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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T he Northmen were surprised to see him.

Patrick could tell by the looks on their faces, staring at him in shock as he came through the Water Tower gate, moving towards the collection of Northmen fearlessly. He intended to show them what English courage was made of. A few of them backed away but several stood their ground, watching him suspiciously as he walked steadily towards them.

Patrick knew he gave off an incredibly imposing vision, as tall as he was, and he used that to his advantage. He liked to see the wariness in their eyes as they gazed upon a massive English knight. His focus moved to the monk.

“Where is Magnus?” he asked. “I would speak with him.”

The monk was visibly cowering from him. After a moment, he turned back to a man behind him and spoke to the man in Latin; Patrick recognized it. He’d spent enough time in church and in mass that he could understand the language. Magnus enim qui petit…

He asks for Magnus.

The man the monk had spoken to turned to still other men behind him and began speaking in their language. Men were shaking their head, pointing, clearly in some kind of disagreement. While that was going on, Patrick spoke to the monk once more.

“You,” he said. “Are you from Coldingham?”

The monk nodded. “I am, my lord.”

Patrick’s eyes flicked to the whispering, hissing Northmen standing behind him. “You delivered the missive to Magnus personally?”

“I did, my lord.”

“Did you see the missive Mother Prioress gave you?”

“I saw the missive because I had to translate it for them, my lord.”

Patrick’s gaze was still on the Northmen, making sure someone didn’t do something stupid like try to rush him. They seemed to be very agitated and he was cautious.

“I do not understand why Mother Prioress sent the missive in the first place,” he said. “Did she tell you?”

“She did not, my lord.”

Patrick pondered that for a moment. It seemed that the monk didn’t know much more than what he’d already told him. He took a step closer to the tiny man.

“Is Magnus standing behind you in that group of men?” he asked quietly.

The monk closed his eyes, tightly, as if Patrick had just asked him something horrible. But he nodded sharply, once, and that was it. Patrick didn’t press him further because he could see how terrified the man was, but he needed to get a message across to Magnus. If the man wasn’t going to be brave enough to show himself, then Patrick would just have to tell everyone what he needed to say and hope that Magnus had the courage to step forward. Reaching out, he grasped the monk by the shoulder.

“I have something to say to Magnus and you will translate for me,” he said. “Does Magnus understand Latin?”

The monk was clearly frightened. “Nay, he does not,” he said. Then, he pointed to the group of men who had now noticed that Patrick had pulled the monk away from them. “That man, in the red robes, is a holy man from the land of the Danes. He understands Latin, so I translate into Latin and then he translates it into their language.”

Patrick could see the system they had going, clever if not entirely efficient. “Then you tell that holy man that he is to translate what I say. Do it now.”

The monk spoke in his trembling voice. “Quod est loqui Anglorum Magnus.”

The Englishman must speak to Magnus.

The red-robed holy man looked confused but, prompted by the monk, he relayed the words in their language. That seemed to have everyone’s attention and Patrick didn’t delay. He had a great deal he needed to say and he wasn’t going to waste any time.

“You will tell Magnus this,” he said. “Tell him that the danger his daughter was in was from the mother prioress herself. She plotted to have his daughter murdered and I saved her from that plot. His daughter is in excellent health and she is now my wife. I married her. Tell him that this is my castle and I am an honorable warrior. He needn’t fear for his daughter or her safety.”

The monk’s eyes widened at the shocking information and hesitated to translate, but Patrick squeezed his shoulder with a trencher-sized hand. “Also know that I understand Latin,” he rumbled. “If you do not tell him exactly what I told you, they will have to drag the river for your body. No Northman is going to save you from my wrath.”

The monk went ashen. Turning to the group, he relayed what Patrick had told him, verbatim, and then Patrick could see the reaction on their faces when the holy man in the red robes related it in their language. More hissing and whispering went on when the man in the red robes said something to the monk, who turned to Patrick.

“Magnus says that a woman of God would never do such a thing,” he said. “My lord, I cannot believe it myself. Mother Prioress is beyond reproach.”

Patrick lifted a dark eyebrow. “Did you see the Scots surrounding my castle when you came upriver?”

The monk’s brow furrowed with both thought and confusion. “I heard the men say that there was a battle at the castle,” he said. “They saw something but, alas, I did not.”

