‘Or I you.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘I never imagined when I was taken that I would find friendship and even worse, not want to leave.’
We both laughed.
‘No, when my lovely father sold me like a prize sow I never thought I would be gifted with a thrall who would become like asister.’ I took her arm, linking it with my own. ‘Come, while the men are fat and slow on drink, I’ll find you my mare and you can be away before anyone notices you’re gone.’
‘Why–’ she began.
‘Because you need to be home, with your family, where you belong. Now is as good a time as any.’ We walked through the arch, the mirth from the feast rustling through the branches. ‘It would be selfish of me to ask you to return to Orkney.’
Then, I was still of the notion that my sister would be better off with the Earl of Moray. It seemed like it would be a happy union and I thought she would be safe. In truth, I think part of me was still fearful of being truly alone.
We came upon a pen of three horses, shielding beneath trees, their backs against the biting cold. My mare snickered at the sight of me and ambled over in the darkness. Her white patches reflected the moonlight. I placed my hand out and touched her muzzle in greeting.
‘She will bear you wherever you want to go.’ I rubbed the soft fur behind her ears. ‘You have my word and if anyone asks, she was a gift from Princess Olith. No one will stop you.’
She would be home by sun-up if the weather held and by sundown, I’d be on my way home to Orkney.
She looked sombrely at the pony. ‘Come with me,’ she said, whirling to face me. ‘I see the way your father treats you. Ye think you’ll be better off with the Danes but there is another way. Come with me, you’d be more than welcome. We could find a place for you and the bairn, away from all of this.’
‘It’s no my place,’ I said firmly. ‘My place is by my husband’s side on Orkney. Our son will be both Pict and Dane.’
‘I dinna think your father will take too kindly to it.’
What he thought about it was the least of my troubles. It was what he would do in retaliation for my disobedience. I thought Iwould be safe back in Orkney. That no harm would come to us. I was young and headstrong and foolish.
‘I have spoken with my father. He was discontented, to put it mildly, but ignored me like I knew he would. Sigurd intends to speak with him before we sail, to make him understand that we will not go to war with Finnleik.’
I told myself that she would be better off at home. Away from my father. Back with her own family, or what was left of it.
‘If it is truly what you want?’ she said. ‘To stay with your husband, then I can only wish you well.’
‘It is.’ I smiled, holding back tears. ‘If you ever wish it, there will always be a home for you with us.’
I set about saddling my mare. It would not be a long journey through the hills but in the darkness, it would be a treacherous one.
She threw her arms around me again. Hot tears stained her cheeks. Mine too. We held each other, for the longest moment. Her eyes reflected my own pain and anguish. She hesitated and then climbed onto the mare.
‘Goodbye, Ligach.’ My voice broke.
She did not speak. Neither of us could. She reined her horse east. After a moment, they disappeared into the darkness and I was left alone once more.
Chapter 32
Best is the Banquet to Look Back on and Remember all that Happened
Itried to steady myself. My hands trembling and my eyes fixed on the horizon. The selfish part of me wished I had not let her go. Even though they were out of sight, I could still hear the soft swish of hooves through the undergrowth. A slow and steady rhythm. My heart ached, not for the first time.
Finally, as I turned to go, something caught my eye. My father’s men, Galan and Talorc moved swiftly beneath the cover of the blackness of the shadows. Neither uttered a word, moonlight glinting off their silver mail shirts.
Grief soon turned to fear as a roar went up from my father’s hall. I cannot begin to describe the all-consuming feeling that swept across my body. Images of Donada. Of Sigurd. Of Elpin. I grasped my skirts and took off after them, my boots slipping and skidding, hampered by my cumbersome frame. The closer I got the roars turned to the screams of women and children.
As I rounded the corner, the doors to the hall hung open, spilling out a sea of people. I forced my way upstream, pushing them aside. Bloodied hands. Bloodied faces. Cries drowned out by the music.
The heat hit me first. As though I had run headlong into a wall. The metallic tang of blood filled my nostrils. In the flames of the fire, dirks and broadswords glinted, slashing into unarmed men.
‘Sigurd!’ I screamed, but the sound was swallowed up in the roar of the men.
In slow motion I watched as more of my father’s men streamed in through the open door, dressed head to foot in mail and brandishing crossbows and broadswords. They blew in like a storm. Danes lay stricken on the floor in a carpet of blood.
