Beyond a Darkened Shore(37)
The farther we rode into the city, the more I began to dread the moment when we’d arrive at Sigtrygg’s castle at the northern end of Dubhlinn.
As we entered the trade part of the city, the noise quickly vied with the pungent smell for most overwhelming stimulus. The pound of the blacksmith’s hammer, the throngs of people, the bleats and calls of the animals, and the rise and fall of voices in Gaelic, English, and Norse created such a cacophony that I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed.
Rising above everything was a magnificent cathedral, with turrets that nearly blotted out the sun. It was constructed of dove-gray stone, so out of place in the dirty, crowded city that the cathedral rendered all the little thatched houses beneath it inferior. The cathedral’s construction was one of the few things the Dubhlinn king had ever done that did not enrage me.
Leif guided Sleipnir through the narrow streets in the direction of the cathedral. Beyond the church was a castle, equally grand, with a stone wall encompassing its bailey. This, then, was the seat of King Sigtrygg.
The closer we got to the king’s castle, the more trepidation filled me. I glanced down at my cloak in my clan’s colors of green and gold. This was the king who was at odds with my father, who had raided a monastery under our kingdom’s protection. How would he react to me? But there was another part of me—a much larger part—that welcomed such a confrontation. I was confident in my ability to protect myself, and I wanted to meet this half-pagan king, the one who would dare desecrate holy ground and raid like a Northman.
“I hope you remember that King Sigtrygg is no ally of mine,” I told Leif. “I suspect he won’t welcome me with open arms. Or, at least, if he does . . . it’s most likely a trap.”
“He will treat you the same way he treats any other highborn maiden,” Leif said with a wry smile. “He will offer to take you to bed. Whether you accept or not is up to you, but I would advise against it.”
I bristled at his teasing tone. “You don’t understand. I am more than a mere maiden—”
“How well I know.”
“I am a princess. Princess Ciara Leannán of Mide.”
He fell into a surprised silence for a moment but recovered quickly. “Much more than a warrior maiden, then. We are allies, you and I.” Leif’s tone turned dangerous. “If he should do something so foolish as to attack you in my presence, then I will remove his head.”
I wrapped my incriminatingly green-and-gold cloak closer about me. We were walking into the lion’s den, but I had chosen this quest of my own free will, and I would see it to its conclusion. I didn’t trust Leif—not yet—but I did have faith in my own abilities.
We crossed a sickly brownish-green moat, Sleipnir’s hooves echoing hollowly on the wooden bridge. Two men hailed us before we entered the bailey, outfitted in chain mail. Their hair was closely cropped save for long braids in the back.
One of them squinted up at us, an ugly scar puckering the flesh of his forehead. “Your name, sir, or you will go no farther.”
“Leif Olafsson,” he said, with an edge to his tone.
“This is the one they told us to expect,” the other said. His cheeks were as smooth as a boy’s, and his hair was the color of wheat. He turned to Leif. “You are welcome here. The king was called away to another part of the kingdom, but he will give you audience as soon as he returns.”
Leif tightened his hold on Sleipnir’s reins until the horse fidgeted. “I care little for what the king is presently occupying himself with. My men.” He enunciated slowly. “I will await them here. The lady will also need a healer.”
The two must have sensed Leif’s rising tension because one of the guards hurried off without another word, presumably to do as Leif demanded.
As we waited, Leif dismounted and helped me down gently, despite his obvious irritation. To my relief, I was able to stand. “You needn’t speak to them as though they were dirt,” I said with a glare. His jaw flexed repeatedly, tension evident in every muscle.
“I’ll treat them as such until I see with my own eyes that Arinbjorn is well.”
My brows furrowed until I realized he must mean his brother. In a gentler tone I said, “You said before, the king has always welcomed you. Do you doubt Arinbjorn’s safety?”
His eyes flicked to mine briefly. “I won’t know what to think until I see him. Arinbjorn is loyal to a fault—he may have decided to sneak out and come find me on his own—especially if the king has been unwelcoming to my people.”
The two guards returned, followed by a small army of Northman warriors. As I always did when faced with numerous Northmen, I searched for the one who had murdered my sister and was relieved to find none that bore his resemblance. Leif strode toward them and clasped forearms with a Northman with graying hair who was as big as an ox. The others took turns pounding Leif roughly on the back.
As they all grinned widely at one another, I stepped closer to Sleipnir, my hand on his neck. A twinge of anger shot through me at the sight of them: the men who had killed many of my clansmen. The men who would have killed or enslaved our people and pillaged our castle if we had not fought to stop them. But now these were the allies of my ally. An image arose unbidden in my mind: of Leif’s heated gaze, and my body’s shameful reaction.
How could I have dishonored my family so abominably?