“My thanks to you, Lady Brenna. I think I’ll go to bed.” Brenna nodded to Hagen, who ushered her out the door.
Once they were alone in the hall, Brynja looked at Hagen and said, “I forgot, but I heard those men talking about Grant men. I should probably tell Connor, shouldn’t I?”
“Aye, we’ll tell him first thing in the morn.”
“I’ll have to push myself to recall their words. I was so worried about Hildi that it completely left my mind.”
“Just focus on getting some sleep. You’ll remember on the morrow, and we’ll speak with my da.”
She nodded, giving Hagen a small smile. “There’s only one thing I wish to do now.”
“Say the word and I’ll help you, lass.”
“I want to kill the bastard who did that to Hildi. I want vengeance against him and against the men who killed our mothers. Will you help me?”
“I will, but you have to promise me you’ll not go alone.”
She wasn’t sure she could promise that, but she nodded her agreement.
One way or the other, those men were dead men.
And she’d be wearing her mother’s armor.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brynja
The next day, Brynja stood at the edge of the training yard, watching Hagen work with a chestnut mare. The horse was young, still learning, and clearly testing the boundaries of her handler’s patience. Hagen murmured something too low for Brynja to hear, and the mare’s ears flicked toward him, her stance shifting from defiant to curious.
“She trusts you,” Brynja said.
Hagen glanced over his shoulder, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Not yet. But we’re getting there.” He ran a hand along the mare’s neck. “Want to try?”
Brynja hesitated. She could ride, the nuns had kept a few ponies for travel to the abbey, but those had been placid, elderly creatures content to plod along the coastline. This mare was different. Young. Powerful. A warrior’s mount.
“I won’t be verra good at it.”
“Then you’ll learn.” Hagen led the mare over, reins loose in his hand. “Besides, if you’re going to stay at Grant holdings, you need a proper mount. Can’t have you stuck afoot when there’s trouble.”
The practicality of the argument appealed to her. She hadn’t had the opportunity to excel at horseback riding at the nunnery or on Tiree. Learning to ride well meant one more skill, one more way to control her own fate.
“All right.”
Hagen’s smile widened. “Good. First, you need to understand her.” He handed Brynja the reins. “What do you notice?”
Brynja studied the mare. “Her ears keep moving. Listening.”
“Aye. She’s paying attention to everything—you, me, that lad by the stable, the wind in the trees. Horses are prey animals. They’re always watching for danger.”
Something in Brynja’s chest tightened. She understood that. Being always alert, never quite at ease.
“So how do you make her trust you?”
Hagen moved closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him at her back. “You show her you’re not a threat. That you’re calm. That you notice what she needs.” His hand covered hers on the reins, adjusting her grip. “Too tight and she’ll think you’re afraid. Too loose and she’ll think you’re not paying attention. Like this.”
His fingers were warm against hers, callused from sword work. Brynja’s breath caught. She forced herself to focus on the mare, not on the way Hagen’s voice had dropped lower, more intimate.
“Now stroke her neck. Let her learn your scent, your touch.”
