“Because he is dead,” Trahern responded, “and cannot speak for those whose voices were silenced.” His anger was rising, and he rested his hand around Morren’s shoulders. “I also speak on behalf of my wife.”
An uneasy silence filled the space. His brother Patrick intervened, saying, “As leader of the Hardrata, you are likely aware of which men left the longphort last summer.”
The chief gave a slight nod. “But they deserve to be questioned.”
Patrick inclined his head. “And we are here to witness their confession.” The threat of war hung between the men like an invisible blade. “Bring them here and let them speak.”
The chief whispered to his servant, his expression furious. “It is true that several of our men left to visit one of the tribes in the west. One did not return.”
Gunnar stepped forward at that moment. He extended a knife, hilt first. “I believe this belonged to the raider. It hung at his side.”
Trahern shot a look towards Gunnar. He recalled the Norseman removing the blade, and it was definite evidence against the intruder they’d captured.
The chief examined the blade, and his grim mood heightened. “This did belong to Illugi, the man who did not return.”
A hint of satisfaction passed over Gunnar’s face before he nodded at Trahern, as if to confirm his support. Trahern was grateful for it. He’d known that the coins were not enough to support his claims, but Gunnar’s proof was undeniable.
Vigus rose from his chair. “The four men will face their trial this afternoon. You may observe, if that is your wish.”
The noise of a man struggling resounded from behind them. Trahern saw his brother Ewan coming forward with his captive, the man Morren had identified earlier.
“Release me,” theLochlannachdemanded. But when he saw the chief staring at him, he froze. His gaze flickered over the visitors, stopping upon Morren. She raised her chin and confronted him. Like the face of Death, she stared at him, willing him to acknowledge his guilt.
“She lies!” the man proclaimed. “Whatever she told you, Vigus, I have done nothing to her.”
The chief ignored the man’s protestations and signaled to another servant. “Bind Brael, and prepare him to face his trial by fire.”
Rage lined the chief’s face, and Vigus stared at Brael. “The woman gave no accusations at all. You proclaimed your guilt when you tried to deny it.” With a wave of dismissal, he commanded, “Take him.”
Morrenburiedherfaceagainst Trahern during the trial. Heated coals were set upon the ground until they glowed red-hot. One of the men broke down and confessed his guilt, which earned him the punishment of exile. The Hardrata people turned their backs upon him, treating him as though he no longer existed.
Icy fear slashed through her. They were just going to let him go? With no other penalty than to become an outlaw? Her hands trembled as she watched him, but as he passed the group of Ó Reilly men, she saw Áron Ó Reilly seize the raider. Áron took his dagger and slit the outlaw’s throat before anyone could stop him.
The Ó Reilly met Trahern’s gaze. “For Ciara.”
The Hardrata people pretended as though they’d seen nothing. Morren covered her mouth with her hands, horrified at what she’d just witnessed.
Trahern pulled her close and whispered in her ear. “An outlaw may be killed with no consequences. It’s why the others haven’t confessed their guilt.”
Though she could hardly bear to watch, she was unable to tear her gaze away. One by one, the remaining raiders were forced to walk across the glowing coals. Their screams pierced through her consciousness, though Morren tried to block out the sound.
It was a brutal trial, where it was believed that God would protect the innocent. A man whose flesh did not burn would be allowed to go free. But in this instance, she knew that each of the men was guilty.
Another raider stumbled when he walked across the coals, and his clothing caught on fire. He cried out for help and tried to run. Within moments, the fire consumed him, and his screams fell silent.
It was then that Morren caught the last raider staring at her. His features had haunted her through her nightmares. He’d been the first man to attack her, and she’d never forgotten him. His cold gaze ripped through her with hatred. Though he had accepted his trial and punishment, there was no remorse upon his face—only anger that he’d been caught.
She learned from the chief that his name was Egill Hardrata, a mercenary who’d been punished for lesser crimes once before. But Egill remained silent throughout the questioning, his face defiant. Neither he, nor the other surviving raider, would admit who had paid them to attack.
Egill and the other raider stumbled toward the gates, their feet bleeding and charred from the coals. But when Áron Ó Reilly attacked, Egill dodged the blow and tripped the Ó Reilly man, stealing the blade away. It was as if he’d ignored the pain of his wounded feet. As if nothing could penetrate the shield of indifference he’d cloaked around himself.
The last rays of the afternoon sun were dying, the evening slipping free of its shadows. Even when both men were gone, Morren couldn’t seem to release the rigid tension in her shoulders. Aye, it was doubtful that either of the raiders would survive without shelter or food, now that it was nearly winter. But their faces would remain imprinted upon her memory—the faces of her nightmare.
Morren wasn’t aware she was weeping until Trahern’s hand brushed across her cheek, wiping the tears away. “It’s over,a stór,“ he murmured. “They won’t trouble you again.”
She knew it, but right now, everything within her was so tired. “I wish we could leave now,” she pleaded. She’d had enough of torture and death.
Trahern lifted her hood over her hair, trying to protect her from the cold wind. “It’s late, Morren. I’ll have Ewan take you back to Laochre in the morning.”
