“Conn mac Murrough was a good man,” Abbess Miriam declared from the doorway. “I shall go and pray for his soul.” With a sad smile for Eva, the abbess departed toward the chapel.
“Eva.” Sitric’s gentle tone only unsettled her more.
“My brother,” she stammered, managing to piece together the words amidst her shock. “What of Dallan?”
“Your brother lives,” Sitric assured her. He spoke in the Ostman language, something they’d done often as children when she stayed in their home. That he did it now meant he spoke of important matters, which he didn’t want overheard. “I’m afraid the bad news doesn’t end with your father’s death. You’d best fetch us some dinner and ale. We’ve a long night ahead of us.”
By the timethe last streaks of orange had disappeared below the horizon, Eva found herself sitting beneath the great oak tree next to Sitric, sharing a meal of smoked salmon and leeks. A chill breeze captured the last of the bronze leaves overhead, their rhythmic rattling sending a feeling of foreboding through Eva. Sitric’s men supped inside the infirmary, tending the last of their flesh wounds and licking their even more wounded pride.
It didn’t take a fool to guess that Sitric had lost Dyflin. He’d yet to tell her the extent of it, but Eva knew enough to know the situation was dire.
“I need your help,” he said, handing her a choice bite of salmon. “You are one of the few I trust.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Eva decided to get to the heart of it. “What of Astrid? And your mother?” Sitric’s younger sister Astrid, Eva’s dearest friend and cousin, had not been married off yet. Which meant that both she and her mother had likely been in Dyflin when it was attacked.
“Brian has them,” Sitric admitted quietly. “He and Malachy took the city. I was too wounded, had lost too many of my men. Your father was gone. I couldn’t find Uncle Morda or Baeth. I fled, knowing I could help them more if I lived than if I died.”
Eva took a moment to process it all.
Brian Boru had been trying for years to claim the title of High King of all Éire. Her cousin Sitric and her Uncle Morda were two of the kings who hadn’t accepted him as their overlord. With them as allies, he had only to defeat the current High King, Malachy. Now they had little choice, it would seem.
One part of his tale surprised Eva, however. “Malachy fought with him? I thought they were at war?”
Sitric grinned at that, rather unexpectedly. “I angered them when I raided north along the coast,” he boasted. “So much so that enemies became allies.”
Of course, her cousin would be proud of such a feat.
“I told you not to do that,” Eva chided.
Sitric shrugged. “I had my reasons.”
“And now they have Astrid.”
That sobered him. “Aye,” he answered. “And we must get her back.”
“We?”
“Though I despise him, my mother assures me that Brian is an honorable man, if annoying. I have come to ask you to play the part of the hostage in our negotiation.”
“Why me?” Eva asked in shock. “I’m hardly a valuable hostage. And isn’t it typical to send a man, not a woman?”
Sitric grinned at her wickedly. “It is indeed.”
Understanding dawned, followed quickly by indignation. “You wish to use me to insult the man?”
“Precisely.”
“Andpreciselyhow is insulting the man holding your kingdom, your sister, and your mother captive going to improve the situation?”
Sitric ran a hand along his blonde braids. TheFin Gall, the fair foreigners. That was what the natives of Éire called the invaders from the north. In Eva’s estimation, it was an apt descriptor. TheFin Galltended to have fair or red hair with pale blue eyes—a stark contrast to the dark hair and green eyes so typical of those born on the island. Though there was variation, she herself one such example, Eva found it held some truth.
“You’re the niece of one king, cousin of another, and daughter of a prince. All of whom fought in the battle for Dyflin. And, most importantly, you’re dear to me. Brian knows this. He knows how close our kin are. He’ll be insulted that I offer a woman, aye, but he’ll see the reason behind it also.”
Eva breathed deeply of the night air surrounding them. First her mother, now her father. Both men she’d been meant to marry had died as well. Everyone dear to her found an early grave, it would seem. The least she could do was keep Astrid and her aunt alive for now.
“I’ll do it. For Astrid. And Aunt Gormla.”
Sitric chuckled. “For Astrid, anyway,” he agreed. “Brian wouldn’t dare cross my mother. I think he’s terrified of her.”
