Storm Maiden by Mary Gillgannon

words.
    Fiona lay on her bed in the bower, feigning
sleep. Her father and the other men still had not returned. Fiona
felt cold all over, but she would not squirm and risk waking
Duvessa. She cast a wary glance at her foster sister. Duvessa
appeared to be asleep, but Fiona didn’t trust her. There had been a
canny look in Duvessa’s eyes when she’d suggested they seek their
beds. Fiona would not put it past Duvessa to pretend to be asleep,
then follow her as soon as she left the bower. Patience, she
told herself, you must wait a little longer.
    From the bower window, open to the breeze,
the night sounds of the fortress echoed softly. Fiona tensed, again
thinking of her father and his war band patrolling the forest
beyond the shelter of the palisade. Would dragonships sail up the
river this night? Would they arrive with hordes of Vikings—all as
huge and strongly-built as the one in the souterrain?
    Fear for Donall made her stomach clench. She
didn’t want her father to be hurt or killed. He was a good man and,
for the most part, a fond and loving sire. The troubles between
them had begun only recently.
    Looking back, Fiona could see how much he
had changed after her mother’s death, becoming so caught up in his
own grief that he no longer cared for anyone else. He was brutal
about enforcing his authority, to the point that Fiona had heard
grumbling among his soldiers. She had also been outraged by his
suddenly autocratic attitude. No longer did he discuss things with
her; he ordered her to do his will. The conflict between them had
culminated with his plan to wed her to Sivney Longbeard, and she
had seen it as further evidence of his disregard for her
feelings.
    Fiona bit down on her lower lip. Although
she still despised the thought of marrying Sivney, at last she
could see her father’s motivations. He was afraid for her, for all
of them.
    “Oh, Da, I was wrong,” she whispered to
herself. ‘I should not have tried to thwart your will. I should
have helped you think of another plan to bring us warriors.”
    Fiona’s mind reviewed the neighboring
chieftains, trying to think of one who could strengthen
Dunsheauna’s defenses, yet not repel her as a husband. She sighed.
It was difficult to face the thought of marrying men who were
neither young nor handsome. The image of the Viking with his
strong, well-made body and compelling face gnawed at her.
    Fiona shook off the thought. He was probably
a cruel, stupid beast, and besides, he was her enemy. There could
be no future between them. She must not forget her duty to make
certain he remained imprisoned.
    Duvessa muttered something in her sleep.
Fiona waited until her foster sister’s breathing deepened again,
then rose from their bed and crept to the doorway. The night air
felt cool on her skin as she slipped out the entrance of the
women’s dwelling. She wore only her thin linen shift, since
dressing would take time and risk waking Duvessa.
    She hurried through the fortress, her
footfalls light and rapid on the damp grass. Under her breath, she
prayed the rest of the fortress slept as soundly as Duvessa. It
amazed Fiona that the other women were not panicked with fear as
she was. To them, the idea of a Viking attack must still seem
unreal. They trusted Donall and the other men to protect them.
    Reaching the souterrain entrance, Fiona
glanced around, then lifted the timber door and started down the
stairs. At the bottom, she found the torch and lit it.
    The interior of the souterrain seemed
utterly quiet. She crept forward, dreading what she would find.
What if the Viking had roused? Could she bear to look into his
eyes, then turn away and leave him to die?
    He’s your enemy! Fiona reminded herself. If
he came upon you outside the souterrain, he would rape and murder
you.
    But what if he had gotten free of his
shackles already? Fiona’s heart hammered in her chest at the
thought. Would the Viking consider sparing her because she had
aided him earlier? Or would he