‘Let my husband go,’ I said again, steady and slow.
‘I do not take council from dogs. From what I can see you have very little to bargain with.’
I wanted Sigurd to know that all that would come out of my mouth would be a lie. That all of it, every word was to buy us enough time to save him.
‘Let him go and I will stay,’ I said. ‘I swear, I will raise my son in your court. You can school him to rule Orkney. We have another camp, with three more chieftains and almost a hundred men. I will tell your men where they can find them, but first, you have to let Sigurd go.’
I would have told him anything. I would have given every man. Every shieldmaiden. But fate and its weavers play a hand and sometimes we cannot see it in the moment, but when we remember, through the eyes of old age, we see what was meant to be.
‘Why should I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?’ He peered at me with mistrust.
‘If you do not, and they find out what you have done they will strike down upon you with all the wraith of Odin and the Aesir,’ I told him. ‘You may hope for mercy if they know you have freed their Jarl as a gesture of goodwill. Is it not better to leave one alive so that they can carry the stories of what you have done here?’
The silence stretched before us. His men would be no match for ours in open combat and he knew it. He could go up against our shield wall, but they would be dead before dawn. It would have been too much of a risk, and my father was no risk-taker when it came to his own life. I could feel his men circling behindme, but I did not care. I would not back down. I was no longer the girl that he sold to a Dane.
‘The Jarl for a hundred of his men.’ He pursed his lips. In. Out. In. Out. ‘I–’
His words halted as a shower of arrows rained in from the open door, followed by a steady stream of Danes, armed to the teeth with helms, shields and broadswords.
The world roared.
Chapter 33
Give No Truces to your Enemies
They swarmed in, like bees from a burning skept, filling the tiny space that had been left by my father’s men. Row upon row of faces inked and painted and ready to go to war for their Jarl. I stood between them, Danes to my left and my father’s men nipping at my heels.
The Laird did not flinch. He stood as motionless as a statue as though he had been expecting them. The fire shimmered casting angry shadows across his face. The clamour grew louder through the Dane’s bared teeth and their black stares.
‘I should have given you more credit.’ He spat. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’
‘A wise daughter knows her father, a pity the same cannot be said for you.’ As I said it, Sigurd stumbled again, exhausted. ‘Now, I’ll take my husband.’
The room pulsed with tension.
‘You promised me one hundred of the Jarl’s men,’ he said, rising slowly from his chair. ‘His men in exchange for his life.’
My father’s men tightened their circle around Sigurd, the bloodied dirk shook in his hand. His hope blown out like the wick of a candle.
‘I made no allegiance with you. I promised you one hundred of the Jarl’s men and here they are.’ I waved a hand. ‘I did not promise whose side they would be fighting on.’
‘You are a defiant wee bitch.’ He fixed his gaze on me. ‘You know what I do to bitches that disobey me.’
From the corner of my eye, I caught Johnne levelling a crossbow at me. We outnumbered them two to one.
‘No.’ Sigurd’s voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Olith, no.’ He stumbled again falling onto one knee. ‘Take the men and leave.’
‘It’s all right,’ I said, trying to soothe him. ‘I will come to no harm. We will get you home.’ I turned back to my father. ‘I’m no one of your dogs to be put down. Cast aside as you see fit.’
The air simmered but without my father’s agreement, they would cut Sigurd down where he stood, and a war would rage. I would bring war but not this night. Already so many were dead. The thought crept in with the sharp tang of blood invading my nostrils.
‘When my husband is unable, I am Jarl of Orkney, and these men answer to me. Give me my husband and I will leave your men alive.
Thorkell broke rank and stood at my side along with Ligach, wielding a shield and battle axe. My father sucked his breath over his teeth while he assessed the truth of what I was saying. I was a hundred strong now. He was no match.
‘A Jarl at your heart,’ Thorkell growled in Norse.
‘I stand with you,’ barked Ligach.
