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“He had no business leaving you unattended in order that he might dally with some wench. He should have stayed. He knew that and I suspect his disappearance by the following morning has much to do with him knowing full well that he had disobeyed me and would be punished. Add to that my brother’s wrath…

Harald would not have wished to face either of us to explain his part in that night’s events. ”

“You did not instruct Harald to stay. I would have heard that.”

“I did, but not in your hearing. Harald knew, and I knew, but I could not prove it. I still cannot, but I swear that it is true.”

Fiona regarded the Viking woman with lingering suspicion, though she could see that Brynhild’s version was at least possible. “Why should I believe you now?”

“Why should you not? I would not lie about this. You know that Njal was ill, events could have been as I say.”

Fiona nodded slowly, though she remained far from convinced. “Very well. Let us leave it at that then.”

“No. You must tell Ulfric.”

“Ulfric knows?—”

“Did you confirm to him that my nephew was ill that night?”

“I am not sure. Yes… perhaps.”

“You did not. You could not have, as he does not know of that.”

Fiona tried to remember, but after a year her own recollection of the hours following her ordeal was hazy. She had been bathed, then wrapped up in furs. She had slept…

Perhaps she had not mentioned every detail, and had had no cause to do so in the weeks and months since. Brynhild mysteriously disappeared and Ulfric had been reluctant to discuss the matter. Fiona considered it closed, over and done.

“You saw,” insisted Brynhild. “You know, as did Hilla, and Harald. Harald is gone, and in any case, my brother might not accept the word of a thrall.”

“Njal could?—”

“Njal is but a child, he barely remembers last week let alone the events of over a year ago. And my brother knows my nephew loves me and the lad would say what was needed to aid me. Hilla too, perhaps. But you… you have no cause to back me up apart from that it is the truth. Ulfric will not question it if you say it is so.”

Fiona remained silent for several moments as she considered Brynhild’s words. She could not fault the other woman’s logic, and there was no doubt that Brynhild was telling the truth about Njal’s illness. If that was so, then perhaps the rest…

“Very well, I shall tell Ulfric what I remember of that night. All of it. He may still not?—”

“No, but it will be a start. The truth is important, there can be no reconciliation without it.” The woman got to her feet, her baby now fretting in her arms. “Thank you. My son is hungry so I must attend to him. Shall I send your maid to you? I could explain to her how to prepare a chamomile tea which might settle your discomfort.”

“That would be very welcome,” murmured Fiona. “I believe I may remain here for a little while.”

Brynhild paused at the door. Fiona reclined on the bed, her eyes closed as another wave of nausea swept over her but she managed a wan smile for her old enemy. If reconciliation might be in the air, she would do what she could to nurture it.

“We are sisters now,” announced Brynhild. “Perhaps, in time, we might be friends.”

“Perhaps,” murmured Fiona to the door as it closed behind her old adversary, “in time. Without doubt, stranger things have happened.”

“Do you believe her?” Ulfric pulled Fiona in closer, tucking her under his arm as she snuggled into his side. They lay together in their bed, in the privacy of their chamber at Pennglas, enjoying a few moments of quiet solitude before rising for the day.

“I was uncertain at first.”

“At first? Not now?”

“Taranc believes her. He would not have wed her otherwise. I trust his judgement.”

“As do I, but?—”

“And I spoke with Hilla. She was there, in the longhouse, that night.”

“Yes, I recall that.” He paused to nuzzle her hair. “And did Hilla have anything of significance to add?”

“She told me that Njal did seem very ill, at least for a while. He did not strike me as particularly unwell whilst I was still in the house so I dismissed Brynhild’s excuses.

Indeed, your sister also made light of it in my hearing, blamed her nephew’s sudden sickness on the honey he had consumed during the day.

When I questioned Hilla yesterday though, after I had spoken with Brynhild, I specifically asked about Njal.

Hilla told me that by the time Brynhild returned your son was vomiting and seemed quite delirious.

Brynhild did not leave his bedside. She was beside herself, weeping and beseeching the goddess Freya to intercede.

She even offered to sacrifice your finest ewe if the boy be spared. ”

“My finest ewe? This does indeed sound more serious. Why was this not explained at the time?”

“It was, my love. Brynhild did claim that she merely forgot to come and release me, that she was preoccupied with Njal and overlooked her other duties. I did not believe her and I told you she was lying. None of us would listen…”

“Njal’s mother, Astrid, died in similar manner. She was struck down by a sudden illness and within hours she was gone. Astrid and Brynhild were close, perhaps she thought she might lose her nephew the same way.”

“That would make sense,” murmured Fiona.

“Fuck,” muttered Ulfric, exhaling a long, low breath. “And I…”

“You did what you believed to be for the best. You were protecting me.”

“If this new account is true, then it is clear that my actions were ill-conceived and disproportionate. I was convinced that Brynhild meant to kill you that night, and I banished her for it. If I was wrong, then no wonder she hates me.”

“I do not believe she hates you, not any more. And your sister’s actions toward me were ill-conceived and disproportionate from the outset, so she must bear some of the blame.”

“What a fucking mess,” he groaned.

“Yes, but perhaps not beyond retrieval. Your sister spoke to me of reconciliation, of wanting you to know the truth. I believe she wishes to make amends. She offered me tea, to settle my stomach…”

“Tea? It will take more than tea to set this shambles to rights. My sister needed my help, my understanding, and instead I?—”

“You did help her. She is happy now, with Taranc. She has moved on from the loss of her betrothed, has a new life, a child.”

“That was what I hoped for, but I did not really believe it would be so. My main concern was always for you, not her.”

Fiona shoved herself up onto her elbow in order to better see his face.

She assumed her sternest expression, modelled on one she saw often enough on her husband’s features.

“It is time to stop raking over the past. We have said over and over that Brynhild should move on and let the past go. Now, we should too. No more apologising, no more blaming.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, not entirely convinced. “It will not be easy, so much has happened…”

Fiona set her mouth in a determined expression, her chin tilted up as she took charge of the matter. “I shall invite Brynhild to eat with us. And Taranc too, of course, and Morvyn. My father will enjoy the company. So will Njal.”

“A meal? And tea? Will such things really settle our differences?” He shook his head in apparent disbelief. “You women are all the same, Celt or Viking.”

“Perhaps we are. And if so, that is where we should start. And this will not merely be a meal. We shall have a feast to celebrate our new understanding. We will start over. Tomorrow, I think. We shall have cod, salted pork, and perhaps some fine mutton. Might you and your men be able to take down a hind for us, do you think? A haunch of fresh venison would be most welcome…”