Patrick pointed a finger to the Northmen. “Tell them that the men they saw around the castle were Scots from Clan Gordon, led by a man named Richard Gordon. He is the brother of the mother prioress. They had come to take Magnus’ daughter because they wanted to kill her. I believe that is proof enough. Tell them this.”

He snapped the last three words and the monk jumped, relaying that to the red-robed holy man who then, in turn, relayed it to the Northmen. More disbelief, more hissing, but there wasn’t the suspicion in their expressions that there had been before. Suspicion was transforming into something else; Patrick hoped it was understanding. The monk, huddled and trembling and still in Patrick’s grip, shook his head.

“It does not seem possible,” he said. “But… but I did see Richard Gordon at Coldingham before I was sent to deliver the missive to Magnus.”

Now it was Patrick’s turn to be surprised. “You did?” he asked, trying not to show so much astonishment in front of the Northmen. “Was it after Magnus’ daughter had been abducted?”

“Aye, my lord.”

“Do you know why Richard was there?”

“I do not know, my lord, but they came to see the mother prioress.”

“Was that an unusual event? What I mean to ask is if Richard Gordon was a frequent visitor.”

“Not too frequent, my lord. We did not see him often.”

Then it was a visit, in Patrick’s mind, that was not a coincidence and he felt more relief at that moment than he ever thought possible. Richard Gordon’s presence at Coldingham, witnessed by the monk no less, was confirmation of everything he’d been speculating all along, everything that Tommy Orry had told them– Richard Gordon and Mother Prioress were in collusion. In fact, Patrick felt a good deal of validation in that moment.

“Then you have your proof,” he said. “Richard Gordon came to Coldingham to plot with Mother Prioress to kill Magnus’ daughter. Go on and tell them.”

The monk did. From what Patrick could understand, he told the Northmen, in Latin, of his own experience seeing Richard Gordon at Coldingham right before he’d left to deliver the missive to Magnus and that, combined with what Patrick was telling them, seemed to convince them that Patrick wasn’t lying. At least, they weren’t looking at him so guardedly any longer.

Now, there was a basis for an understanding.

But Patrick wasn’t satisfied with this level of communication. Understanding or no, he had come to speak with Magnus and that was what he intended to do. It was time to bring the man out.

His fingers dug into the monk’s shoulder again.

“Tell Magnus that he shows a lack of respect to hide from me behind his men,” he said, knowing full well that he could possibly be stirring a hornet’s nest. “I came to speak to him and that is what I will do. Tell him that I consider his actions cowardly.”

The monk’s eyes widened but he dutifully relayed the message to the holy man, who relayed it to the Northmen. Just as Patrick had hoped, the group became indignant and the hissing was now directed at him. But Patrick stood his ground, bracing his legs apart and folding his enormous arms across his chest. At the moment, he did not regret saying such a thing but that might change if the group charged him. He hoped he was prepared but he wanted to give the illusion that he didn’t much care what they tried to do. He was ready for them.

At least, he hoped so.

Patrick wasn’t really sure how long he stood there. Men were whispering loudly, pointing to him, and arguing with each other. Just when he was certain he’d have to make an even more offensive statement about Magnus’ bravery, a man pushed through the crowd and walked towards him.

Patrick studied the man closely. He was moderately tall, older, with a crown of graying hair and a handsome, if not weathered, face. But the eyes… the moment Patrick looked the man in the face, he recognized those eyes.

Brighton’s eyes.

The man smiled broadly.

“You speak bravely, Engelsk, ” he said. “You understand that I had to judge you first. I had to hear what you were to say to me.”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed in surprise. “You speak my language.”

The man nodded. “I do,” he said, although it was with a heavy Nordic accent. “I learned, years ago, when a young woman came to my village as a hostage for peace. A young woman I loved very much. She taught me her language so that I could communicate with her.”

The flame of recognition burned brightly in Patrick’s mind. “Juliana.”

The man nodded, as if the mere mention of the name was pure music to his ears. “Juliana de la Haye,” he said reverently. “What did you mean when you said the mother prioress meant to murder my daughter?”

Magnus. Even though the man hadn’t formally introduced himself, there was no doubt who Patrick was speaking with and he unfolded his arms to make his body language less hostile.

