Read Online Éire’s Captive Moon by Sandi Layne - Free Book Online Page B

thing to do would be to leave it until he could be seen to by a proper healer.
    “Wake her up!” he shouted, bounding to his feet. “She can prove her worth to me now!”
    Confusion was evident on the healer’s face when she was brought to him. Confusion and—after a moment spent acquainting herself with her situation—profound sorrow. Agnarr had seen both before and he ignored them as he ignored the intense pain on his own face.
    “My warrior. You must heal him.”
    Her eyebrows slanted, her lips thinned to a white line. Defiance vibrated up and down her body.
    He pointed to Erik, lying on the ground in agony. “Him! He needs your skills!”
    She looked away from him, crossing her arms under her breasts. He grabbed her roughly and spun her to walk beside him, pushing her down next to Erik. She would learn obedience as his slave. She would .
    “He needs you!” he insisted once again.
    Someone cleared a throat just behind him and Agnarr felt a growl low in his throat as he turned to see who it was.
    “You asked to see Kingson, Agnarr,” Thorvald reminded him, indicating the wrist-bound slave with his hand. “Here he is.”
    Agnarr shook his shoulders and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Thorvald. Now, see to any treasure and make sure the slaves are secure. We need to torch the buildings. Ask the captives about children.” It had been itching on the edges of his mind; there had been no children in this village. They had to be somewhere.
    “I will.”
    To the translator, Agnarr said, “Translate my words. The woman is to help Erik here. He is wounded.”
    Kingson frowned at him, but Agnarr sensed the man was more confused than anything, and he almost laughed at himself. The captive did not speak Norse! The Ostman chided himself.
    Then he grew serious. Both these captives would have to learn Norse. That was all there was to it.
    So with exaggerated motions, enunciating each word clearly, Agnarr began, speaking to Kingson first since Charis was an unknown to him.
    “Erik,” he said, pointing to the young warrior, “is hurt, see? Wounded.”
    Kingson nodded. “Wounded, yes,” he repeated in Agnarr’s native tongue.
    The Ostman nodded his approval then he pointed at the healer. “Tell her to help Erik.” He made motions to go with the words and Kingson seemed to understand, if only in a vague, infantile way.
    In the strange, melodic words of the people here, Kingson spoke to Charis, gesturing to Erik and pointing at her pockets, which obviously contained her medicines.
    Agnarr expected instant compliance.

    “He wants me to do what ?”
    Cowan shrugged a little and glanced away from the healer’s grief-ravaged face. Was this the witch Bran had spoken of? Her? Cowan didn’t—couldn’t—believe her to be a witch. Still, the leader of the Northmen was all but glaring at him in expectation. Cowan acquiesced to the adamant flare in Agnarr’s blue eyes.
    “He said, as near as I can tell, to heal the lad there.”
    The healer gasped, her eyes darkening. “But—but he invaded my home! And this one here killed—” she continued, gulping and pressing one blood-streaked hand to her breast, “—killed my husbands! I refuse to help him!”
    Cowan could see her anguish as easily as the tears which spilled down her pale cheeks. “I don’t think you have a choice,” he informed her, hardening his heart to the despair that flashed from her face. He indicated the ropes, which still encircled his wrists. “We’ve been taken captive, Healer,” he clarified. “We’re bound to service.”
    “I’m a free woman!”
    Agnarr gestured abruptly, whatever he had for patience gone.
    Cowan tried one more time. “Healer. I am Cowan, son of King Branieucc of Fiatach, a day’s walk westward from here.” The healer met his eyes, but only in the most passive way. He pressed on, not wanting to fail, because he needed to earn the trust of this battle leader if he were to escape. “Please. It could go ill with us all if