“Ja,” she said, ignoring what surged within her, or trying to. “All up and down these coasts you have felt our fury.”
“As your brother felt ours, mistress.”
It felt like a slap in the face, or as if he spat in her eye.
“Your brother came here seeking a fight. ’Tis what he got. He paid the price.”
Dismay seized Hulda by the throat. She could not fail in this. She had argued long and hard with her faðir for this opportunity and the lend of the one boat. The crew. She could not return home empty-handed.
By the same token, having seen this settlement up close and having met its defender, she was certain she could not best them with but one boat.
In hatching this plan, she had counted on the honor inherent in these men who inhabited the islands, many of whom had in the past stood and sacrificed themselves. She had not imagined a standoff.
She pushed to her feet, abandoning her mug of ale. “I will give you until tomorrow morning to make your decision. Talk with your advisors, your chief.” If he was here. “Contemplate what is best for your people. I will return for your answer.”
He said nothing, though those bright eyes narrowed.
She jerked up her chin. “My safe conduct will hold till then?”
“It will.”
She turned and stalked her way out of the hall, her spine tingling. This would be the moment he would sink a dirk into her back, if his honor broke. In truth, this would tell her what ilk of man he was, this Quarrie MacMurtray.
Her hand hovered over the hilt of her sword. She was very quick, and if it came to single combat, here and now, she would have to do Jute proud. She would not get away after she killed Quarrie MacMurtray, but it would be a debt paid.
He did not attack her from behind. They went out into the beautiful morning and she stood for a moment seeing it for the first time from a defender’s perspective. The strong gate. The slope leading down to the sea. She could see her two men waiting there, and the færing. The longboat beyond, floating on the mirror of the sea like a dream.
She must walk down that slope to rejoin her men looking unafraid, even though there would be five score blades waiting to take her life along the way.
Beside her, Quarrie MacMurtray raised a hand. A gesture, was it, providing her protection? Whatever the case, he did not accompany her back to the shore, only so far as his gate, and by the time she reached her men, her legs wobbled.
Sure she was, that she had lost.
“Well?” Kettel’s eyes stabbed at her. “Have you finished your negotiations?” Clearly he disapproved, but she must forgive him that. His wait on the shore, prey to all those swords, must have felt a long one.
“For now, Kettel. Only for now.”
“Let us leave here,” Garik said. “My flesh is creeping.”
“Ja,” Hulda agreed. In her heart, she knew she would be back again.
Chapter Eleven
In the greathall with his father’s advisors once more gathered around him, Quarrie related all that had been said in the meeting with the Norsewoman, omitting nothing. They listened with incredulous, disbelieving faces and barely waited for him to finish before bursting out with objections and opinions.
“Six longboats, ye say? But we dunna see them.”
“Hidden behind Oileán Iur, so she says they are. Waiting.”
Several of the older men shuddered. They had seen enough of Norse invaders to dread the very idea of such an attack.
“They will cut us to pieces,” said Borald.
“Nay so!” cried Morchan. “They will no’ find it so easy as that.”
“I did no’ say ’twould be easy.”
“We maun send the women and children off at once. Why should this Norsewoman keep her word and wait for morning to attack?”