“Exactly that, my lord,” he said. “Years ago, the mother prioress was raped by a man from Clan Haye. When Juliana brought your daughter to the priory as an infant, the mother prioress plotted with her brother, Richard Gordon, to murder her in vengeance against the Haye when she came of age. They were just carrying out that plan when I rescued your daughter and brought her here to Berwick. I do not know why the mother prioress sent you a missive telling you that your daughter was in danger, but I can assure you that she is not. She is my wife and she is well-loved.”

Magnus’ gaze lingered on Patrick. His eyes were even the same color as Brighton’s. He was actually rather young, younger than Patrick imagined him to be, but he also remembered that Magnus had been a young prince when Brighton had been conceived. Patrick gazed steadily at the man, wondering what was going through his mind about the entire situation.

He was soon to find out.

“I was well aware that Juliana was pregnant with my child those years ago,” he said. “Juliana was sent back to Scotland because of it. It was unfortunate, truly, because I adored her. I was devastated when she was sent home, but before she left we agreed that if our child was a boy, she would name him Eric. If it was a female, she would be named Kristiana.”

Patrick had heard the name Kristiana from Sister Acha. “She has gone by the name Brighton de Favereux all of these years,” he said. “I do not know how she came about with that name, considering she is from Clan Haye, but that is what she has been called. Everyone calls her Bridey.”

Magnus was back to smiling as he listened to the naming of his child. “De Favereux was Juliana’s grandmother’s family name,” he said. “She told me that once. A great Norman family. But Brighton? That I do not know. I am sure whatever the reason, it was to protect my daughter from those who might seek to harm her. I see that in the case of the mother prioress, it did not do enough.”

Patrick shook his head. “It did not,” he agreed. “In fact, I have been ordered by King Henry to arrest the woman for her crimes and bring her to justice in York. I also plan to take an army into Scotland and punish Richard Gordon for his part in the murder scheme. I will not rest until all threats against my wife have been eliminated. If you came here because you were concerned for your daughter’s safety, then I assure you I will do everything possible to ensure she is always safe.”

Magnus simply nodded, his gaze still moving over Patrick as if dissecting the man. It was more than curiosity; it was scrutiny with no end. In fact, Patrick couldn’t feel completely comfortable with the conversation because of the way Magnus was looking at him. He was about to invite Magnus into Berwick to feast simply because it seemed like the thing to do, considering the man was Brighton’s father, when Magnus finally spoke.

“It took the monk from Coldingham weeks to find me but only a few days to sail here,” he said. “I came to take my daughter back to my home. She is a princess, you know.”

“I know.”

“I have even selected a husband for her.”

“But she is already married.”

Magnus shrugged. “I know that now,” he said. “But I did not choose you.”

Patrick was starting to think the conversation was not turning in his favor. It was simply the way Magnus said it– I did not choose you . Something told Patrick that the situation was about to turn sour and he braced himself.

“I realize that, my lord, but considering the circumstances, I did what I had to do,” he said. “My own father did not even give me permission. I married Bridey because I loved her. Being that you loved her mother, I am sure you can understand.”

The warmth was fading from Magnus’ face. “I understand,” he said. “But you must understand that I must have the very best husband for my daughter. I must know that the man she is married to is the best warrior in all the land. As the daughter of a king, that is what she deserves.”

Patrick could see that he was going to have to list his credentials, something he rarely did. But in this case, he did it without hesitation. “My father is William de Wolfe, otherwise known as The Wolfe of the Border. He is Baron Kilham and his lands include Castle Questing, the largest castle on the border,” he said. “I, too, have earned a reputation. I am called Nighthawk for my prowess in battle and I was recently offered the position of Lord Protector to King Henry. With that offer, I was given Penton Castle as well as the title Lord Westdale. I assure you that I am a worthy man, my lord.”

Magnus didn’t reply immediately but Patrick knew he would; he could see the thoughts rolling around in the man’s head, reflected in his glittering eyes.

“Are you willing to prove it?” he asked after a moment.

Patrick didn’t hesitate. “Aye.”

“You will fight for the woman you love?”

“Aye.”

The humor was back in Magnus’ expression. “Good,” he said. “Because you will have to. I brought the man with me that I have selected for my daughter. So if you want to keep her, you will have to kill him. He has been looking forward to marrying her so you have no choice in the matter.”

