taskmistress, ye know.”
“Keefe sets his own pace,”
Brenna explained. “He drives himself to
finish his other chores so he can hie himself here to work on that infernal boat of
his.”
“Infernal boat,” Moira
repeated, her presumptuous smile raising
the hackles on Brenna’s neck. “Ah! So ye’re afeard he’ll leave as well.”
“I fear no such thing,” she
denied. “If Da gives him leave to go, then
good riddance says I, and not a mo ment
too soon.”
“Then you’ll not be minding
if I go down and take him these tarts
fresh from the baking,” Moira said. “ Even
a fine braw lad like our Keefe needs some thing to keep up his strength with all the work ye put him to.”
“Do as ye please,” Brenna
said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling
in her gut. Moira looked especially fetching today in her new green tunic and brat.
“Come with me, Brennie,” Moira suggested. “We
can gather mussels on the beach on the way back.”
It was tempting, but Brenna shook her head.
She didn’t want Moira to know how rattled she felt around the
stranger. Her sister could be a terrible tease.
“Not this time, but do ye
go on. Only mind your self,” Brenna urged.
“Remember who ye are and comport yourself
as a daughter of the house should.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Moira laughed and turned lightly on her heel to start down the switch-backed path to the shore below. The foot-worn track led to the far edge of the
beach. From there, she’d have to walk back
up the rocky coast and round the point to
join Keefe in the cove.
“I wish ye would come, and
I’d lay silver Keefe would wish it, too,” Moira called back over
her shoulder. “Given the choice, your Northman would rather see ye than food, I’m
thinking.”
Heat crept up her neck and
flooded her cheeks. So Moira had seen the
way Keefe ogled her. Who else had noticed
and tittered at her in secret?
And might they also have
wondered if she’d done anything to encourage Keefe to strip her
with his gaze as if she were a
light-heeled wanton?
She wished she could sink
into the very earth. In stead, Brenna
grasped her skirts and broke into a trot back toward the keep.
***
“Steady, now,” Kolgrim
said. The dragonship rounded the southern point and made steadily
for a long strand of beach. “We don’t want
anyone raising an alarm till we’re in and
out and on our way with whatever comes to hand.”
“These little farmsteads
are poor sport,” one of his men
grumbled.
“We aren’t after loot now,”
Kolgrim reminded them. “We only need to
stock up the larder before we raid the
juicier prize.”
“Already had more than we needed.” Kolgrim
overheard a few of the crewmen grumbling among themselves. They no
longer bothered to mask their lack of trust in their captain.
It all started the night of
that storm. They’d been heavily loaded with spoils from their last
raid. Kol grim remembered each detail with
the hideous crisp ness terror brings to a
man’s memory. He’d stood in the prow of his ship, one arm wrapped
around the long neck of the dragonhead while his second in command,
Jorand, strained against the steering oar, muscling the Sea Wolf, dragonhead first, into the on coming waves. Kolgrim held his breath and squinted against the briny spray.
“She won’t hold!” he’d bellowed to be heard
over the slashing wind.
The longship’s timbers
groaned as her prow tilted over the crest
and plummeted down the wall of wa ter into
a deep trough. Gray swells rose above them, threatening to swamp the dragonship. A few of the sailors
wailed in terror.
“She’s breaking up.”
“No, she’s not.” Jorand
gripped the gunwale of the Sea Wolf so hard his
fingernails bit into the wood, as if he could hold her together by the force of his will. He dragged a bucket through the water at his ankles
and dumped it over the side.
“Keep bailing,” he yelled
back to Kolgrim. “You’ve overloaded her.
Toss some of the cargo. We have to
“Keefe sets his own pace,”
Brenna explained. “He drives himself to
finish his other chores so he can hie himself here to work on that infernal boat of
his.”
“Infernal boat,” Moira
repeated, her presumptuous smile raising
the hackles on Brenna’s neck. “Ah! So ye’re afeard he’ll leave as well.”
“I fear no such thing,” she
denied. “If Da gives him leave to go, then
good riddance says I, and not a mo ment
too soon.”
“Then you’ll not be minding
if I go down and take him these tarts
fresh from the baking,” Moira said. “ Even
a fine braw lad like our Keefe needs some thing to keep up his strength with all the work ye put him to.”
“Do as ye please,” Brenna
said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling
in her gut. Moira looked especially fetching today in her new green tunic and brat.
“Come with me, Brennie,” Moira suggested. “We
can gather mussels on the beach on the way back.”
It was tempting, but Brenna shook her head.
She didn’t want Moira to know how rattled she felt around the
stranger. Her sister could be a terrible tease.
“Not this time, but do ye
go on. Only mind your self,” Brenna urged.
“Remember who ye are and comport yourself
as a daughter of the house should.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Moira laughed and turned lightly on her heel to start down the switch-backed path to the shore below. The foot-worn track led to the far edge of the
beach. From there, she’d have to walk back
up the rocky coast and round the point to
join Keefe in the cove.
“I wish ye would come, and
I’d lay silver Keefe would wish it, too,” Moira called back over
her shoulder. “Given the choice, your Northman would rather see ye than food, I’m
thinking.”
Heat crept up her neck and
flooded her cheeks. So Moira had seen the
way Keefe ogled her. Who else had noticed
and tittered at her in secret?
And might they also have
wondered if she’d done anything to encourage Keefe to strip her
with his gaze as if she were a
light-heeled wanton?
She wished she could sink
into the very earth. In stead, Brenna
grasped her skirts and broke into a trot back toward the keep.
***
“Steady, now,” Kolgrim
said. The dragonship rounded the southern point and made steadily
for a long strand of beach. “We don’t want
anyone raising an alarm till we’re in and
out and on our way with whatever comes to hand.”
“These little farmsteads
are poor sport,” one of his men
grumbled.
“We aren’t after loot now,”
Kolgrim reminded them. “We only need to
stock up the larder before we raid the
juicier prize.”
“Already had more than we needed.” Kolgrim
overheard a few of the crewmen grumbling among themselves. They no
longer bothered to mask their lack of trust in their captain.
It all started the night of
that storm. They’d been heavily loaded with spoils from their last
raid. Kol grim remembered each detail with
the hideous crisp ness terror brings to a
man’s memory. He’d stood in the prow of his ship, one arm wrapped
around the long neck of the dragonhead while his second in command,
Jorand, strained against the steering oar, muscling the Sea Wolf, dragonhead first, into the on coming waves. Kolgrim held his breath and squinted against the briny spray.
“She won’t hold!” he’d bellowed to be heard
over the slashing wind.
The longship’s timbers
groaned as her prow tilted over the crest
and plummeted down the wall of wa ter into
a deep trough. Gray swells rose above them, threatening to swamp the dragonship. A few of the sailors
wailed in terror.
“She’s breaking up.”
“No, she’s not.” Jorand
gripped the gunwale of the Sea Wolf so hard his
fingernails bit into the wood, as if he could hold her together by the force of his will. He dragged a bucket through the water at his ankles
and dumped it over the side.
“Keep bailing,” he yelled
back to Kolgrim. “You’ve overloaded her.
Toss some of the cargo. We have to
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