Caragh could only hope that he would find what he sought.
Chapter Eight
When the slave answered the door, Styr introduced himself and added, “I’ve come to speak with your master.” He dropped his voice lower. “Is there a thrall among you, named Onund?”
The servant’s expression turned confused. “There is, but only within the last few days.” He looked as if he wanted to ask questions but silenced them.
“Send him to me. This concerns him since he is one of my kin. I have come to free him.”
“Have you?” came a deep voice. “Bold words for a Hardrata.”
Styr saw a man emerge from the shadows. He was slightly taller, with black hair and broad shoulders. His beard was trimmed close, and around his arms, he wore golden bands. Rings covered his fingers, and an earring hung from one ear. “I knew your brother Hakon,” the stranger said. “You’ve traveled far from Hordafylke.”
“How do you know my brother?”
“We were friends for many years as boys. Hakon and I sailed together for a time before I came here. I am Ivar Nikolasson.” The man invited him to sit down, but Styr hesitated. Although the man claimed to know his brother, he wasn’t certain whether or not he would pose a danger to them.
“I can see from your face that you don’t remember me.” Ivar motioned to a servant and ordered him to bring Onund forward. “Perhaps your own man can reassure you that I have not mistreated my thralls.”
He waited for several minutes while Ivar offered him a place to sit. The large interior of the longhouse was partitioned in several places to offer private sleeping quarters while a large hearth stood in the center of the dwelling. The rich scent of roasting meat lingered in the air, and all around him, Styr saw evidence of Nikolasson’s wealth. There were cups made of silver and a chest decorated with ivory and gold in another corner. Silks and furs lined small couches, and Ivar himself wore a tunic embroidered with silver thread.
Moments later, Onund emerged from outside. The man’s expression was filled with relief at the sight of Styr. “Thank the gods,” he breathed.
Styr stood and signaled for the man to come closer. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, “Where is Elena?”
Onund’s face tightened. “She jumped off the ship to escape her own capture. Ragnar went after her.”
A cold fist gripped him at the thought of his wife in such danger. “Is she alive? Where did this happen?”
“We were attacked by the Danes, a few hours south of the city. They tried to swim to the shore, but I don’t know if they made it.” Onund reached out and gripped his shoulder. “I have prayed to the gods for their safety.”
Styr gave a nod, but inside, his mind was numb, as if every sense were dulled. He hardly heard Onund’s words about his kinsmen.
“...the rest of us were taken as slaves,” the man finished. He waited expectantly for Styr to respond, but the image of Elena blurred with his thoughts of Caragh. He remembered the night she’d fallen overboard, and her struggle to swim. Elena wasn’t a strong swimmer, either. If she’d jumped off the ship, she must have believed she was going to die—likely at the hands of their enemies.
He imagined her slender body falling beneath the water, her limbs lifeless, and something within him snapped.
“What about the other men?” he prompted. The cold need for vengeance threaded through him. Caragh’s brother was responsible for all of it. He didn’t care if the boy was only seven and ten. Because of Brendan, his men were slaves, and his wife might be dead. A haze of fury roared through him at the thought.
“All survived,” Onund answered. “We were brought here to be sold. I know where some of the others are.”
“How were you even taken by a handful of Irish boys?” Styr demanded. “Were you not trained to slay your enemies?”
Onund’s own anger rose up. “Did you want them to kill Elena?” His hands clenched, his expression tight. “We were going to attack sooner, but the boy threatened to cut Elena’s throat.” He grimaced, as if regretting their actions. “We didn’t trust him not to kill her.”
Brendan deserved a slow, painful death. A blood-red rage smothered any pity he might have felt. He’d endangered Elena, and that, Styr would not forgive. As soon as he found the boy, he would sheathe a blade in his heart.
But first, he had to find him.
“Your new master,” Styr began, “is he trustworthy?”
“I think so, yes.” A twisted expression slid over Onund’s face. “But I am a freeman, Styr. I won’t live like this.”
“I’ll see to it that you are released,” he promised. “As soon as I can.”
Onund inclined his head and retreated among the other thralls. Ivar came forward and said, “Have you a place to stay this night? We can speak of your men, and I’ll offer my hospitality.”
It was then that he remembered Caragh in hiding, and his thoughts stilled. She would do anything necessary to protect her brother. Soft-hearted and innocent, he didn’t want her to know of his intentions.
