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" J arl, there are dragon ships already on the beach."

Gunnar strode to the prow of the longship to stand beside Steinn, the lookout. "You are right." He shielded his eyes with his hand. "Odin's teeth, I believe they are my brother's"

"Aye, looks like it," agreed the young Viking. "We are in the right place, then."

Gunnar growled his agreement, already contemplating the coming confrontation with Ulfric. This would not be pretty.

"Set a course to come up on the beach close by, but ensure we have water enough to launch again in a hurry if we need to.

And make plenty of noise. We want them to know we are coming this time.

" Whether the impending encounter was to be with his brother, or the Celtic chief, Taranc, or even both, Gunnar would much prefer to get it over with early.

And it would not hurt to have his dragon ship at his back and a ready means of escape.

Mairead stood beside him as the bow of the longship scraped over sand and the vessel juddered to a halt.

They had already agreed that Tyra was to remain on the longship with Weylin, who had requested leave to accompany their expedition.

Gunnar was the first to leap over the side into the shallows.

He turned and held up his arms for Mairead, and managed to keep her out of the frothing waves and deposit her on the damp sand.

"Welcome home, my sweet. Now, let us see what sort of reception awaits." He took her hand and together they advanced up the beach, their men thronging at their back.

They had not taken many paces forward before a lone figure emerged from the shadow of the trees ringing the cove.

A familiar, tall, lean silhouette clad in Viking tunic and leggings and a heavy cloak of blue wool confronted them from the top of the rise, blond hair flowing loose about his shoulders.

His eyes were a deep and compelling blue, wary and alert.

He looked every inch the conquering hero, ready to defend his land to his last breath.

Gunnar signalled to all in his party to halt, then continued on alone. He confronted his brother and the two circled each other cautiously.

"Ulfric? You look well."

"You too, brother. I see you managed not to sink my dragon ship. I am relieved, though it would have been courteous to have sought my permission before taking it."

"Just as you showed me the courtesy of seeking my opinion before you banished our sister to fend for herself among our enemies?"

"Ah, yes. About that..."

"Do you really want to know what I think about that?"

"I believe I can hazard a guess."

"Do not trouble yourself. Let me make the matter plain."

Gunnar was reasonably certain his brother never saw the punch coming.

His fist connected with his brother's jaw, there was a sickening crunch and Ulfric staggered back.

The man did not fall, though, damn him. He did not even crumple to his knees, unconscious, as any decent adversary should.

Instead, Ulfric shook his head, his wild, golden mane shimmering in the breeze, and he flew at Gunnar like a man possessed.

Even though he had initiated the attack, Gunnar was taken by surprise at the ferocity of Ulfric's response.

The pair rolled along the sandy ground, each doing his utmost to deliver kicks, punches, blows to the head and body.

Gunnar took a particularly vicious punch in his kidneys, and another just missed his balls. His brother always did fight dirty.

He managed to retaliate with a decent upper cut to Ulfric's temple, then tried to bring his knee up in his brother's groin. He was dimly aware of Mairead's voice as she exhorted them to stop, to not hurt each other, to talk about this.

He might talk later. For now, he would settle for killing his brother, or at the very least beating the faithless bastard senseless.

Gunnar had the upper hand, at last. He rolled on top of Ulfric and managed to deliver a couple more punches to that chiselled jaw.

He chose to ignore the several punishing blows he had already taken and the very real probability that he had lost a least a couple of teeth and his jaw might be broken.

He raised his fist to complete the job, then roared in shocked fury as a torrent of icy water caught him full in the face.

Gunnar barely had time to gasp in a startled breath and turn his head when another onslaught hit him.

The freezing water this time doused his hair and shoulders.

He could see his brother had fared no better and was also gasping and wheezing like a beached eel, his pale hair plastered against his scalp.

"Get up, the pair of you. Do you never learn? Grown men, brothers, brawling in the sand like a pair of rabid dogs."

Gunnar turned his head in the direction of the angry, female tone. It was a voice he remembered well.

"Ah, Brynhild. I was hoping to run into you."

