Page 73 of Her Celtic Captor

Brynhild could have wept with relief when Fiona slowly nodded. She pressed on, seeking to press home the small advantage.

"I was cruel to you, but I did not intend you to die that night. You would not have. I would have freed you had my brother not already done so. Harald had his instructions, my commands were quite clear. He knew he was to bring you back inside after a short time had elapsed."

"He left me," breathed Fiona. "A woman, in one of the longhouses..."

Brynhild gave a snort of disgust. She never could abide disobedient thralls and Harald's dereliction of his duty had cost her dear. "He had no business leaving you unattended in order that he might dally with some wench. He should have stayed, he knew that." Brynhild had no doubt that the slave's disappearance the following morning owed much to his knowledge of his own culpability. Harald had no desire to face her, or Ulfric, to account for his actions.

Fiona still appeared confused. "You did not instruct Harald to stay. I would have heard..."

"I did, but not in your hearing." Brynhild was emphatic, much rested on this point. "Harald knew, and I knew, but I could not prove it. I still cannot, but I swear that it is true."

"Why should I believe you now?"

Brynhild tilted her chin up. Pride would not allow her to grovel, not yet. "Why should you not? I would not lie about this. Njalwasill, events could have been as I say."

Silence stretched between them. Eventually Fiona nodded. "Very well. Let us leave it at that, then."

Brynhild clutched at her sleeve as Fiona made to rise. "No, you must tell Ulfric."

"Ulfric knows. We spoke?—"

"About Njal. You must tell him about Njal. He does not know that, so you must not have told him or he would believe you. He would believeme."

Fiona considered for several moments, then inclined her head slowly. "Very well, I shall tell Ulfric what I remember of that night. All of it. He still may not?—"

"It will be a start. The truth is important, there can be no reconciliation without it."

Fiona sighed, but did not disagree. She appeared quite spent. On a sudden impulse Brynhild offered to prepare a chamomile tea for her. "It may settle your discomfort," she advised.

Fiona tottered over to the bed. "I believe I may stay here for a while. The tea would be... most welcome."

Brynhild paused at the door, Morvyn now fretting in her arms. "We are sisters now. Perhaps, in time, we might be friends."

She slipped out the door and closed it behind her, then leaned against it, breathing heavily. She had made her peace with Fiona and had succeeded in enlisting her help. It was a start.

The weeks slipped by,and a peace of sorts descended upon the communities of Aikrig and Pennglas. Ulfric had listened to Fiona, and Brynhild thought that perhaps the other woman had worked on her behalf for which she was grateful. In any case, her brother had accepted Brynhild's account of the incident with the stocks and offered his apologies for the misunderstanding.

Brynhild accepted his apology, though that had never been her main concern. For her it had always been about the truth, and about her self-respect and the regard of those about her. Those were restored and she found herself less and less interested in raking over the ashes of what was past.

Further, she was no fool. Even she could see that had events not unfolded as they did, she would still be at Skarthveit, wallowing in her own fears, living out her days in her brother's household. Instead, here she was, mistress of her own home, forging a life with a man she adored though she found it quite impossible to share that nugget with Taranc for fear he did not feel the same.

He was affectionate, loving even, especially in their bed, but otherwise theirs was not a demonstrative union. Still, she had no complaints, they got along well enough and Brynhild was happy. She had her home, a community where she was respected, and she had her precious little boy who was now starting to crawl about their house and babble his first words.

Life was fine, she concluded as she worked at her loom. Life was just fine.

"Where is Taranc?" Ulfric burst through the door, his cloak flapping around his broad shoulders and his sword drawn. Rarely had she seen him so fierce.

"He went to Castlereagh, with Murdina and Morag. They have a cousin who is ailing..."

"Castlereagh. Where is that?"

"A village up the river, perhaps an hour from here, on horseback. They... they took Morvyn with them."

"I shall send for him to return at once. And you, you should make haste to Pennglas. Dughall is there, and Fiona and Njal."

"Why? What has happened?"

"Dragon ships are sighted, three miles up the coast and headed this way. We are under attack."

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