After her valiant effort and remarkable display of courage, Anselm was disappointed to see her crumble. When she saw the old woman with the red hair die, she went berserk, screaming and screaming, her small fists pressed against her temples. Had she seen her father fall? Could the woman have been her mother? But no, the black-haired older woman who stayed near her now bore more resemblance. If only they could speak the same language, then he would have the answers he sought. But he would have to wait until they reached home, where Heloise could talk to them.
For now, he could only wonder about this Celtic beauty. She was a prize indeed, and he resolved to keep his men away from her. Her virginity made her an even better acquisition. Surely she would please his son Garrick.
They sailed on through the Irish Sea, stopping at the Isle of Man to spend the night and have a cooked meal. Those of the men who were so inclined, raped the women again, but still they did not approach Brenna with her look of wild hatred. Some thought she was mad. Soon they were in the North Channel, sailing past the Scottish coast, where they spent another of the nights the women so dreaded. Then they made a stop on Hebrides Island, where many of their kinsmen had settled. There they stayed two days. Thence they sailed past the Orkneys. Their final night on land was on the Shetland Islands.
After this they entered the strange, deep sea, where no land was in easy reach and where monsters and dragons of unbelievable size could at any moment surface and swallow them all alive—or such were the constant complaints of the women. They would rather face anything than the unknown. An unexpected, violent storm did not help to calm their fears. Huge waves lashed out at them, and the ocean opened its arms. There, serpents with fiery tongues were waiting. Even Cordella, whose mockery of Brenna’s silent withdrawal and whose condescending attitude toward her stepsister was at its peak, was reduced to weeping pitifully for her life until the storm abated.
Linnet had great difficulty trying to calm the women when her own nerves were raw. She pleaded with Brenna to help, but received no response. She understood some of what Brenna was going through, why she brooded silently, but thought this was no time for her to abdicate her leadership. A few brave words from Brenna would lessen the others’ fear. Cordella was no help either, crying and screaming that the world was ending.
If Linnet had not been so worried herself, she might almost have felt pleasure in seeing the state Cordella was reduced to. It was appalling that the young woman had not shed a single tear for the loss of her husband. Only hours earlier the fiery-headed Della had been boasting that she was not afraid of what the future held, so sure was she that every man aboard the ship, including the chieftain, desired her above all the others—especially since they left Brenna alone. Cordella was sure that she would find a comfortable place for herself in the new land.
Perhaps Cordella did not boast falsely. More of the men did go to her when they spent a night on land. And she did not fight them anymore, as she had that first time. Even the leader sought Della out.
Linnet cringed, remembering her own ravishment by two of those brutes who had burst into the receiving room that fateful day. She had been bothered only once since then, by none other than the leader himself, who at least was not as rough with her as the younger men. It was actually a tender interlude, for she had lost the will to fight, and he was gentle in his way. She had been a widow for so long, and had not had a man in as many years. Still Linnet prayed it would not happen again. There was nothing she could hope for from Anselm Haardrad of Norway. He was already married, by Fergus’s words. There was nothing Linnet could look forward to at all.
The storm did not last overly long, but left everyone limp and exhausted. A day later, miraculously, land was sighted. Norway’s long coastline extended as far as the eye could see. They did not stop again for provisions but, eager to be home, sailed night and day, further and further north, until finally they altered course and turned inland to the Horten Fjord.
It was midsummer, and the bright green of the trees and grass was welcome to the eye. The sky was deep blue, and dotted with puffy white clouds. Ahead, one fluffy mass stood alone in the sky, in the shape of a mighty mallet— Thor’s flying hammer.
The women saw the cloud, but thought nothing of it. The men, however, gave a deafening cheer. It was a good sign, for it meant that Thor gave them his blessings.
Rocky cliffs rose on both sides of the ship like steep walls. When the banks were level again, the ship rowed to shore. The journey was over.
The settlement was crude, to say the least. Set back only a quarter mile from the fjord stood a large windowless house made of wood, flanked by many smaller houses and livestock sheds. In the fields behind the settlement were other crude houses spaced far apart.
A few women and children accompanied by many dogs ran down to the landing to greet the men; others waited by the main house. Brenna and the other women were tied at the wrists before they were unloaded, just like cargo, and two men escorted them to one of the smaller houses.
All eyes followed the trim figure in black who walked with a proud gait and fearless air. The other captives moved along slowly. They were shoved inside the little house, and the door was slammed behind them. They were surrounded by darkness.
“What now?” Enid cried.
“If I knew, I would not be so frightened,” another girl answered. “’Tis not knowing that is so terrible.”
“We will know soon enough, to be sure,” Cordella snapped impatiently. “This darkness is insufferable! Did you see that none of these houses have windows? Are these brave Vikings afraid of light?”
“We are far north, Della,” Linnet replied. “I would imagine it gets colder here than any winter you’ve ever known. Windows, no matter how well covered, would let the cold in.”
“You have an answer for everything,” Cordella hissed sarcastically. “What is our fate then, Linnet? What is to become of us?”
Linnet sighed wearily. She stood in the center of the room next to Brenna, but could see nothing in the black gloom. She could not say what she feared, that they were all slaves now, and nothing more. There was no reason to further frighten the younger girls, for her suspicion was not yet a certainty.
“As you said, Della, we will know soon enough,” Linnet finally answered.
Brenna remained silent, unable to offer reassurance. She too guessed what their fate was, but her mind retreated from the possibility. Her frustration over her inability to protect them when they needed her most kept her mouth closed in a tight line. What could she do without a weapon and with her wrists bound? They had been raped and brutalized, but she had been unable to prevent it.
The fact that she had not been violated herself gave her little comfort. She could only reason that she was being saved for the arranged marriage. That would never happen now, for she would rather die than be a Viking bride. She only wanted revenge, and she would have it somehow.
The ship was unloaded, the plunder locked in the treasure house and the livestock put out to pasture. A feast was underway at the main house. A large boar was being turned on a spit in the center of the room. Slaves orthrallswere busy in the cooking area preparing flat bread and fish dishes.
The men crowded at long tables in the main room wasted no time in dipping their cups into a large vat of mead. Some were involved in drinking contests; others took sides and placed wagers. The large thronelike chair at the head of one table was empty, but Anselm’s company was not missed as yet.
In the bathhouse, cauldrons of water boiled over a fire. Smoke and steam combined to sting the eyes. A giant tub, large enough to accommodate four or five comfortably, sat in the middle of the room. A cup of mead in his hand, Anselm relaxed in the tub, water up to his waist. A pretty slave girl leaned over the side and scrubbed his back. His first-born son, Hugh, sat on a bench pushed against the wall.
“Sure you won’t join me?” Anselm asked gruffly, then continued, “Damned bother, this ritual bath your mother insists on. I would not mind at any other time, but she knows I am eager to join the feast, and still she makes me come here first.”
“You are not alone, father,” Hugh replied with a grin. “She does the same to me and Garrick, when we return from raiding. She must think the blood of our enemies still clings to our skin and must be cleansed posthaste.”
“Whatever the reason,” Anselm grumbled, “Loki smiles at my displeasure. I don’t know why I put up with it.”