"Were you? Well now you have, and you can at least do me the honour of standing to greet me properly."

Gunnar eased himself painfully to his feet. He had forgotten how vicious Ulfric could be in a fight and he now hugged his ribs gingerly. Mairead appeared at his side, solicitous as ever.

"Are you hurt? I can prepare a poultice for you if you like. And for you too, of course, Ulfric."

"Thank you, little sister, that would be most welcome.

" Ulfric had also clambered to his feet and now had the audacity to greet Gunnar's wife with a lopsided smile.

"May I bid you welcome to our new home. I had not expected you to join us quite so soon, but it is good to see you.

Was it really necessary to bring him, though? "

Gunnar had no time to form the required pithy retort.

"Shut up, the pair of you. Come with me." Brynhild glared from Gunnar to Ulfric, offered a brief nod to Mairead, then turned and made her way up the beach. She disappeared into the trees, and the battered Freysson brothers had no option but to follow in her wake.

"Where are we going?" whispered Mairead as they passed the entrance to the track leading down to Aikrig.

"Pennglas. The manor house," clarified Ulfric. "Fiona is there, and her father. And Taranc."

Gunnar clenched his jaw but said nothing. He looked forward to at last meeting the infamous Taranc.

"The village is about a mile inland. I daresay you remember the route, brother."

"Well enough," agreed Gunnar. Mairead slipped her hand into his and he gripped it hard. He was glad, despite all his protestations, that she was here.

The rest of the walk up to Pennglas was completed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and memories.

The remaining Vikings who had accompanied Gunnar trailed behind them, though no one unsheathed their swords.

Gunnar had issued strict instructions, at Mairead's urging, that there must be no bloodshed if that could be helped.

He supposed bloodying his brother's nose did not count.

Brynhild remained in view as they made their way through the thick woodland, then across the clearing where the village lay.

Gunnar studied her and had to admit she looked well enough.

She was still the tall, slender, stunningly beautiful woman he remembered, though she appeared different somehow.

There was a more knowing air about her, and a hint of maturity which he now realised had been lacking.

Her experiences over the last year or so had changed her, whether for the better remained to be established.

Pennglas was much as he remembered it, a cluster of dwellings, mostly constructed of stone and wood with thatch roofs, and each cottage surrounded by pens for livestock. It was not unlike a Viking homestead, apart from the rough manor house which dominated the village.

Gunnar remembered this place well, and in particular he recalled the hotheaded youth who had rushed headlong from the doors of the manor house on that fateful day which seemed so long ago now.

The young man had bellowed battle cries as he rushed to meet the invading Vikings armed with just a shovel.

Gunnar had found himself with little option but to stop him and had slain the lad on the steps of his home while an older man, presumably the lad's father, looked on.

With a sinking feeling, Gunnar began to appreciate that the coming encounter would be even more difficult than he had expected.

It was not as though the old man might not recognise him. He was distinctive enough.

"Fuck," he muttered. Why could things never be simple?

Brynhild led them right up to the manor house. She paused at the foot of the imposing stars leading to the main door and turned to face both her brothers.

"I trust you can manage to behave with a degree of respect whilst you are guests in another's home? Lord Dughall has always been most kind to me and I would not have him upset. He has not been well, of late."

Gunnar narrowed his eyes. He could not imagine the old man's health benefiting greatly from a visit by the man who he had witnessed killing his son, but there seemed to be no way of avoiding the confrontation.

"I daresay we shall manage," was the best he could offer and he gestured to his sister to lead the way in.

The entrance led straight into the main hall, lit by just one window.

The only other illumination was provided by the fire in the huge grate at one end of the structure, and torches fastened to the walls.

At first sight it appeared to be the home of a prosperous man, one who enjoyed his comforts if the padded settle and benches were anything to go by.

A large table was situated at the end of the room close to the fire, and another at right angles to it covered most of the length of the hall.

An elderly man sat in the centre of the high table, Fiona beside him on his right. Njal occupied the seat next to her. The boy leapt up as soon as he spotted Gunnar and ran to greet him.