Chapter Twelve
Ulfric lay on his back staring into the darkness. Fiona snuggled at his side, her soft breathing testimony to her contentment. He had pleasured her until she had begged him to stop and swore she could bear no more. She had pleaded for him to fuck her, and he was happy enough to grant her wish. Although she had fallen asleep almost immediately after, he was wakeful, his mind busy as he made his plans.
He had the germ of an idea, a scheme to resolve this dilemma, but it was not without risks. His plan would involve trust, and he was not a man given to placing his faith in any but those closest to him.
Could he? Should he? Were he to carry this through it would be a betrayal of his kin, breaking the deeply held principles he had lived by his entire life. He would have to lie to all about him, never reveal the truth. Worse, he would face a lifetime of uncertainty, guilt, and not knowing if things might have been different. Perhaps, even now, there was something else he might do, some other solution.
No. It was this or… He could not bear to contemplate the alternative.
Brynhild had gone too far this time. Her hatred had exceeded anything he could contain by asserting his authority and he despaired of ever again encountering the sweet, caring woman he remembered. The sister he knew seemed lost to him now, and she was dangerous. It was impossible for him to watch her all the time, and because he was elsewhere Fiona had almost died this evening. Above all he had to ensure his thrall’s safety so this had to stop. Now.
Taking care not to disturb Fiona, Ulfric eased himself from their bed and dressed quickly. He had much to accomplish this night and needed to be about it.
He donned his heavy cloak and picked up a second garment, a spare cloak he kept in a chest by his bed. Then he pulled on his boots and slipped from the longhouse. A dog barked, just once, but quieted when she saw who was there. Otherwise the settlement lay in total silence. The deep, clinging blackness suggested to him that the dawn was still a couple of hours away, but he had to hurry. He needed to be done and back in his bed before anyone else stirred.
On swift, noiseless feet he made his way to the edge of his settlement and beyond. He paused as he neared the longhouse occupied by Dagr, and smiled at the gentle snores that drifted from within. His slave master was a sound sleeper, a fact that was to Ulfric’s advantage this night. A couple of hundred yards further he reached the larger, barn-like structure that housed his slaves. The single door was shut and barred from the outside. Ulfric paused to listen, but heard only the snuffles and snorts of men asleep. No voices, no soft footsteps to suggest anyone was awake in there. His jaw tightened as he lifted the heavy bar, wincing at every scrape of wood against wood, and he inched open the door.
The moon had lent him a meagre amount of illumination to light his path outside, but in here was total darkness. Ulfric could not tell one man from another, and did not dare light a torch. None but the one he sought must ever know he was here. He stiffened and remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He could make out the separate sleeping forms huddled under their fleeces. A small fire still glowed in the central hearth, ready to be stirred back into life when the first man awoke.
Minutes passed, and Ulfric peered around. He stepped slowly, carefully, between the prone bodies, stopping to peruse the features of each before moving on.
He found him. Taranc lay on his back, one arm flung across his face but Ulfric had no doubt this was the man he sought. He crouched beside the Celt and laid his palm across his mouth.
Instantly Taranc came awake. He reached for his assailant, grasping Ulfric by the throat and starting to squeeze.
Ulfric loosened his own grip and laid his finger across his mouth to demand silence. “Come with me,” he mouthed. “I need to speak with you.”
Taranc stared up at him, the forest green of the slave’s eyes gleaming in the dim light, but he did not pursue his own attack. The two men glared at each other for several seconds, then Taranc gave a brief nod and started to rise.
Ulfric offered him his hand, and Taranc took it. The Viking beckoned for the thrall to follow, and the pair slipped outside into the frigid night.
“I brought this for you.” Ulfric handed the spare cloak to Taranc. “Come, let us walk.”
They moved in silence toward the headland overlooking the fjord until they reached the spot where Ulfric had witnessed his son fall into the frothing waves—was that really only a little over a week ago? He paused to regard the water now lapping against the rock face below, then turned to look at Taranc.
“You saved my son.”
“Yes.”
“I should reward you.”
“That is not necessary.”
“I know, so I shall not embarrass either one of us by suggesting it. I do, however, have an offer I wish to make to you.”
“An offer? What offer?”
“I heard what you said to Fiona, about waiting, about watching for an opportunity to regain your freedom. You told her that eventually things change, circumstances alter and that which was previously impossible becomes possible. Was that not the gist of it?”
“Aye, it was along those lines, certainly.”
“I am offering you the change, the possibility.”
Taranc did not respond, merely held his gaze, waiting. Ulfric decided he may as well get straight to the point.
“I will grant you your freedom. Or, more accurately, I will help you to escape.”
