Portia dressed quickly, trusting her long skirt and cloak to protect her from the biting breeze. Stockings and shoes would only slow her down tonight.
Her bow and quiver might come in useful, though. She slipped her finger into the quiver, questing until she found what she sought. She stashed the pouch in the pocket of her cloak before slinging the bow and quiver over her shoulder, leaving her hands free.
Placing both hands on the wintry stone, she climbed onto the windowsill. It was wide enough for her and her sisters to have used it for a bed, or for her to stand there while she opened the hinged section of the timber window frame to reveal the secret passage.
A whiff of the fish oil that she'd used to silence the hinges reached her nostrils, but it was better than a loud squeak rousing sound sleepers. She would endure far more discomfort before this evening was through.
A ladder led down into the darkness between the castle's inner and outer walls. A passage to freedom or, in this case, answers.
Portia twisted, trying to step from the sill to the ladder, but something caught on the window frame, holding her back. Cursing quietly, she backed up. It was the bloody bow, of all things. Which wouldn't be much use if she ran into trouble – she was better at shooting enemies from a distance. Stabbing someone with an arrow was silly, especially when she already had a dagger. Portia considered for another moment, then unhooked the offending thing from her shoulder and dropped it on the floor. The quiver clattered down atop it, and Portia winced, wishing she hadn't been so loud.
Her gaze darted to the bed, where her sisters slept on.
She allowed herself to breathe again.
The ladder rungs were rough under her feet, making her wish she'd brought her boots, but she refused to return for them now. Instead, she pulled the window panel closed to hide her descent.
Darkness cloaked her, settling like a layer of wet wool. Or was that her dread at what waited for her? Not in the darkness, but across the loch.
If dread weighed her down, at least it gave her the push she needed to keep climbing down until her feet sank into sucking mud. Trying not to think of corpses sucking at her toes each time she took a step, corpses of the men who would die tomorrow if she failed, Portia made her way along the secret passage to its hidden entrance, or exit, in her case.
She stumbled over the boat Grieve had told her would be there, but she didn't take it. Not yet. She'd memorised her mother's scroll, and if it was correct, there was another, more ancient way across the loch that didn't require rowing.
She continued down the passage until she found what she sought.
A timber half door, covered in a thin layer of stone to conceal its true nature from the outside world, yielded to her touch. Its hinges were not so silent, but there was no one about to hear their squeaky protest.
Moonlight turned the loch into a mirror, for there was no breeze down here. No need, for the air was positively frigid. Portia scanned the shore, looking for the standing stones she knew had to be there. Stones that had seen the passage of so many people, yet they would still stand after this battle, sentinels of time.
One...and then she found the second, a finger pointing at the sky as if to remind her that she could only hide in darkness, so she only had until dawn to find her answers.
She edged around the castle walls, knowing she had to line the stones up properly to be certain she stood in the right place. Her ancestors had done this from time immemorial, or so her mother's history scroll had said. There was no need to be frightened of following in their footsteps.
But her ancestors had not faced a legend, a man who'd had so many stories spun about him that he seemed the very devil himself. And yet...her sisters' safety spoke of someone who understood chivalry and honour, who might save what others sought to destroy.
She wasn't sure what to believe any more. She dreaded, and yet she hoped.
Which was why she would face him alone.
Portia paused to squint at the stones again. Now she could only see one – perfectly aligned. She took a deep breath, and stepped into the loch.
Icy water swirled around her feet, and her breath huffed out in a startled cloud of condensation. Her boots would not save her from the loch, but she wished she'd worn them anyway, if only for an extra moment's warmth before they grew sodden and slowed her down.
She held her hem high to keep it from getting wet, until she realised that the water didn't even reach her ankles. She let the fabric fall, lifting her gaze to the stones to keep her on her course. The ancient causeway lay hidden beneath the surface of the loch and one wrong step would result in a ducking. Her nearly numb feet already found it hard to feel the stones, so she must maintain her vigilance.
