CHAPTER TWELVE
“How many dead?”
Ragnar kept his voice level and controlled despite the war room feeling too small. Perhaps it was the weight of what they were about to discuss that made the stone walls feel like they were pressing inward.
Erik stood across from him, Magnus to his right while Ivar leaned against the wall with deceptive casualness. Freyr hovered by the door, his arms crossed and his expression grim while Olaf shifted in his seat.
“Seven villagers confirmed, two of which were bairns.” Freyr’s tone was cold. “Three more that willnae last till dawn.”
Ragnar’s hands tightened on the table’s edge, threatening to snap the solid wood. Douglas Graham had sent grown men to slaughter innocent children in a fishing village that posed no strategic advantage or threat.
Calculated. Deliberate. Personal.
“Yer scout?” Magnus asked. “The one who escaped—is he talkin’?”
“Aye.” Freyr straightened. “Lost an eye and half of his sword arm, but Liv’s patched him up well enough. He’s in the infirmary.”
They went to Liv’s chambers to speak to him.
The scout was a good, loyal man who had a wife and two daughters. Ragnar’s insides twisted in anger.
“Hvitserk.” Ragnar kept his voice quiet. “Can ye remember what happened?”
“Aye, me jarl.” The words came rough, damaged, sounding pained. “We were checkin’ the nets by the creek. They came on us hard and fast—ten men, maybe twelve… I dinnae… they kent exactly where we’d be.”
“Armed?” Erik’s question was sharp.
“Swords. Axes. One had a bow.” Hvitserk touched the bandage covering his ruined eye. “They didnae rob us, didnae even try. They just…went straight fer the village and started slaughterin’.”
The room absorbed this in silence. Ragnar’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth protested and he had to force himself to relax.
Control yerself!
“Did ye recognize any of the bastards?” Magnus leaned forward.
“Nae their faces, but…” he hesitated, his good eye finding Ragnar’s. “Their tartans, aye. They were wearin’ Graham colors—I’d stake what’s left of me life on it.”
They’d all suspected it, but hearing it hit different.
“Ye’re absolutely certain?” Ragnar had to focus to keep his tone even, even though wild rage simmered beneath his ribs.
“Grew up near Graham lands, me jarl. I ken the patterns well.” He swayed precariously and one of the guards steadied him. “There’s… there’s more, me jarl. The one with the bow, he let me live when he could’ve?—”
Ivar straightened from the wall. “Why?”
“Tae carry a message.” Hvitserk’s voice dropped. “He said tae tell the Stag that Douglas Graham is watchin’. Watchin’ the coast, the keeps…everythin’in Uist.”
The temperature in the room dropped. Ragnar didn’t move, didn’t react, but his mind raced a million miles ahead, calculating, analyzing the threat from every possible angle.
The bastard wants me tae ken he’s out there, wants me tae ken he can strike anywhere, anytime.
“Thank ye Hvitserk, Rest now, I will return tae check on ye,” Ragnar said. The moment the door closed behind them, Ivar stepped closer.
“So, this Douglas wants ye rattled enough tae make mistakes. Question is whether he’s got the spine tae back his threats, or if he’s just a dog barkin’ behind a fence.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
“More than that,” Magnus traced a finger along the map spread before them across the table, for in the meantime they had reached the study. “He’s tellin’ ye he can strike whenever he chooses, where he chooses. Ragnar, ye ken as well as I dae that stone walls and armed men mean naethin’ when he’s already slithered intae yer head.”