Now, the situation became quite serious. Patrick hadn’t expected anything like this but he wasn’t about to back down. So Magnus wanted proof of his love for Brighton, did he? He wanted to know if the best man had, indeed, married his daughter? Patrick was more than willing to prove it, to do what he had to do in order to show Magnus, and the world, that he loved Brighton enough to fight for her. He would kill any threat against her and any man who wanted to marry her.

Aye, he was more than willing. And the more he thought about it, the more furious he became. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Magnus.

“Then bring the victim to me,” he hissed. “I will show you what an English knight can do. And I will show you that I am the best man for your daughter.”

Magnus’ smile broadened. He rather liked the massive knight with the limitless confidence. But the knight was going to have a fight on his hands; as big as he was, Magnus hoped the Englishman had enough strength to live through what he was about to face.

Magnus took a few steps towards the men still gathered behind him, saying something to them in their language. Based on the orders Magnus had evidently relayed, a few men ran for the first longship, the one that seemed to be the biggest, and a couple of them disappeared down into the lower deck.

Patrick, meanwhile, stormed back over to the Water Tower where his father and Paris and Kieran were now looking down at him from the top of the tower. When they saw Patrick heading in their direction, they ran down the steps to the locked gates below, waiting impatiently for Patrick to unlock them both. When Patrick finally opened the second gate, the older knights pushed through and surrounded him.

“What happened?” William demanded.

Patrick could see the fear in his father’s eyes. “The man I was speaking with was Magnus,” he said. “I explained the situation to him. We spoke of Bridey and of her mother, Juliana.”

It sounded harmless enough and William breathed a sigh of relief. “Was that all?”

Patrick shook his head. “That is not all,” he said. “Although Magnus seems like a reasonable man, he did not realize his daughter was married and I completely understand that. However, not knowing she was married, he brought a man along with him to be her husband. His plan was to take Bridey back to his kingdom.”

A look of concern spread across the older knights. “But he knows you have married her?” Paris asked.

“He knows.”

“And what did he say?”

Patrick made sure he was looking at his father when he answered. “He told me that if I love her, I have to fight for her. A battle to the death.”

William wasn’t pleased. “Christ,” he hissed. “I cannot imagine this is a good thing, Patrick. You will end up killing the man Magnus selected to marry his daughter. He is more than likely a young lord, or even an old lord, surely someone with some status who cannot compete with you in combat. What will you do if you are faced with a frightened young lord or, worse, a frightened old man?”

Patrick shrugged. “It was Magnus who demanded the fight,” he said. “I am simply following his command. Come with me; let me introduce you to him. As I said, he seems like a reasonable man. Mayhap you can talk him out of having me slay one of his lords.”

William was more than willing to meet Magnus and evaluate the situation. Therefore, Patrick headed back to the riverbank followed by his father, Paris, and Kieran. The old knights felt much better now that they weren’t locked away as Patrick dealt with the Northmen alone. Now, it was the four of them. Much better odds.

As the group drew close to the collection of men and boats, Magnus noticed the three older knights with interest. When Patrick came close enough, he began the introductions.

“My lord, this is my father, Sir William de Wolfe,” he said. Then, he indicated the other two. “These men are his brothers-in-arms, Sir Paris de Norville and Sir Kieran Hage. Good men, this is Magnus, King of the Norse.”

William bowed his head politely to the king. “It is an honor, my lord.”

He wasn’t really expecting a reply, unaware that Magnus spoke his language, but was surprised when Magnus answered. “Are you the man called The Wolfe?”

“I am, my lord.”

Magnus looked at him a moment longer before gesturing to Patrick. “I like your son,” he said. “What is it about my daughter that you found so offensive that you could not give the man permission to marry her?”

William remained calm but he was secretly ready to punch Patrick in the mouth for telling the Northman such things. Now he found that he had to defend himself.

“Your daughter is a lovely, bright, and delightful woman, my lord,” he replied. “I only had reservations in the very beginning because she was a ward of the church and we did not have permission for the marriage.”

“Was permission ever given?”

“Nay, my lord.”

Magnus looked at Patrick and grinned. “Then you must have wanted to marry her very badly.”

Patrick simply nodded. Still grinning, Magnus’ only reply was to shake his head as if in complete understanding of the impetuousness of youth. He had been young and in love, once, himself. There was almost a frivolity in his manner as he gestured to the group of men behind him, with the longships beyond.

“Then you can prove how much you wish to keep her,” he said, turning to the men behind him. “Elof!”

