‘If I agree to join forces with you, will you actually help me instead of lulling me into a false promise?’
She hated that hope grew in her breast. She should know by now that these things only happened in the bards’ tales. There was no one she could depend on, particularly not a cloaked Northman. Thrice cursed, her brother-in-law had called her after Brandon’s funeral. Meeting this Northman, rather than having an uneventful journey, proved it.
‘Give me your name,’ she said when he continued to stare at her. ‘Your true name, rather than a ridiculous nickname like the Northmen often go by. Give it or we shall never be allies.’
‘Sigurd Sigmundson, a traveller like yourself who hungers after justice.’ He tugged his cloak, hiding his features again. His cloak was more threadbare than hers. And yet somehow she couldn’t believe it was his. There was the way that he moved. And she had a glimpse of the sword underneath the cloak. It was far too fine for a sell-sword to use.
‘You mean to pass into the compound unnoticed. That is why you are wearing that old cloak,’ she exclaimed. ‘I mean you must be, otherwise you would row your dragon boat up Loch Indaal and land beside the stronghold.’
Sigurd Sigmundson reached towards her. Liddy took a step backwards and half-stumbled over a root. Coll gave a low rumbling in the back of his throat and Sigurd’s hand instantly dropped to his side.
‘Why would I want to conceal my identity?’ he asked, tilting his head to one side. She caught the sweep of his lashes and again the piercing blue stare.
‘Because the other way is the surest way to end up stuffed in a barrel and sent back to Ketil. Even where we live, we’ve heard rumours about how Thorbin treats his enemies.’ She covered her mark with her hand. ‘My late husband was a warrior. You move with a warrior’s gait, not a beggar’s. If you wish other people not to notice, then you should shuffle rather than stride. Free advice.’
He bowed his head. ‘What are you going to do with this knowledge of yours? Do you wish me ill?’
‘As long as you mean me no harm, it is none of my concern. Once my business with Thorbin is satisfactorily concluded, you may do as you will with him.’ She paused. ‘I, Eilidith of Cennell Fergusa, have reasons for wishing this. He is no friend to my family. But I go first.’
He was silent for a long while. She felt his gaze roam over her body. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her in that appraising way. She tightened the cloak about her figure, hoping it hid most of her curves. She had few illusions about her beauty. Her figure was passable, her mouth too large and her hair was far too red. Flame-coloured, Brandon had called it when he courted her. One of his few compliments.
‘I have come to complete the task Lord Ketil set me,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘This task comes before your quest, Eilidith of Cennell Fergusa. Thorbin answers for his crimes and then you find your father and brother. Provided they haven’t been executed as traitors.’
White-hot anger flashed through her. Who was he to condemn them? He had no idea of her story or how her father had sought to protect their clan from the worst of the invaders. ‘My father gave his pledge to Lord Ketil Flatnose the first time he travelled to this island. My brother was but a mewling babe at the time. The tribute has always been paid. No one has ever accused my father of treason...until now.’
Liddy shook her head. She refused to think about the pitiful state of the fields, barely tended in the summer sun. According to her mother, her father had hidden the seed and the gold before he left. Without fresh seed, they stood no chance of having a good harvest and making the tribute.
She gritted her teeth. ‘If necessary, I will go to Lord Ketil and remind him of his sworn oath to my father.’
She hoped he wouldn’t hear the lie in her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was to travel on the sea. The thought of being on the open sea, out of sight of land, terrified her.
‘Will you indeed?’
‘What other option do I have?’
Sigurd regarded the small woman who stood in front of him. The faint light showed him that Eilidith’s hair was auburn, not black as he’d first imagined it. Like the sun setting on a clear summer’s day. The butterfly-shaped mark under her lower lip took her face from bland to intriguing.
She’d shown courage to come to this place with simply a large dog for protection. The only other women he could think of who would have done such a thing were his mother and Beyla, the woman he had given his heart to back in the days when he thought he had a heart. Beyla had chosen safety over their passion, and his half-brother, the man who was now jaarl over this island, Thorbin, over him.
‘I believe you could travel to Ketil and demand justice, as is any ring bearer’s right,’ he said to distract his thoughts from unwanted memories. ‘But Thorbin might have a great reluctance to see a prize like you go. Have you thought about what you might do then?’
She thumped her chest, like a warrior, rather than a lady. ‘I gave a sacred vow that I will see my father free or perish in the attempt.’
Sigurd stood straighter. Had his mother been like that once? Strong and resolute instead of jumping at shadows as she’d done during the last few years of her life? ‘The world would be a poorer place if you died. You obviously have a family who care about you.’
She lifted her head and assessed him as if he were a prize bull at the market. ‘Does Thorbin fear you or someone else more?’
‘Thorbin’s long-delayed day of reckoning has arrived. It gives me immense pleasure to know that I will be the one to ensure it happens. I, too, have a vow I want to see fulfilled.’
Islay was the lynchpin in Ketil’s strategy for the Western Isles. He who controlled Islay, controlled the lucrative trade between Ireland and Alba. All the sea roads flowed past this island. Because of the whirlpool north of Jura, the quickest way to transport goods was overland. Thorbin’s rule had begun a year ago last spring. At first Thorbin’s star flourished and Sigurd had despaired of ever finding a way to avenge his mother, but Thorbin’s tribute had been short at Yule. In the early spring Ketil had sent a man to investigate. When he returned, pickled in a barrel with an insulting message, Ketil finally lost patience with his protégé and ordered Thorbin to return to explain himself. It was Sigurd’s task to deliver the message and ensure Thorbin returned to face the accusation.
Sigurd had spent the last week scouting out the stronghold, coming up with a plan, once he realised sailing up the strait and landing his boats was doomed to failure. His half-brother was no one’s fool. It was obvious that he considered himself immune from retribution. But he’d also taken precautions. The bay was heavily guarded as well as all entrances and exits to the fort.
He felt sorry for this woman’s plight, but in all likelihood her brother and father were already sold or dead. She and the ring she carried, however, were tools he could use.
‘I have learnt that things rarely happen by chance. Our paths have crossed for a purpose,’ he said carefully, aware she had not answered him. ‘Let us fulfil that purpose. Let us together hold Thorbin to account.’
Her jaw became mutinous and her blue-green eyes flashed, becoming like the summer sea after a storm. ‘Why should I trust you, Sigurd Sigmundson? Why are you not going to be exactly like every other Northman? Exactly like Lord Thorbin?’
He ignored the flash of anger at being likened
