He was blaming himself for the situation, and she knew he should not.
“You said before you were not relying on my father keeping his word,” she said slowly, as she realised the way he was thinking of the situation made no sense.
“True.” He frowned at her.
“If it is true then you have not really been tricked, have you?” She could see him considering it, testing the idea in his mind.
“That is not, however, what I led the villagers to believe,” he said, then he smiled, just a little and pulled her against him.
“They trusted you to try to keep them safe. Despite knowing what had happened before.”
“And I have kept them safe,” he agreed. Then he tensed again. “It is not only about them, though. From the moment I saw you, I didn’t care whether it was a trick or not. I wanted you.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, and she could tell it cost him to say this aloud. She smiled as his words warmed her heart. “I was happy to have you as my wife no matter what happened with the rest of the bargain. My people can defend themselves. Allies are useful but not necessary.”
It took her a long moment to fully digest what he was saying. “Then you do not hate me for it?”
“No.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Come,” Tormod said, standing and moving away from her.
The door opened and Arne stepped in. “More boats are coming. Not from Cadell’s lands, but from south of the river.”
Aoife frowned. “Ula’s brother, Lord Marcant, rules the lands south of the river. He petitioned the new king for my father’s lands after Alt Clut. Called my father a traitor because we left the feast. The king refused, but said he would see how things worked out over time, so there is always the possibility that… Is this why they gave me away? To return me to the Norse I was supposed to be in league with? Do you think my visions showed the truth? Do you think my father has been killed?”
“It is certainly possible. But for now, we must deal with this attack. We should try to burn the boats before they land.”
“A good plan. I will gather the archers,” said Arne.
“Stay here and stay safe,” Tormod said to her, then kissed her forehead.
“Let me come,” she said, gripping his hands tightly in her own.
He shook his head. “Not yet. I will send for you. Or I will come back here for you.”
He ducked out the door and left with Arne.
* * *
Tormod followed Arne in silence. They made their way stealthily onto the headland, taking care not to be visible from the water. The summer nights were darker than at home but even weeks after the solstice there was little full dark here. From their lookout point, they could see south across the river and observe where the mouth of the sea-loch opened into the Clyde. As he had expected, he could see no sign of his men until he reached them. Ulf and Björn had a large group of warriors with them. They were poised, watching and ready to move to where the boats tried to land.
“Well, herre,” Arne said after Tormod had had enough time to assess the situation. “Do we wait for them and catch them unsuspecting, or do we attack with fire arrows?”
“They are not with Cadell,” Tormod stated.
“How can you be sure?” Ulf asked. “Did your wife tell you this, or did you merely decide it for yourself?”
Tormod glared at Ulf, who gazed back unflinchingly. Tormod sensed the rest of the warriors holding their breath. He, however, had no wish to fight any of his cousins. Not when this new threat approached. Although, pieces were fitting together that before had not seemed related.
“My wife told me.” Tormod waited for Ulf to argue and was surprised when he did not. “Her stepmother’s brother holds the lands to the south. I think Lord Marcant wants Cadell’s lands. This is not our fight. I believe this is a fight between Britons and we are being made scapegoats. The situation begins to make sense now I know of these things. She does not lie to me, to us. Of this I am sure.”
He stared at Ulf as he spoke, daring his cousin to challenge him, knowing if both Ulf and Arne accepted his position, the whole village would be fully behind him.
Ulf looked at Arne, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Tormod.
Arne turned to his brother. “If these men had knowledge of Cadell’s failed attack, then why do they sail for the same point? Not a single man returned from the attack, which makes them either very foolish or—”
“Or they are not in league with Cadell,” finished Ulf. He frowned and gazed out at the boats. Then he seemed to come to an acceptance of the situation. “Should we wait?”
“No,” said Tormod. “We should let them know we are ready to fight them, let them know we are not here for them to attack with impunity.”
Ulf smiled and gripped his axe more tightly.
A knot of tension unfurled in Tormod’s belly. He knew Björn had his back, he had made his peace with Arne—or as close to it as he would come in this lifetime—and Ulf was now ready to accept him as jarl. Until he left for a village of his own. A slight pang of regret hit him as he realised that was something that might happen in the foreseeable future. He could not expect all of his cousins to remain with him forever. “Quickly, ready the arrows and fire as soon as the boats are within reach.”
Staying low and thanking the gods for a rock face behind which the fire could burn, Tormod waited for the archers to be ready. Each had a boy helping with the arrows. Each volley would take time to light and fire, and the rest of them needed to keep their distance, but they would do it. They would see off these invaders and hold their land. They had done more with it than it seemed anyone had in the past, and if these Britons could not see the value in what they had held then they did not deserve to hold it. Besides, his future sons would be half-Briton through their mother and have as much right as any other to the land. He smiled as he realised that he was beginning to see a future in which Aoife survived birthing his children.
Within mere minutes the fire burned strong. They must be quick before the plume of dark smoke gave their position away. The archers looked to Tormod. He signalled to them to begin and the night was filled with the twang of bows and the sound of arrows flying true through the air.
