Page 36 of Her Rogue Viking
“Not necessary, lady.” Taranc’s reply was curt. “I can swim well, whereas the rest…” He met Ulfric’s angry gaze, his own features steady. “They are not to be blamed.”
“I shall be the judge of that,” retorted Ulfric. “But my sister is right, we owe you much. I would have lost my son but for your actions and I am grateful to you.”
“Then we are even,” replied the Celt.
“Even? How do you arrive at that conclusion?”
“You spared Fiona when your slave master would have slaughtered her by the roadside. It is a life for a life.”
Ulfric furrowed his brow, not entirely in agreement with the Celt’s reasoning. He would never had permitted Dagr to kill the female slave. She had been in no danger though he appreciated that Taranc had no way of divining that. His son, on the other hand, would without doubt be dead now had the Celt not dived into the sea to rescue him.
No, they were not quite even, not in Ulfric’s opinion.
“Hurry up with that bath, this man is frozen. And bring food too, something warm.” His house thralls scurried to do his bidding, though Ulfric noted that Fiona appeared transfixed by the sight of her former betrothed and stood rooted to the spot. “Fiona, is there a problem?”
“What? Oh, no. No, Viking, there is no problem at all.” She turned and stalked back to his sleeping chamber, closing the curtain behind her.
Njal lay curledup in his small cot in the corner of the longhouse, Brynhild at his side. She held the boy’s tiny hand as he slept. Satisfied that his son would suffer no lasting ill effects, Ulfric left in search of Fiona.
She was not in the main room, nor was she in their sleeping chamber when he lifted the curtain to glance inside. The privy, perhaps…? He waited a few minutes then when she did notreappear he went out in search of her. Hilla was just outside the longhouse. She hummed to herself as she tended to their chickens.
“Where is Fiona?”
The wench smiled up at him. It struck Ulfric, and not for the first time, that she was no longer a child. He must see to finding her a suitable husband before long.
“She went with the other Celt. I think they are in the meadow…”
The other Celt?Fuck! Had she run away… and with Taranc? The first chance they got… He sprinted off in the direction indicated by Hilla.
He heard them before he saw them, Fiona’s quiet tone and the other, lower voice of her beloved Taranc. They were seated on the ground, their backs against the trunk of a huge pine that shielded them from his view. Neither could they see him. Ulfric approached in silence, listening to their conversation as he did so.
“Why did we not wed? We could have, years ago…” Fiona sounded sad, her voice laced with regret.
“Aye, but we were not suited.”
“We were betrothed. Our families considered us suited.”
“You were in no greater hurry that I was, but I suppose we would have married, eventually.”
“If we had…”
“It would have made no difference. The Vikings would have still come, we would have been taken. He would have wanted you, taken you for his own.”
“I would not have been a virgin.”
“Did he hurt you?” The Celt’s tone was sharp suddenly.
Fiona waited a few seconds before she gave her answer. “No, he did not. He was gentle, I suppose. As much as he could be.”
“Good. That is good, and as I would have expected. He does not appear to be a man given to unnecessary cruelty.”
“Perhaps not, but we are still slaves here, treated as property and that is a sin. We should find a way to escape.”
“Hush, little warrior. You were ever one to rush in without thinking. I suspect were you not, you at least would still be tending your father’s hearth in Pennglas.”
The man was not wrong on that score.Ulfric stood in silence, waiting to hear her response.
“And you were always the one to stop, to think and to plan. Are you planning now, Taranc?”
