Page 27

U lfric lay on his back staring into the darkness.

Fiona snuggled at his side, her soft breathing testimony to her contentment.

He had pleasured her until she had begged him to stop and swore she could bear no more.

She had pleaded for him to fuck her, and he was happy enough to grant her wish.

Although she had fallen asleep almost immediately after, he was wakeful, his mind busy as he made his plans.

He had the germ of an idea, a scheme to resolve this dilemma, but it was not without risks. His plan would involve trust, and he was not a man given to placing his faith in any but those closest to him.

Could he? Should he? Were he to carry this through it would be a betrayal of his kin, breaking the deeply held principles he had lived by his entire life.

He would have to lie to all about him, never reveal the truth.

Worse, he would face a lifetime of uncertainty, guilt, and not knowing if things might have been different.

Perhaps, even now, there was something else he might do, some other solution.

No. It was this or… He could not bear to contemplate the alternative.

Brynhild had gone too far this time. Her hatred had exceeded anything he could contain by asserting his authority and he despaired of ever again encountering the sweet, caring woman he remembered.

The sister he knew seemed lost to him now, and she was dangerous.

It was impossible for him to watch her all the time, and because he was elsewhere Fiona had almost died this evening.

Above all he had to ensure his thrall’s safety so this had to stop. Now.

Taking care not to disturb Fiona, Ulfric eased himself from their bed and dressed quickly. He had much to accomplish this night and needed to be about it.

He donned his heavy cloak and picked up a second garment, a spare cloak he kept in a chest by his bed.

Then he pulled on his boots and slipped from the longhouse.

A dog barked, just once, but quieted when she saw who was there.

Otherwise the settlement lay in total silence.

The deep, clinging blackness suggested to him that the dawn was still a couple of hours away, but he had to hurry.

He needed to be done and back in his bed before anyone else stirred.

On swift, noiseless feet he made his way to the edge of his settlement and beyond.

He paused as he neared the longhouse occupied by Dagr, and smiled at the gentle snores that drifted from within.

His slave master was a sound sleeper, a fact that was to Ulfric’s advantage this night.

A couple of hundred yards further he reached the larger, barn-like structure that housed his slaves.

The single door was shut and barred from the outside.

Ulfric paused to listen, but heard only the snuffles and snorts of men asleep.

No voices, no soft footsteps to suggest anyone was awake in there.

His jaw tightened as he lifted the heavy bar, wincing at every scrape of wood against wood, and he inched open the door.

The moon had lent him a meagre amount of illumination to light his path outside, but in here was total darkness.

Ulfric could not tell one man from another, and did not dare light a torch.

None but the one he sought must ever know he was here.

He stiffened and remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

He could make out the separate sleeping forms huddled under their fleeces.

A small fire still glowed in the central hearth, ready to be stirred back into life when the first man awoke.

Minutes passed, and Ulfric peered around. He stepped slowly, carefully, between the prone bodies, stopping to peruse the features of each before moving on.

He found him. Taranc lay on his back, one arm flung across his face but Ulfric had no doubt this was the man he sought. He crouched beside the Celt and laid his palm across his mouth.

Instantly Taranc came awake. He reached for his assailant, grasping Ulfric by the throat and starting to squeeze.

Ulfric loosened his own grip and laid his finger across his mouth to demand silence. “Come with me,” he mouthed. “I need to speak with you.”

Taranc stared up at him, the forest green of the slave’s eyes gleaming in the dim light, but he did not pursue his own attack. The two men glared at each other for several seconds, then Taranc gave a brief nod and started to rise.

Ulfric offered him his hand, and Taranc took it. The Viking beckoned for the thrall to follow, and the pair slipped outside into the frigid night.

“I brought this for you.” Ulfric handed the spare cloak to Taranc. “Come, let us walk.”

They moved in silence toward the headland overlooking the fjord until they reached the spot where Ulfric had witnessed his son fall into the frothing waves—was that really only a little over a week ago?

He paused to regard the water now lapping against the rock face below, then turned to look at Taranc.

“You saved my son.”

“Yes.”

“I should reward you.”

“That is not necessary.”

“I know, so I shall not embarrass either one of us by suggesting it. I do, however, have an offer I wish to make to you.”

“An offer? What offer?”

“I heard what you said to Fiona, about waiting, about watching for an opportunity to regain your freedom. You told her that eventually things change, circumstances alter and that which was previously impossible becomes possible. Was that not the gist of it?”

“Aye, it was along those lines, certainly.”

“I am offering you the change, the possibility.”

Taranc did not respond, merely held his gaze, waiting. Ulfric decided he may as well get straight to the point.

“I will grant you your freedom. Or, more accurately, I will help you to escape.”

Taranc’s eyes widened. The man had evidently not expected this. Ulfric pressed on.

“You spoke of needing a ship to take you back to Scotland, of having no desire to live as a renegade in this land. I will provide such a vessel. You can go home.”

“What about Fiona? She too wishes to return to her home.”

“Fiona is mine, she stays here.” On this Ulfric would brook no argument. He paused, then, “Actually, that is not entirely true. I have granted Fiona her freedom also. She is to be a karl, no longer my property, but she stays with me. You go.”

“Why? If you want rid of me you could simply sell me, or even have me killed. Why this?”

“I do not want rid of you.”

“You want to have Fiona to yourself.”

Ulfric gave a hollow laugh. “I already have her to myself. She cares for you, I know that, but it is different… between us.”

“Do you love her?”

“What?”

“Is my question too difficult, Viking?”

“Of course I do not love her. She is… is…” He shrugged, unable to find words to properly explain the complexity of his feelings for his little Celt.

Taranc smiled, and there was more in his expression than mirth—a knowing, sympathy, and perhaps just a sliver of amusement. “I see. You will have to tell her, eventually, but you need to tell yourself first. You will take care of her? After I am gone?”

“I will, and it is caring for Fiona which drives me to make you this offer. I shall aid you in your escape and make it possible for you to return to your home, but there is one condition.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“You will take my sister with you.”

Taranc chuckled and shook his head. “My apologies, Viking, for I fear I misheard you.”

“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.”

“You are asking me to abduct your sister? Why? Why would you even dream of such a horrendous act?”

“Fiona told you of the enmity which exists between them?”

“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.”

“Sweet Lord,” breathed Taranc. “What happened?”

Ulfric briefly related the events of the evening, and assured the Celt that Fiona was safe, but that he feared for her safety as long as she and Brynhild shared a home. “I have to do something, and this seems like the right solution. I can trust you to take care of my sister.”

“You mean me to take her back with me, to Scotland?”

“I do.”

Taranc shook his head. “She is lovely, that much is true, but after what I have heard, I do not believe I even like your sister let alone wish to spend any time in her company. Have you punished her for this act?”

“No, though I consider banishment from her home will suffice as suitable chastisement.”

“I do not agree. She should be whipped for what she tried to do.”

“Despite all, I love my sister and I am not minded to do her injury however much that might be deserved. If you consider it absolutely necessary, I… I should not object to you administering a hard spanking, though you must not harm her.”

His companion narrowed his eyes. “From what you have told me it is clear that she would have harmed Fiona.”

“Even so, I will have your word on this, Celt.”

“Will you indeed? And there lies another problem. As you have pointed out, I too, am a Celt. Scotland is populated by Celts. Your sister would be desperately unhappy living among us there.”

“She will adjust, because you will help her to come to terms with what has happened.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”