“Quarrie!” she interrupted him.
He had to face her then. He could see worry in her eyes that mirrored Borald’s, and more distress than he liked. He never wished to cause this woman distress.
“Son, what are ye about? This is no’ like ye.”
Nay, it was not. He was steady, reliable. Predictable. Folk always knew where he was, usually tending to his duty. He did not disappear off on wild nights with a woman he barely knew, who had unaccountably got inside him.
But och, hedidknow her.
In their discovery of each other last night, there had been an undeniable wealth of remembering. It was as he’d told her—the ancients had believed their souls might return to this world again and again. Given that, one might—almost—expect to meet someone known before.
Had the cauldron of rebirth—if, aye, such a wonder existed—spat him and Hulda out and woven their fates together so that, having known each other in the past, they might meet once again?
Difficult to believe otherwise. This ancient song, sung again, might be meant for her. For him.
Could he explain any of that to the worried woman standing before him? Nay. She had lost her love. She was hurt and wounded and uncertain.
“Forgive me, Ma. I did no’ mean to worry ye.”
“Quarrie, I do no’ ken what to mak’ o’ this. Land granted to the Norse and—”
“Ye must try to trust me.”
“I do, son. I do. But can ye no’ see? Ye have invited a wolf to sleep on our very doorstep.”
Aye, Hulda was a wolf of sorts. A she-wolf, with her pale-gray eyes and fierce spirit. And if anyone else had done as he had, he would denounce them for foolishness, or worse.
Patiently he said, “For years uncounted, Ma, we have watched the horizon for dark sails. Lived life always on guard. Met every spring and summer with the threat of attack and destruction. We can, aye, go on fighting and dying.” As Da had. As Hulda’s brother had. “Or we can try another way. If we hold to this alliance I ha’ made, we may win a season o’ peace.”
“Do ye truly believe that? Even if this woman—this Hulda—holds to her agreement, there is a whole sea of other invaders out there. And wha’ of our neighbors? Ye toss them to the wolves like carrion, do ye?”
“Nay. I mean to negotiate with Hulda for the welfare o’ the others wi’ whom we hold alliances.”
“And ye think she will agree?”
“I do no’ ken. But I do believe we must be welcoming to her group. Lower our barriers and cease hostilities wi’ them.”
“And if they break the agreement and attack?”
He shrugged. “If that happens, we will crush them. We ha’ the greater numbers.”
“I do no’ like it. Yer father would no’ ha’ liked it.”
Quarrie closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the pain of those words. “I am sorry. But I believe we ha’ an opportunity here. One that reaches beyond killing and dying. I would tak’ advantage o’ it.”
His mother, a gentle woman with a compliant nature not unlike his own, said nothing. But he had rarely seen her look so mutinous.
“I suggest,” he said softly, knowing full well she would not like the prospect, “we arrange a feast for the Norse. A kind of welcome. A chance, mayhap, for our folk to see they are people no’ unlike ourselves.”
She stared at him as if his head had fallen off and rolled across the floor.
“Food, drink, and entertainment. Music.” He reflected on it. “Limited drink, mayhap. We do no’ wish for tempers to rise. Will ye help me to arrange it?”
“Ye ha’ gone mad. Yer father’s death has unhinged yer mind. Grief has. And the responsibilities ye have assumed.”
“I am no’ mad.”
“Ye maun be, to invite those beasts into our hall. Ask our folk to sit down beside them, that ha’ killed their brothers and sons and even their wives—”