The shore came closer and closer, and Portia dared to hope she might reach it before the numbness spread to her knees.
She was only a few yards away when a male voice demanded, "Halt!"
She blew out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
Hope sank to the bottom of the loch, threatening to drown her courage with it.
THIRTY-ONE
"I told you ghosts don't take orders!" one voice insisted.
"They might. She might have been a really obedient wife in life. How many spirits have you seen?" a second voice reasoned.
"It doesn't matter. She's walking on water. That makes her a ghost, or a witch."
"It's angels that walk on water, you fool! The devil's servants sink!"
"I heard a sailor at Beacon Isle tell the story of a woman who walked on water. She was a witch. She could see into men's souls to decide whether to sink your ship or save you, they said."
"There are good men and bad in every bunch, or on every ship. How'd she know which ships to sink if there were both kinds of men aboard?"
"I don't know – do I look like a witch?"
"You look like the idiot who just ordered a ghost to halt."
"Well, she did, didn't she? She even gave you a gift."
Rudolf listened to the exchange with amusement, but his curiosity got the better of him. This was his army camp, and no one got in or out without his knowledge. Not even a ghost.
"The gift's not for me. It's for the commander, she said. If she is a witch, maybe she's trying to curse him."
Rudolf poked his head out of his tent. "What is this cursed gift?"
The two men stopped, looking sideways at each other until one of them said, "It's like this, sir. There's a lady out on the lake who walks on water, who asked me to give you this." He set the small pouch on Rudolf's outstretched palm.
He weighed it for a moment, wondering if it was empty.
"I have heard of a woman who can walk on water. A witch so powerful that water obeys her. She used to live at Beacon Isle, but now she wears a crown. Queen Margareta, her name is, and her kingdom is not too far north of here," Rudolf said.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but what would a queen be doing out on yon lake so late at night?" the gift-bearer asked.
Rudolf emptied the pouch into his hand. "Handing out gifts, or so it would seem."
Both men recoiled and crossed themselves. "Dead virgins' fingers! That must be a powerful curse, sir. Throw them away before the magic takes hold!"
Rudolf prodded one of the pale fingers. It was hollow, as were its companions. When he turned them over, he found the lacings holding them together. The finger guards were so well-worn they still held the shape of their mistress's fingers. Portia would not abandon these on the eve of battle.
Unless she intended to stop the battle from taking place.
Rudolf tucked the finger guards safely back in their pouch. "Take me to this woman. I must see her for myself."
The two men hesitated, before the one who hadn't spoken yet ventured, "Sir, is that you issuing orders, or are you under the influence of the witch's curse?"
"Make me ask again, and you'll be on latrine duty until next year. Both of you," Rudolf stressed.
"Yes, sir!"
They tr
otted off, hunting hounds eagerly leading the way to his quarry.
Or so Rudolf hoped. If the lady had gone...
Yet as he reached the lake's edge, his breath caught in his throat. There was someone standing in the water, though she appeared to be floating on its surface. Now he understood why his men had mistaken her for a ghost.
Rudolf extended his hand. "Why don't you come ashore, my lady?" he asked.
She turned so that the hood's shadow hiding her face pointed toward him. "Would you step ashore, knowing the land is occupied by an enemy's army?"
Rudolf pulled the finger guards from their pouch. "The lady who owns these will never be my enemy. I promised to protect her, and my promise still stands."
She lifted her hands to her hood, ready to lower it. "What can you tell me of the man they call the Wolf Prince?"
"A highborn Viken, cousin to the king, commander of this army and conqueror of the Southern Isles." It sounded quite impressive, laid out like that. Maybe it would impress her enough to make her forget how long he'd been away.
"Not this isle. Not yet," she said fiercely.
No, it was not enough to impress Portia.
