Chapter One #2
‘He should have been a skald, instead of keeping pigs,’ Astrid added. ‘The tales were impressive on our journey over.’
Sigmund shook his head. ‘I’d hoped that his new responsibilities would curb his enthusiasm for such tall tales, but my error.’
‘He was very insistent,’ Svanna said, stuffing the sense of unease back down her throat. ‘Several ships, anchored in the next harbour but one. Why would he make a mistake like that?’
‘It would be a foolish man who tried to attack us, particularly this large gathering of warriors. You worry overmuch, Svanna.’ Sigmund’s eyes crinkled as if he found her insistence amusing.
‘I made my reputation as a warrior long before you were born and I know a thing or three about the men from the North who raid. It would be foolish to attack us with this veritable army of warriors in attendance.’
‘We know which warship the swineherd has made into several,’ Astrid said.
Sigmund suddenly stiffened and cursed under his breath.
‘Have you worked out who it belongs to, Lord Sigmund?’ Svanna asked instead of giving voice to her fears about the vulnerability of the church, or indeed the hall where the celebratory feast was due to take place.
‘Relax and smile, Svanna. Halfr has all under control. Nothing will be allowed to ruin our…his day.’
Astrid and Sigmund exchanged significant looks and squeezed their hands briefly together. Svanna felt as if she was intruding on a special moment. Hope grew in her chest. A marriage between them would give her a legitimate reason to remain on Islay, where she found it easier to be herself.
‘I will go and speak to the servants, Halfr. Gently find out the mood in case the swineherd has spread his tale of gloom to the others,’ Astrid said in a quiet undertone, giving his hand another brief touch. ‘Ensure all is well-guarded in the hall, even if I think it is an unnecessary precaution.’
He nodded, accepting the assessment. ‘And your foster-daughter?’
‘I’ll wait with Lord Sigmund,’ Svanna declared. ‘Our unexpected guests should receive proper hospitality. No one will notice if I am at the church service or not.’
‘You are good, Svanna,’ Astrid murmured and Svanna knew she had said the correct thing.
Astrid always said that peace-weaving was a woman’s business much more than a man’s. Done properly, it prevented wars, but it was not celebrated in the sagas because men liked the thrill of combat instead of the hard slog of diplomacy.
‘Any luck with the shields?’ Svanna asked once Astrid had disappeared up the slope. ‘What have you seen that I have missed? Are they from Dubh-Linn or somewhere further afield? What are you keeping from my foster-mother?’
‘The shields proclaim the ship is aligned with the new high king of all Eire, Máel Sechnaill mac Máele Ruanaid, rather than Dubh-Linn. If he is aware of this gathering, everyone on Eire is.’
‘Surely this Máel Sechnaill mac Máele Ruanaid must think that banding together of the Gaels to stand firm against the Northern raiders is a good idea.’ Svanna stumbled slightly over the pronunciation of the King’s name.
Her Gaelic had improved considerably since she’d arrived, but the complicated names could make her tongue twist.
‘He might, but Máel Sechnaill mac Máele Ruanaid makes Thorfi look straightforward,’ Sigmund said, naming the late King of Agthir. ‘He wants what is best for him and his family, and not for anyone else.’
Svanna tapped a finger against her chin. ‘I doubt the high King will be on board and wanting to pay homage to you. But should that unlikely event occur, then you must be gracious, Lord Sigmund, and not refuse the gesture.’
Sigmund laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You are good for me, Svanna. Simple truths. Yes, like you, I doubt he is on board. Shall we see who he sent instead?’
She smiled back at him. ‘A good plan.’
Less than five breaths later, Lord Sigmund stiffened. ‘I don’t believe it. Of all the Northern warriors.’
‘What?’
‘Randolfr Fullrson. He now calls himself Lord Randolfr after Máel Sechnaill bestowed various large estates on him.’ Lord Sigmund pointed to a tall man standing on the prow of the ship.
The wind blew the tousled curls of his golden hair from the man’s face, revealing a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, the relic of some long-ago battle, but one which distorted his mouth and left eye.
As he turned his head towards them, she could see that his right side remained unscathed.
The contrast between the two sides, one strikingly handsome and the other ruined, was noticeable even at this distance.
