Chapter Two
Quarrie’s bone-deep weariness did not fade, but he had to retreat from the walls eventually, leaving other men, all severely cautioned, in his place. He had more tasks to which he must attend.
By the time he entered the keep, the sun had risen high and strong. It would be a beautiful day, and any sails playing at hiding among the offshore islands would be clearly seen.
He wondered why that knowledge did not reassure him as it should.
His mind ran through a list of possible catastrophes and solutions as he went looking for breakfast. The settlement, large and thriving, had spread outside the walls and nearly up the hillside.
If attack came, all the women and children would have to be gathered within the protection of the walls.
Either that, or they must be sent away inland until the attack ended.
One way or the other, if he thought they stood in danger of being overrun, it would be his duty to see that happened.
He made these kinds of decisions now, not Da—even though in name, Da remained chief. And would, so long as Quarrie could assure it.
Gathering the women and children into the fold would mean they’d need sufficient food. Fortunately, they had a well inside the walls. But there needed to be enough weapons, also.
The Norse were not known for launching a siege. They were hit-and-run attackers, bringing blood, destruction, and often flame, seizing whatever they could in the confusion.
Could he defend against an attack? He stopped where he was, outside the great hall, to contemplate the question. It depended on how many longships came. It might be one—a scouting party or a lone venturer. It might be a trio or as many as ten.
Whether or not he thought he could defend their land would make the difference in bringing the women and bairns inside, or sending them away. He could not bring them in only to be overrun and see the lot of them slaughtered.
The women would include Norah. And her babe.
That thought hit him like a punch to the gut. It had not stopped hurting yet. At one time, he’d believed that Norah’s children would be his own.
He knew better now.
“Quarrie?”
His mother stood leaning out the door of the hall, striving for his attention. She looked weary and drawn, not having obtained any more sleep last night than he. She it had been who’d helped hold Da down throughout all those long, dark hours.
Dark in far more than the lack of light.
“Son, have ye had breakfast?”
“Nay, no’ yet.”
“Then come away in.”
She would seek to feed him, never mind her own exhaustion.
Always thinking of others, was Ma. He followed her reluctantly into the hall, which lay dim and empty, full of shadows and the scents of countless fires and countless feasts.
Quarrie’s ancestors had been here so long, no one could remember when this chunk of rock had not been theirs.
How dare the accursed Norse try to threaten them from it?
“Sit,” Ma said. “Eat.”
The place she had set, not bothering to light a fire, looked pitifully small in the great room. Quarrie sat, and she settled opposite him. Though he felt hollow inside, the bannock cake she offered did not tempt him.
He rubbed his hands over his face.
“I wanted to talk wi’ ye,” Ma said.
“Aye.” They needed to talk. Rationally, if it were possible to set aside their emotions. Likely not.
He lowered his hands and looked at her. A lovely woman once and still, despite all the trials she had borne. The loss of several babes long ago. The loss of Quarrie’s younger brother, Kyle, in battle two years past. And now—Da.
He did not favor her, his ma. She had honey-gold hair and pale gray eyes. He took after Da, copper brown and hazel. Her pale skin—
Now bloomed purple on one cheek.
“How did ye come by that bruise?” Quarrie caught his breath. “He never struck ye? Da?”
Her eyes met his for an instant and promptly filled with tears. “He did no’ mean to. His arms were flailing. He caught me—”
Quarrie’s remaining interest in his breakfast fled. His da, for all his strength and ferocity in battle, was a gentle man with women and in fact had drummed that lesson into his sons.
We are here to protect our women, always, lads. Especially the women we love.
As he loved ma.
He had not meant to hurt her, nay. He had been off his head last night. That did not make it any better.
“Ma—” Quarrie began, but did not know what to say. He had been there. He should have protected her.
“’Tis all right.” But her lips trembled. “He is sleeping now. I had to gi’ him double the draught the healer left. I hated to do it, but—”
“Aye.” He had begged her, last night, to summon the healer. She had refused to get the elderly man out of his bed till early morning.
“’Tis just that he is in so much pain,” Ma half wept. “It turns his mind.”
It had turned Da into a stranger, a man they barely knew.
“We ha’ increased the strength o’ the draughts to where he is either near senseless, or—like he was last night. The healer says if the draughts cease to work, we will ha’ to restrain him. Quarrie, that will kill yer father.”
It would. Yet they had in fact already restrained him last night with their own limbs, if not by binding.
“I think”—Ma raised her eyes to Quarrie’s—“ye should take over for him. Tak’ the place o’ chief officially, is wha’ I mean. Now, at the beginning o’ the season, in case there is trouble.”
Quarrie’s stomach clenched so violently that he wanted to vomit.
“I ken fine,” she went on in a voice that trembled, “ye are already performing all his duties.”
“Why no’ just carry on that way, then?” he asked hoarsely. Because his taking the title of chief from his da—that was like admitting Da would never get well. That they, as a family and as a clan, would not overcome this horror that beset them.
“Quarrie, I do no’ think your father will grow well.”
It was as if she stole his thoughts from him. He might not look like her, but he and his ma were a lot alike.
She was at her breaking point. Staring into her eyes, he could see that.
He was very nearly at his.
“I think,” she said softly when he did not speak, “the people need this. They need to see ye at the reins.”
“They do see me.” Every day in a hundred ways.
“Aye, so. But they need to see someone standing at their head.” Tears now trickled, unheeded, down her face. “Someone strong.”
“Da is strong.” The evidence of it lay in that bruise on her cheek.
“Aye, he is. He always has been. He gave me two strong sons. ’Tis time for one o’ them to step into his place.”
“Ma—” Quarrie pushed his breakfast away. The wave of nausea that threatened arose and swamped him. “Folk love Da. They will understand.”
“Quarrie, they ha’ barely seen him since winter. They canna follow a man they canna see.” When still Quarrie said nothing, she shook her head. “I suggest ye meet wi’ members o’ the council today. Put the matter to them. See wha’ they say.”
“I can do that.”
“I will attend wi’ ye, if ye like.” She leaned forward and laid her fingers on his arm. “I will urge them strongly to make the right choice.”
There were no right choices, in a world gone wrong.