down there for the whole journey? Of course he did, Magnus realized bitterly. To a swine like Croa, they were no different than his other cargo.
The familiar anger seized hold of him. A beautiful, well-born woman like Ailinn shouldn’t have to endure such rude treatment. Magnus set his jaw, more determined than ever that he must see this thing through.
* * *
Ailinn turned away, grimacing as Brina vomited into a hide bucket. The smell made Ailinn’s stomach roil, but she fought back the nausea with all her might.
I won’t be sick. I won’t.
She shifted a tiny distance away from her maid, although there really was nowhere to go. The ship’s hold—which had seemed crowded when they first boarded—was now packed with supplies for the journey. Between the barrels, bags and boxes, there was barely room for the four women to sit or lie down on the sheepskin pallets their captor had provided.
On Ailinn’s other side, Ullach let out an agonized groan. Ailinn shuddered, torn between revulsion and pity. She’d thought their journey to Dublin had been unpleasant, but this was proving to be far worse. The ship’s hull shifted up and down with a nauseating rhythm. She wondered if the seasickness came about because they were in the hold rather than on deck breathing fresh sea air, or if the sea was rougher this far from the shore.
A pang of misery went through Ailinn as she realized they were moving farther and farther away from her homeland. With every passing moment, it seemed less and less likely that she would ever find her way back to Locha Lein. A wave of despair afflicted her. Her situation was hopeless. No one could help her. Croa was too powerful. She thought of the young Norse warrior and the vow he’d made to help her. What a fool he was to think he could get her away from Croa.
But if he was a fool, he was a brave, noble one. At least he’d tried. The memory of his strong callused hands cupping her own brought tears to Ailinn’s eyes. He was so handsome, so kind. Something about the young Norseman made her want to yield to him. To let him put his arms around her and hold her tight. To rest her head against his broad chest.
The comforting image vanished as the sound of Brina’s retching pierced Ailinn’s consciousness. Surely by now her stomach
must
be empty, Ailinn thought.
Brina let out a moan. “Oh, Ailinn. I want to die.”
“Don’t speak such nonsense,” Ailinn said wearily. She sat up and reached over to stroke Brina’s shoulders. After all the times her maid had comforted her, the least she could do was return the favor. She soothed Brina, saying, “Soon you’ll grow used to the movement of the ship and start to feel better.”
“Nay. With each passing moment, I only feel worse.” Brina let out another agonized moan, then jerked upright and grabbed for the bucket.
Ailinn inched back, wondering if she’d ever felt as bleak and helpless as she did at this moment. She thought again of the Norseman. He was far away now. All hope he might rescue them was gone. Ailinn closed her eyes and tried to summon up some spark of determination to go on. What was it that Brina was always telling her?
As long as you’re alive, there’s always a chance things will get better. You’re a Donovan, the last of a proud and courageous line.
Bolstered by these thoughts, Ailinn fought back the crushing anguish and reached over to once again stroke her maid’s sweat-soaked back.
* * *
Magnus turned over in his bed sack and let out a sigh. At this rate, the ship would reach York before he had a chance to speak to Ailinn. So far on the voyage, Croa had stayed near the opening in the deck, although Magnus had seen Hafgrim and Thorvald go down there. They must be the only ones Croa trusted to have dealings with the women.
Magnus tensed with frustration. Somehow he must think of a way to get into the hold and speak to Ailinn. But how? If he tried to climb below deck and Croa saw him, there was no telling what
The familiar anger seized hold of him. A beautiful, well-born woman like Ailinn shouldn’t have to endure such rude treatment. Magnus set his jaw, more determined than ever that he must see this thing through.
* * *
Ailinn turned away, grimacing as Brina vomited into a hide bucket. The smell made Ailinn’s stomach roil, but she fought back the nausea with all her might.
I won’t be sick. I won’t.
She shifted a tiny distance away from her maid, although there really was nowhere to go. The ship’s hold—which had seemed crowded when they first boarded—was now packed with supplies for the journey. Between the barrels, bags and boxes, there was barely room for the four women to sit or lie down on the sheepskin pallets their captor had provided.
On Ailinn’s other side, Ullach let out an agonized groan. Ailinn shuddered, torn between revulsion and pity. She’d thought their journey to Dublin had been unpleasant, but this was proving to be far worse. The ship’s hull shifted up and down with a nauseating rhythm. She wondered if the seasickness came about because they were in the hold rather than on deck breathing fresh sea air, or if the sea was rougher this far from the shore.
A pang of misery went through Ailinn as she realized they were moving farther and farther away from her homeland. With every passing moment, it seemed less and less likely that she would ever find her way back to Locha Lein. A wave of despair afflicted her. Her situation was hopeless. No one could help her. Croa was too powerful. She thought of the young Norse warrior and the vow he’d made to help her. What a fool he was to think he could get her away from Croa.
But if he was a fool, he was a brave, noble one. At least he’d tried. The memory of his strong callused hands cupping her own brought tears to Ailinn’s eyes. He was so handsome, so kind. Something about the young Norseman made her want to yield to him. To let him put his arms around her and hold her tight. To rest her head against his broad chest.
The comforting image vanished as the sound of Brina’s retching pierced Ailinn’s consciousness. Surely by now her stomach
must
be empty, Ailinn thought.
Brina let out a moan. “Oh, Ailinn. I want to die.”
“Don’t speak such nonsense,” Ailinn said wearily. She sat up and reached over to stroke Brina’s shoulders. After all the times her maid had comforted her, the least she could do was return the favor. She soothed Brina, saying, “Soon you’ll grow used to the movement of the ship and start to feel better.”
“Nay. With each passing moment, I only feel worse.” Brina let out another agonized moan, then jerked upright and grabbed for the bucket.
Ailinn inched back, wondering if she’d ever felt as bleak and helpless as she did at this moment. She thought again of the Norseman. He was far away now. All hope he might rescue them was gone. Ailinn closed her eyes and tried to summon up some spark of determination to go on. What was it that Brina was always telling her?
As long as you’re alive, there’s always a chance things will get better. You’re a Donovan, the last of a proud and courageous line.
Bolstered by these thoughts, Ailinn fought back the crushing anguish and reached over to once again stroke her maid’s sweat-soaked back.
* * *
Magnus turned over in his bed sack and let out a sigh. At this rate, the ship would reach York before he had a chance to speak to Ailinn. So far on the voyage, Croa had stayed near the opening in the deck, although Magnus had seen Hafgrim and Thorvald go down there. They must be the only ones Croa trusted to have dealings with the women.
Magnus tensed with frustration. Somehow he must think of a way to get into the hold and speak to Ailinn. But how? If he tried to climb below deck and Croa saw him, there was no telling what
Similar Books