Taranc’s eyes widened. The man had evidently not expected this. Ulfric pressed on.
“You spoke of needing a ship to take you back to Scotland, of having no desire to live as a renegade in this land. I will provide such a vessel. You can go home.”
“What about Fiona? She too wishes to return to her home.”
“Fiona is mine, she stays here.” On this Ulfric would brook no argument. He paused, then, “Actually, that is not entirely true. I have granted Fiona her freedom also. She is to be a karl, no longer my property, but she stays with me. You go.”
“Why? If you want rid of me you could simply sell me, or even have me killed. Why this?”
“I do not want rid of you.”
“You want to have Fiona to yourself.”
Ulfric gave a hollow laugh. “I already have her to myself. She cares for you, I know that, but it is different… between us.”
“Do you love her?”
“What?”
“Is my question too difficult, Viking?”
“Of course I do not love her. She is… is…” He shrugged, unable to find words to properly explain the complexity of his feelings for his little Celt.
Taranc smiled, and there was more in his expression than mirth—a knowing, sympathy, and perhaps just a sliver of amusement. “I see. You will have to tell her, eventually, but you need to tell yourself first. You will take care of her? After I am gone?”
“I will, and it is caring for Fiona which drives me to make you this offer. I shall aid you in your escape and make it possible for you to return to your home, but there is one condition.”
“Tell me what it is.”
“You will take my sister with you.”
Taranc chuckled and shook his head. “My apologies, Viking, for I fear I misheard you.”
“You did not mishear, but I shall repeat it anyway. I will help you to regain your freedom, on condition that when you leave here you take Brynhild with you.”
“You are asking me to abduct your sister? Why? Why would you even dream of such a horrendous act?”
“Fiona told you of the enmity which exists between them?”
“Yes, but—”
“Tonight, Brynhild tried to murder Fiona. It was only by sheer good fortune that I arrived home in time to prevent it. She survived, but next time, we may not be so lucky.”
“Sweet Lord,” breathed Taranc. “What happened?”
Ulfric briefly related the events of the evening, and assured the Celt that Fiona was safe, but that he feared for her safety as long as she and Brynhild shared a home. “I have to do something, and this seems like the right solution. I can trust you to take care of my sister.”
“You mean me to take her back with me, to Scotland?”
“I do.”
Taranc shook his head. “She is lovely, that much is true, but after what I have heard, I do not believe I even like your sister let alone wish to spend any time in her company. Have you punished her for this act?”
“No, though I consider banishment from her home will suffice as suitable chastisement.”
“I do not agree. She should be whipped for what she tried to do.”
“Despite all, I love my sister and I am not minded to do her injury however much that might be deserved. If you consider it absolutely necessary, I… I should not object to you administering a hard spanking, though you must not harm her.”
His companion narrowed his eyes. “From what you have told me it is clear that she would have harmed Fiona.”
“Even so, I will have your word on this, Celt.”
“Will you indeed? And there lies another problem. As you have pointed out, I too, am a Celt. Scotland is populated by Celts. Your sister would be desperately unhappy living among us there.”
“She will adjust, because you will help her to come to terms with what has happened.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
Ulfric shrugged. “I am not completely sure of anything, but I do know this. Brynhild cannot continue as she is. She is tearing herself apart. Despite her vicious words and deeds I know that at heart she is deeply unhappy, and very lonely. She blames the Celts for all that is amiss in her life, and has lost any sense of perspective she might have once possessed. I believe that she needs to be forced to think again, and I need to act before this ends in tragedy. One of them has to leave, and I will not let it be Fiona. So, will you do this? For Fiona, if not for me?”
“Your sister will despise you for betraying her. She will hate me.”
“At first, perhaps. But you must understand that I do not wish her harm and I will require you to offer her your protection, whatever happens.”
“She will not come quietly. I would have to subdue her.”
Ulfric heaved a relieved sigh. The man would do it. He was already planning how it might be accomplished; was that not tantamount to agreement? “You will do what is necessary to ensure her compliance, but I repeat, you will not injure her. I must have your word on this.”
“You would trust my word? The promise of a Celt? A slave?”
“I once offered you my word and told you that you may rely upon it. I did not let you down, and I know that you will not let me down. So, do we have an agreement?”
Taranc met his gaze, his emerald eyes steady, considering. He put out his hand. “Very well, Viking. For the sake of Fiona’s safety, and because I know that you are the right man for her even if neither of you yet recognises that fact for yourselves, I will do this thing.”
Ulfric took his hand and shook it. “Thank you. Now, let us return to our beds before either of us is missed. I shall tell you on the way back just how I plan to aid you in this endeavour.”
