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" M y apologies, Viking, for I fear I misheard you." Taranc turned his head to regard the Jarl at his side. Ulfric's profile was stark against the inky blackness of the night, illuminated only by thin slivers of moonlight which penetrated the lowering cloud.

The Viking did not move, simply continued to stare ahead into the darkness. When he spoke, his tone was harsh. "You did not mishear, but I shall repeat it anyway. I will help you to regain your freedom, on condition that when you leave here you take Brynhild with you."

Taranc could only gape at the other man. He had not known what to expect when the Viking had come to the slave barn in the dead of night, woken Taranc and bade him come outside to talk, but it was not this. Nothing remotely like this.

"You are asking me to abduct your sister? Why? Why would you even dream of such a horrendous act?" The whole thing was beyond Taranc's comprehension. Even for a Viking such an act was unthinkable, surely.

Ulfric drew his hand across his brow and for the first time Taranc noted how weary the other man appeared, and how care- worn. He turned to regard Taranc. "Fiona told you of the enmity between them?"

"Between your sister and Fiona? Yes, but?—"

"Tonight, Brynhild tried to murder Fiona. It was only by sheer good fortune that I arrived home in time to prevent it. She survived, but next time, we may not be so lucky."

Taranc was stunned. "Sweet Lord. What happened?"

"I was away from Skarthveit, not expected back for two nights. Brynhild had Fiona locked into the stocks and would have left her outside the entire night had I not returned earlier than I had intended. Fiona would have frozen to death, very nearly did."

"Are you quite certain? Perhaps there was some mistake, some misunderstanding...?" Even as he uttered the words Taranc harboured no real doubt that Ulfric had the right of it. The Viking was not given to hasty conclusions.

Ulfric shook his head. "I know what I saw, and I have heard Fiona's telling of it. Of course Brynhild denies intending any real harm, but I no longer trust her word. I have to do something, and this seems like the right solution. I can trust you to take care of my sister."

Could he? Taranc was not so sure. Rage boiled within him at the injury almost done to the woman he cared about.

And if Ulfric had the right of it, this cast an entirely different light on his decision to leave Fiona here with her Nordic captor when he made his own escape.

He could not abandon her to the ruthless mercy of Brynhild Freysson.

His tone was bitter as he responded. "After what I have heard, I do not believe I even like your sister let alone wish to spend any time in her company."

Ulfric was not to be deterred. "Brynhild cannot continue as she is.

She is tearing herself apart." The Viking turned his haggard gaze upon Taranc.

"Despite her vicious words and deeds, I know that at heart my sister is deeply unhappy, and very lonely.

She blames the Celts for all that is amiss in her life, and has lost any sense of perspective she might have once possessed.

She needs to be forced to think again, and I need to act before this ends in tragedy.

One of them must leave, and I will not let it be Fiona.

So, will you do this? For Fiona, if not for me? "

Taranc leaned forward to study the grass beneath his feet. He could not see how this might end well. It was all too ... complicated.

"Your sister will despise you for betraying her. She will hate me."

Ulfric nodded. "At first, perhaps. But you must understand that I do not wish her harm and I will require you to offer her your protection, whatever happens."

"She will not come quietly. I would have to subdue her." Even as he uttered the words Taranc could not quite believe that he was contemplating this. Was he actually going to agree to this mad scheme?

"You will do what is necessary to ensure her compliance, but you will not injure her. I must have your word on this."

"You would trust my word? The promise of a Celt? A slave?"

"I once offered you my word and told you that you may rely upon it. I did not let you down, and I know that you will not let me down. So, do we have an agreement?"

Taranc met Ulfric's gaze, considering the options which faced him. He made up his mind. "Very well, Viking. For the sake of Fiona's safety, I will do this thing." He offered his hand and Ulfric took it.

The Viking got to his feet. "I shall do all in my power to aid you. You will require a horse, and provisions. Warm clothing, and a ship to take you back to Scotland. I assume that is where you will go?"

Taranc shrugged, though in truth there was nowhere else he might consider. Aikrig was his home, and now he had the means, probably, to return there. However, if he was to do this, it would be on his terms.