Silently she prayed to the Norns that her memory was playing tricks on her and that she’d never encountered him before.
‘Is there anything else I should know about him?’ Svanna managed to choke the words from her throat.
‘Rand the Silver-Tongue, according to my foster-niece Maer when we travelled back from Constantinople together.’ He shrugged. ‘She was quite taken with him on board ship, but the scales fell from her eyes when we arrived at Dubh-Linn and she witnessed his naked ambition.’
‘Maer is happily married to her new husband.’
Sigmund made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. Svanna knew from hints that he had initially been against the match Maer had ended up making, only giving in when he’d realised how much in love she was with the usurper King of Agthir’s son.
‘A small warning: you might’ve encountered Silver-Tongue years ago,’ he said. ‘My foster-niece confided that he and his cousin sought employment in Agthir as sell-swords once but left abruptly, having angered the usurper. Part of her initial attraction to him, in my opinion.’
Svanna’s stomach knotted. She did know the name from over eight years ago. Randolfr, more commonly called Rand, as he’d laughingly introduced himself.
That feast had been full of rowdy behaviour from the younger warriors, something the usurper had appeared to endorse wholeheartedly.
The Queen had retired early with a headache, freeing Svanna to sneak back in, dressed in her nurse’s gown and cloak, taking risks like the true Ingebord once did, instead of behaving like the boring Svanna who often feared her own shadow.
The light banter with Rand had made her tingle all over.
Even now she remembered the laughing brown eyes, golden-brown tight curls framing a face almost too pretty to be a man’s and a chaste kiss shared, before she’d heard several servants calling for Ingebord, wondering if any harm had come to her.
She’d wriggled out of his arms, mumbling an excuse about needing to join in the search.
They’d promised to meet the next evening in the Queen’s herb garden.
She’d barely slept a wink that night, hugging the encounter to her bosom.
Going to the appointed meeting place the next evening, Svanna had discovered a discarded posy of flowers which she knew had not been there before and had carefully tucked it away as a remembrance and a promise.
When she’d casually asked her nurse the next day about why there were empty places at the table, she’d answered with a loud sniff that several had found reasons to travel east, leaving on the early morning tide, and she’d do well to think on that.
A quick check on who had departed in such haste and she’d discovered one was Rand.
Family business, someone had said, tapping their nose as if she should understand.
Unable to resist the lure, she’d returned to the appointed meeting place in Astrid’s private garden to see if Rand had left anything else, even a few scratched runes, explaining why he’d left abruptly and when he expected to return.
However, amongst the flowering herbs, Turgeis, the youngest son of the King’s trusted advisor, had lurked.
He’d attacked her, pawing at her clothing and holding her down.
She’d only escaped with her honour intact thanks to the bravery of her dog Tippi, who had come searching for her, leaping at the man with a fierce growl and taking a chunk out of his arse.
He’d run off, muttering threats to her and Tippi.
When she’d tried to explain the situation to her nurse, who’d appeared in the garden, her nurse exclaimed that a woman who found herself alone only had herself to blame if young warriors took advantage.
After her nurse’s reaction, she’d never dared to fully explain to Astrid what had happened, not even when her shouts from the reoccurring nightmares about the incident had caused Astrid to wake.
Instead, she’d tried to deal with her shame and fear of being alone with any man on her own.
In the first few months, she’d often take the drying posy out from her trunk to remind herself that not all men were like Turgeis and his brothers, and that had given her comfort.
Five years later, when she came across the dried posy, it crumbled at her touch. She knew then she’d been wrong to put any store by it. Her safety came through maintaining her icy demeanour and quashing any flirtation before it truly started.
Several times in the dead of night during her darkest moments, Svanna wondered if somehow she’d been spotted and the usurper had quietly suggested the departure to hasten the handsome warrior Rand on his way, but she’d rapidly dismissed that as unworthy speculation.
It failed to matter now. Rand Fullrson wouldn’t remember her or the incident.
She was a stranger with whom he’d exchanged a few pleasantries once upon a long time ago.
And what would she have done if it had developed beyond that?
But it remained the last evening before she’d understood how quickly her innocence could be taken and how few would care about what happened to her, beyond her usefulness to the Crown.