Epilogue
Amonth later, Aoife stood on the shore, staring across the firth in the last of the evening’s light. She heard her husband behind her. Delicious shivers flitted down her spine as he kissed her neck and ran his hands over her swelling belly.
She leaned against him, content. The king had banished Ula just the week before and she and her daughters had been sent to Car Luel.
Marcant had been sentenced to death for the murder of Cadell, a sentence which was to be carried out upon the arrival of Cadell’s heir.
It seemed that Tormod had been correct. The system of justice adopted by King Rhun did indeed resemble the Norse system and judgment had taken place at Doomster Hill, a large mound of earth on the south side of the river within sight of the palace which was being constructed at Perthawc.
Tormod was content with King Rhun’s ruling of Cadell’s nephew inheriting the land, which was better than any other alternative. He was due to arrive soon.
Aoife worried about seeing her cousin again. She hoped that that distance was at least in part due to Ula’s presence and not the rumours about her involvement at Alt Clut. She hoped that they may one day find common ground.
“This is for you,” Tormod said as he moved her hair away from her neck. She realised he was putting a necklace on her and when she touched it, she smiled. A quick look affirmed her hope.
“Ula gave it back,” she said as she stared down at her amethyst cross.
“Not willingly,” Tormod said. “But I told Rhun that it did not belong to her and he forced her to surrender it.”
“Thank you.” She turned and kissed him. With their arms around each other, they looked down the river.
Above their heads, in the deepening darkness, two ravens flew, watching, waiting.