Beyond the Sea Mist by Mary Gillgannon

the ship is meant for transporting cargo, and perhaps livestock.”
    “Aye, it does smell like dung,” Gormlaith said.
    Ailinn gave a mirthless laugh. “Don’t you understand yet? That’s all we are to Croa—cargo. No different than a barrel of salted fish or a pile of hides.”
    “Perhaps that’s true,” Ullach said. “Which is why you must be careful, lady. I was very frightened when that one man laid hands on you. I worried he was going to break your neck.”
    Ailinn repressed the shudder Ullach’s words aroused. Her neck and shoulders still ached from the warrior’s rough handling. Clearly, she shouldn’t have spat at him and called him a pile of cow dung. From now on, if she wanted to stay alive, she’d have to be more careful.
    “I wonder what happened to Cailin,” Ullach said.
    “She ran away as soon she saw Croa’s men approaching,” Brina answered.
    Ailinn nodded. She felt a little sick at the idea of the young woman being on her own in the rough settlement of Dublin. It seemed likely Cailin would suffer a fate even harsher than one Croa intended for them. They were all silent for a time. Then there was the sound of someone coming down the ladder into hold. Ailinn tensed with foreboding. She could hear the other women’s quickened breathing.
    A bulky shape blocked out the faint light. A meaty hand reached out and grabbed Ailinn by the arm, squeezing cruelly. “Wicked, scheming wench,” Croa muttered. “You’re going to pay for the trouble you caused me.”
    Ailinn experienced a wave of fear, then reminded herself that Croa was unlikely to hurt her. She wouldn’t be worth as much if her body was marked or damaged.
    Croa leaned down so his face was near hers and his foul breath wafted over her. “I’d almost arranged to sell you to the King of Dublin. But once he heard you’d run away, he changed his mind. You’ve cost me dear, you scrawny little bitch!”
    Ailinn was enraged. She’d never had anyone speak to her that way before. “You’re not fit to wipe my shoes, you fat Norse pig!”
    To her surprise, Croa laughed. “I may be a pig, but I’m the pig who owns you.” He released her arm and grasped a strand of her hair instead, twining the lock in his fingers. “If I fancied pale, skinny wenches, I’d have had you long ago.”
    His words made her stomach roil. Between gritted teeth she muttered, “Curse you, you vile beast!”
    He tightened his grip on her hair, pulling the strand so tightly that tears welled in her eyes. “Curse you!” she cried again. She felt so trapped, so debased and defiled. “Blessed Jesu,” she murmured. “Please aid me.”
    Croa laughed again. “Your puling Christian god can’t help you. He’s a worthless coward who’s always whining about peace and forgiveness.”
    There was something to his words, Ailinn thought bleakly. The holy brothers did preach turning the other cheek to your enemies as Christ had. Perhaps she should call on the ancient deities her ancestors had believed in. The old gods, who represented the powerful forces of fire and earth and water. “I curse you, Croa Ottarson,” she spat out. “I curse you by the wrath of Morrigan, lady of death and destruction, by Balor of the evil eye and by Lugh, lord of sun and fire. May your balls wither. Your possessions burn to nothing. And...” She thought a second, trying to come up with an appropriate threat. “May your ship flounder in a storm send by Lir, the great god of the sea, and sink down into the cold, dark depths.”
    Croa laughed once more. “A sorceress are you now, wench? I think not.” He paused a moment, then shouted up to the deck. “Thorvald! Get down here with those ropes.”
    Ailinn inhaled sharply. She dreaded the thought of being bound. Surely he wouldn’t do that to her--would he? If he tied her wrists, it might mar her skin and make her less valuable. Unless he’d given up the notion of selling her as a bedslave. Perhaps he’d decided he would take more