Beyond a Darkened Shore(16)
“What now, maiden?” the Northman said, pulling me from my morbid thoughts. “I have told you everything you asked of me and more. Will you keep me chained here until my flesh falls from my bones?”
But how could I ask him what he knew about the Morrigan? What if he hadn’t seen what I’d seen? He’d think I was mad. “What would you have me do? Set you free?” I scoffed. “So that you might continue your raiding all the way to Dubhlinn?”
His gaze shifted to the entrance of the cave. “I have seen many things, but a maiden as a prison guard is one of the strangest. Are the Celts so weak they allow their women to interrogate prisoners? Where are the men?”
“I am no maiden,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest.
He laughed. “A warrior maiden, perhaps, but a maiden just the same. Do you think me blind? You are far too beautiful to be a mere servant.”
“Honeyed words do nothing but anger me. All you need know about me is that I am your captor.”
His expression turned skeptical. “The Celts allow their women to hold prisoners captive? To shed blood on the battlefield?”
“If the woman has proven abilities, then yes. Isn’t it true you Northmen have your own female warriors—shieldmaidens, I believe?”
He didn’t answer me, but instead leaned back, raising his chin just slightly, as though challenging me. “And what would a maiden want with a warrior chained in a cave?” His eyebrows rose, the suggestion clear.
I stared at him, aghast. My heart belied my calm tone, beating a furious pace in my chest. It was clear I was losing control of this conversation.
He only laughed, obviously enjoying my embarrassment.
“If your plan is to insult me, then I will only leave you here to starve.” I turned to go.
“By all means, milady. Go, bring me a meal fit for a warrior, and I will tell you what it is the kráka said to me.”
I paused. “It spoke to you?” This could be what I needed to know: if the Northman knew of the Morrigan’s vision.
“It did, but I will tell you nothing more until I have eaten my fill.”
I looked away for a moment, a muscle in my jaw twitching. His tone was flippant, but I could also hear the truth in his words. “I suppose I could find you some bread and cheese.”
He smirked. “Come, do not toy with me. I will accept nothing less than meat, brown bread, dark beer, and cheese.”
I scoffed. “I would also like some meat. But we are a stone’s throw from the sea. You will have fish like the rest of us.”
“A stew, I hope,” he called as I left the cave. I shook my head at his audacity.
A short raid in the kitchen was a small price to pay to discover what the Northman knew, but the prospect of giving in to his demands was as noxious to me as swimming in a each-uisce’s pond.
The bailey was a bustle of activity as I made my way through to the kitchens. Brother Mac Máel and Father Briain hurried to the chapel for Lauds; the smith’s hammer beat out a steady rhythm, replacing blades broken the day before; and many of the servants were enjoying the rare sunshine, repairing torn cloaks, dresses, or even the leggings Branna had cut from me the night before—though they’d be repurposed into something else now.
As I passed the smithy, a low, welcoming horn sounded. I froze and jerked my head toward the stockade bridge. Just as it had the day before, everything ground to a halt, only this time, everyone wore looks of anticipation.
I ran to the center of the bailey, in full view of the bridge. The warriors who had left with my father were returning, their faces weary, yet triumphant. Their horses perked up noticeably as they trotted over the bridge, no doubt anticipating a rest in the stables. My clansmen broke out into grins as they caught sight of loved ones, their green-and-gold cloaks billowing out behind them. The clan crest, a fierce griffin embroidered in gold and surrounded by a Celtic knot, was emblazoned on the long cloak of each man. Behind them came a wagon heavily laden with wooden chests—from the monastery? I held my breath as I watched each man pass, counting as they went. Thirty men. Everyone was accounted for. Everyone but my father.
The horn blew low again, and everyone bowed.
My breath let out in a sigh as I caught sight of the next rider. My father rode in on his dapple-gray charger, his cloak of green and gold flowing behind him like a sail. A small circlet of gold sat atop his light hair, nearly the same color save for the gray streaks that had recently taken over the blond. His face bore the determined expression it always did, with no sign of wear.
Relief weakened my knees. He was alive.
I ran to my father’s side, and he smiled from atop his tall horse. “Ciara, we came as soon as we received word. I’m glad to hear you did your duty and protected your mother and sisters.”
“Yes, áthair. The raid took us by surprise, but we were able to defeat the leader.” Though, of course, I had broken every rule by taking the leader prisoner, but I wasn’t about to volunteer such information. “Had the monastery been raided? Are the monks safe?”
“It was nearly raided, but not by Northmen—this was King Sigtrygg’s doing,” áthair said with a look of disgust he reserved for the king of Dubhlinn. “We fought them off and brought the monastery’s gold and silver and relics back here for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t unusual for Sigtrygg to go on raids; with the whole of éirinn divided into five different overkingdoms—including Mide—and countless smaller clan territories and kingdoms, there were frequent raids from within the country by other kingdoms seeking to gain more resources. Sigtrygg, though, had recently aligned himself with the High King by marrying his daughter, but this addition to his power clearly hadn’t stopped him raiding other kingdoms for more land, more gold, more power. As a half Northman, however, Sigtrygg was one of the most hated kings, and he had never raided so close to our castle before. I didn’t need the Morrigan’s crow to sense that a battle was brewing between our kingdoms. “I’m glad you were able to stop them.”