CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Ready, me lady?”
Liv’s voice carried across the courtyard, cutting through the clang of smithy hammers and the low rumble of warriors drilling formations in the training yard.
The healer stood waiting near the gate, one hand adjusting the leather satchel slung across her left shoulder, the other shading her eyes against the crisp morning sun that broke through gray clouds in shafts.
Isolda pulled her cloak tighter against the icy wind sweeping up from the coast, carrying with it the scent of kelp and the distant cry of gulls.
“Aye. Though I half expected me husband tae find some excuse tae keep me locked up.”
“The jarl gave ye his word.” Liv adjusted her satchel, lips twitching with amusement. “And I’ve yet tae see Ragnar Ketilsson go back on a vow he’s made.”
‘Tis true.
He’d actually listened when she’d explained why she needed to go.
“Come,” Liv said, starting toward the gates. “The village willnae wait, and I’ve patients that need tendin’.”
They passed through the inner bailey where warriors trained, their movements sharp and coordinated. But when they reached the outer gate, Freyr stepped into their path, his eyes watchful. “Lady Isolda. Liv.”
“Let me guess,” Isolda said dryly. “He’s assigned ye tae follow us about like he’s expectin’ me tae wander off?”
Freyr’s mouth twitched. “Nae exactly. But aye, ye’ll have four guards accompanyin’ ye.”
“Four?” Isolda crossed her arms. “Fer a simple village visit? That seems excessive?—”
“The jarl insists.” Freyr said without hesitation. “Just be grateful he’s lettin’ ye out at all wi’ Douglas sniffin’ about.”
Liv touched Isolda’s elbow gently. “The day’s wastin’, me lady.”
The walk to the village took less than thirty minutes, the path winding down from the keep into rocky terrain that gradually gave way to cultivated fields. Isolda breathed deeply, inhaling the salty air tainted with earth and growing things, and felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.
Freedom! Even if it comes with four armed shadows.
The village sprawled along the coastline—timber and stone structures huddled together as if seeking warmth from one another. Workshops popped up with warped shutters, giving way to cottages with roofs that needed thatch and a small kirk whose weathered cross tilted slightly to the left—as though it had given up trying to withstand the coastal winds.
There was a peculiar stillness around it all—the kind that comes after great violence. Too many villagers stood in tight clusters, speaking in hushed voices. A woman clutched a tattered shawl around her shoulders, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. Two men worked to repair a door that hung crooked on its hinges, the wood around the latch splintered—evidence of being kicked in.
“What happened here?” Isolda asked quietly.
Liv frowned. “Graham’s men have been strikin’ brutally—ye heard about the deaths, I assume.” She gestured around at the damage, the frightened faces. “Our enemies are just makin’ sure everyone kens they’re nae safe.”
Anger flared hot and bright in Isolda’s chest. “And the guards? Where were they?”
“Spread too thin, me lady. Our enemies ken how tae strike fast and vanish even faster.” Liv paused at the entrance to a small cottage. “This is Siggy’s home—her son took a beatin’ a few nights past tryin’ tae protect the grain stores.”
Inside, the cottage was dim and smelled of herbs and worry. A woman in her forties stepped forward and a young man lay on the bed whose face bore fresh bruises in shades of purple and yellow. He tried to sit up when they stepped inside, but he winced at the movement.
“Dinnae move, lad.” Liv said firmly, setting her satchel on the table.
While Liv worked—asking quiet questions and checking the young man’s injuries gently, Isolda found herself unable to look away from Siggy’s face. The woman’s hands trembled as she clutched a cup of tea that had already gone cold.
“He’s mendin’ well,” Liv announced after a thorough examination. “Naethin’ that willnae heal, though ye’ll be sore fer at least two more weeks, Callum.”
“D’ye think they’ll come back?” Siggy’s voice cracked. “The men who did this.”
Liv’s expression softened.
