Freydis smiled. “You’ve been poisoned,” she said. “I’m to attend to you until your strength returns.”
“Thank Odin for you, Freydis,” Saga said. And she meant it. Her arms felt like dead weight. She tried to lift her head but could not. Had she been anywhere else, she feared she would not be breathing right now.
“And I thank Odin for you. He was watching over you, Saga.”
Freydis’ words mirrored her thoughts. Her mind turned over the attack. The moment she realized there were two assassins, she knew she’d been outwitted and that wasn’t something she was used to. While she may have great strength, Saga thought on her feet and used her size and speed to her advantage. But she’d had none with these two. They were small and agile, and almost childlike in size. By her standards anyway. Most of the women here were far smaller than she.
She recalled the moment she’d waited for the Valkyries to come for her. She’d heard their screech and the horns of Valhalla. She’d been so close to that glory, but could not bring herself to leave Giric. And what of the serpents in her vision? The message mirrored Giric’s intent from the beginning—heal the wounds of the land by forging bonds versus ripping them to shreds through the ravages of war. So what was her role here? How could she affect change?
Saga managed to pull herself to a sitting position with Freydis’ aid. Once she was propped up, Lady Fraser brought her a bowl of broth. She sipped the warm fluid for a few moments and passed the bowl back to her. The simple movements sapped her limited energy. Saga lay back down and closed her eyes. Her body was relaxed now at least as the pain and ache had subsided.
Her thoughts drifted to Giric. She envisioned his strong arms around her and him nuzzling her neck. The image brought a peaceful weight over her as she drifted into the black once again.
* * *
Giric rode across the narrow stone roadway to the castle fortress of Dunnottar. Somehow it reminded him of the wharf at Lagavulin. Anyone wanting to gain entry to this castle must cross this narrow path. An army would never succeed. King Constantine had retreated there three years prior in order to save himself and the country from certain invasion from the English King Athelstan. Much of the country’s business now operated from that location which meant squabbles on the west coast of the country often fell outside of the king’s notice. But Giric was not about to let that sit. Great strides had been made over the past few years to find peace, but that peace rested on a fine thread.
“Who goes there?” a guard asked.
“Giric MacDomnail. I am come to speak with the King about the threat in the west.”
The guard sized him up then reached out his hand. “Weapons.”
Times surely had changed. Giric had been in the king’s company enough times that he would have expected to be granted entry straight away. Then again, three years was a long time for a man to be cooped up in a fortress such as this with limited counsel.
Giric removed his broadsword and knives and handed them to the guard. He was led inside the main keep.
The place was eerily quiet. A castle of this size should be buzzing with activity from servants and guards alike.
“Where is everyone?” he asked the guard.
“Most of the staff were let go. Only the king’s guard and his counsel remain.”
“And his family?”
The guard turned and leaned toward Giric. “They are safe.”
Giric didn’t doubt it. The atmosphere in the castle and the guard’s behaviour gave rise to a certain unease.
“This way,” the guard said as he turned a corner leading to a winding staircase.
When they reached the top, two additional guards stood at attention before a large wooden door.
“Giric MacDomnail to see the king.”
A man cloaked in black emerged from the shadows and slid his hood to his shoulders. His face was twisted into a permanent sneer.
“Who are you?” Giric asked.
“I am the king’s seer,” the man said. “You may call me Luther.”
“Well, Luther, I am come to see the King about the threat in the west.” There was no cause to keep that much information from the man. Aught else would be for the king’s ears only.
“What threat?” Luther asked.
Giric laughed. “I am sure you are privy to King Constantine’s concerns as related to this castle, but I am certain you are not aware of happenings in the rest of the country. My information is for him.”
Luther stepped a little closer. The man was a bit hard to look at with one drooping eye and clenched teeth.
