“‘Twas never about the village or the folk.” Erik’s eyes were sharp. “Harbors and armories—those are targets if ye want tae cripple someone. This?” he gestured dismissively. “This was about makin’ ye watch yer people bleed.”
“All this shows,” Freyr stood, pacing the room, “is that the bastard’s mad enough tae murder bairns!”
“And that nowhere is safe,” Erik added flatly. “That anyone under the protection of Ragnar Ketilsson can be taken. We all ken that fear is a better weapon than any blade.”
Magnus’s fingers drummed against the table. “Ótti er en sverð,” he muttered.
Fear is worse than swords.
“Me faither used tae say that. Said a man who’s afraid makes mistakes. Acts rashly.”
“Or hesitates when he shouldnae,” Ivar added, his dark eyes finding Ragnar’s. “Which I’d wager is exactly what the wretch is countin’ on.”
Ragnar felt the weight of their attention, of the unspoken question swimming in the air.
Will fear fer her make me weak when strength is needed most?
The answer terrified him more than any blade ever could.
“We dinnae give him the satisfaction.” Ragnar’s voice came out hard. “We choose otherwise.”
Erik’s mouth twitched. “Aye but ‘tis easier said than done when ye’ve got somethin’ tae lose, Ragnar.”
The words settled cold and heavy in Ragnar’s gut. This wasn’t about territory or strategy. This was Douglas trying to break him, trying to make him afraid for everyone under his protection—trying to make him afraidforher, so he couldn’t think straight.
The thought of Isolda—probably fast asleep in her chamber, unaware that a maniac was watching the castle—sent hot rage through Ragnar’s veins. She had no idea in how much danger she was simply by existing, by being associated with him and with the Pact.
By matterin’ tae me.
The thought startled him.
“So, what’s the plan?” Freyr asked. “Double the patrols? Pull the outer villages back?”
“Ye’d be giving that wretch exactly what he wants.” Ivar’s tone was sharp. “We pull back, consolidate, show weakness and before we can wipe our arse’s every enemy from here tae Edinburgh starts wonderin’ if the Pact’s worth the ink it’s written in.”
“Aye, but ‘tis better tae show weakness than bury more bairns.”
“Enough.” Ragnar’s voice cut through the building argument. He forced himself to look up from the map, to meet the men’s eyes with calm certainty even as his instincts screamed at him, warning him. “We’re nae abandonin’ the villages. But we will double the patrols. Freyr, send word tae every settlement within a day’s ride—if they see anythin’ suspicious, they sound the alarm immediately.
“And Graham?” Magnus asked quietly. “Dae we strike back at him? Because the moment we move, we show our hand—whether we want tae or nae. And ye can ken that Douglas will be watchin’ fer exactly that.”
“Nae yet.” The words tasted like ash but Ragnar pushed on. “He’s baitin’ us. The moment we retaliate, he’ll claim we’re the aggressors. That the Pact is naethin’ but Vikings bringin’ savagery and tyranny tae the realm.”
“So ye expect us tae just sit back and dae naethin?” Erik looked incredulous. “Justlethim?—”
“I didnae say that.” Ragnar straightened, and something in his expression made even Ivar go still. “I said,nae yet.But when we move, we end it.”
The men nodded their heads, absorbing this.
“How long?” Erik asked, cutting through the planning.
Ragnar’s hands curled into tight fists on the table. “Douglas is nae a patient man, that much is clear. He’ll escalate, and when he daes, we’ll be ready fer him.”
The men spent the next hour discussing guard rotations, supply stockpiles and contingency plans. Ragnar listened, responded, gave orders—all while part of his mind snagged on one thought:
As long as he’s out there prowlin’, she’s nae safe here, nae anywhere.
Finally, he dismissed them. Erik clasped his shoulder briefly and Magnus murmured something about standing ready. Even Ivar’s usual mockery was uncharacteristically absent as he left.
