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“To be clear,” King Magnus said to King Alexander, “You are here to talk, not fight or take land that does not belong to you.”

“So you say,” Alexander replied dryly. “Despite this isle and those surrounding it having belonged to us Scots long before your Viking ancestors raided and took what was not theirs.”

“Which was centuries ago,” Astrid reminded, her tone gentle yet firm enough to get through to Alexander, it seemed. “And this is today with focus on the future, not the past.”

“And yet the Norse still raid our shores, seen clearly enough last year at the Battle of Largs,” Alexander countered, narrowing his eyes at Magnus. “Of which you participated, however indirectly.” He tilted his head graciously. “Even so, my friend and counsel, Astrid, has suggested I show you and your people mercy. To that end, I am willing to grant you the option of keeping your land, but you will cede lordship to me and swear fealty to me, the King of Scotland.” He shook his head. “Not the King of Norway.”

“You must be mad,” Magnus bit back, enough venom in his voice to cause Declan and Knud—who had already been eyeing each other warily—to rest their hands on the hilt of the blades at their waists. “My Croven dynasty has ruled these isles for hundreds of years.” He scowled and shook his head. “And the only man I pay homage to is King Magnus Håkonsson, son of King Håkon Håkonsson of Norway.”

“A king who isnae as interested as his father was in laying claim to Scotland or its isles,” Astrid mentioned, about to go on before Declan, of all people, spoke first, alarmingly enough, his gaze now trained on Knud’s dagger.

“Where did you get that blade, Knud Thorgard?” he ground out, only for Astrid’s eyes to widen on it, too.

“’Tis the blade,” Astrid whispered, shaking her head, looking from Freya to me. “How does Knud have that?”

“’Twas given to me by my grandmother,” Knud said. Clearly, Astrid and Declan recognized it, meaning Astrid had shared much with her husband about our pasts.

“Is this really so important?” King Alexander cut in, saying the last thing I wanted to hear. “If we are to be curious about anything, ’twould be the whereabouts of the men I sent ahead to warn of my arrival and intentions, yet I dinnae see them or their ship.”

“Nor have we seen their ship,” King Magnus said, narrowing his eyes at Alexander. Alarmingly enough, he was more truthful than I would have been in his position, considering he was outnumbered amid rising tensions. “We did see your men, however, when they ruthlessly attacked an innocent village without provocation.”

Why would he have confessed to such? Unless he was hoping that it might give him a leg to stand on in these negotiations. Which was most certainly not the case based on the renewed reddening of King Alexander’s face.

“And where are my men now, King Magnus?” the Scottish king ground out. His gaze grew as dark as the churning, black-bellied clouds rolling in, rumbling with thunder.

“With their god,” was all Magnus managed to get out before blades were drawn at King Alexander’s order, and everyone nearly went at each other, had it not been for Astrid and perhaps even Knud’s dagger.

In the mere moments after swords and blades were unsheathed, angry clouds blotted out the sun; its last crimson rays glinted brightly off Knud’s blade. And Astrid dropped suddenly to her knees, holding her stomach and wailing in pain.

“Guard her!” Alexander roared at his men as the skies opened up, pouring down rain.

“Blood,” I whispered, remembering my prophecy as Freya and I rushed to Astrid’s side and saw the red on her thighs. “Far too much blood.”

“Please, King Magnus,” Freya cried out, begging with her eyes. Oksana whined at Astrid’s side, while Declan swiftly sheathed his blade and held onto our sister the best he could, his fear for her and his unborn child plain to see. “Where is your healer? Our sister and child need your healer now!”

The kings continued eyeing one another darkly, clearly not trusting that the other wouldn’t attack, before Magnus, thank the gods, did the right thing.

More than that, he put Astrid’s life before all else.

“Promise you will not harm my people,” King Magnus ground out, his gaze still locked on Alexander. “And that you won’t seek retribution for an innocent village defending itself against marauders.”

When King Alexander hesitated and clenched his fists, fighting the idea, Astrid whimpered in pain, and Declan pleaded with his king, his voice rough with emotion. “Please, my liege. I beg of you, as my friend. I cannae lose them.” He shook his head. “We cannae lose them.”

Tearing his gaze from Magnus, concern furrowed Alexander’s brow when he took in Astrid’s heartbreaking condition. Breathing harshly, his rage at his rival king warred with his affection for Astrid, before he finally relented.

“I willnae harm them,” Alexander bit out to Magnus. “And I willnae seek retribution.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed again. “Ja?”

Alexander’s gaze narrowed in return. “Aye.” Even though he spoke through clenched teeth, there was no missing the worry in his eyes for Astrid. Nor the deep affection he had for a Norsewoman, at that. “Now help her if you’ve the means.”

After glaring at one another for another too-long moment, Magnus finally nodded once at Alexander and did as he was asked, making Astrid a priority.

“Stand down!” The King of the Isles roared at his men, addressing those about to rain down arrows. “And open the gates! King Alexander and his men are to be welcomed until negotiations continue.”

Clearly surprised by that level of hospitality and even trust, given how close King Alexander had been to waging war, the Scottish king nodded once in return to King Magnus, acknowledging his gesture of goodwill, and ordered his men to stand down as well.

“You need to get her into the castle rather than one of the cottages,” Magnus said to Declan. “She will fare better there during the storms. There will be many this eve, and bad ones.”