Tormod himself had liberated a substantial peninsular area near the mouth of the firth from Lord Cadell. Liberated may be too strong a word — by the time his men had made landfall, the inhabitants had fled.
Their new settlement was nearly built and as jarl he was determined to make it more prosperous than anything the previous owners had accomplished. The extra tools, seeds and animals from Lord Cadell would contribute to the success of the growing village, and a wife and sons for Tormod would ensure his future as jarl.
“Two mornings hence, then. When the sun has risen to its full height, at Ffos-y-Lan where our lands meet.” Tormod smiled again, amused by Cadell’s frown. Tormod had usurped some of Cadell’s land, abandoned or not. But with no resistance, why should Tormod feel even the slightest twinge of guilt? If these Britons were not strong enough to hold their lands, then they didn’t deserve them and this alliance with Cadell was only a means to a more peaceful future. Many of Tormod’s people were tired of raiding — after all, what good were riches if you didn’t get to enjoy them? But he and his men would hold the land by force if need be.
The most worrying thing about this alliance was that Lord Cadell had few friends. He had few friends left amongst his fellow Britons. Perhaps because he was the only nobleman present at King Artgal’s banquet who had escaped the siege. It had taken the Norsemen four months—the entire summer—to capture Alt Clut, but Lord Cadell and his family were rumoured to have simply left as the longships were sailing up the river. Had someone warned them? Rumours abounded amongst the Britons that Cadell had been in league with the Norsemen, but Tormod knew of no Norseman who trusted the man. King Artgal’s son Rhun had not been present at the banquet either, but the finger of suspicion never seemed to rest on him for long before Cadell was named.
Despite this, the man was still a wealthy man with substantial lands. Tormod’s life would be far more peaceful if he were not fighting with his nearest neighbour constantly, although he suspected that, despite any alliance, Cadell would seize any opportunity to recover the land. But Tormod would be watchful, and surely, with their daughter as his wife, Cadell would hesitate to attack.
“Do you wish to stay here tonight, my lord?” Lady Ula asked. “Appropriate lodgings can be found for you and your… men.” The look she gave him confirmed she saw the Norsemen as barbarians, far beneath her own civilised status.
Tormod’s hand clenched on the hilt of his sword, and he felt Björn tense beside him. He was grateful he stood here with three of his cousins at his back. Cousins by blood, but they regarded each other as brothers. The brothers of thunder. He knew none of them would ever let him down in the face of an enemy—even if one had every right to doubt him.
“Our best rooms, of course,” Lady Ula assured them, smiling sweetly after a nudge from her husband.
“Our thanks, my lady,” replied Tormod. “But we have been too long from home already and it is not more than a few hours’ ride. Until noon two days hence then, Lord Cadell, and the penalty for failing to honour our agreement will be… violent.”
Tormod swept from the room, followed by his men. He’d brought only a small group of those he trusted most. No one spoke until they were clear of the fort’s palisades.
“Well?” asked Björn. “Do you think he will abide by the agreement?”
“If not, then we will return,” said Tormod. “And our lands will grow.”
His men laughed—all except Ulf.
“There’s something about the daughter,” Ulf said. “I don’t know what it is, but I sensed no reluctance in either of them to part with her. And why was she not within these walls?”
“Ulf,” said Tormod. “We will find out two days from now. But my needs when it comes to a wife are simple enough.”
Ulf merely nodded at him, and Tormod was relieved he did not mention Ingrid by name. Yet Tormod rode the rest of the way home, disturbed by thoughts of what could possibly be wrong with Cadell’s daughter and realising it mattered to him more than he would have cared to admit.
Chapter Two
Aoife shifted slightly fromone knee to the other, desperate for morning prayers to be over. She had barely slept, her dreams filled with the rumbling of thunder as they had been now for weeks. The low booming echoed around every part of her body and from the depths of the sound came a vision — the same every time — a bear and a wolf walked side by side on the land while a hawk flew high above them. Three creatures were all she had seen, but there was a fourth. She was sure of it. Someone she’d been running from, but the faster she ran, the closer he got. One whom she could not see, could simply feel his presence in the thunder. It was as if the thunder itself was a living being, intent on consuming her.
A raven croaked and her eyes shot open, her gaze drawn towards the window where weak sunlight trickled in. Her lips curved into a smile, which then faded. What she wouldn’t give to be outside this morning, or any morning. She missed walking by the loch with her maid, Rhiannon, and the sounds of the fort. Even the smells. The food here was plentiful but basic, and she missed the excitement of the men returning from the hunt, followed by the smell of roasting meat.
It had been almost two years now and she couldn’t bear the thought of another summer stuck behind these dreary stone walls, where any hint of comfort was soon taken from her. She’d thoughtliving under her father’s roof had been miserable until she’d been sent here. At least there she’d had pretty clothes and jewellery and games to play with her sisters. Here, she had nothing. Nothing but time to think. At summer’s end, she would be expected to take her vows as a nun—something which every part of her rebelled against. She knew she had no vocation, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life imprisoned here.
Two ravens fluttered down to sit on the window ledge and stared directly at her. Then they tilted their heads, exchanged a glance, and took off. She bowed her head in prayer once more, trying not to think about the freedom enjoyed by the birds but denied to her. The ravens were also a reminder of Alt Clut.
Despite her attempts to ignore the memories, the sights and sounds of the attack on Alt Clut assailed her. Despite opening her eyes, she could still see the past. As dawn had broken, they had looked across their lands to the firth only to see hundreds of ships heading towards Alt Clut. Wooden ships with dragons carved at the prows, the square sails of Norse raiders striking terror into all their hearts.
“We must warn them,” Ula had said.
Cadell closed his hands over his wife’s and stared at her. His skin was pale, fear etched on his face. “Aoife already did. They didn’t want to listen. There is nothing more we can do. We should return home and prepare for an attack.”
The boats had moved swiftly, cutting easily through the deep water of the river towards the rock on which Alt Clut stood. The warriors flooded onto the land at its base while others surrounded the rock in their boats, cutting the inhabitants off from any source of supplies.
They had turned back along the road through the hills, the sounds of battle carrying through the still air behind them. The clatter of swords and shields and axes and the screams of thedying. Tears slid down Aoife’s face. If they had only listened to her… But they hadn’t.
As they rode away, an old beggar man emerged from the bushes. His long, grey hair was partially covered by a misshapen hat pulled tight onto his head, almost managing to conceal a lost eye.
“Alms for those less fortunate,” he begged.
Her father shook his head. As they passed the old man, two ravens screeched high above them, then came to rest on the old man’s arm. One tilted its head and stared straight at her. It was just like one of the ravens in her vision. But then, didn’t all ravens look alike? She reached for a crust of bread that lay wrapped in a pouch beside her sisters and threw it.
The raven took off and swept in to catch the crust, then carried it straight back to his master.
