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On the third morning, as they prepared to depart, Stein told her that they would reach Gunnarsholm that afternoon.

"What is it like?" asked Mairead. "Is it a large settlement? Are there many thralls there? Celts such as Donald and I?"

"Not large, no. Perhaps thirty or forty people. Most of the men are here with us, those left behind are women, children, the old. There are slaves, there are always slaves. And yes, some Celts. They work in the fields mostly."

"You are farmers?"

"Yes, and we trade. That is why we raid, to gain goods to sell. Or slaves, since they are also valuable."

Mairead recalled the scene of a few days earlier when Gunnar had bought her son and a cold shiver played along the length of her spine.

Despite her growing sense of security, despite Donald's blooming confidence, it would be so easy for their fortunes to change.

All depended on the whims and favour of one man.

She resolved to speak with Gunnar, ask him exactly what he intended to do with her, with her children.

She no longer really believed he meant her harm, but the uncertainty was stifling her.

However, this was not a conversation she was prepared to conduct through an intermediary.

She rifled through her growing Norse vocabulary and found it still woefully lacking.

Mairead sighed and resolved to learn enough of this new tongue to be able to manage for herself – and quickly.

They crested a hill soon after their midday meal and Gunnar pulled his stallion to a halt. Below them, perhaps two miles distant, lay a small collection of low buildings. The rocky drop to the sea bordered one side and inland the hamlet was ringed by fields of crops.

"Gunnarsholm," announced the dark Viking.

Mairead surveyed the scene in the valley.

The place had its own beauty, though the landscape was both stark and rugged.

The backdrop of mountains, already capped by snow, hinted at a harsh climate and a hard life if she and her little family were to survive here, but she could not find it in her to dislike her first sight of this new home. They could be content, surely...

"It is beautiful, " she murmured, and she meant it.

"Yes," concurred Gunnar, in her tongue. "Yes, beautiful." He nudged his mount back into motion and they started the long descent into Gunnarsholm.

As the warriors approached the village people came running to greet them.

Women, children, dogs and even several chickens seemed delighted at the return of the raiders.

Their arrival was met with much din, shouts of greeting, tears and laughter in equal measure.

Donald remained on the horse as the young Viking he had shared with dismounted and led the animal forward.

He exchanged an affectionate hug with a girl of perhaps fifteen summers, his sister, he informed Mairead with a wide grin.

The other Norsemen seemed equally delighted to be reunited with the women who had kept their longhouses clean and warm for them in their absence.

Mairead realised she was dreading the moment one of these Viking women claimed Gunnar as her own returning hero. She held herself stiffen in the saddle, glancing from one side to the other and eying each female she saw with anxious suspicion.

In all, she counted about ten longhouses, all windowless and constructed of wooden planks with stone footings.

The roofs were thatched, and the doors stood open, she assumed to let in light.

One of the structures was clearly a smithy, another served as a tannery.

The rest, Mairead supposed, would be the dwellings and these must serve both human and animal occupants since there appeared to be no separate sheds to house the varied livestock roaming freely among the longhouses.

Apart from the dogs and poultry there were goats, cattle, a few sheep and pigs.

Clearly the occupants of Gunnarsholm appreciated a varied diet.

Most of the dwellings were perhaps twenty feet in width and thirty or so in length, though the structure in the centre of the settlement was at least twice as long as the rest. Gunnar brought his stallion to a stop before the entrance to the largest longhouse, just as two figures emerged.

A man and a woman, both of middle years and wearing the rough wool clothing which denoted them as thralls.

They both appeared pleased to greet their chief, their features beaming.

Their expressions became more puzzled as they regarded the woman and baby with him.

Gunnar spoke to them in rapid Norse. He tossed the reins to the man and dismounted, then held up his arms in invitation for Mairead to pass the infant to him.

She did so, and he handed Tyra to the woman, then turned to reach up for Mairead herself.

She slipped down into his embrace, staggering a little as she sought to regain her feet after so long in the saddle.

