LITMIR.BIZ

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of laughter rang through the morning air. Soft and low, doing something to her insides.

      ‘Is it something I said?’

      ‘You are refreshing, Eilidith.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘Come meet my crew. Come learn what I will have you do.’

      ‘I would be better off being the one to open the gate,’ Liddy said to the ground. ‘I can’t see Thorbin being interested in me.’

      ‘You’ve never met him. I have. You will be perfect. Trust me on this.’

      * * *

      ‘Keep your dog under control until my men have been introduced. I would hate for anything to happen.’

      At Sigurd’s words, Eilidith curled her hand about the wolfhound’s collar. He nodded, pleased she had obeyed. He knew he’d almost lost her when he started to explain about his scheme, but she had recovered and stayed, rather than running, proving his instinct correct. The time had come to avenge his mother and make good his vow.

      Sigurd whistled softly through his fingers. Within a few heartbeats, Hring Olafson, an older warrior who Sigurd knew more from reputation and whom Ketil had decreed would be second in command of the felag, appeared from the shadows with a double axe in his hand, closely followed by his other oarsmen.

      ‘Where are the rest?’ Eilidith asked. ‘You can barely number more than twenty.’

      Sigurd gestured to his men. ‘Except for the ones who guard the boats, they are all here.’

      ‘This is your invasion force?’ Eilidith knelt beside her dog. ‘Perhaps I should have stuck with my first plan.’

      ‘They will be enough, you will see.’

      ‘We had given you up for dead. You were supposed to return three nights ago,’ Hring said, enfolding him in a rough embrace. In a lower tone in Sigurd’s ear, he added, ‘Get rid of the woman. She will slow us down. She doesn’t look the sort who would entice Thorbin to do anything. He prefers blondes with large bosoms. She won’t get close enough to wield a knife.’

      ‘This is the newest addition to our enterprise,’ Sigurd said, ignoring Hring. The older warrior remained sore that he had not been confirmed as the leader of this expedition. ‘Lady Eilidith is the key to getting in.’

      ‘The key or the lock?’ Hring asked, making an obscene gesture. ‘Thorbin has only one use for women.’

      The rest of men joined in the crude laughter. Eilidith’s face went scarlet. She might not be fluent in the North language, but there was no mistaking the meaning of the disrespectful gesture. Sigurd ground his teeth. Hring was far from his first choice on this expedition, but Ketil had insisted.

      ‘If I had needed a whore, I would have bought one, Hring.’

      ‘Even still, is it wise to trust a woman like that?’ Hring touched his lower lip. ‘The gods have marked her.’

      Sigurd held up his hand and the laughter instantly ceased. ‘Continue along that line and I will assume you wish to challenge for the leadership.’

      Hring held out his hands as the rest of the men fell silent and backed away. ‘It was a bit of fun. Harmless banter. That is all. If you want to stake all on this woman, then as leader it is your privilege. You’ve got us this far. Allow me to formulate a plan on what happens when we fail.’

      ‘Seven days ago you proclaimed that we would perish when we set foot on land. Has your ability to foresee the future improved?’ Sigurd said, steadily.

      The other man was the first to look away.

      ‘We have a duty to help Lady Eilidith,’ Sigurd proclaimed, ignoring Hring. Once he had succeeded, Hring would be the first to praise him. For now, he kept his focus on the ultimate prize—Thorbin. Everything else was a distraction. ‘She bears Ketil’s ring as proof of the great friendship Ketil bore her father. A man who turns his back on the ring’s promise is a man who has broken faith with Ketil.’

      ‘May we see this ring?’ Hring asked. ‘I know what these Gaels are like.’

      Sigurd wasn’t sure how much of the exchange she had understood, but Eilidith held up the ring with its seal without prompting. He gave Eilidith a pointed stare and she gave a faint shrug before examining the ground.

      ‘Her father swore allegiance to Ketil,’ Sigurd said, making sure he looked each of his men in the eye, rather than pondering on the mystery which was Eilidith. ‘Thorbin has ignored the friendship and falsely imprisoned him. Should Ketil ignore the insult?’

      ‘No!’ his men roared as one and beat their swords against their shields. The roar caused Coll to howl along with them. At the noise, everybody laughed and the tension eased.

      Hring inclined his head. ‘I stand corrected. You were right to take up her cause. Lord Ketil should never be mocked in this fashion.’

      ‘Ketil’s wishes must be adhered to.’

      ‘Ketil wants Thorbin alive.’ Hring scratched the back of his neck. ‘Do you think you can still do that? After what you have seen?’

      ‘If possible, I believe is how the order goes,’ Sigurd responded. ‘One never knows what might happen in battle.’

      ‘Indeed.’

      ‘Ketil trusted my judgement. You should as well.’ Sigurd pointed his sword towards the sky for emphasis. As if on cue, the sun broke through the clouds and made it gleam. He could not have planned it better. ‘Without question.’

      * * *

      Liddy found the pace the Northmen used to travel across country was quick but not overly exhausting. The North language was fairly easy to understand and she was grateful that her father had made her learn it. She simply had to concentrate far more than she was used to.

      The jibe about her warming Thorbin’s bed rankled. She had failed with Brandon. He had not even waited until the cockerel crowed after their wedding night to abandon her bed. And she knew she was no assassin who could seduce and then stick the knife in. But she had kept her face blank and trusted Sigurd would see the folly of such an action without her having to confess to her many failures.

      * * *

      ‘How much about our leader do you know?’ the warrior who had challenged Sigurd asked in heavily accented Gaelic. One half of his face was covered in a network of scars. Scars on men were different from birthmarks. Scars meant battles fought and won, while a birthmark made people turn away.

      ‘I know Ketil has sent him,’ she replied, digging her chin into her shoulder. ‘He has promised to right the wrong which was done to my family. It seems the quickest way to achieve my goal.’

      His smile made the scars on his cheeks seem more lurid. ‘But do you know why?’

      ‘I suspect he is a good enforcer. He moves like a true warrior. I understand the tribute was short and the last man who tried to enforce Ketil’s will ended up in a barrel.’

      ‘Yes, there were few volunteers for the job after that was made public. Sigurd was the only one who had the guts to put his name forward.’

      ‘Why are you here?’

      ‘Because I go where I am sent, but Sigurd wanted this.’ Hring nodded. ‘I, Hring Olafson, will tell you the tale. They are half-brothers—Thorbin and your warrior. Close until their father’s death from a cart accident, Thorbin caused Sigurd’s mother to be put to death and nearly killed Sigurd.’

      Liddy missed her step. Sigurd’s earlier remark about his mother took on new significance. It was why he knew Thorbin was responsible for what had happened in that grove. He had waited for his revenge.

      ‘How did his mother die?’ she asked carefully in the North language.

      ‘Sigurd’s mother was supposed to burn to death as is our custom when a great lord dies. One of his women volunteers

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