“Do I have your word, as my son, that you will agree to my request upon reading what I may or may not show you?” He shrugged, unrelenting. “If not, then I willnae.”
A heavy silence fell between us as we continued eyeing each other before the fire snapped and popped so robustly, I looked to the flames, shocked by what I swore I saw. For a split second, the image of the merchant boat in which Father wasshipwrecked crested the flames as if sailing upon waves before disappearing.
“Nay,” I whispered, shaking my head. Surely my imagination played tricks on me. Mayhap I’d enjoyed more whisky this eve than I realized?
“Ja,” Astrid whispered, her gaze on the flames as well. “’Twas there, Declan. Just as it was that night, carrying your father, delivering him into Soren’s
lifesaving arms upon the shores of Largs.”
A merchant ship that had been carrying my father to various allied clans to get a sense of things less spoken about. Father had been rather close-lipped about it, claiming he had discovered little, but it seemed he might have when he handed me the key to my mother’s trunk.
“See it if you must, Declan,” he said softly. “Then, with knowledge in hand, I pray you will do as I asked so that I might die in peace when the good Lord takes me. ‘Tis the top scroll. You cannae miss it.”
Although unsure what to make of any of this, I couldn’t help but notice that Astrid seemed remarkably calm now. Nor did I miss how she fingered the small green stone hanging around her neck. Something I hadn't seen until now, yet I got the overwhelming sense it had been there all along.
Either way, I refused to see through Father’s monumental request blindly, so I crouched in front of the chest I remembered fondly as a wee bairn when Mother retrieved one thing or another from inside, inserted the key, and opened it. Nostalgia washed over me at its rich pine scent, and for the briefest of moments, I felt the wonder of peering inside when young, as if it were a magical chest.
“Your sweet Da had this made for me,” Mother had said when she allowed me to see inside. She had smiled, her blue eyes sparkling when she leaned close and whispered in my ear,“And ‘twill always be full of great wonders. Of all the years your da and I share. Of what great love should be.”
My heart warmed at those words, and even if only a memory, for a moment, they seemed real once again heard in the whistling wind beyond the windows as I wrapped my hand around the wounded-looking scroll on top. Startled by the odd yet equally warm and encompassing sensation I felt at touching it, I glanced over my shoulder at Astrid, oddly compelled to look at her, only to find her looking right back.
“’Tis fate, Declan,” she said softly, almost as if she spoke something out of habit. Perhaps even out of hope and want, yet wariness, too. “Youare my fate.”
I glanced down at the scroll, then back to her, only to find her gaze on the flames once more, as if she’d never looked my way to begin with, nor had Father’s gaze wavered from watching me.
Unnerved by the feeling she had somehow spoken to me without him being the wiser, I returned to my seat and downed the rest of my whisky before frowning at the scroll. For some reason, I dreaded reading it, even though minutes before, I’d been eager for some proof of why I should marry Astrid so swiftly without our king’s permission. “What is this, Da?”
“’Tis a missive from a clan closely allied with the MacGreggor’s about their chieftain, Gustav.” He had never sounded more serious than now as his gaze lingered on the scroll. “I had tucked it in my pocket before the storm hit that fateful night on the water, and by the grace of God, it survived…” Father hesitated, clearly humbled not just by his survival but by the fact that it was still intact. “Especially considering everything that has unfolded since right to this verra moment.”
God’s grace indeed had saved this. I carefully unrolled it, finding the paper soft and pliable despite being submerged in water. The ink wasn't even smudged. If anything, it almostappeared as though someone had just written it. While tempted to accuse my father of some sort of forgery, everything inside me said it wasn't.
“Bloodyhell,” I whispered, shaking my head as I read it, not daring to read it aloud even though I knew we were safe within these walls. Nevertheless. “Thiscannaebe right.”
Yet I knew the chieftain of that clan, and itwashis signature at the bottom.
I also knew he was as much an ally to the MacGreggors as he was to us.
“’Tisright because we spoke of it together alone before he sent it with me,” Father said. “And he feels the same as I.” He looked from Astrid to me, remaining quiet about the details as well, just in case. “We cannae let that happen, son. Not if we hope for a better future with our Scandinavian neighbors across the sea. Those trying to invade now might soon be driven from our isles and our country entirely ours once more, but allies are always better than enemies going forward. And they, I have no doubt, will prove better allies than the Sassenach in the years to come.”
While he might be right, the greater threat in this missive lay in proof that Gustav most certainly did want Astrid. More than that, it was just as I feared might be the case. He intended to use her for his own nefarious purposes. Namely, to destroy as many Norse as he could, starting with her, once they were married.
I continued skimming over the chieftain’s words, gripping the parchment so tightly in fury that my hand shook.
Gustav boasted to me when in his cups that he had the Norse girl right where he wanted her. She was all his, ripe for the taking when the time was right. He had wooed her so well that she would think him truly smitten with her. So, I will giveher the honor of me making her my wife and slake my lust, he claimed rather boldly. Then I will punish her for all the harm she and her kind have done to my countrymen.
I shook my head, disgusted by what I was reading as the chieftain went on, clear indeed with my father about what Gustav had shared.
You should have seen the sinister relish in Gustav’s eyes as he spoke about his plans for Astrid, my friend. ‘Tis impossible to convey the depravity. His sheer insolence. I will not go into the details as I am a God-fearing man and dare not even utter them upon paper. Suffice it to say, he fully intends to claim that she divulged some fabricated falsehood about her people. He would have to think on it, but at the very least, she would have revealed she expected many more attacks by her countrymen. That her beloved Norse would take back their rightful land, and the Scots here would allow it or suffer the consequences.
“That would give him the excuse he needed to do what the king was unwilling to do here and now,” I murmured, reading those words aloud, roiling with disdain at the man. He intended to go on a rampage and scourge these shores of all Norse once she divulged whatever fabricated falsehood about her people he had imagined up.
As I fumed at the lengths a man I’d once called a friend was willing to go, it occurred to me that I, too, had felt the same before Astrid came into my life. Felt the same, despite the Norse villagers I had grown up around. And now, despite my understanding of where Gustav’s hatred came from, it occurred to me I no longer agreed.
Not entirely.
Not enough to risk the lives of so many who were nothing more than innocent tradesmen or farmers nowadays. Did I agree we should do away with the Norse who intended to rise against our people? Of course. But how many of them actually did? One would think they’d have fled by now, given how outnumbered they were.
“Well, then?” my father prompted softly, taking the missive from me and handing it to Astrid to read. “Will you see through my request now so I might have peace of mind? I dinnae doubt you and Astrid will, by example, show King Alexander that the Norse who have been here for generations are no threat. That you two, working together, will see through what already lies within our king’s heart, may it be resurrected for the innocents out there despite this recent battle.”
