He had planned every word of what he meant to say. Calming words, so he hoped, and suitable ones. He could not control how they fell upon the ears of his listeners. If they wanted to remain angry or outraged or offended, they would. Yet he felt he took the leadership of the clan into his hands firmly for the first time.This was not what his father would have done, nor anyone he knew.
He would either sail upon the strength of it, or sink spectacularly.
“Welcome to our guests, whom we receive wi’ honor.” He did not know how many of the Norse could understand his words. Enough, so he hoped, to translate for the others. “We are here to feast the alliance that has been made between mysel’ and the Norse leader, Hulda Elvarsdottir. In the past, we ha’ known much of killing and strife and mistrust in facing one another. Members o’ both our families ha’ perished. We can continue on inviting more death, or we can agree here tonight, in this very hall, that among us, at least, there will be nay more o’ it.”
Mutters from the throats of his own people greeted his words, while the Norse crew stared as if trying to decide the best way to dismember him. The hostility brought despair to his heart. He’d been mad to attempt this thing. Everyone had told him so. He’d been mad to hope there might ever exist between him and Hulda anything more than a fleeting passion.
Yet somewhat moredidexist.
He went on steadily, “Let us prove wi’ this night o’ gathering together that more than hate can exist between us, that we might someday achieve not only an alliance, but a peace.”
At the Norse table, one of the men was busy translating for the others. Would Quarrie’s words make them decide he was weak? Did talk of peace represent, to such men, an invitation to violence?
His own people looked as if they wanted to shout him down. Only loyalty and their unwillingness to betray their vows of fealty before the strangers kept them from it.
He sat down, dismay and doubt hitting him in waves. The room fell silent apart from the Norseman’s hurried catch-up.
Slowly, Hulda rose in turn.
All eyes flew to her. A curiosity she was, for many reasons. A Norse warrior here in their hall, and a woman, no less. Tall, strong, and composed. Far more composed, Quarrie thought, than he.
Into the silence she spoke with her heavily accented Gaelic.
“We are honored by our reception here in your hall this night, and honored by Chief Murtray’s words ofvelkomin. There is bad blood between us, ja. There are grievances old and recent, yet we lay them aside. In return for the place we have been granted upon your shore, we agree to wet our blades no more with your blood. Further, we pledge to stand with you in times of trouble. We will help you to defend this place.”
Deliberately, she gazed about the near-silent chamber, her pale-gray eyes touching on the faces of the listening Scots and those of her own men.
She concluded, “If only between your clan and my crew, let us found a new age.”
She sat down again to only faint coughs and mutters. Would it work? Quarrie doubted it. He fully expected that, come morning, there would be protests from his folk and hers. Fight alongside the Scots? Why should they? Trust the Norse? How could they?
For tonight, at least, there was feasting, and Quarrie hoped a realization that strangers were not necessarily monsters. He gestured to the servers, who once more began circulating. Conversation at the tables rose.
Under the cover of the table, Hulda’s fingers brushed his. Only a glancing touch, but it brought his whole body to life.
She inclined her head toward his. He expected her to speak of what had been said or the reactions of their audience to it.
Instead she murmured, “I must see you again.”
His very blood leaped. She did not speak ofseeinghim. He understood completely what she meant.
“Aye, but how?”
“The same place, mayhap. Tomorrow?”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be a morass of arguments and protestations. Of people waylaying him to voice their complaints and their fears. He would be constantly in sight of someone or other.
“I do no’ doubt tomorrow will be spent in meetings o’ council and hearings wi’ my folk. Do ye realize wha’ we ha’ done?”
“Ja. It is a step of which my faðir, back home, would not approve.”
“Nor mine.”
“Yet we move on through life, eh? The wheel of time refuses to stand still.”
The wheel of time.
They ate, though whether the fare was good or otherwise, Quarrie could not have told. He failed to taste it, too busy watching the room and the reactions of those within it.
