‘He might, but Máel Sechnaill mac Máele Ruanaid makes Thorfi look straightforward,’ Sigmund said, naming the late King of Agthir. ‘He wants what is best for him and his family, and not for anyone else.’
Svanna tapped a finger against her chin. ‘I doubt the high King will be on board and wanting to pay homage to you. But should that unlikely event occur, then you must be gracious, Lord Sigmund, and not refuse the gesture.’
Sigmund laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘You are good for me, Svanna. Simple truths. Yes, like you, I doubt he is on board. Shall we see who he sent instead?’
She smiled back at him. ‘A good plan.’
Less than five breaths later, Lord Sigmund stiffened. ‘I don’t believe it. Of all the Northern warriors.’
‘What?’
‘Randolfr Fullrson. He now calls himself Lord Randolfr after Máel Sechnaill bestowed various large estates on him.’ Lord Sigmund pointed to a tall man standing on the prow of the ship.
The wind blew the tousled curls of his golden hair from the man’s face, revealing a jagged scar running down the left side of his face, the relic of some long-ago battle, but one which distorted his mouth and left eye. As he turned his head towards them, she could see that his right side remained unscathed. The contrast between the two sides, one strikingly handsome and the other ruined, was noticeable even at this distance. Silently she prayed to the Norns that her memory was playing tricks on her and that she’d never encountered him before.
‘Is there anything else I should know about him?’ Svanna managed to choke the words from her throat.
‘Rand the Silver-Tongue, according to my foster-niece Maer when we travelled back from Constantinople together.’ He shrugged. ‘She was quite taken with him on board ship, but the scales fell from her eyes when we arrived at Dubh-Linn and she witnessed his naked ambition.’
‘Maer is happily married to her new husband.’
Sigmund made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. Svanna knew from hints that he had initially been against the match Maer had ended up making, only giving in when he’d realised how much in love she was with the usurper King of Agthir’s son.
‘A small warning: you might’ve encountered Silver-Tongue years ago,’ he said. ‘My foster-niece confided that he and his cousin sought employment in Agthir as sell-swords once but left abruptly, having angered the usurper. Part of her initial attraction to him, in my opinion.’
Svanna’s stomach knotted. She did know the name from over eight years ago. Randolfr, more commonly called Rand, as he’d laughingly introduced himself.
That feast had been full of rowdy behaviour from the younger warriors, something the usurper had appeared to endorse wholeheartedly. The Queen had retired early with a headache, freeing Svanna to sneak back in, dressed in her nurse’s gown and cloak, taking risks like the true Ingebord once did, instead of behaving like the boring Svanna who often feared her own shadow. The light banter with Rand had made her tingle all over. Even now she remembered the laughing brown eyes, golden-brown tight curls framing a face almost too pretty to be a man’s and a chaste kiss shared, before she’d heard several servants calling for Ingebord, wondering if any harm had come to her. She’d wriggled out of his arms, mumbling an excuse about needing to join in the search. They’d promised to meet the next evening in the Queen’s herb garden. She’d barely slept a wink that night, hugging the encounter to her bosom.
Going to the appointed meeting place the next evening, Svanna had discovered a discarded posy of flowers which she knew had not been there before and had carefully tucked it away as a remembrance and a promise. When she’d casually asked her nurse the next day about why there were empty places at the table, she’d answered with a loud sniff that several had found reasons to travel east, leaving on the early morning tide, and she’d do well to think on that. A quick check on who had departed in such haste and she’d discovered one was Rand. Family business, someone had said, tapping their nose as if she should understand.
Unable to resist the lure, she’d returned to the appointed meeting place in Astrid’s private garden to see if Rand had left anything else, even a few scratched runes, explaining why he’d left abruptly and when he expected to return.
However, amongst the flowering herbs, Turgeis, the youngest son of the King’s trusted advisor, had lurked. He’d attacked her, pawing at her clothing and holding her down. She’d only escaped with her honour intact thanks to the bravery of her dog Tippi, who had come searching for her, leaping at the man with a fierce growl and taking a chunk out of his arse. He’d run off, muttering threats to her and Tippi. When she’d tried to explain the situation to her nurse, who’d appeared in the garden, her nurse exclaimed that a woman who found herself alone only had herself to blame if young warriors took advantage. After her nurse’s reaction, she’d never dared to fully explain to Astrid what had happened, not even when her shouts from the reoccurring nightmares about the incident had caused Astrid to wake. Instead, she’d tried to deal with her shame and fear of being alone with any man on her own. In the first few months, she’d often take the drying posy out from her trunk to remind herself that not all men were like Turgeis and his brothers, and that had given her comfort.
Five years later, when she came across the dried posy, it crumbled at her touch. She knew then she’d been wrong to put any store by it. Her safety came through maintaining her icy demeanour and quashing any flirtation before it truly started.
Several times in the dead of night during her darkest moments, Svanna wondered if somehow she’d been spotted and the usurper had quietly suggested the departure to hasten the handsome warrior Rand on his way, but she’d rapidly dismissed that as unworthy speculation.
It failed to matter now. Rand Fullrson wouldn’t remember her or the incident. She was a stranger with whom he’d exchanged a few pleasantries once upon a long time ago. And what would she have done if it had developed beyond that? But it remained the last evening before she’d understood how quickly her innocence could be taken and how few would care about what happened to her, beyond her usefulness to the Crown.
‘Is that a problem?’ she asked, belatedly realising that Sigmund’s look had turned speculative, as if he somehow guessed the part she’d played in the events in Agthir. ‘This Rand… Randolfr character is coming here at the high King’s request, isn’t he? Is he trouble or in trouble?’
She winced as her voice took a high-pitched sing-song aspect like it used to in Agthir when she’d been under a lot of stress and feared for her life.
Sigmund’s smile turned wintry. ‘I doubt he volunteered.’
She swallowed hard and managed to keep control of her voice this time. ‘Why is that?’
‘The last time we met, I threatened to run him through for making water drip from Maer’s eyes. He seemed to take it in good part though, and has left Maer and me strictly alone.’
Svanna tilted her head to one side. It was a coincidence that Lord Sigmund knew the man, nothing more.
‘Maer is blissfully happy with her new husband and baby.’ She tried to banish the slight sick-to-her-stomach feeling which had become her constant companion when she’d struggled to keep up the façade of being Ingebord. She had thought the usurper’s death and their arrival in Islay would make the sick feeling a thing of the past, but she’d been wrong. ‘His carelessness enabled her future happiness.’
‘He became entangled with one of the high king of Eire’s daughters before formally breaking with Maer,’ Lord Sigmund said with a cutting motion of his hand. ‘She was supposedly betrothed to an elderly king but, after meeting Silver-Tongue, she would only consent to marry him and said as much at a feast. After a furious row, the high King gave in to his favourite daughter. On marriage, the high King gifted a petty kingship with substantial estates, including one of the most substantial ringforts in Eire, Donaghmoyne, to Lord Randolfr, the king’s enforcer. Quite the advancement for a sell-sword who left Constantinople with only his sword and the clothes on his back.’
‘Should we be expecting the high King’s favourite daughter as well?’ Svanna shaded her eyes. ‘There appear to be only warriors in that boat.’