Patrick, William, Paris, and Kieran watched as the group of men behind Magnus shuffled around and then finally parted, revealing the longship behind them. Something was moving below deck; they could all hear it. Like great footsteps or the beat of a drum, it was something rhythmic and menacing. It was quite strange, really, and the English knights watched with interest as men began to appear from the lower deck of the ship. Two men emerged, carrying shields and swords, followed by a man.

But it wasn’t any man.

A warrior easily the size of Patrick emerged from the bowels of the ship, carrying a wooden shield and a short, broad sword with him. The banging noises they had been hearing had been the warrior beating his shield with his sword as he walked. He was grunting, too, working himself up into a fighting frenzy. When he finally came out onto the deck, the English knights got a good look at just how big the man really was; he was taller than Patrick. And heavier.

And meaner.

“Christ,” William hissed, standing next to Patrick. “Is this the man you must fight?”

Patrick didn’t have a ready answer because he was fairly shocked himself. Truthfully, he found something ironically hilarious about the situation. At seven inches over six feet, he had always been the tallest, broadest man in the room. He’d intimidated, squashed, and even sometimes bullied lesser men when the mood struck him. He’d never run into anyone as big as he was or as tough. But the half-naked warrior making his way off the ship had to be the biggest bastard he’d ever seen. He could hardly believe his eyes.

“Evidently,” he finally muttered.

William was genuinely trying not to react at the sight of the gargantuan warrior but, beside him, he could hear groaning and he knew it was coming from Paris. The man had never been very good at concealing his emotions.

“William,” he whispered. “Create a diversion. Give Atty a chance to run for his life!”

William glanced at him. “ You create a diversion,” he countered. “Throw yourself at the man. Sacrifice yourself so that Patrick may live.”

Paris shook his head. “He would turn me into pulp,” he said. “Kieran, you still fancy yourself the most powerful warrior in the north. Do something!”

Kieran was watching the colossal Norse warrior as the man came onto the riverbank. “Not me,” he said. “You keep telling me I am an old man and no longer able to best the younger men. For once, I am going to listen to you.”

The words were softly uttered between the three older knights, the same camaraderie and levity they had always had when facing a serious situation. It was simply the way they dealt with such things. But the more William got a look at the muscular warrior dressed in skins and breeches, as barbaric as he had ever seen a man, the more fear he began to feel for his son.

But he couldn’t let Patrick know it. That was the main reason he was willing to jest in the face of such terror. Patrick had to believe he could beat this man and William would not take that away from him. To say anything negative, or fearful, would be to cast doubt on Patrick’s skills as a warrior, and William wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that. Therefore, he turned to his son, turning his head slightly so his voice couldn’t be heard by the Northmen.

“This should be a simple thing,” he muttered. “I would suggest you simply let the man wear himself out. Let him chase you if he must; fight him but do not fight hard. Then, when he has exhausted himself, strike and strike hard. Let this be a battle of wit, Patrick, and not brawn. You are smarter than he is; prove it.”

Patrick could hear the confidence in his father’s voice but he knew, deep down, that William was frightened for him. Truth be told, Patrick was a bit wary about what he had to face. But he knew his love for Brighton would keep him going, feeding his strength in a way it had never been fed before. All he had to do was think of his wife at the mercy of this animal and he was seized with rage and determination. He was the only thing that stood between Brighton and this monster.

He had to win, no matter what the cost.

“This is the man I have selected to marry my daughter,” Magnus said, cutting into Patrick’s thoughts. He gestured to the enormous warrior. “This is Elof Red Beard, Slayer of Beasts. He has killed many an enemy and has earned his place at my table. By gifting him my daughter, I honor him for his devotion to me. He is a man of honor but also a man of anger, and he wants what you have. If you do not want him to have it, then you will have to kill him.”

Patrick was more than ready to do what he needed to do. “As you say, my lord,” he said, his eyes never leaving Elof as the man stood there and glared at him. “What are the rules of this combat?”

Magnus gestured to the men who had brought the swords and shields from the lower deck of the longship. The men swiftly ran forward and dumped the weaponry at Magnus’ feet.

“Each of you will be given three shields and a sword,” he said. “When a shield is broken or smashed, the fight will cease and you will retrieve another shield. When all shields are smashed, the battle will continue on until one of you is dead. All combat must take place right here in front of the ship, so you may not run. You must face your opponent. Those are the only rules, Sir Patrick. Do you agree?”

