Page 27

B rynhild sank to her knees, her arms still extended around the mast. She watched through a blur of tears as Taranc crouched beside her and untied her hands then rubbed her wrists to ease the numbness from her fingers.

Then he wrapped the blanket about her shoulders again and tucked it tight in front of her.

She frowned when he reached for her right ankle and started to tie the end of the rope around it.

"What are you doing?" She could no longer summon the energy required to struggle to escape his grasp.

"You are to remain bound, but I do not wish you to be uncomfortable. You will have sufficient rope to move about a little, though not to reach the rail, and your hands will be free."

"Why? I cannot escape." She surveyed the vast expanse of the sea. The coastline of her homeland had long since receded from view.

Taranc grinned at her, an expression she found both engaging and oddly annoying. "Let us not tempt fate, eh? You have proved yourself to be unpredictable, Brynhild. I believe Eileifr would be happier were you to be restrained."

The karl appeared quite unconcerned one way or the other in Brynhild's view.

He busied himself winding a narrow line around a reel which he secured to the side of the boat before releasing the end to trail in the waves.

The fisherman was obviously not about to waste the opportunity of returning home with a decent catch if he could, as well as Ulfric's coins.

"Your clothes are almost dry. You may get dressed soon."

"You are most kind, Celt." She could not prevent the waspish tone which crept in, but immediately regretted it. The dreaded belt still lay on the deck, just a couple of feet away.

His smile was sardonic. "Guard your tongue, lady.

Let us have a truce, shall we? I believe you will find that arrangement more to your liking than if I were to find cause to discipline you yet again.

I expect you will toughen up. You will have to if you insist upon crossing me.

But just now I fear your bottom is too tender to take much more punishment so do not push your good fortune with me. "

Chastened, Brynhild dropped her gaze. She could not fault him for giving fair warning.

"How long will it take? To reach Scotland?"

"We will be at sea for another two nights, possibly three though the wind is fair and we are making good time."

"I am to remain tied to the mast the entire voyage?"

"I believe that to be best."

"And, when we arrive? Am I to be a slave?"

"We Celts rarely take slaves, though I daresay the life of a serf may well seem not so dissimilar. They are tied to the land they work, and therefore to the landowner, though serfs do have a choice of sorts."

"Of sorts?"

"Aye. The choice between a labourer's cottage to call home and food on the table, or the freedom to go cold and hungry."

"You are a serf?" She thought he must be, by the hint of bitterness in his tone.

Taranc shook his head. "No, I am chief in my village so the serfs there answer to me for their livelihood, though I owe obeisance to the lord of Pennglas. He is Fiona's father."

"Is he a fair lord?"

"Aye, fair enough, and I try to be. I believe our people live well enough. It is better than being a Viking thrall, certainly."

"Ulfric was not a cruel Jarl."

"Slavery is cruel, Brynhild, however benevolent the master. You should consider yourself fortunate not to sample it yourself."

It may pain her to accept the truth of his words, but she could not find it within her to argue. And she did consider herself lucky. "Then what do you intend? If I am not to be your slave, and you will not wed me?"

"I am returning to my village. You may come with me and you are welcome to make your home there. I daresay your skills as a weaver will be sufficient to guarantee you a living. You will be a free woman in Aikrig, not a prisoner. If you choose to leave, to go elsewhere, I shall not prevent it."

"Where would I go? I know no one in your land. I have nothing..."

"I appreciate that. So you are welcome to remain with me."

She shook her head, despondent. "I am a Viking. My people have made war upon yours. Your people will hate me."

"Only if you invite them to do so."

"But—"

"Only you and I know what transpired in your land, between you and Fiona. No one here will hold you responsible for the actions of your brother or others from your land. No one has reason to hate you and I will not give them any such cause. You may start afresh, make friends, build a life."

"I had a life."

"And now you have another. Think about what I have said and make what you may of it.

" He completed the task of securing her ankle to the mast, leaving perhaps four feet of rope free to allow her to stand and move about a little.

"Now, I believe Eileifr might appreciate some help in acquiring a fine supper for us. You will excuse me, lady."

