“At least a sennight, maybe longer. But you have to allow your body to rid itself of the poison. If you push yourself too hard it will take longer.”
“A sennight! No, that will not do. I will go mad in the head if I am kept in this chamber another day. How will I find out who sent the assassins from here?”
“That is not your concern. Your husband will track them down and he will be sure they are brought to justice.”
“And where is my husband? Off talking to the king as you say, whilst I’m here vulnerable and unable to protect myself or anyone else.”
“You are not unprotected.”
“I hope you do not refer to those children on the other side of that door,” she said and pointed to the closed door.
“How do you know what is on the other side?”
“Because I am trained to know. I have ears that function quite well and I hear the fear in their voices.”
Freydis shook her head. “You are not human,” she said and laughed.
“I am blessed by Odin. He gives me the strength reserved for one son and the wits of the other. I will remain in this bed for one more day then all the guards in Alba will not keep me in it.”
Freydis placed her hands on her hips. “Very well. If I only have one more day with you, you will not complain about your food or your drink. You will not scoff or bat my hand away. Do we have an agreement?”
Saga folded her arms across her chest and nodded. This was worse than any torture she could imagine. She was well enough to be up and around and was convinced staying abed only delayed the poison’s effect.
“Here is your stew,” Freydis said and placed a much larger bowl before her. The extra chunks of meat made Saga smile.
The door opened and Lady Fraser entered, dragging a large sword—Saga’s sword. She was on her feet in an instant, and stumbled when the room spun. Freydis rushed forward and helped her back to sitting.
“I told you the poison still held its power over you,” Freydis said.
Saga carefully stood again and reached for her sword. Lady Fraser dragged it across the stone floor and offered it to Saga. Her fingers curled around the grip and tightened. She lifted it a couple inches before it dropped to the floor again. Thor’s teeth, the effort was overwhelming. She’d had this weapon since she was ten and even then could raise it over her head.
“I told you, not to overdo it,” Freydis said and took the sword from Saga then leaned it against the wall. “Now do you believe me?”
Saga grunted and sat back down to eat her stew. By Odin, she’d have that sword above her head by the morrow even if it killed her.
* * *
The lords took their seats around tables framing the long central hearth in the great hall. These were men Giric had fought with and trusted, but there was a different air about them today. This was no jovial celebration like the last time they’d met and driven back the English king. He’d been fed and watered and was ready to seek their counsel, but he could not discount the fact that one or more here may have a different agenda and ally since they’d last met.
The king entered from the head of the hall and took his seat on the dais. All heads turned toward him whilst servants filled tables with drink and a feast. Giric had to give them all credit for preparing such a meal in a few short hours. King Constantine looked different from earlier that day. He’d obviously washed and donned clean garments. He now looked like a king with his amber tunic, wide belt and longsword at his side, his head adorned with a thin golden crown centred with a large red ruby.
“My lords, I thank you for your company. It has been far too long. I welcome you to my table and invite you to fill your gullets.”
“We are honoured to be invited to your table, my king,” a white haired, fat Kenneth Andrews said. “I admit, whilst I am pleased by the invitation, I was surprised by its coming.”
The man was no warrior and fancied himself the king’s most loyal noble. Giric groaned inwardly. He was the type of man who sidled up to the winner in any argument and asserted himself as their staunchest supporter. Giric wouldn’t trust him the length of a shortsword.
“Aye, it has been long since we convened. I shall jump right to it, then. News has come to me we must assess from my trusted ally in the west, Laird Giric MacDomnail. You have fought with this man and his words shall be taken as truth.”
Andrews eyed Giric who was sitting to the right of the king. It appeared he only just noticed his presence, perhaps reserving that attention for that which the king offered first.
“My lord, MacDomnail,” Andrews said. “It is a pleasure to make your company for it has been some time since we have conversed.”
“Aye, it has,” Giric said. “Our king has much to share with you, my lord. Perhaps we may reminisce once he is finished sharing his news.”
Andrews’ brow knit. Giric didn’t have time for niceties. Not whilst Saga was recovering from a deadly attack and those ultimately responsible were still at large.
“Of course, my lord,” Andrews said.