Patrick nodded. “I do.”

“When you are prepared, we will begin.”

Patrick stepped back, eyeing Elof and seeing that the man wore no armor while he had his mail on and his heavy tunics. Quickly, he turned to his father.

“Help me remove my mail,” he said.

William looked at him with concern. “But why?” he asked. “Patrick, you were trained to fight with protection on. If you remove it, then you are removing your chance of emerging from this unscathed.”

Patrick began pulling his cowl off and Kieran, standing behind him, began to help. “I am handicapped by the weight of it,” he said. “Look at Elof; he is wearing no protection at all. That means he will be more agile than I am. If I wear all of this protection, I will be more vulnerable to his attacks because I will not be able to move swiftly enough.”

As he began to untie his tunic with Kieran’s assistance, Paris stepped in to help as well. “He is correct, William,” he said quietly. “In order to fight that beast on his own terms, he will have to level the playing field. A knight on foot is a lethargic creature and you know it. He cannot go in fighting as an armored man if his opponent has none. It will not make this a fair fight.”

William reluctantly understood. As knights, they were trained to use all of the protection available to them but the Northmen didn’t fight that way. Their weapons were cruder, their tactics barbaric, but they were still just as effective and terrifying. If Patrick was going to fight on the Northman’s terms, and win, then he had to fight like a Northman. With that in mind, William began helping his son strip down.

The tunic came off followed by the mail coat, a padded under tunic and another tunic beneath that. When Patrick was finally stripped to the waist, left only in his breeches and boots, William went over to where the weapons and shields were laid out and selected a weapon for his son. Then he picked up a shield and carried it over to him.

“Since you are going to be in close quarters fighting, your broadsword will do you no good,” he said. “This sword is well-made and the style of the pommel will provide some protection for your hand. If you do not like this sword, you may choose another. There are a few others they have brought forth.”

With his broad chest and muscled arms gleaming beneath the mid-summer sun, Patrick took hold of the sword, getting a feel for the weight of it. It was fairly lightweight and not anything like his enormous broadsword, but he would be able to move faster with it and strike faster with it.

“The craftsmanship is excellent,” he said, inspecting it. “You have chosen wisely, Da.”

William smiled weakly as he handed him the shield. “Remember what I told you,” he said. “Let your opponent exhaust himself and then strike when he is too weak to fight back. Brains over brawn, Atty.”

Patrick looked over his shoulder at Elof, who was huffing and puffing, working himself up into a sweat. “I doubt he will exhaust himself,” he said casually, turning back to give his sword one last look-over. “He looks as if he eats small children for breakfast.”

The humor was still there. That was good; it showed that Patrick wasn’t feeling any real fear. Concern, perhaps, but not fear. It was time to begin.

“May God be with you,” William muttered. “I will see you at the end.”

Patrick looked at his father and, for the second time that day, felt inordinately sentimental towards the man. He knew his father was frightened for him and commended the man for not showing it. In the same situation, Patrick was quite sure he wouldn’t have been so calm. Leaning forward, he kissed him on the forehead.

“Not to worry, Da,” he said. “We will be roasting a Norse beast by sup tonight. But remember your promise to me.”

“What was that?”

Patrick’s humor left him and, for a split second, a flash of fear was in his eyes. But not for him; it was for his wife.

“You promised me that you will not let them take Bridey,” he murmured. “If anything happens to me, you must hold true to that promise. If you do not, I will never forgive you.”

With that, he turned and headed over to the riverbank where Magnus himself was overseeing the start of the battle. As William, Paris, and Kieran watched Patrick take position against his opponent, Kieran leaned in to William.

“You will not stand by while your son is killed, will you?” he asked quietly.

William, his eyes riveted on Patrick, shook his head. “Never,” he murmured. “If it looks as if it is coming to that, I will intervene and I will kill anyone who gets in my way.”

Kieran breathed a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you would say that,” he said. “I will return to the castle and tell Bridey what is happening. It is her right to know.”

“While you are at it, arm the knights and tell them to be ready. If I must intervene, I have a feeling the Norse will not take it well.”

“We will be ready.”

“Good.”

As Kieran headed back to the castle, William found himself praying that this day wouldn’t bring any death to him or to his family. Scared to death, he struggled not to show it.