Page 16 of Her Celtic Captor
It would be a bloodbath.
"Stop. Stop this, all of you." Brynhild rushed to stand between the two groups and faced the Vikings. "Put up your weapons, there will be no bloodshed here today." She pointed to Dagr. "Take him and secure him in the stocks until my brother returns. Ulfric shall decide what is to be done with him."
Dagr had other ideas and lunged for Brynhild. "Lady, stand aside. I will not have some meddlesome fool of a woman siding with thralls who need to be punished. I am master here and?—"
"Seize him," repeated Brynhild, this time addressing her command directly to the warrior closest to her. "My brother is master here, and he will settle this matter."
The mention of Ulfric's ultimate authority seemed to convince the man who flung his arms about Dagr and lifted the smaller man from his feet. The slave master's already ruddy visage was puce as he kicked his feet and heaped obscenities upon Brynhild, upon the man who held him, and mostparticularly upon the thralls who he promised to skin alive then leave what was left out on the hills for the wolves to devour.
"The stocks," reminded Brynhild. "Let him cool his heels there for the rest of the day. And the rest of you can stand back. There will be no fighting here."She hoped.
Brynhild allowed herself a sigh of relief when the Viking who held Dagr set off across the meadow, his reluctant burden wriggling and kicking in his arms. The man was built like the side of a mountain and seemed oblivious to his squirming captive. Satisfied that at least one of her instructions had been carried out Brynhild deliberately turned to face the angry thralls. Their features betrayed their anger, and their fear that any one of them might be the next to fall victim to the violence and sadistic cruelty of their Nordic overlords.
Brynhild could not really fault them for that. Dagr was a lackwit, pure and simple. Surely Ulfric would be rid of him after this.
Beyond the throng of furious men a small cluster had gathered around the one who was injured. Taranc was among those who tended him and having prevented further violence Brynhild was sorely tempted to leave them all to it. She had no desire to face the enigmatic Celt ever again if she could help it.
But Brynhild Freysson was no coward. The injured man required help and it was her responsibility to see to it. She squared her shoulders and skirted the band of slaves to reach the man on the ground.
"How bad is it?" She addressed her query to all of them, but it was Taranc who turned to glare up at her.
"Bad enough. His foot is broken. Your needless Viking cruelty will do nothing to speed the building of your precious granary, lady." His words were delivered in a cold, angry tone, his contempt for her and her people all but palpable
She bristled, but did not back away.
"I saw what happened. Dagr was the one at fault and I shall ensure that Ulfric knows this."
"And how will this help a thrall who is unable to work? We have seen at first-hand how Viking murderers dispose of useless slaves."
Brynhild was at a loss, but would not lower herself to seek an explanation for his comment. The injured man at her feet was moaning, his face ashen with pain and she preferred to invest her energies there where they might make a difference.
"I shall need two or three of you to help carry him down to the village. We have a healer?—"
Taranc stood up and rounded on her. "He cannot work. He cannot even walk. He may lose that foot. At the very least he is likely to never walk without a limp again."
Hands on her hips Brynhild glared back at him. "I can see that, Celt, but find no useful purpose in drawing this man's attention to that possibility until we are sure. If you do not wish to help then you will stand aside and allow me to aid him as best I might."
The Celt narrowed his mossy green eyes and his mouth thinned to a narrow, angry slash across his face. Even in his anger he was handsome, she had to acknowledge. She dashed that unruly thought aside. He was a Celt, and they were all handsome bastards. That was part of the problem.
She bent to examine the mangled foot in greater detail. It did not improve upon closer inspection and she suspected the Celtic chief's prognosis would be correct. They must just hope that the injured limb did not become infected, for that was where the true danger lay. Without doubt this man would be of no further use in building the granary, though he might well possess other skills. They would find out, she supposed, once the limb was healed.
If it healed.
Ulfric would be furious at the waste of a good, able-bodied thrall but perhaps this would be sufficient to convince him to find other duties for Dagr. The man was not fit to have the care of valuable assets such as slaves.
"What is his name?" she demanded.
Taranc briefly consulted men from the Saxon contingent. "Selwyn."
Brynhild nodded and addressed her next words to the slave on the ground. "Selwyn, I am sorry this has happened. My brother will be sorry also, and he will wish me to care for you now. I am going to take you to the village where our healer will do what she may to alleviate your pain." She turned to Taranc again. "So, will you help or will you step aside?"
The Celt narrowed his eyes at her and she thought he intended to refuse. Instead, he shook his head in bewilderment. “I do not understand you, lady. Such cruelty and arrogance presented in a truly beautiful package, but I know you to be dark at the core. Yet you show concern and compassion for an injured Saxon slave. Perhaps your hostility is reserved just for we Celts. Am I right?”
“You are insolent, Celt, and you are in my way.” Brynhild resisted the impulse to step back in the face of his unerringly accurate assessment and piercing gaze. Somehow this vile thrall possessed the ability to look at her and see right through her, to peel away her carefully constricted layers and observe what lay beneath. If she was not careful he would strip her bare and know all her secrets.
Brynhild was the first to lower her eyes.
The Celt glowered at her, but gestured to another man to come over and move to Selwyn's other side. Then the pair bent at the waist and looped their hands together behind the injured man's knees. Selwyn draped his arms around each of their necks and they stood up, lifting him between them.
