“Enough.” Her captor strode forward, gripped her arm. “These men are my friends and we act as one. You’ll no’ convince them to take you back to Seacliffe if you beg them for a thousand years.” Leaning in, he held her gaze, his own fierce. “Be glad of that, lassie,” he added, speaking low. “Now come, ’tis time.”
The words spoken, he nodded to the fierce-looking giant again, and then a few others.
These men came forward, tossed farewells to the others, and then, gathering so tightly around her that even a hand couldn’t pass between them, they led her to the cliff’s edge and onto a zig-zagging path to the crescent-shaped beach below. Men stood at intervals, holding torches to light the way.
Still…
Her dread grew with each downward step, for there, drawn up in the sandy cove, was a long, low-hulled galley, high-prowed and single-masted, men already on board and looking eager to hoist its sail. Other men scrambled about on the sand, some with more torches, others clearly there to push and drag the ship into the sea.
A departure was imminent, the galley a hive of activity.
But what frightened her even more was the woman standing at the bow. Beautiful in a big, blowsy way, she was garbed like a gypsy and, as best she could tell, the woman had flaming red hair. A wild, curling mane, the tangled strands tossed by the wind.
Alanna knew her.
She was the woman she’d seen in her dream – leastways the one she’d imagined when she’d stood at her bedchamber window as a Viking warship flashed by, changing into a simple galley before her astonished eyes.
This was the same ship, she was sure.
The woman, as well.
Even more disturbing, the woman seemed to know her, too. She held a hand to her brow and was peering up at the cliff-path, watching their descent, a broad smile on her face.
Was she a slave, too?
Better said, was she soon to become one? Alanna didn’t think so because the woman didn’t seem at all frightened or concerned. Indeed, she appeared at home on the galley.
If anything, she looked amused. And something told Alanna she was the reason.
She just wished she knew why.
Chapter 12
“So you found her.”
Callum ignored Ula’s taunt. “We have the lady, aye,” he said as soon as Wind-Dancer slewed around the headland, catching the strong winter current. He stood in the bow, determined to keep his gaze on the churning sea before him and not on Blackie’s mistress with her all-knowing eyes and annoying smiles.
“I knew you would.” The she-vixen sidled up beside him, persistent as a sand fly. “Have you forgotten?”
Callum turned to scowl at her. “Aye, I’ve forgotten why I allowed you to come along.”
“I’m here to offer womanly comfort to the lady.” Ula pulled a ribbon from her cleavage, tied back her streaming hair. “You’d best tell her the truth, and soon.”
“In good time.”
“That is now.” She slid a glance at the rear of the galley where Lady Alanna sat on the only unmanned oar-bank, her cat-sack on her lap, her arms wrapped around it as if she feared one of the oarsmen would spring upon her, wrest Gubbie from her grasp and hurl him into the sea, carrying sack and all.
“She doesn’t look pleased.” Ula tsked. “I dinnae know you. When did you turn so callous? She isn’t crying or screaming. She will not swoon when you tell her.”
“Perhaps you are the forgetful one,” Callum returned, his gaze again on the moonlit sea, the northern horizon. “The danger remains until the coast sinks behind us. I doubt it will happen, but should we be followed and, gods forbid, taken, ’tis best if she thinks we’re stealing her away to sell as a slave.”
Ula tsked again. “I don’t like it.”
“You think I do?”
Callum closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply of the cold, salt air, let his ears fill with the rushing of water along the ship’s hull. He loved the sea, sometimes even thinking he should have brine for blood. Sailing a fine ship across deep white-capped waters both thrilled and soothed him, and had done since he took his first steps.
Just now…
