One of the men inclined his head and departed, but they were forced to wait until he returned with Styr’s permission to enter. Only then did the guards allow them inside the settlement.
By now, the inhabitants had begun to stir. The guard led them towards one of the longhouses near the centre, and they passed by men carrying peat for the outdoor fires. An old woman stirred a pot, adding raw meat to the stew as she stared at them.
Weariness made his vision blur, but Alarr continued walking with Breanne’s ropes in one hand and Rurik at his side. Although he had never met the Norse leader, he hoped to learn if the man had any connections to King Feann or if he had any knowledge to share.
They followed the guard inside and passed by several tables as they approached the dais. Styr Hardrata rose from his chair and came to greet them. The leader was tall, with dark-blond hair and a light beard. His brown eyes held a welcome, but there was also a sense of caution, as if he would not hesitate to strike them down if they were a threat.
‘We bid you welcome, Alarr and Rurik, sons of King Sigurd.’ His gaze narrowed upon Breanne, and he exchanged a glance with his wife. ‘Who is your hostage?’
Alarr jerked the ropes forward. ‘She is a concubine I bought from Áth Cliath. I intend to ransom her to her foster father, King Feann of Killcobar.’
Styr’s wife appeared unsettled by their captive. Her long brown hair was braided and bound at the nape of her neck, and she wore a cap. Her violet eyes softened with sympathy. ‘Let me take her, Alarr. She is hurt. I will see to her needs and talk with her.’
The leader introduced her, saying, ‘This is my wife, Caragh. Will you allow her to tend your hostage?’
Alarr considered it a moment. ‘As long as she is not permitted to leave the settlement.’
Styr gave the orders to his men and nodded. ‘If she tries, they will bring her back again.’
‘Untie her,’ Caragh ordered. ‘She will come with me. You may speak with Styr a while, and I will make a place for all of you in one of our longhouses. I know you will be wanting to rest after your journey.’
Alarr could hardly suppress his yawn, and the young woman smiled. ‘Perhaps on the morrow, you can help our men with the harvest. We would welcome your assistance.’ There was no doubting that this was how she intended them to repay their debt, by offering labour in exchange.
Even so, Alarr was uneasy about letting Caragh take Breanne with her. He didn’t trust his slave not to flee, but neither could he insult his hosts by implying that they could not keep her hostage.
‘Bring her to me as soon as you can,’ he agreed. It was the only thing he could say without offending Styr’s wife. He could only hope that allowing Breanne some small measure of comfort would be the first step towards earning her trust.
‘You must be weary,’ the woman said. Breanne was startled to hear the Irish language flowing so easily from her. Her expression must have revealed her shock, for the woman introduced herself. ‘I am Caragh, formerly of the Ó Brannon tribe. My husband is Styr Hardrata.’
‘I am Breanne Ó Callahan.’
‘And your foster father is King Feann, is he not?’
She nodded, wondering if Caragh could help her. ‘He is. I am trying to get home again. I was taken captive and sold into slavery.’
‘These men are taking you home,’ Caragh said. ‘Did you not realise?’
No, she hadn’t. But then, the men had told her nothing at all—not even their names. ‘I cannot speak their language. They have said nothing to me.’
The young woman’s eyes turned sympathetic. ‘Well, I would not say that they are bringing you home out of kindness. More that they intend to ransom you.’
That sounded more realistic. But even so, Breanne could hardly believe what she was hearing. She had tried to escape, and the Lochlannach had bought her. ‘Why would they do this? They don’t even know me.’
‘They are mercenaries. And you’re wrong—they know exactly who you are.’
Now, it made more sense why the Lochlannach had taken her captive, if he had known that she was the foster daughter of a king. But how? She had never journeyed to Áth Cliath, nor had she seen this man before.
Perhaps they had overheard something in the marketplace. Someone else might have recognised her, or he might have heard a rumour. There was no way to truly know. But the realisation that they were bringing her home—even for a ransom—caused such a wave of gratitude, she could barely suppress her smile of relief.
‘Who are they?’ she questioned. ‘They have not even told me their names.’
‘The older man is Alarr and the younger is Rurik. Both are from the kingdom of Maerr.’
She had never heard of it, but then, she had never left her homeland or travelled anywhere outside of Éireann.
‘Would you care to bathe and change into a clean gown?’ Caragh offered.
‘I would be so grateful.’ Breanne had only the rough shift that the slavers had forced her to wear and the seal fur that the men had given her to keep warm.
‘I will take you to one of the longhouses. I fear we have only begun building our settlement, and there are many shelters that are still unfinished. We hope to have them completed before winter, but we need the help of every man.’ She offered a slight smile. ‘I had thought, for a time, that Styr and I might travel across the seas. But now we decided to stay here for the winter...’ She rested her hand upon her stomach, and Breanne understood her unspoken blessing of a child
