Sold To The Viking Warrior

‘Is that his name? Gorm?’

‘Yes, that is his name—Gorm the Two-Axed. We served together briefly a few years ago against Ketil’s great rival, Ivar the Boneless, and his band of dark Northmen, the men from the Black Pool, or Dubh Linn as you Gaels call it.’ Sigurd pulled his hood more firmly over his face and leant on his stick more, giving the impression that he was old and feeble. ‘He fights with two axes and no shield. I saw him clear an entire ship of Gaels on his own and emerge with only a slight cut on one arm.’

A shiver went down Liddy’s spine. The people were playing with fire. All it would take was for someone to point out what was being said. ‘Is he still...a great warrior? He seems to be running to fat.’

Sigurd was quiet for a long heartbeat. ‘He broke his leg in a fight after a feast more than two years ago. See how he still walks with a limp. I’d prefer him not to be against us should it come to a full-on fight.’

Her heart thudded. If he knew Gorm, then Gorm would know him. Any hope of surprise would go. Her mouth tasted like ash. And she would be condemned as an accomplice. Any hope of rescuing her father and brother would be lost. She stared up at the clouds. There were too many people behind them to run. She kept trying to remember the sound of her seanmhair’s voice as she declared that Liddy would do great things, rather than thinking about Brandon’s scorn.

‘Gorm will recognise your voice.’ She kept hers to barely above a whisper.

Sigurd nodded. ‘It is why you must speak if he acknowledges us.’

She risked a glance at him. He had straightened up a little and was surveying the crowd. ‘No one will ever take you for a servant. Stoop and keep your eyes on the ground.’

His breath fanned her ear. ‘Your lover, then.’

Something warm curled about her stomach. Lover? She was finished with such things. She’d been no good at bed sport with Brandon and Sigurd had made it very clear that she was undesirable—not meant for the jaarl’s bed. ‘A servant will provoke less comment.’

He raised a brow. ‘Say what you will, but make it convincing.’

‘Why did you choose me?’ she asked as they moved ever closer to Gorm’s inspection.

‘I knew I needed a distraction. Luckily the fates sent you along. Thorbin has even given up hunting wild boar, something I never thought I’d see him to do. He used to live for the chase.’

Gorm was five people away and demanding the cart be searched. The farmer instantly complied. The hay and straw was stabbed repeatedly with swords from all sides.

‘I can see why you didn’t try smuggling yourself in a load of hay.’

‘I saw this happen to three carts on my first day of spying,’ he said. ‘Until then I had favoured that idea.’

Gorm started towards them, waving his hand and signalling to another guard that he wanted to deal with them. Liddy forgot how to breathe.

‘Whatever you do, act naturally,’ Sigurd said in a low voice. ‘You look like a doe who has just heard the hunter’s tread.’

‘Turn towards me, pretend we are in close conversation,’ she retorted. ‘It won’t be so bad then. I can’t see him.’

He took a step nearer. He was nearly touching her. His breath fanned her cheek again. ‘I still think my idea of lovers was a good one.’

Liddy wriggled to make some more space. Lies dripped from his lips as easily as honey dripped from the comb during the September harvest, the same as they had dripped from Brandon’s when he’d courted her. In her mind she listed the reasons Brandon’s mistress had given her for why she was undesirable to men, starting with her birthmark. Her breathing eased. ‘You should have told me about this possibility before I agreed to help you.’

‘I discovered too many people knowing my business leads to disaster. Has the danger gone?’

Liddy raised up on her tiptoes and peered around Sigurd’s bulk. ‘Yes, he wanted the farmer’s lad to help him unload the cart. He wasn’t signalling about us after all. I panicked.’

‘Keep on the side closest to Gorm. I’m depending on you, Eilidith, and your dazzling smile.’

‘My smile never dazzled anyone.’

‘We are going to have to do something about your persistent lying.’

Liddy shook her head, smiling a little at his foolish words. She knew what they were designed for. It had been a long time since anyone depended on her. Mostly they looked with horror at her, the woman who had caused her children’s deaths, and tried to forget she existed.

Sigurd walked at her side, leaning on his staff as if he had trouble standing straight.

‘Keep your head bent and your mouth shut,’ she whispered as they neared the gate. ‘Someone else has joined your friend Gorm. They seem to be looking for someone. They are unloading the sacks of grain for a second time.’

‘Thorbin always had a paranoid streak. Who would hide in a sack of grain?’

The guards finished with the grain and motioned her and Sigurd forward. His hand squeezed hers. ‘For luck.’

She drew back, knowing that her cheeks flamed. One simple touch and the ice she’d been encased in ever since Keita had given a terrifying gurgling sound and stopped breathing vanished. It was as if all the vile things Brandon had said to her and about her meant nothing. This man had touched her voluntarily. No, not voluntarily—to distract her from what was to come.

She withdrew her hand rapidly. ‘No more of that.’

A dimple flashed in the corner of his mouth. ‘If you say so, I was merely trying to play a part.’

‘We agreed on another part,’ she said between gritted teeth.

‘What is going on here? Why do you come to this fort?’ a booming Northern voice asked.

Liddy jumped and then slowly turned towards the warrior. ‘I come seeking my father and brother.’

The warrior’s brows drew together. Liddy tried not to think about the axe which hung from his belt. ‘And your father is?’

‘Gilbreath mac Fergusa. Chief of Cennell Fergusa.’

‘You speak the North language. Good. It is good to see the women make an effort.’ He gave a coarse laugh.

‘Enough to get by.’ Liddy wriggled to keep her gown from sticking to her back. Now she had started, the words flowed more easily.

‘Your companion? Why is he here? Why does he allow a woman to speak for him?’

She kept her gaze on the warrior, refusing to look at Sigurd. ‘My servant has lost his wits and his tongue. They say a witch cursed him last New Year. A woman like me would hardly walk across Islay on her own.’

‘The North’s peace runs here. Women are safe.’

Liddy remembered the sacred grove and knew he lied. She lowered her voice. ‘Outlaws. My mother worries about outlaws. But I believe that despite his lost tongue, my servant could use his staff if any outlaws approached us in the woods.’

Sigurd made some mumbling sounds and seemed to shrink deeper into his cloak.

‘It is fine, Colum,’ she said. ‘The warrior simply wanted to know about your ailment. I don’t believe the witch’s curse will pass to the next unworthy soul.’

Sigurd reached a trembling hand out as if to paw the large Northman.

Gorm drew back. ‘You may take your suit to the council, but keep your servant under control. You are in luck. Today is the day Lord Thorbin hears such things.’

‘Hopefully he will see the justness of my cause.’