Page 67 of Her Rogue Viking
“Quinn, you will be pleased to see our homeland again. It will not be long now.”
“I will. You too, I daresay.”
Fiona nodded. “Of course, I have missed Scotland dearly though I shall remain with Ulfric rather than look to return to Pennglas. We can seek out an isolated spot where we might plant crops and raise cattle, or perhaps we shall discover an unoccupied isle on the western coast.”
“I will miss you. And Ulfric too. He was a fair master, I suppose…”
Fiona patted the woman’s hand. She understood Quinn’s mixed feelings. No matter how fair the master, slavery was abhorrent. Ulfric had taken all of them against their will, made war on their villages, their families. It was hard to forgive, though not impossible. She had forgiven Ulfric, but she did not necessarily expect others would find it so easy.
17
Fiona’s heart fluttered as the shores of her beloved Scotland came into view. They had already passed the Isles of Shetland, pointed out by Ulfric, so this must be the mainland. Her home lay there, many miles to the south, but she was closer to it than she had been since the day she was shoved onto that foul fishing craft and brought to the land of the Norsemen. So much had happened to her since that fateful day, her previous life such a distant memory, yet so vivid too. She could almost touch it, taste it, feel the soft grass of the Scottish highlands beneath her toes.
With a sigh she turned away. Ulfric had not said, but she believed it was his intention to drop the ex-slaves off if they so desired, then to continue on in search of their new home. He would never apologise for their abduction, she was convinced of that, but he understood gratitude and obligation. They had aided him when he needed it, and this was part of their recompense for that service.
The longship on which she sailed was at the head of their convoy. Four more dragon ships followed, commanded by Ulfric’s trusted men. Her husband stood on the prow of theirship, his eyes shielded under his hand as he surveyed the distant shore. Fiona was surprised at the swiftness of the crossing. She had expected to be days at sea, whereas they had spent but one night bobbing on the waves. The weather was calm, the winds brisk, which aided the rowers who occupied the ranks of benches crossing the craft from one side to the other.
She made her way forward to stand beside her husband.
“Do you see a suitable landing place? A beach, perhaps?”
“Yes, there are several such coves. I have a particular spot in mind, however and that place will not be in view for several hours yet.”
“A place you have been to before? A place you have raided?” There could be no other purpose for a visit by her Viking husband.
He smiled and draped his arm across her shoulders. She turned to wrap her arms around her husband.
“I love you.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I know. I am relying on that.”
She leaned back to peer up at him. “You are? Why?”
“You will see, soon enough.” He returned his gaze to the far horizon and pulled her close. “Just trust me, please. And try to understand.”
“I do trust you. What do I need to understand?”
“Please, not now, little Celt. Let us just see what this day brings.”
Fiona knew when to press and when to let him be. She remained at Ulfric’s side as the longship soared across the waves, carried along on a swift southerly breeze. The sails billowed above them and the grey waters of the North Sea surged below. Along with the rest of the party she observed the shoreline grow closer, the details crystallising before her eyes. A beach, a stand of trees, a farm, a cluster of dwellings. She even spotted a group of startled Celtic villagers scurrying away fromtheir fishing boats, presumably in mortal fear of an imminent attack.
“I am sorry,” she mouthed.
Ulfric’s jaw was set firm as he watched the peasants’ frantic retreat. He said nothing.
An hour passed, then another. Never much travelled prior to the arrival of the Vikings, even Fiona began to recognise landmarks. The contours of the hills, a stretch of shingle beach, a small island inhabited only by puffins and sleek grey seals. As these familiar places slid past to her right she began to have an uneasy feeling. Surely Ulfric did not intend to return to Pennglas.
As he signalled the instruction to turn and head direct for the shore she knew that he did. He must intend to let the Celts off here and continue on. He would never attack her home again, not with her present to witness the destruction. He was a warrior, but he was not cruel.
“Ulfric…” she began.
He laid his finger across her lips. “Please, little Celt. Trust me. I believe we may be expected.”
“Coastal villages always expect a Viking attack.” She could not entirely banish the bitterness from her tone.
His answering smile was wry. “Aye, I daresay. Ah, I believe we have been sighted.”
Sure enough, a frenzy of activity unfolded before them as the fishermen of Pennglas and of nearby Aikrig raced for the shore then scrambled up the beaches toward their homes. They would be grabbing their shovels, their pitchforks, their hoes and ploughs, and anything that might be pressed into service as a weapon. Some might even hope to gather stones for their slingshots, though that would take time—a luxury the Vikings were not known for affording their victims. An attack by theNorsemen was swift and deadly. The best chance lay in fleeing, which appeared to be the strategy adopted by most.
