‘Aye, two wee nephews.’ Bethoc smiled.
‘How have you both been?’
‘We’ve been well,’ Donada said with a frost about her. ‘And you?’
‘I’ve been well, it was a shock when father visited. I did not expect that he would have arranged a marriage for you so soon?’
‘Yes, lucky for me I have no sisters left to take this husband,’ said Donada.
It was a low blow, but it was nothing that I did not expect.
‘Will you be happy?’
She lowered her gaze. ‘I will be grateful that my new husband will be neither Pagan nor Dane.’
‘That does not answer my question.’
‘I did not know I had to.’
‘Och,’ Bethoc interrupted. ‘Enough you two. We will not rake through what has gone before. Olith you are about to be a mother and Donada, we have a feast to attend in your honour. There is much to celebrate.’
Donada looked as though she might spit feathers.
‘Can we be civil to one another? I know you must be angry with me, for the way I left but you must understand that I did it to protect you.’
‘I will speak to Donada,’ said Bethoc, kissing my cheek. ‘Go and fetch your husband, from what I remember of him, he is a sight to behold and much more pleasing to the eye than the slovenly swine father usually has in attendance.’
?
I stepped out onto the walkway and gazed out into the darkness. I felt as hollow as the naked winter trees. I had tried to give my sister everything. I had cared for her like she had been my own child. Made sure that she did not marry a man that would hurt her. She could not see that all I had done had beenfor her. I wanted to pray for her forgiveness but in truth, I spent the whole evening in the company of my own fury.
Chapter 30
A Dance of War
Bagpipes wailed. Flutes whistled. Drums thundered against my beating heart. The melody echoed through the rafters and into the embers and it made the fires roar. It is how I choose to remember my previous life. It is burned upon my heart. When I close my eyes, I can smell it. I can taste it and the drums still beat.
Outside, the sky threatened snow but within the wattled walls of the fortress, the heat burned fiercely. We were packed tight as a shield wall. Danes lined long benches in the centre and my father’s men around the outside, like the petals of a flower. I had been sat between Sigurd and Finlay, the Earl of Moray. We were closer than I would have liked, my elbow brushing the ribs of the man at my side with every mouthful of wine. Remembering that evening, I do not know if my father had intended my placement so that I would involve myself further in his ruse while the ale flowed freely.
Tonight, my bairn had decided to answer, whipping and whirling to the music. No longer tiny fluttering but kicks and prods. I placed a hand on him. I had promised that I would keep him safe. That he would come to no harm. I kept those words. I gave a sideways glance at Sigurd. I knew to my bones that Orkney was to be our home. That we would be safe. That Sigurd would give his life for our family. He would be the father I never had and I would be sure to be a good mother.
My gaze wandered about the room. Agda sat two seats down on the other side of Sigurd, drunker than I had ever seen her as she pawed over a young woman carrying a flagon of ale on herhip, with a fixed, false smile. She waved her away and carried on serving. There were no rules within the walls of my father’s fortress, not like there were in our Mead Hall.
‘Your sisters play well,’ Sigurd said, taking another gulp of ale. ‘Do you not play with them?’
‘In feasts gone by, he would have me play the lute in the hope that I would catch the gaze of a wealthy admirer,’ I said, over the din. ‘He always hoped to marry me off.’
‘Then I am pleased that you played it so badly.’
I snorted. ‘Who says that I play it badly?’
‘If you play anywhere near as bad as you ride, I can see why you have frightened off all your suitors. Perhaps it is why your father thought us a good match?’
‘He did not.’ I poked fun at him. ‘Your match was Donada, dinna forget. It is through my stubbornness that brought me to you and not my terrible lute playing,’ I laughed.
He looked over at Donada and grimaced. ‘It seems I had a lucky escape. Remind me to never let you play an instrument.’
As we laughed together, I watched my father snake through the crowd, eyes fixed upon us like a wolf on a hunt and wearing ceremonial plaid. ‘Good evening, Jarl Sigurd,’ he crooned. ‘I trust that my daughter will not refuse a dance with her father?’ he bowed, holding his hand open before me.