"Where I go once I leave here is my concern."

"But—"

Taranc put up a hand. " My concern, Viking. I will take your sister with me, but I will decide when, and where we go."

Slowly Ulfric bowed his head, and Taranc had the grace to pity the man. This was tearing the Viking apart. "Very well, and thank you. Now, let us return to our beds before either of us is missed. I shall tell you on the way back just how I plan to aid you in this endeavour."

Two nights later Taranc lay on his straw pallet staring into the dark.

The soft snores of the other thralls surrounded him like a warm, familiar blanket.

This was the last time he would lay here, listening to the sounds of a Nordic night in the thrall barn.

He had eaten his final supper cooked over the slaves' fire pit, hauled his last rock across the beach at Skarthveit.

It was to be tonight, he had determined.

He had not spoken again with Ulfric, but had no doubt that the Jarl would make good on all his promises.

Supplies would be stowed in the place they had agreed, a mount would be waiting, hooves suitably muffled to reduce the risk of discovery.

They had agreed that he would make his way with all haste to Hafrsfjord where a fishing vessel, the master well paid by Ulfric, awaited to convey him and his Viking captive over the sea.

The plan was not without risk, but it could work.

It would work. It had to. Only Lady Brynhild stood between him and his freedom. She would need to be managed with care, and ruthless efficiency. Taranc could lay claim to both. He would not fail.

He rose from his pallet in silence and made his way to the door.

A deft flick of the hinge lifted the heavy wood from the door surround and Taranc was able to slip through the gap between the door and the wall.

He paused to replace the hinge in its socket.

There was no point in advertising to Dagr how his departure had been effected.

Then he crouched low to sprint across the meadow in the direction of the village.

"You should go to bed now, Hilla. It is late."

"Aye, lady, but I have not yet secured the poultry. There is a fox about, and?—"

Brynhild smiled at the lass. "You have been working since first light. Go get some sleep and I shall see to the chickens when I check on the rest of our livestock."

Locking up their animals at night had been Harald's job but it now fell to Brynhild, one of her many duties in her brother's longhouse. She did not mind, it was best to be busy, to be needed.

Her glance strayed to Njal, already fast asleep in his little bed by the fire pit.

The small boy kept her busier than the rest of her responsibilities combined but she had no complaints.

She was just relieved that he was well again, and showed no lingering ill effects from his indisposition of a few days previously.

A low chuckle reached her from behind the curtain which separated Ulfric's chamber.

It was followed by a breathy sigh, then a little squeal.

She gritted her teeth. She had resolved not to rise to the bait, but it was not easy.

She might manage to curtail her dislike of her brother's bed-thrall, indeed, she was determined to do so since she had no option but to accept that the Celt was here to stay, but she would never warm to the wench.

Brynhild set aside the hank of wool she had been combing and reached for her cloak. The night was chilly, the sooner she could ensure that all was secure and their animals settled for the night, the better. She hugged the thick woollen garment to her chest and stepped outside.

The chickens were as stupidly uncooperative as usual but Brynhild managed to usher them into the small crate which offered them protection during the hours of darkness and dropped the lid.

That accomplished, she made her way to the pen where their three goats and two kids bleated softly at her approach.

Until yesterday there had been four fine goats, but one was owed to Freya and Brynhild knew better than to renege on such a deal.

She checked that the gate was fastened securely and paused to lean on the low fencing to admire the young animals.

She was proud of her goats, and the fine milk they provided, not to mention the good eating her family would enjoy in a few months’ time.

Now for the heifer?—

She never heard the approach of her assailant.

Brynhild was stunned momentarily when a hand snaked across her mouth and she was seized from behind.

The man was strong, lifted her easily from her feet to swing her away from the longhouse.

Brynhild was not a slight woman, and after the initial shock she fought like one possessed.

Her attacker was powerful, and within moments he had rammed a rag into her mouth and secured it with another tied around her face.

Then he dragged a sack of some description over her head and Brynhild really started to panic.

She could not breathe, was sure he meant to suffocate her.