She called upon her patience and, fighting to keep her hand from her weapon, tried again.
“I wish to see your chief.”
The tall guard muttered something she did not hear, speaking to the man next to him before spitting at her, “And I ha’ told ye, ye canna. Ye ha’ had all ye will get fro’ us.” Something dark brewed in his eyes. “Save the edges o’ our swords.”
Odin curse the man!“List to me. We hold one of your men.”
“I ken fine ye do! I watched ye tak’ him away from here against our liking, if ye maun know.”
“I wish to negotiate now for his release.”
“Ye be mad.” The man repeated it to his companions. “She is mad.”
By Freya’s heart!“I have told you”—tried to tell him—“he is not the man we seek. We would trade him for the man we do seek.”
Could he not understand?
“If you will not deal with me,” she went on, hard as iron, “we will call out our fleet of boats to attack.”
He blinked at her.
“Do you not want your man back?”Fool,Hulda added in her head, though she did not allow the word past her lips.
“Aye, we want him back. He is a good friend o’ mine and one o’ the foremost men this clan can boast. But ye made yer bargain, ye bitch, and ’tis all ye shall have of us.”
Hulda turned and pointed dramatically out toward the island. “He shall be slain. And then we shall fall upon you and yours like wolves. Is that what you want?”
The guard’s face grew stark. “Quarrie MacMurtray knew when ye hauled him awa’ out o’ here that he would die. It seemshis courage is brighter than yer honor. Did ye no’ promise to leave our settlement be, if he gave himsel’ over to ye?”
“Ja.” Hulda was forced to admit it. “Only because we thought he was the man.” With dignity, she added, “I do not wish vengeance for vengeance’s sake, upon the head of one who did not commit the deed.”
For the first time, the fellow hesitated. Imagining the fate that might befall Quarrie, perhaps. Stark grief stood in his eyes.
For a moment—just a moment—Hulda hoped. They would negotiate on. She would find a way to release Quarrie MacMurtray.
Then the tall guard said, “We promised him no’ a one o’ ye would set foot on this shore again.” He stepped forward and drew his sword. The other Scots who formed the line stepped with him. Hulda had no choice but to step back in the water.
“Begone,” the guard said. “And God ha’ mercy on that brave hero ye hold.”
Hulda stole a glance at her two men who held the færing behind her. If they tried to fight it out here, they would all die. Three of them against all the swords of the settlement.
She would end her life on the selfsame strip of Scottish shore as Jute.
Was his spirit here? Did any part of him linger? His head, so Quarrie claimed, had gone into the fire.
A fit end.
Surely his spirit had flown away with the Valkyries. There was little to fear in death, save a loss of honor, and failure to fulfill one’s promises.
She had promised her faðir vengeance. She had promised it to herself. Now, unaccountably, Quarrie MacMurtray stood in the way.
She spoke to her men in her own tongue. “We will go.” And louder to the stubborn guard, “You have brought your fate upon yourselves.”
Nei, she could not defeat them with the crew she’d brought. But the season was early, and she could always return.
Chapter Seventeen
The rain hadceased, and behind heavy gray clouds the light moved steadily to the west. Quarrie, shivering intermittently, slumped against the mast, half mad with his thoughts and with questions that had no answers.