Rudolf spread his arms wide. "Look again, Lady. This army has already taken Isla. The only holdout is that tiny fort on the lake, and it will not hold out for much longer."
"A week," she said softly, as though it pained her.
"You think it will take that long?" He wanted to say that he could take it in a day, if she needed him to do so. For if this was truly Portia, he would scale the walls alone to save her. Yet here she stood, hardly a prisoner.
"We only have enough food for a week. I know the state of the castle store rooms, and how much we eat. Lina would not have made the same mistake, but I was not prepared for a siege with so many mouths to feed. I do not wish my people to die. I want to sue for peace."
"Name your terms."
Her head darted to the left and right. "First, take me to the Wolf's tent, where we might discuss this in private. Can you give me that?"
"Of course."
She nodded. "Do you swear to grant me safe passage into your camp?"
Into it, but not out. Interesting. "I do so solemnly swear."
"Then take me there, Dolf."
He held his hand out once more, more out of courtesy than any expectation that Portia would need it, until she stumbled. Courtesy be damned. He dived forward to catch her.
"Release me." It was a command.
He set her on her feet on the grass before he did as she asked.
She tugged her hood down. "Lead the way, Dolf."
It took all his willpower not to glance back over his shoulder as he took her to his tent. Now, he wished he'd accepted the hospitality of one of the nearby crofters so that he could offer her something better than this. Portia deserved better than this.
He straightened the coverlet on his pallet, as though he hadn't been roused from sleep by her arrival. The ancient laws of hospitality demanded that he offer her something to eat and drink, but he had nothing here. His tent was a place to sleep. Nothing more.
Rudolf stepped out of his tent and hailed the first man he saw. "Bring me a jug of mead," he said.
The jug was brought. Too late, Rudolf realised he should have asked for cups to go with it.
He re-entered his tent, and there she stood.
Her red hair glowed in the firelight of his brazier, haloing her like the saint who had given Loch Findlugan its name.
"Portia," he breathed. It came out like a prayer to heaven. A prayer that after all he'd endured, this angel might become his.
"Dolf?" she asked uncertainly. "I have watched the Wolf striding around the camp in that armour all day. This is his tent. Tell me the truth now, for I must know. Who is he?"
THIRTY-TWO
Rudolf set the jug on the ground and bowed. "Prince Rudolf Vargssen, cousin to Reidar Haraldssen, King of Viken. Reidar's father and mine were brothers."
Oh, how she didn't want to believe it. But how could she not believe him? "So you are the Wolf. The man who has killed, raped and plundered his way across the Southern Isles to take my home from me."
Rudolf shook his head. "I swear to you, I am the Wolf, but I have done none of those things. I have never raped a woman, nor killed one since I set foot on the Southern Isles. Not even my aunt, who would not have been so kind to me. I have killed men, it is true, though they tried equally hard to kill me. As for plunder..." He waved at the unadorned interior of his tent. "Do you see anything of worth here? I have taken nothing from the islands that was not given to me freely. The lords of the isles are with me. All but your father, who I'd hoped to find here with you. As for your home..." He ducked his head. "I may have set fire to it. Just a little," he admitted.
"But Mason and his men said..."
"Is Mason your husband?" Rudolf demanded.
Portia had never seen such pain in his eyes. "Mason is Donald's man, sent here to secure the islands for Alba. And build high walls to keep people both out and in." Her gaze arrowed in the direction of the castle on Council Island.
"Is he your husband?"
Portia laughed bitterly. "Mason who thinks so much of himself? No. He believes I am beneath his notice. The fat pig of a man desires one of Donald's daughters, and he thinks subduing us will earn him that honour. He holds me safe from Viken raiders and other unscrupulous men, who might want to marry me for their own ends. More likely, he thinks to marry me off to whoever Donald sends to replace him. One of Donald's sons, he said."
"If you are a prisoner, how did you get out?"
