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Ulfric shrugged. “I am not completely sure of anything, but I do know this. Brynhild cannot continue as she is. She is tearing herself apart. Despite her vicious words and deeds I know that at heart she 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. I believe that she needs to be forced to think again, and I need to act before this ends in tragedy. One of them has to leave, and I will not let it be Fiona. So, will you do this? For Fiona, if not for me?”

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

“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.”

Ulfric heaved a relieved sigh. The man would do it. He was already planning how it might be accomplished; was that not tantamount to agreement? “You will do what is necessary to ensure her compliance, but I repeat, 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 his gaze, his emerald eyes steady, considering. He put out his hand. “Very well, Viking. For the sake of Fiona’s safety, and because I know that you are the right man for her even if neither of you yet recognises that fact for yourselves, I will do this thing.”

Ulfric took his hand and shook it. “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.”

Three days later, Ulfric took his place at the long table to break his fast. The dagmal , or day meal was always taken an hour or so after rising and was one of the main meals of the day.

Fiona seemed to be in fine humour as she placed a cup of mead beside him, along with a bowl of leftover stew from the previous evening.

A night of mutually satisfying bed sport did wonders for her disposition, he reflected.

He must continue to work on that. To his left, Njal was making short work of a dish of porridge with dried fruits, and Fiona went to help herself to a bowl also.

Brynhild had declared her intention to leave at first light to gather winter garlic from the meadow so would no doubt take her dagmal later.

The servants had already eaten, with the exception of Harald who had not been seen since the incident with the stocks.

He had fled, no doubt fearing Ulfric’s wrath at his part in the affair.

The man was wise to make himself scarce. Harald had known well enough his master’s wishes on the matter and Ulfric would not let such insubordination go unpunished.

Brynhild had apologised to him for her part in what she seemed to consider a trivial misunderstanding.

She claimed that she had intended for Harald to bring Fiona indoors after a few minutes, but he had failed to do so.

She had been preoccupied with Njal who was unwell, so had not thought to check until at least a couple of hours had passed, and by then Ulfric had returned and had already released the girl.

Ulfric listened to his sister’s account but did not believe a word of it.

Apart from anything, his son was in his customary rude good health.

He saw no point, though, in pursuing the matter further with Brynhild.

The time for reasoning with her was now long past and his path was set as far as she was concerned.

He had left the timing of the plan for Taranc to determine, but had privately hoped to have seen it executed before now. Maybe he needed to speak with the man again…

“ Jarl , you must come at once.” Dgar burst through the door of the longhouse, out of breath, his face red from running. “A slave is missing.”

Ulfric stood and reached for his cloak. “Missing? Do you mean escaped? Which one?” He knew the answer to that already, but for appearances’ sake…

“Taranc, the Celt. The tall one, brown hair…”

“Yes, yes, I know the man.” He was aware of Fiona’s horrified gasp behind him. “What steps have you taken to find him?”

“I have sent men to check along the coast, and?—”

“That will be futile. He is no sailor, and has no access to a ship. The man will head inland in search of food and a place to shelter. Send the hunting party east.”

“Into the mountains?”

“That would be my guess. Do it. Now.”

“Ulfric, please… what will happen to him?” Fiona wrung her hands, her features ashen. “Please, do not hurt him.”

He offered her a wry smile. “I would have to catch him first.”

Of course, the searches achieved nothing.

Not a trace was discovered, either inland or along the coastal route.

Taranc was gone, and Ulfric took what he hoped would pass for a philosophical view of the matter.

He had to work rather harder at seeming suitably distraught when his sister failed to return from her foraging trip.

He arranged his features accordingly and dispatched men to search the meadows and surrounding woodland for any trace of her, and even sent to Bjarkesholm seeking news.

None had seen her. The last definite sighting was the previous evening when, as was her habit, Brynhild checked their livestock before retiring to her bed.

When her pallet was empty in the morning no one considered that amiss since she had made her plans known.

Ulfric considered that detail a stroke of good fortune, and not one he could have counted upon.

As it was, he could be reasonably confident that Taranc had several hours’ start on his pursuers, and since the horse Ulfric had left conveniently tethered just out of sight of the track leading to Hafrsfjord was no longer there when he checked, he had to assume Taranc had made use of the mount.

The missing slave could expect to be at the harbour by that afternoon, and embarking on the short voyage across the North Sea by nightfall.

The fisherman, Eiliefr, had driven a hard bargain, but he had eventually agreed a price for the use of his craft and his silence. Ulfric had done all he could for the fugitives, and now their fate lay in the hands of the gods.

“It is a coincidence, is it not, that they both disappeared on the same night. Surely, Taranc will not have…?” Fiona lay in their bed, her features troubled, then she answered her own question. “No, he would never do such a thing. He would not harm a woman, whatever the circumstances.”

“We have no cause to connect the two events,” Ulfric sought to reassure her. The last thing he needed was for such speculation to spread. “I suspect your Celtic friend to be long gone, but Brynhild might yet be found safe and well. We must not abandon hope.”

“No, of course not. I know she was… difficult, but I would not wish her harm. And Njal is heartbroken.”

Yes, his son’s grief was very real and Ulfric regretted the need for it. Njal had adored his aunt and he knew Brynhild loved the little boy dearly. “I hope we shall be able to provide comfort for him through the days and weeks ahead.”

“Of course. I will do all I can to help, you know that.”

Ulfric nodded, grateful for Fiona’s support. Now, somehow, he needed to rebuild his family. And convince himself that his actions really were for the best.