A hundr.
She turned and, with her man at her side, splashed out. No one on the shore moved. Quarrie could not be sure they breathed.
Hulda and her companion climbed aboard. With undeniable grace, the boat came about, moving lightly on the waves at the direction of the men, who had taken the oars. Not until they were far out did everyone left on the shore turn on Quarrie—all speaking at once.
“Wha’ was that?” Borach demanded, loudest because he was right in Quarrie’s ear. “Are those the same who captured ye?”
“Some the same. Same commander. Different vessel. Different crew.”
“Wha’ did she want?”
“Come to the hall. Call others o’ the council. I will explain.”Tryto explain.
His ma came to the meeting, news of their visitor having reached her. He could only consider that good, for she’d taken little interest in anything since Da’s death. She’d only rarely ever sat in on meetings Da held. Did this mean she had no faith in whatever decisions Quarrie might make? Or merely that she sought to represent her husband?
Either way, she sat quiet, face pale, hands clasped in her lap. Quarrie recounted the visit from Hulda, leaving out his own feelings for now. Chaos ensued.
Everyone spoke at once. Protests came thick and fast.It is madness. Aye, well, he agreed with that.Out of the question. Well, mayhap not so.
“Ye canna trust her,” one of Da’s old cronies howled.
“I do trust her.” From whence had that come? He’d not meant to say it aloud.
“Lad, ye’re raving. The pressures o’ walkin’ in your da’s footsteps ha’ turned yer mind. They are Norse. Just because she is a woman does no’ mak’ her less dangerous.”
Nay, it did not. More so, perhaps.
“Land!” roared another of the men. “Our land. That which we ha’ died to defend. Ye would gi’ it over to them?”
“I did no’ say that.”
He could have her within reach. Where he might see her often. Mayhap every day. Everything inside him yearned toward that, even as his mind agreed with what his advisors were saying.
“They are but a small crew. One boat,” Borach said. “We might lure them in and destroy them.”
“We could.” Quarrie glanced at him. “Wha’ good would that do?”
“So many fewer Norse in the world,” old Kalen replied. “By God, lad! Will ye even entertain such a scheme?”
Quarrie frowned at the fire. They were not going to agree. These men would not accept any scheme that might keep Hulda near to him.
“Think on it, lad,” said old Fergus, who in Quarrie’s youth had been their arms master. “She is asking ye to house her that she might prey upon other Scotsmen. Yer neighbors and of Celtic blood.”
“Surely,” said Borach more softly, “our loyalty is to them.”
“I am no’ certain about that.” Quarrie raised his eyes from the fire and looked at each of them in turn. “My loyalty is to ye, and ye, and every other member o’ our clan. Where were our neighbors last year when we came under attack? When our chief was so sore hurt. If I can keep from fighting more such battles as that which stole my father’s life, by alliance or otherwise, I will.”
They stared back at him, appalled. Angry. Wondering.
He got to his feet. “I ha’ heard yer opinions. I need to think.”
He went out and drew the blessed air into his lungs. From the front of the keep he could still see the Norse boat, Hulda’s boat, moving off with unearthly grace back toward the offshore island. A threat? A promise.
Should there be promises between them, him and this woman who had entered his life from nowhere, and who had somehow been there all the while?
He could not remain standing here. Faces turned toward him and eyes stared. He needed to be alone.
He might go to the burying ground where Da lay in peace or otherwise. Though he’d visited there often enough since Da’s death, his father had never yet spoken to him. If he chose to do so now, it would likely be in anger.
