“Cahill and Teague are gone,” Astrid interrupted. “Mother isn’t at fault, Sitric. She’s in danger.”
Cormac motioned to the Fianna, drawing them over to join the conversation. Brian called his guards to him while Cormac explained the situation to the Fianna.
Astrid paced, her mind racing and her hands clenching in frustration. She felt so helpless. What could she possibly do?
“Find your weapons and bring my horse,” Brian ordered the guards.
“Lord,” Cormac protested.
Brian held a hand out, silencing him. “I will never be too old to protect my children.”
Astrid’s attention snapped to the aged king. She hated Brian for subjugating her brother, for taking Duncan from her mother, for sacking Dyflin. For so many things.
She would never love him. She probably wouldn’t even like him, no matter how much she grew to know him.
But in that moment, Astrid respected him.
“Guards!” Sitric called. His men came over as well, the dueling square now filled with warriors. “Who was watching the gates?”
The men looked from one to another, a few shuffling their feet.
“Well?” Sitric demanded.
Harald, his captain, stepped forward. “I believe the men were all watching the duel.”
Her brother’s nostrils flared dangerously, his eyes blazing. Astrid would wager someone was going to be whipped for abandoning their post.
“The gate’s open!” another of his men called from the front of the estate.
“She was going to take him to the harbor,” Astrid told them. “I heard her talk of ships.”
“Then that’s where we go,” Brian declared, turning his horse and taking off for the gates.
The Fianna rode ahead at a full gallop. The rest of Brian’s and Sitric’s men followed their kings on foot. Astrid joined them, desperate to help her mother and step-brother however she could. The rows of buildings and curious townsfolk turned to a blur in her haste to reach the harbor.
She smelled it before she saw it, the acrid, citrusy scent of pine and pitch mixing with the briny smell of the sea. The sounds came next: the shrieking cries of gulls, the clanking of boards and hammering of nails, orders being shouted from a dozen ships as they made berth in the largest port on this sideof Éire. Masts and sails bobbed above the rooftops of the city, drawing Astrid like a beacon toward Dyflin’s teeming shores.
Every sailor and craftsman in sight stood still when they entered the harbor with so great a number of warriors. Upon seeing Sitric and Astrid, most went back to their work with only a few curious glances as their party swept up and down the shoreline in search of Gormla and Duncan.
“Ratner!” Astrid called out to one of the captains who frequented the port. “Have you seen my mother?”
Ratner, a tall, thin man with a balding pate, pointed south. “She passed by a while ago with a young lad, looking at all the ships.”
Astrid thanked him, following the herd of warriors who now rushed southward through the harbor. They found her shortly after that.
Gagged and tied to a large piece of driftwood, she sat alone, hidden behind a large boulder. Sitric pulled the gag from her mouth while his men cut her bonds.
“He took him!” she screeched. “Cahill took him! I tried to stop him, and Duncan fought them so well,” her words grew more frantic as she went, her composure dissolving.
“Where did they go?” Brian demanded sharply.
Her mother’s sky-blue eyes snapped to the king. “They’re up there.” She pointed even further south, to the white-faced cliffs that guarded the shore.
Sure enough, figures were visible even from this distance, moving about on top of them.
“He wants your oath, Brian,” Gormla hissed. “And you’d better bring me back my son.”
“What will you do?” Sitric asked. “Will you swear to Malachy for my brother’s life? For your son’s life?”
