Chapter Three
Tormod strode backwards and forwards across the pass. The sun had reached its height some time before. Tormod had not expected Cadell to be on time and had been proven correct.
“The Britons are late,” Bjorn muttered beside him.
Tormod’s fists clenched at the thought he’d been betrayed again. Not that Cadell would live to regret it. Tormod had noted many weaknesses in the man’s defences when they’d visited the fort the day before yesterday—the most unforgivable of which, in Tormod’s opinion, was Cadell’s overconfidence.
Steep hills rose around the loch-side plain at Ffos-y-Lan, making it easily defensible for warriors such as his own.
Eventually, all this land would be theirs, the land and all the riches that lay within them.
This was the westernmost edge of the kingdom of Strath Clut, north of the firth.
Dal Riata lay to the north, and the borders were often contested by the Britons in the south and the Gaels in the north.
Occasionally the Picts invaded from the east, although now there was an ever-strengthening alliance between Pictland and Dal Riata which currently shared a king.
He had as much right to claim it as any of the others, and for as long as he could hold it, then it was rightly his.
The Norse controlled the rivers and seas far more successfully than these Britons had ever done.
Tormod’s men spoke in low voices as they ate freshly caught fish by the fire.
He knew they were aware of their surroundings and watched as carefully as he himself did.
Armed with swords and shields as well as their axes, they were more than a match for the Britons, despite their heavier armour.
The Britons’ heavier chain made it awkward for them to move, never mind fight.
Tormod preferred his more flexible chain over leather, giving him greater freedom of movement.
Rarely did these Britons get close enough for him to need the armour, anyway.
He’d heard the rumours about Cadell’s escape from the attack on Alt Clut two years ago, led by Ivarr the Boneless and Olaf the White.
Cadell and his family had left mere hours before the Norse fleet had sailed up the Clut.
The Britons suspected he’d been in league with the Norsemen.
If it were true, however, he’d yet to find a Norseman who would admit to it.
Most seemed as ignorant as the Britons about what had caused Lord Cadell to leave when he did.
The only explanation seemed to centre around talk of demons, which Tormod was apt to dismiss.
The Britons often blamed anything they didn’t understand on demons when most likely it had been the actions of a coward unwilling to fight and die with his people.
The looks exchanged between Cadell and his wife still nagged at him, though. Was there something wrong with the girl? Surely, after everything that had happened here, Cadell would not be foolish enough to risk his wrath. The man had few allies to support him in a fight against the Norse.
“Jarl Tormod!” A young lad came running from further up the pass. “Cadell’s men approach. Ten carts carrying the tools and grains agreed upon. There are many guards with them.”
“Very well,” said Tormod. “Most of our men should remain hidden while we greet our guests. Attack if there is any sign of treachery.”
“Yes, herre.”
“My bride…?” Tormod stopped himself from asking what she looked like. Her appearance was irrelevant. Provided she was capable of bearing him strong, healthy sons, he cared not whether Cadell thought he was cheating him in any other way.
“She is in the first of the carts,” the boy replied. “With a holy man.”
Tormod dismissed the boy, who ran off to spread the word.
Less than half an hour later, the procession of carts trundled into the pass.
“Lord Cadell?” Tormod called to the group.
“Lord Cadell sends his deepest regrets.” A tall man, whom Tormod recognised as Cadell’s steward, rode towards them. “I am his steward, Rhydderch—Lord Cadell has sent me in his stead.”
When Tormod didn’t react, Rhydderch halted his horse and inclined his head towards Tormod in a show of some respect, although Tormod suspected it was not heartfelt.
“I bring everything that was agreed,” Rhydderch assured him. “Lord Cadell’s presence was not promised in the agreement.”
“Bring forward my bride,” Tormod demanded, signalling to his men to check the items in the carts.
“Lady Aoife!” Rhydderch called.
Tormod saw a figure in a pale dress stand up.
She climbed down from a cart, followed by a man dressed in dark robes.
One of the Christian priests, no doubt sent to marry them.
He waited, forcing them to come to him, noticing the priest didn’t touch or help the girl, even though she was clearly exhausted and frightened.
Had they travelled all night without allowing her to rest?
She was dressed all in white, her hair covered by a veil.
She looked like one of the Christian God’s followers.
Weren’t those women forbidden from marrying and kept from men all their lives?
Was this the joke Cadell and Lady Ula had shared?
Tormod couldn’t quite work out at whose expense the joke had been played.
An untouched woman, kept from other men, was not a disadvantage as far as he was concerned.
Although, he had heard rumours that sometimes women were sent to the church as a result of their indiscretions.
He would need to ensure she was not going to lumber him with another man’s child.
He needed an heir — his own son, this time — and if he found this to be the case, he would return her to her father.
At any rate, his worries about his bride having some kind of affliction were at least appeased.
When he got close enough to see her face, he smiled.
Despite her pallor and the slenderness of her figure, she seemed hale and whole.
Her eyes were a strange shade of blue and a few wisps of red hair curled around the sides of her face.
She was pretty. He would grant her that—maybe not beautiful, but certainly not the hideous troll he had begun to imagine.
When her gaze came to rest on him, her eyes widened and she drew in a sharp breath, then it slid to the ground.
Her hands trembled, and he fought an urge to reassure her.
He would show no weakness in front of Cadell’s men.
Besides, he had made a terrible mistake before, when he had allowed his feelings for a woman to cloud his judgment.
He had sworn to himself he would not do that again.
“My lord.” The priest gestured for Tormod to move forward, which he did.
Tormod stretched one hand out towards the girl, but she merely stared at him.
Then, at a word from the priest, she let him take her hands and lift them to his lips.
Her hands were cold, and she was shivering.
He waited for her to meet his gaze. When she did, he saw fear in her eyes.
He smiled at her. Her fear would soon pass when she came to understand the status and riches he was offering her.
Keeping his gaze on hers, he kissed her fingers. “I am Tormod, jarl of the Norse settlers here. I am pleased to welcome you as my bride.” When she smiled shyly at him and nodded, he turned to the priest. “We are ready.”
The priest hurried through what seemed to pass for a marriage ceremony, then scurried back to where his cart stood and took up his seat again.
“Everything is there, herre,” one of his men reported.
“Very well,” said Tormod. “Send our carters forward.”
Within a few minutes, Tormod’s carters were seated in all but the first of the carts. The holy man was seated in that one and it had turned to face back towards Cadell’s lands, ready to return.
Rhydderch nodded at Tormod, then all the Britons turned and left, the holy man’s cart trundling along behind the mounted guards, the remaining carters walking at the rear.
No one even spared a backward glance at the girl.
Was no one here concerned for her well-being?
His sense of distrust returned. Was she really Lord Cadell’s daughter?
He examined her while her gaze remained fixed on the disappearing carts.
Yes, he thought so. The set of her jaw and the line of her nose were certainly similar enough, although her eyes…
her eyes were unlike any he’d seen before.
He squeezed her hands. She turned to him, appearing no less frightened than she’d been a moment ago, and her steps were hesitant as he led her across to his own cart.
He lifted her into it, ignoring her look of surprise, and settled himself beside her.
“We will be home soon,” he promised her. “And there will be a proper wedding tonight. You may rest beforehand.”
He had meant the comment to cheer her; instead, it made her recoil from him.
At least it seemed likely she was a virgin, nervous about what would happen after the wedding.
Unless… And now he let his own fears colour his thinking.
Was she already planning to betray him? No, that was unfair.
Not all women were as treacherous as his first wife, and this time he would be watching for signs of deception.
His traitorous heart would not hide the truth from him again.