Whether that say would hold sway was another matter entirely.
Da listened with a hectic frown coming and going on his brow. “But,” he said immediately when Quarrie finished, “’twas I who killed the man. The Norse leader.”
“Aye, Da.”
“Everyone who was there fighting on the shore knows ’twas I. How can ye suppose to tak’ the blame?”
Quarrie said nothing.
Airlee MacMurtray went on, “If anyone should be turned o’er to these savages, it is me.”
“Nay, Da.”
“This woman…” Da’s eyes quickened. “Ye say she is a warrior?”
“Aye.”
“A curious thing. There ha’ been strong women in our own past, if the old tales are to be believed.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Those who wanted to mak’ their own way in the world. But a Norse marauder—”
“However unusual it may be,” Morchan said, “she is here and making her demands. Chief Airlee, ye will agree wi’ me that Master Quarrie canna be allowed to hand himself over—”
“That I do agree.”
“He is far too valuable to us. Especially—”
“Especially wi’ me dyin’.” Da’s gaze met that of his friend and ally, unswerving. “Nay, Einid,” he said to his wife, “do no’ weep. D’ye think I do no’ ken my fate?”
“Ye will grow well,” Ma insisted. “’Twill but take time.”
“There has been time,” he told her savagely. “A fall, a winter, a spring. I do no’ grow well.”
It was indisputable. Against his orders, the tears in Ma’s eyes overflowed.
“Long ago,” Da said in a much calmer voice, “I swore mysel’ to this clan. As a lad, I did. To live for this place and the people who dwell here, a family. I swore to die for this place, if I must.”
His fevered gaze touched each of the three faces in turn, those closest in the world to him.
“It seems that time has come.”
Chapter Thirteen
Hulda slept butfitfully that night, and in snatches. Wrapped in her cloak on the deck, she rose from time to time in order to pace before lying back down again.
A clear night; the sky arched overhead with a hundred-score stars, bent like a rainbow. She almost expected Faðir Odin to come striding down that arc to go walking upon the earth, here among men. To mayhap come and sit on the deck beside her and give her advice like a trusted friend.
Tell her how to handle these emotions that beset her.
When she left home, she’d had but one goal, to make those who had killed her brother pay. She had begged Faðir for the chance. It sometimes seemed she had begged most her life for her place in the world. There was a force inside her, a desire that said she would allow no one else to fight her battles. To die for her.
A great and terrible force.
She sometimes thought Jute was the only one who understood, her strong and wise brother. He had looked at her and seen more than a girl needing protecting. He it was who had supported and empowered her.
Then he had gone off from her, and not returned.
Unbearable. The very thing she had fought all her life to prevent.
It would not be enough to punish the settlement where he had died. She wanted the man, the very man by whose hand he had died. Had she met him today?
