s lovely features contorted in anguish when Croa’s brutal hireling grabbed her hair, and anger overrode his apprehension.

He glanced around again to make certain he was alone, then found the ladder leading into the hold and made his way down it. Peering into the gloomy recesses of the cargo area, he saw rows of barrels. When he glimpsed movement behind them, he called out softly, “Lady Ailinn? Are you there?”

There was the sound of whispering. Then she answered, “Aye, I’m here.”

If only he had a lamp, Magnus thought with chagrin. He wanted to see her. Carefully, he made his way by the barrels, turning sideways to squeeze past them. He could hear breathing, and smell the less than pleasant scent of people crowded close together. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could make out the pale oval of the princess’s face. Although he couldn’t see her features clearly, she seemed to be scowling at him. Magnus felt a stab of annoyance. Why couldn’t she act pleased to see him? He’d come to aid her.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

Magnus’s irritation increased. “I’m here to help you. Although perhaps you don’t want the help of a
hireling
.”

She sighed. “I beg your pardon, sir. My nerves are stretched to the limit. I truly don’t know if I can endure much more. You say you want to help me, but how? What’s your plan?”

Magnus’s tension increased as he considered how to answer her. Before boarding the ship, he’d entertained the vague notion of waiting until nightfall and then somehow smuggling the women off the ship. Now he realized such a scheme had little chance of success. The night before the vessel sailed, most of the crew would be aboard. It would be nearly impossible to get the women off without someone noticing.

He turned the matter over in his mind but could think of no sound strategy. Finally, he said, “I don’t yet know how I’ll do it, but I intend to get you off this ship before it leaves dock.”