* * *
Three days later, Ulfric took his place at the long table to break his fast. The dagmal, or day meal was always taken an hour or so after rising and was one of the main meals of the day. Fiona seemed to be in fine humour as she placed a cup of mead beside him, along with a bowl of leftover stew from the previous evening. A night of mutually satisfying bed sport did wonders for her disposition, he reflected. He must continue to work on that. To his left, Njal was making short work of a dish of porridge with dried fruits, and Fiona went to help herself to a bowl also. Brynhild had declared her intention to leave at first light to gather winter garlic from the meadow so would no doubt take her dagmal later. The servants had already eaten, with the exception of Harald who had not been seen since the incident with the stocks. He had fled, no doubt fearing Ulfric’s wrath at his part in the affair.
The man was wise to make himself scarce. Harald had known well enough his master’s wishes on the matter and Ulfric would not let such insubordination go unpunished.
Brynhild had apologised to him for her part in what she seemed to consider a trivial misunderstanding. She claimed that she had intended for Harald to bring Fiona indoors after a few minutes, but he had failed to do so. She had been preoccupied with Njal who was unwell, so had not thought to check until at least a couple of hours had passed, and by then Ulfric had returned and had already released the girl.
Ulfric listened to his sister’s account but did not believe a word of it. Apart from anything, his son was in his customary rude good health. He saw no point, though, in pursuing the matter further with Brynhild. The time for reasoning with her was now long past and his path was set as far as she was concerned.
He had left the timing of the plan for Taranc to determine, but had privately hoped to have seen it executed before now. Maybe he needed to speak with the man again…
“Jarl, you must come at once.” Dgar burst through the door of the longhouse, out of breath, his face red from running. “A slave is missing.”
Ulfric stood and reached for his cloak. “Missing? Do you mean escaped? Which one?” He knew the answer to that already, but for appearances’ sake…
“Taranc, the Celt. The tall one, brown hair…”
“Yes, yes, I know the man.” He was aware of Fiona’s horrified gasp behind him. “What steps have you taken to find him?”
“I have sent men to check along the coast, and—”
“That will be futile. He is no sailor, and has no access to a ship. The man will head inland in search of food and a place to shelter. Send the hunting party east.”
“Into the mountains?”
“That would be my guess. Do it. Now.”
“Ulfric, please… what will happen to him?” Fiona wrung her hands, her features ashen. “Please, do not hurt him.”
He offered her a wry smile. “I would have to catch him first.”
Of course, the searches achieved nothing. Not a trace was discovered, either inland or along the coastal route. Taranc was gone, and Ulfric took what he hoped would pass for a philosophical view of the matter. He had to work rather harder at seeming suitably distraught when his sister failed to return from her foraging trip. He arranged his features accordingly and dispatched men to search the meadows and surrounding woodland for any trace of her, and even sent to Bjarkesholm seeking news. None had seen her. The last definite sighting was the previous evening when, as was her habit, Brynhild checked their livestock before retiring to her bed. When her pallet was empty in the morning no one considered that amiss since she had made her plans known.
Ulfric considered that detail a stroke of good fortune, and not one he could have counted upon. As it was, he could be reasonably confident that Taranc had several hours’ start on his pursuers, and since the horse Ulfric had left conveniently tethered just out of sight of the track leading to Hafrsfjord was no longer there when he checked, he had to assume Taranc had made use of the mount. The missing slave could expect to be at the harbour by that afternoon, and embarking on the short voyage across the North Sea by nightfall.
The fisherman, Eiliefr, had driven a hard bargain, but he had eventually agreed a price for the use of his craft and his silence. Ulfric had done all he could for the fugitives, and now their fate lay in the hands of the gods.
* * *
“It is a coincidence, is it not, that they both disappeared on the same night. Surely, Taranc will not have…?” Fiona lay in their bed, her features troubled, then she answered her own question. “No, he would never do such a thing. He would not harm a woman, whatever the circumstances.”
“We have no cause to connect the two events,” Ulfric sought to reassure her. The last thing he needed was for such speculation to spread. “I suspect your Celtic friend to be long gone, but Brynhild might yet be found safe and well. We must not abandon hope.”
“No, of course not. I know she was… difficult, but I would not wish her harm. And Njal is heartbroken.”
Yes, his son’s grief was very real and Ulfric regretted the need for it. Njal had adored his aunt and he knew Brynhild loved the little boy dearly. “I hope we shall be able to provide comfort for him through the days and weeks ahead.”
“Of course. I will do all I can to help, you know that.”
Ulfric nodded, grateful for Fiona’s support. Now, somehow, he needed to rebuild his family. And convince himself that his actions really were for the best.