There were shouts on the water and then a single scream cut off quickly. Tormod watched as four of the arrows struck their targets. One killed a man instantly and the others landed on the boats. The sailors shouted and cursed, trying to douse the flames and pull the arrows out. They managed it with one, but the others must have embedded deeply enough in the wood they could not extract them.
Another volley. And another. One of the boats was burning now, those aboard trying desperately to put it out and then giving up and jumping into the dark, deep water and swimming for the other boats. One boat started to turn, but it was shown no mercy. Arrows rained upon it as fast as Tormod’s archers could fire. Another turned, and soon the three remaining boats were heading back across to the south side of the river, two smouldering and the third burning.
The Norsemen stood and watched the attackers flee. No need now to lie in wait. Tormod felt a strange mix of emotions; glee at seeing their enemies turn tail, but also a soul-deep disappointment the prospective battle had come to naught. Tormod was satisfied with the victory, but this could not go on.
“Tomorrow we will hold a Thing. Let every villager know. Send riders out to the farms in the morning. No part of our land is more than a few hours’ ride. All who wish to attend should be able to make it and we will decide what to do about this.”
“No more deals with Lord Cadell,” Ulf stated.
“No,” Tormod replied, holding Ulf’s gaze.
“And what of his daughter?”
“My wife will have her part to play in our decisions, as all members of this village will.”
Ulf nodded and Tormod strode off back to his rooms, more secure in the knowledge Aoife would be seen as one of them.
Ch
apter Twelve
An hour into the Thing and Tormod had already made up his mind about how to go forward, no matter what was said. Aoife sat by his side, and every so often he felt her tense when her people were spoken of. The first time, he had squeezed her hand just to reassure her that simply because he must listen to every accusation, did not mean he must believe it — and he certainly did not believe any of it reflected on her.
“And what does the Lady Aoife have to say about all of this?”
Ulf. Again.
Tormod ran his hand over his face. What was his cousin up to? He had hoped their victory would have finished putting Ulf’s fears to rest. Apparently not. “How can you expect my lady to know what her father, whom she has not seen for two years, plans to do?”
“They are her people.”
“They were her people. As you are kin to the other Norsemen. Do you know what Ivarr the Boneless has planned for today? Tomorrow? Next summer?”
“No…”
Aoife chose that moment to stand up. A hush fell around the room.
“Herre,” began Ulf. “Surely we cannot—”
“All have a right to speak and be heard, Ulf. That is the law of our people.”
Ulf sat down, and Tormod fought to unclench his fists. He was sure they had resolved this last night. What was Ulf up to?
“I know nothing of the plans of my father,” Aoife stated clearly, in slow but accurate Norse. “But if I did, I would tell my husband. The men who tried to attack last night were not my father’s men.” She paused for a moment and Tormod could see her swallowing as if trying to work out what exactly to say next. “I believe the men who attacked from the south are kinsfolk of my stepmother, Lady Ula. Before their marriage, they had tried to take my father’s lands by force. I am worried they may have tried to do so again. Perhaps they already have. Perhaps it is not my father who has betrayed you.”
Ulf stood, facing her. “My lady, how do we know you are telling us the truth? You may have simply tricked our jarl into believing you to leave us vulnerable, leave our village open to attack. It would not be the first time you have been fooled by a pretty face, Tormod.”
Tormod pushed himself to his feet, incensed that Ulf had the gall to challenge him and insult Aoife. He frowned. Ulf had winked at him. Realisation dawned. Ulf was forcing him to address the fears of the village in public. “Aye, Ulf, you are right. Who among us has not?” And with that, Tormod laughed. He laughed so hard that by the time he stopped, the hall was in utter silence as everyone stared straight at him.
“Husband?” Aoife put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him, worry in her eyes.
“Sit,” he said. “All of you. Please. Sit. Yes, you too, Ulf.”
Tormod looked around at the assembled villagers, desperately trying to work out how to say this in the most effective way without admitting just how much of a fool he had been in the past. “Cousins, friends, villagers. Ulf is right. I was deceived in the past. It nearly cost my cousin his life and led to an attack on my father’s village in the Northlands. I was young, and foolish. But I have learned. I will not make the same mistakes again. Although I may make others. I am only human, after all.”
He paused for a moment and met Arne’s eye. His cousin acknowledged him.
“The Lady Aoife was merely a pawn in her father’s scheme. Her father’s — or whoever is controlling him — which I suspect is the real truth of the situation. Everyone makes mistakes, and we pay for those mistakes, but let me assure each and every one of you I went into this marriage in the full knowledge Cadell may well have been deceiving us. It did not matter. We hold this land and we are strong enough to keep it without Cadell as an ally, and even with Cadell as an enemy. Whatever mistakes I made with my first wife were not repeated with my second. An alliance with Lord Cadell was a luxury, not a requirement. And Ingrid’s son Einar will live and train with Arne, allowing any children Lady Aoife and I have together to take over these lands in the future. Hopefully far into the future.”
“Tormod,” Aoife said, but he brushed her off.