Gunnar chuckled and held her until she was steady, then gestured to the woman to hand the baby back.

Donald had appeared at her side. The boy moved in close, clearly nervous now. So was Mairead, though she refused to allow that to show.

She wondered which of the dwellings would be theirs. Would she and Donald be allowed to live together? It might not matter, this place was small, all the inhabitants lived in close proximity. There appeared to be no separate slave quarters, though she could not really tell.

"Where...?" She paused, searching for the correct words.

Gunnar used his thumb to indicate the entrance to the larger of the houses. Swallowing hard, Mairead followed his direction and stepped inside.

The longhouse was dark, as she had expected, though not gloomy.

The door offered some illumination, and the rest of the available light came from the fire pit running down the centre.

Two rows of stout wooden posts were arranged the entire length of the building to create a central aisle and separate areas nestled beneath the eaves.

The central aisle provided access to the rest, and the portions under the eaves were split into several rooms. These were marked by curtains or rough boarding to offer a degree of privacy.

The furnishings were sparse but sufficient .

.. a long table at one end, benches, raised platforms with blankets, clearly intended for use as beds.

As she had thought, the livestock did share the accommodations, though they were restricted to one area and the rest was kept clean and well aired.

The woman who had come to greet them outside bustled up. Her face still bore an expression of bemused curiosity, but she appeared friendly enough as she smiled at Mairead.

"You must be tired, lass. I shall show ye where to put your things."

"Oh! You are a Scot." Mairead had not anticipated meeting others from her land here, so far from their home.

"Aye, me and Weylin both. I am Aigneis." The woman offered her hand and Mairead took it.

"You live here?" Mairead was trying to make sense of this household and failing so far.

"We do. Me an' my man have the room at the end, there, ye see? An' this'll be yours, for ye and the bairns." The women gestured to an area about midway along the hall, close to the fire pit.

"We are to live here too? In the main house?"

"Ye're here to serve the Jarl , are ye not? Where else would ye live?"

Where else indeed? Mairead peered into the space apparently designated to be her new home.

It was fine enough, she supposed, certainly as good as her cold, cheerless little one-roomed cottage back in Aikrig.

And a whole lot warmer. Already the heat from the fire offered a heady sense of both comfort and security.

"I shall have to find ye some blankets, an' maybe a chair for ye tae be nursing the bairn..."

"That is very kind. Thank you."

"Not at all, not at all. Now you be takin' a seat while I just see to everything. The Jarl will be wanting food, I expect..."

Mairead had no notion what the Jarl might be wanting, but supposed Aigneis would have as good an idea as any since she seemed to keep his house for him.

Was Mairead to be an assistant to Aigneis?

The woman appeared competent enough. And Donald?

What would be his role here? Mairead's head swirled with questions as she sank onto the bench beside the table.

"May I go outside?" Donald had apparently overcome his initial nervousness and was eager to explore. There had been children as they rode into the village, several of them. But they were Vikings, not captive Celts. Not playmates for her son.

Mairead tugged him down to sit beside her. "No, not yet. We must remain here until we know what is required of us, what is permitted..."

"But, I want to find Steinn."

"Steinn is with his family. They will have missed him. It is better to stay here."

" But—"

"No." Her reply may have been sharper than she intended.

Donald was not the only one battling his fears, though he appeared to be winning.

And now, she realised, she had a rather more urgent need of her own to worry about.

"Aigneis, "she called. "I wonder, could you direct me to the privy. I find I need..."

"Ah yes, yes of course. And this fine lad can take care of the little mite while ye're gone, I daresay."

Mairead passed Tyra to Donald, with strict instructions not to move from the bench until she returned, then she followed Aigneis from the house.

The privy was a small, fenced stockade at the rear of the longhouse. Aigneis showed her the place, then left her to complete her ablutions in privacy.

Mairead was just rounding the corner of the longhouse on her way back inside when she heard a sound which made her flesh quiver. Surely she was mistaken. That was not?—