“Would you rather live with our tribe?” Ivar softened his tone “Your father was once one of my warriors, and your cousin is among my most trusted. He is like a son to me. His father was my closest friend. That makes you practically family.”
“Family to a jarl? A real one?”
Rangvald clapped the boy on the shoulder, and the Brynjar had to take a step forward to keep from being knocked to the ground.
“That will make you family to two jarls. Two real ones.”
Brynjar looked up at Rangvald and gasped.
“Yes, boy. I’m your Uncle Rangvald, your mother’s brother. If you would like to live with me, you are welcome. If you would rather live with Ivar’s clan, you are always welcome to visit.”
Brynjar looked back and forth between Strian and Rangvald, fearful of making the wrong choice.
“I—I— don’t know,” he stammered.
Lorna joined them, and once more Brynjar’s eyes became the size of saucers. Lorna made the other women, despite their own beauty, pale in comparison.
“This is your Aunt Lorna,” Rangvald leaned near his ear but did not lower his voice. “Get used to it, boy. The women in our family are more beautiful than any you will find in this land or ours. I have sailed around much of the Christian world and into a warm sea known as the Mediterranean where the women have brown skin and dark eyes. But none have the beauty of your aunt or the women you see here. We are a blessed lot of men.”
Brynjar could only nod.
“Dafydd confessed that he hid his wealth among the ruins of the Angelsey monastery,” Gressa spoke up. “We found out that’s where he hid what he collected over the years for his daughters’ hands in marriage. He has already spent what Grímr gave him. He tried to buy his allies, and Grímr promised him more once they defeated us. Dafydd allowed his political ambitions and greed that matched Grímr’s to lead him to his downfall.”
“Angelsey is where Grímr said he would meet me. He plans to stop there to search for that treasure. Grímr learned of it somehow, I think when he drank with Rhys. He thought to pay Dafydd with Dafydd’s own coins to avoid having to find more when he used the last of my mother’s money,” Brynjar spoke up.
“How do we know you are telling us the truth? You are a spy, after all,” Bjorn questioned.
“Because what have I to gain from being loyal to Grímr? I carry his name, but he’s rejected me as the youngest and because he knows I’m a bastard. My older brothers can fight for him and have died for him, but he says I’m too small. He hated my mother and said horrible things about her in front of me and my brothers. He sent me here alone most likely hoping I would die despite the information he hoped I would gather. I owe him nothing.” Brynjar spat on the ground.
“Then our final battle shall be on Angelsey.” Rangvald pulled the boy against his side. “And you shall lead the way.”
Twenty-Nine
The Highlanders had occupied themselves with arranging the villagers into those they would leave behind and those who agreed to fight against Grímr. They also aided the villagers from letting the fire that destroyed the keep spread to the homes of the innocent.
“Let her stay here with her children,” Gressa jutted her chin towards Enfys. “Her son inherits the land his father ruled, but he is too young to lead. She will do it, and she will end up having to marry one of the princes Dafydd intended to subjugate. She will become the wife of a lesser prince. Losing status will be its own punishment.”
The Highland lairds and the jarls’ families stood together as they watched Welsh warriors being loaded into the longboats. The Welsh language was so far from the Highlanders’ Gaelic and Norse that the only effective communication were hand signals and various grunts.
“We shall have the fight we have waited for,” Tormod Mackenzie spoke up.
“The morning tide will carry us out of the harbor, but we will need our oarsmen to do much of the work crossing the strait to Angelsey,” Andrew MacLeod looked at Tyra, almost challenging her to speak against the word of a MacLeod, the Highland’s best sailors. Tyra shrugged and looked to Bjorn.
“If you have a plan in place, then you don’t need us,” Tyra tossed over her shoulder as she pushed Bjorn toward their boat. It was not long before the newlyweds were running to Tyra’s longboat. Their laughter floating back to the group as they ducked into their cabin.
“Tyra seems content to relinquish her title as Queen of the Sea now that she is the queen of Bjorn’s heart,” Erik laughed.
“How romantic you can be. Perhaps you should remind me.” Freya stood on her toes to whisper something else in Erik’s ear. He lifted his wife over his shoulder and marched to their own cabin.
“Is tupping all ye people think of before a battle? Lusty for blood and bedding,” Kenneth Sutherland looked about, his eyes lingering on several Norse women.
“Aye, we are,” Lorna chimed in. “Ye lads find yerselves a way to stay warm tonight. Tomorrow shall show us our fate.”
It was rare that Lorna spoke of life and death like a Norsewoman would. Similar to Gressa who had not relinquished her pagan gods for the Christian one despite the years spent living among Christians, Lorna had never relinquished her Christian god despite more than thirty years among the Norse. She simply did not talk about it, but she understood the faith of her husband’s and children’s people. She could see the truth in some of their beliefs.
The night was too brief for everyone. Couples found places to bed down, privacy was limited but enough, so they could make love one last time before the next day’s battle. Strian and Gressa found a storeroom where hay was being stored, but they offered it to Leif and Sigrid, so their expecting friend could try to find some comfort. However, Leif and Sigrid had already claimed a cottage within the keep walls that seemed to no longer have occupants. Gressa spread Strian’s cloak over the hay, trying to prevent the itchy stalks from scratching them throughout the night. Strian returned from his ship with a blanket and some provisions. They sat cross legged as they ate in silence.
“Strian, the sun won’t set for a while longer. I want to take you there now. There may not be time in the morning, and we may never return here.” Gressa forced the words around the lump in her throat.