The two men spent the next several hours at routine tasks about the small vessel.

Taranc seemed to know how to arrange the sails, to read the wind and make adjustments to ensure that they remained on course.

Eiliefr attended to his lines and also flung a net from the stern of the boat.

He seemed well content with the outcome of his labours as he and Taranc hauled the catch aboard.

Both men ignored Brynhild, so she was left to her own thoughts which whirled around in her head.

Where did it come from, her near confession?

She had almost told Taranc. She had come perilously close to blurting out her secret.

No one knew. No one must ever know, yet she had very nearly yelled it to the heavens.

She must have a care, especially since his words about a new life seemed so tempting now that she properly considered them.

Could it be true? Could she really leave her past behind and start afresh in this untried and alien land?

She would be among strangers. Worse, she would be living among the Celts she had hated for years, but even so the promise in Taranc's words called to her.

She wanted this. She wanted to choose this, for herself.

Taranc had passed her clothes to her, now dried in the sun so she was properly dressed once more.

She chewed thoughtfully on the salted fish provided by Eileifr and washed it down with fresh water, then completed several circuits of the mast before gingerly settling down to kneel on the deck again.

Her bottom throbbed without mercy, her thighs even more so when she allowed her weight to rest upon them.

She could not sit in comfort and she wondered if she ever would again.

She wriggled and fidgeted as she sought some ease but her efforts were in vain.

Once or twice she caught sight of Taranc's knowing look as he regarded her from across the deck.

She wondered if he might again offer to rub away the discomfort.

If he did, she might be tempted to accept.

By late afternoon she was becoming seriously cold through inactivity, bored to the point of screaming, and she was hungry again. Taranc strode past her to attend to the rudder and she reached out to catch his tunic. "May I have another blanket, please? If there is one?"

"Of course. You may have mine." He passed it to her.

She frowned. "You will require it yourself. Later."

"We shall share. That makes better sense."

"Share?" She hoped he had not heard the startled squeak in her voice though thus far he had missed little enough.

"Aye. Share." He did not wait to discuss the matter. Seemingly their course required further adjustment and this demanded all his attention. Brynhild shifted her weight again and groaned as another sizzle of fire assailed her punished thighs.

They ate an evening meal of more salted fish with bread and a handful of nuts each.

The men sat beside Brynhild to take their meal and the conversation was convivial enough, though in a manner Brynhild found quite bizarre.

Eileifr asked after Njal and informed her that his own sister had recently been delivered of a fine boy.

Brynhild smiled as though there was nothing in the slightest way odd about their current circumstances and wished the new family well, then turned to speak to Taranc.

"Do you have a family? People with whom you share your home?" She had not intended to ask, but the question had popped into her head, and then it was out.

He nodded. "My mother, Murdina, and her widowed sister, Morag reside in a cottage in my village though they do not share the chief's house.

That was to be my home with Fiona but I daresay you will find it comfortable.

My cousin, Annag, lives with Murdina and Morag and takes care of my house too.

I hope she has continued to do so whilst I have been absent.

It is a hectic family but I believe you will fit in well enough. "

"I am to live in your house? On what basis?"

He shrugged. "On the basis that I see no other obvious solution."

"It is not decent. There will be talk."

"Aye, maybe. It will not last."

"I cannot live with you," insisted Brynhild.

"Very well. You may make such other arrangements as you please."

Brynhild fell silent. What 'other arrangements' might she even consider? She chewed on her fish and said no more on the subject.

As darkness fell the men hauled in the nets and lines though they continued to tack onwards, making a brisk speed across the rippling waves.

It had been agreed between the men that Eileifr was to remain awake for the first watch, and Taranc would relieve him after a few hours.

Brynhild peered out from within her cocoon of blankets as the Celt approached and crouched beside her little nest.

"You may have your blanket back," she murmured. "I do not require it."

"Do not be a fool, Brynhild. Roll over and I shall help you to remain warm."

"I am quite warm enough, thank you."

"Sadly, I am not. Roll over."

"But—"