She shook her head. "I cannot tell you that. The Dolf I once knew would not ask me to betray my sisters by letting the leader of an enemy army into the chamber where they sleep."
If anything, her words had hurt him even more.
"I have never been, and will never be your enemy, Portia."
For a long moment, she stared at him. Heaven help her, but she believed him.
All the fear and frustration and years of missing him and dreading the future bubbled up. She swallowed back a sob. She couldn't cry now. She had a peace agreement to broker with the Wolf, who was not the Dolf she'd known before the war. This man was harder, commanding armies and conquering islands. Conquering her island.
"What terms will you offer us, then, so that my people and yours are not enemies?" Portia said. Oh, but it hurt to call the other Islanders his people. This man was a foreigner to her, while she'd considered them friends. Once considered him a friend.
Rudolf shook his head. "That's not how it works. I have given the castellan my terms. I will let everyone in the castle go, unharmed, if they lay down their arms and release you."
"He cannot. Grieve swore an oath to my father, he and all his men, that they would protect me."
"But he does not have you now. I do. What will he do if you do not return?" Triumph glittered in Rudolf's eyes, something else she'd never seen there before.
Something died inside Portia. "Then Grieve and his men will come in search of me, even if it means attacking the camp. We both know they would die. Grieve is a good man, and so are those who serve under him. Good men, loyal to my father, and loyal to me. They don't deserve to die. Not yet."
"And what do I deserve? I have fought for years for this. For these islands. For your home."
She closed her eyes to stop the tears from falling. She should have sent Lina to negotiate on her behalf. Lina's knees would not have weakened at the longing in Rudolf's tone.
"You can have the islands. All of them. And my home. As long as you promise to spare them, too."
Rudolf shook his head. "They must lay down their arms, yet you say they will not. I once vowed to protect you, too, and I would fight as long as I had the breath left to shout a battle cry. If these men are as loyal as you say, they will fight to the death – theirs or ours."
"Or mine." It came out as a whisper, but Portia couldn't stop it.
"Never," Rudolf swore. He sei
zed her shoulders. "There must be another way, Portia. I let go of you once, and I will not lose you now. Not to Donald or Mason or any man who dares to lay claim to you and your birthright." He dropped to his knees. "I will give you everything I've fought for. Every island, every rock, every fishing boat. For you."
Her breath caught in her throat. He couldn't mean...
"What would you ask in return?" she asked faintly, pressing her hand to her breast to hide her hammering heart.
"You. Other men may desire your dowry, but all I've ever wanted is you." He held out his hands in supplication. "Marry me, Portia."
All her adult life she'd wanted to hear those words, dreading the day she'd have to refuse him. Tonight, she'd come to offer herself to the Wolf, knowing it would cut her off from Rudolf forever. But now...
"If Grieve came in search of me, he could not break a marriage bond," Portia said thoughtfully. "My claim would pass to you, my husband. If I stand at your side as your wife, Grieve would open the castle gates to you."
She'd said something wrong. The shining love in Rudolf's eyes had gone. Had she imagined it?
Rudolf rose. "Of course. You think of your men. This Grieve must mean much to you." He sounded bitter.
"Until my father returns home, they are the last of his men. Just as they swore to protect me, I have a responsibility to them," Portia said. She had little choice, and it lightened her heart enough to see her way clearly for the first time. "Yes." Her father would understand. Rudolf had been her heart's choice, long ago, when she could not have him. As the Wolf Prince, she could. Hope blossomed. "But it must be tonight, before anyone notices I am gone. Or someone will die."
He eyed her. "A marriage is not valid without vows to be faithful, followed by a consummation. We must do that tonight, too."
She swallowed. Consummating a marriage was the hardest part. She'd never forget Lina's or Arlie's cries of pain on their wedding nights. Dolf might protect her, but he could not save her from himself. It was but a small price to pay to end a war. "It shall be as you say. We must wake the priest who serves Saint Findlugan's church, and ask him to marry us."
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