“Will you help me then?” Ran asked.
How could he refuse her? If she knew what her father had done, it would tear her life and heart apart. To know how little regard Svein had for his daughter would be too cruel and she did not deserve that.
“Aye,” he said, knowing he could not say otherwise. “Do you know where they are now?”
“They were north of Westray, in the strait between there and Papa Westray. Four of Papa’s largest ships, carrying many fighting men and horses and supplies. And that man.”
“He saw you?”
“Nay, I do not think he could see me in the water for I . . . blend in. But he could tell I was there somehow. Probably he felt the same strange sensation that I did. My blood raced and, for a moment, I wanted to go to him.”
“I think that happened to me, Ran. When I saw you in the marketplace, you glowed. I could see little color in anyone else but you. And I could feel the same . . . pull.”
She swallowed and blinked several times as though fighting with the notion. He’d wanted to go to her even knowing it was wrong. But then, the wanting had never stopped. Even when he’d betrayed her. No other woman held Soren in thrall as Ran did.
“I do not understand any of this,” she said. “When did you know that something was happening to you?”
“The night before my grandfather passed. He told me I had the blood of the gods and their power.” Soren laughed sadly. “I did not believe him. Only after he died, did I begin to think something was truly different with me.” He paused to meet her gaze. “When the winds spoke to me, I could no longer ignore or deny it.” Ran did not laugh as he would expect others to upon hearing such a thing.
“I fell over the railing on the ship coming here,” she whispered. “The sea spoke to me. Rescued me.” She shook her head in a furious manner. “What is this all about, Soren? Do I need to seek out that man to find answers? I think he is only using my father to use his ships, but something in his gaze as the sea took me away tells me otherwise.” She shivered then, her whole body shook with it. “I do not think he is someone I wish to seek out for any reason.”
Then Soren suggested the very thing that he knew would offer him nothing but torment for every second of the endeavor.
“I think we should seek out the places on my grandfather’s map and see if there are messages or signs left there for us.” He let out a breath. “Einar clearly wanted us to know something.”
“Us?”
“The letters he wrote—”
“—are filled with more than simple greetings,” she finished his words. “I had not noticed it until I read them again the night before I gave them to you. Phrases that now seem to hold two meanings.” Now it was she who turned away, contemplating their choices.
“If we are to help your father, if we are to understand what is happening, we must seek out more about these marks and these powers we have been given. There must be a reason for them.”
Ran nodded and he knew his own personal hell was about to begin. To be in her presence, to be with her, all the while knowing how much she hated him, would be more penance on his soul.
“Gather some garments and tell your servants you will be visiting my aunt for several days,” Soren said to her. “I’ll see to things on my farm and meet you there, on the morrow.”
“And Ander? He is your friend, Soren. Will you share this with him?”
The scuffling of leather on stone was his only warning before another voice entered their conversation.
“Aye, Soren. Will you share this with me?”
Father Ander Erlandson walked the rest of the way into the chamber and crossed his arms. Ran knew he and Soren had grown up together, until Ander was designated to enter the priesthood and sent off to be trained. That was when Soren and her brother Erik grew closer.
“Father,” she greeted him with a respectful nod. Father Ander was short and round, the complete opposite from tall and muscular Soren. And dark to his light features and coloring. His tonsured head and long black robes spoke of his calling.
“Ran, ’tis good to see you. You have been gone from our shores for too long. And how is Erik?” Father Ander asked in reply. Erik fit in between them in stature and complexion. She remembered the three as boys, rolling and playing and fighting. Always three. But now . . .
“He”—she paused and glanced at Soren—“he is well, Father.”
“Soren,” the priest said. Soren wore a guilty expression in his eyes now, like a boy caught committing some trespass. “I expected you in Kirkwall this morn.” Soren tried to toughen his expression now and the resulting look was even guiltier.
“I had things to see to, Ander. I sent word,” he explained. Clearly this banter between them involved something Soren did not want to do.
“Things like whatever it is you hide from my sight?” he asked, approaching Soren and holding his hand out. “You promised in good faith, my friend. Do not make me bring sin into this.”
“How much did you overhear?” Soren asked.