“The past is behind us. Cadell’s intentions no longer matter. All that matters is Lady Aoife is my wife, head woman of this village. Her knowledge will help us settle here. There is nothing for me to regret in this marriage, nothing for me to hide.”
Aoife covered her mouth with her hands and gasped. He put out a hand and took hers, holding it firmly, pleased at the shy smile creeping across her face. He pulled her to him and kissed her. There were cheers from the room.
Tormod held Aoife at his side and faced the villagers. “Now, I suggest we consider how to respond to these attacks. Who do we go to first?”
“My father,” said Aoife.
“I agree,” said Björn.
“And I,” added Arne.
There were general mutterings of assent from around the room.
Tormod looked at Ulf, waiting for his response.
“And I,” Ulf said loudly, grinning at him.
Tormod smiled.
* * *
Two days later they set off in the longships. Tormod had not wanted to leave the village under-protected so a large group of warriors had been left behind.
They sailed north up the sea-loch, rather than south and around the tip of the peninsula. Tormod planned to portage the ships through the pass at the top of the loch and from there sail onto Loch Lomond and approach Dun Cadell from the north.
The thought made Aoife smile. Her father would not expect Norsemen from this direction. Gaels, maybe, but not the Norse. Any in the past had used the entry from the River Clyde into the Leven and arrived from the south.
In the longships, the rhythm of the waves made her feel queasy again. With each passing day she became more sure she did, indeed, carry Tormod’s child, although they never spoke of it.
The croak of a bird came from above. The ravens were back. Watching her. Warning her. She was so absorbed by them she didn’t even sense the vision descending over her until her sight became obscured as if by blood and her knees buckled. “Tormod!” A shudder ran through her as she called out his name and he grabbed hold of her before she fell.
She closed her eyes and ran her hands across them, trying to rub away the blood. Blood everywhere, pooling between the cobbles on the courtyard, splashed on walls, matted onto horses’ coats, seeping from the bodies of the fallen. Below her she could see the hawk flying about the fort wall. She was part of the thunder rolling above, and far beneath on the flagstones, the bear and the wolf prowled around the dead. They were not attacking, and were not responsible for the bloodshed, but she could feel the thirst for blood, for revenge, in each of them.
“They’re dead,” she whispered as she came back to the present and opened her eyes. “All of them. Blood is running down the walls. My father… We should go back. It’s not safe there.”
“Tell me what you saw,” Tormod said, ignoring the curious glances of those around them.
She told him as coherently as she could, but as with many of her visions, what she had seen became less clear when she tried to put it into words.
“Be extra vigilant,” Tormod ordered the warriors. “I will keep you safe,” Tormod assured her.
She clung to him. A deep sorrow welled up from inside her, but she refused to let the tears fall. Not over a dream. She heard a now familiar croak and looked up. “The ravens are back,” she said, gesturing towards the mast where they sat.
“If only they could talk,” Tormod replied. “Or maybe it is they who speak through you.”
“Perhaps.” She made her way to the prow of the boat and grabbed on to the side, staring at the place where they would land. It would be hard work pulling the boats across even though it wasn’t far, but it would be worth it. Before, she had worried about how she would react to her father and stepmother, but now a much greater danger faced them. An enemy waited for them. An enemy far more powerful than her father. She was sure of it. As sure of it as she was sure her father was dead.
>
She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of all her visions. The bear and the wolf and the hawk. The sound of thunder. That sound filled her, reverberated through her very being. It wasn’t fear it made her feel, but peace. She smiled to herself. All along it had been Tormod. Why were her visions so slippery? Why could they not just be clear? Or perhaps it was the lack of clarity that mattered. She didn’t actually see the future, since the future could always be changed by her actions, the actions of others. Nothing was set in stone. Yet.
For a moment, she nurtured an ember of hope her father still lived, then it sputtered and died. She knew in her heart he was dead. Betrayed.
The boat’s prow scraped against shingle. She opened her eyes as Tormod picked her up and lifted her onto the shore. When he put her down, he didn’t let go straight away, but held onto her and kissed her thoroughly until Björn nudged him.
“Just because you have a woman,” his cousin grumbled.
Tormod let her go and laughed. “You have Ylva.”
Björn gave him a dark look. “No one has Ylva. Ylva does what she pleases.”
“Then maybe it is time someone tried harder to please her,” Tormod said.
Björn’s expression grew darker and he turned away.
Aoife crossed to where the few other women who had accompanied them waited, ready to assist if necessary. As a group, they made their way across the narrow stretch of land separating the two lochs at this narrowest of points. The men dragged the boats up a narrow stream and then finally across bare land, using tree trunks hewn for the purpose where necessary, until they reached the edge of Loch Lomond.
“My lady,” Tormod said as he lifted her again. He splashed through the shallow water with her in his arms and set her down in the longship, then climbed aboard himself.
“I could have walked,” she said.
“I know. But I don’t want your father to think you have become a barbarian. You should arrive looking like a lady.”
Aoife said nothing. She felt little need to turn up looking for anyone’s approval. She stared down the loch, seeing the familiar landscape, albeit from a different angle. Once this had been her home, and yet it had been a long, long time since the word had meant what she believed it should.
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