The Viking's Captive(2)

“Would it make you feel better if I discuss it with the Laird?” Esca asked.

“Yes, yes, it would.” She nodded.

“Then I will.” Esca puffed up his chest. “When I see him.”

She frowned. “Why don’t you pay him a visit now? It’s the third longboat I’ve seen in a month.”

“He’s a busy man.”

“He’ll be a man with nothing, no tenants, no livelihood if the Viking conquerors decide to pay us a visit. If he’s lucky he’ll be left with his life.”

“Duna, will you stop,” Ronan said. “Esca has said he’ll attend to your fears, now leave it at that, daughter of mine.”

His stern tone created a bubble of anger and a shard of embarrassment in Duna. Upsetting her father was the last thing she wanted to do, or make him ashamed of her. But her dreams of a longboat racing toward Shet Isle, with a great serpent head at the prow, were becoming more vivid and more frequent.

And Duna knew her dreams often came true.

“And don’t tell me about the dreams again,” Ronan said. “Which is what you’re going to do next?”

“What dreams?” Esca asked.

Ronan set down his empty bowl. “My child here has dreams which she is convinced see into the future.”

“She does?” Esca turned to her.

Duna bowed her head. She was convinced her dreams were visions of the future. She’d seen her mother’s grave, dotted with daisies, three months before she was buried. And when she was younger, she’d dreamt of her own arm, twisted at a sickening angle, blushed with dark bruises; then two weeks later fallen out of a tree and broken the bones within it.

And now, the longboat with its red and white striped sail, snake’s head complete with forked tongue and popping yellow eyes, caused her to wake in a cold sweat. Not least because he was on it; some kind of Viking monster wearing a helmet with horns as if he were the devil himself on some mission from hell. His sharp blue eyes reminded her of the snake he’d chosen for his boat, and his body, so big and broad and strong; surely he was some kind of freak, a creation designed for war, carnage, and brutality and nothing else. And to the right of his face was painting, dark and swirling, as if he’d been stroked by the pointed finger of a witch.

She shivered and turned away.

Esca cleared his throat. “I brought you these.”

“Mussels, that’s kind.” Ronan clapped. “Thank you.”

Duna looked with relief at the hessian sack full of glossy blue mussels still attached to their threads. Her stomach rumbled. She’d get them cooked up quickly, while they were fresh. She and her father would go to bed without hunger tonight.

“Can you spare so many?” she asked.

“For you, yes.” Esca set the bag on the cold stone floor. “I must go.”

“I’ll see you out.” Duna followed him through the low door and into the weakening sunlight.

Shadows stretched over the grass and a large oak tree had put the goat pen into the shade.

Esca turned to her and ran his hand through his hair. It was vibrant red, much like the fluff that grew on his chin. “Have you thought about my proposal, Duna?”

She’d known this was coming. “Yes, I have.”

“So what’s your answer?”

She turned to the west, looking out over the rocks and then the ocean. Marrying Esca made sense; he was kind and loyal and would be an asset to her and her father on their small plot of land should he move in with them.

But her heart… it made no sense to her heart. Her mother and father had loved each other from the first day they’d met, and until death parted them. She wanted that too; love, not practical solutions.

Esca was a practical solution.

“Duna.” He cupped her elbow and stepped so close she could feel his body heat radiating onto her shoulder. “Please say yes. I will be a good husband to you. I promise.”

“I know you will; you’re a fine man, Esca.”

“So the answer is yes?” There was hope in his tone.

She turned to him, suppressing a sigh as she did so. “I need to sleep on it, overnight.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He paused. “To see if you dream of me in the future, as your husband?”

That wasn’t why. She simply couldn’t bring herself to say yes and was stalling for time. But now he came to mention it, she’d never had a dream about Esca in her future. Her dreams were packed full of Viking brutes and terrifying dragon boats. “Yes, I will see if my dreams tell me what to do, Esca.”

He released her elbow and held her cheeks in both of his palms, then stared down at her with earnestness in his pale eyes.

She wished her heart would skip a beat. That her body would lean into his, search for his kiss, be delighted when she got it. But none of that happened. Esca wasn’t the one for her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said softly. “There’s wild garlic over by the river, I’ll bring you some.”

“You are too kind.”

“Only the best for my love.” He brushed his lips over her brow, then released her and stepped away.

She watched him round the single story cottage, his strides long and his arms swinging. A hen pecked around her feet, obviously hoping she’d dropped some crumbs. Esca was a nice, kind man, there wasn’t anything to dislike about him. Her situation could be worse.