Page 43

"I am not entirely sure. Your father..." Gunnar knew he must resume the conversation with Dughall before much longer.

"I would not wish my presence here to disrupt your peace.

" He hesitated, then, "It is peaceful, I take it?

Between you two." He had not forgotten where their current predicament originated.

He eyed Fiona and Brynhild with some disquiet.

"Aye, I hope so," his sister murmured. "I have apologised, and explained what happened. I hope we understand each other better now, and we are friends I believe."

Brynhild looked to Fiona, who bowed her head in agreement. "Yes, we are friends."

"No more talk, then, of attempted murder?" Gunnar's tone had hardened. "Of thralls being left in the stocks to freeze to death?"

Brynhild coloured. "That was a mistake, a misunderstanding... I did not intend?—"

"I know that you did not." Fiona took her hand and levelled a calm stare at Gunnar. "It is done with. We will speak of it no more."

Gunnar held her gaze, considering this latest turn of events.

He would have the full story of the incident with the stocks, he promised himself, but not today.

It was sufficient that Fiona and Brynhild seemed at ease together.

Which only left the somewhat awkward question of his new bother-in-law, and of course his brother.

He grimaced. He'd be damned if he was going to apologise to Ulfric this side of Valhalla.

The elder Freysson had a lot to answer for and a pummelling in the sand was no less than he deserved.

"I shall leave you women to become re-acquainted," he announced, with a lop-sided grin.

"I suppose I should return to the hall and let everyone know of your swift recovery, my love.

They will be relieved, I am quite sure. And I expect your husband.

.." he nodded at Brynhild, "and your father.

.." he tipped his head at Fiona, "have much they wish to say to me. "

"You will talk? Not fight?" Mairead bestowed her sternest expression upon him.

"Aye, on this occasion, I shall do as you suggest. It appears to have worked thus far." He dropped a kiss on his wife's forehead and strode to the door.

Only Taranc and Ulfric remained at the table when Gunnar emerged from the solar, each nursing a mug of frothing ale.

Ulfric laughed out loud at some remark of the Celt's.

The rest of the throng of Vikings and villagers had dispersed, and Dughall, too, was nowhere to be seen.

On catching sight of Gunnar, Ulfric stopped laughing and glared at his brother.

Taranc's expression was somewhat warmer.

He reached for a pitcher of ale which stood on the table and poured a third mug.

Gunnar drew in a fortifying breath and stepped toward the table, accepting the Celt's silent invitation to join them. He paused in mid-stride as Donald came hurtling through the outer door and charged down the hall toward him. Gunnar bent to catch the lad as he rushed toward the solar.

"Whoah there. What's the hurry?"

"My mother," panted the boy, eyes glistening. "I heard... I mean, they said she was ill. Is she... is she dead? She is not dead, is she?"

"No!" Gunnar placed his hands on his step-son's narrow shoulders. "Of course not. She is absolutely fine. A minor upset, that is all."

"Oh. I thought... Oh." Donald was clearly fighting back tears.

Gunnar cursed himself. He should have remembered to send word to the lad. Instead he hugged him. "All is well. You can go and see her if you like, or you can go back and find Njal."

Donald did neither. He simply stood, ashen-faced, his shock and fear still evident. Gunnar was reminded of his wedding feast. He had had cause then to offer the lad reassurance and it seemed he must do so again. His jug of ale would have to wait.

"Come with me a moment, Donald." He steered the boy into the alcove by the window and the pair sat on the stone seat inlaid into the thick wall.

Gunnar leaned forward so he could look Donald in the eye.

"I understand why you were worried. I love your mother too and would not wish her ill. We have that in common, you and I."

"Yes, sir," muttered the boy.

"We have much else in common also. Your little sister, we both love her, do we not? And our home across the North Sea? We both love horses too. There is much to bind you and I together, which is how it should be, in a family. Would you not agree?"

"I... I suppose so, yes."

"And soon you will have another brother. Or perhaps a sister."

"A brother," corrected Donald firmly. "It must be a brother."

"I see. We will both love him, also."

"Yes, sir."

"In a family, we take care of each other. Whatever might happen to your mother, you will still be mine. I will take care of you, you may rely on it."

"Because you own me. You b-bought me."

Gunnar smiled at him. "I had a good bargain, that day.

And now you have the means to buy yourself.

" He tugged at the length of leather cord still slung about the boy’s neck.

The medallion, he knew, lay within his tunic, never far from Donald's heart.

"But no, not because of that. The truth is simpler.

It is because I love you. You are as my son, just as you are your mother's son.

As Tyra is mine, and our new baby will be. "

"You are not my father." Donald turned to face him fully.

"No, but I have decided to love you anyway."

"You have?"

"Aye. So, we understand each other?"

"I... I think so."

From the bemused expression on the boy's face Gunnar thought he was far from properly comprehending the significance of this conversation, but it was a start. "Do you want to see your mother now?"

Donald thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. If you say she is well, then I do not need to see. I shall go back to Njal."

"Very well." Gunnar stood. "I will be here, if you need me."

Donald just nodded and took a few steps toward the door.

Suddenly he stopped, turned, and ran back to Gunnar to fling his arms about his waist. No more words were said, none were needed.

As quickly as he had embraced him the lad released his Viking stepfather and ran from the hall without another backward glance.