It couldn’t be this easy.
Danr stood among the trees at the edge of the forest, watching a solitary figure walking along the stony shore of the sea loch below. He could see only the side of her face, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was Hilda. Even if it hadn’t been for the braid of dark hair hanging down to her knees, there was the familiar stiff posture, the self-important tilt of her head and the imperiously raised chin. He didn’t need to see her expression to know what it would be. She’d wielded it against him for twenty-two years, the arrogant look that proclaimed she was the only woman in Maerr who mattered—who’d ever mattered; she was Jarl Sigurd’s wife, a hundred times more important than Danr’s dead mother who had been his concubine.
Not any more.
Three years ago, everything had changed. The bloody massacre on his half-brother Alarr’s wedding day had brought the world they’d known crashing down around their ears, destroying their home, their security and their family’s reputation all in one fell swoop. Their father, the mighty Sigurd, had been murdered alongside Alarr’s betrothed, Gilla, his elder half-brother Brandt’s wife, Ingrid, and several of the helmsmen who’d tried to defend them. No one in Maerr had been the same since, especially Danr and Rurik and their half-brothers Brandt, Alarr and Sandulf. Afterwards, their need for answers and vengeance had eclipsed all other concerns, including holding on to their father’s kingdom. Eventually they’d all left their homeland in pursuit of the assassins while the widowed Hilda had fled to the island of Skíð on the west coast of Alba with their father’s former helmsman, Joarr.
At first, her hasty remarriage less than a year after her husband’s murder had seemed a reasonable response to all the political upheaval in Maerr, but now there were questions, significant ones, that needed answers. Which was why he was there on Skíð, just for answers. That was the agreement he’d made with Sandulf when they’d parted ways. He was there to confront Hilda with the evidence they’d uncovered and demand an explanation. Under no circumstances was he to seek retribution, no matter what that explanation turned out to be. Of course, Sandulf was still looking for alternative answers, not wanting to believe his mother guilty of any involvement in the massacre, but Danr’s intuition told him the opposite. Between them, the five sons of Sigurd were closing in on whoever had sent the assassins and he knew Hilda was involved somehow. All he needed to do was prove it.
But it couldn’t be this easy. He’d been on the island for less than a day and there she was, the very first person he came across, alone and seemingly unarmed. It was much too easy. He was known for his cunning, for his well-laid plans and clever stratagems in battle, for never rushing in without looking at a situation from all angles first, but at that moment he didn’t care. His temper flared like a torch dipped in oil at the sight of her. He wanted answers and he was going to get them any way he could. Now.
He threw one last cautious look up and down the beach, making sure that no one else was in sight before striding purposefully across the pebbles towards her. The sea loch was long and narrow, bordered by rolling hills and thick forest on the south-western edge of the island, with impressive views of the mountains that rose up like stone giants to the north. At any other time he might have stopped to admire the jagged ridges and snow-capped pinnacles in the distance, but now his vision seemed to be glazed with red.
Hilda turned at the last moment, alerted by the sound of crunching stones beneath his feet, her welcoming smile turning immediately to a look of surprise and hostility. That was familiar, too. Obviously her low opinion of him hadn’t mellowed in the three years since they’d left Maerr and the feeling was more than mutual.
‘You?’ She kept her haughty chin raised.
‘Me.’ Danr curled his lip in a pretence of a smile. ‘It’s been a long time, Stepmother. Did you miss me?’
If he hadn’t been so angry, he might have laughed at the way her whole body stiffened, like wood petrifying before his very eyes. She’d always hated him calling her that—which was exactly the reason he did it so often. His very existence—and that of his twin brother, Rurik—was a source of deep-seated resentment for her, a resentment that had only grown stronger since their mother’s death when Sigurd had brought them to live in his own hall. For as long as Danr could remember, Hilda had done her best to ignore the two boys, as if by doing so she could wilfully forget her husband’s infidelity, too. His quieter twin had responded in kind, but Danr had chosen the opposite approach of baiting her at every opportunity he got. And he saw absolutely no reason to stop now.
‘What are you doing here?’ Hilda’s voice positively seethed with dislike.
‘Can’t I come for a visit?’ He spread his arms out as if he expected her to embrace him, knowing full well she would have preferred to walk over hot coals. For his part, he would rather have hugged a snake. ‘For old times’ sake?’
‘No!’
‘That’s not very hospitable.’
‘I’m not feeling very hospitable.’ She looked past him, her expression turning hopeful. ‘Is Brandt with you? Alarr? Sandulf?’
‘No.’ He took pleasure in her obvious disappointment. ‘I came alone.’
‘Why? What do you want, Danr?’
‘Straight to the point, as always.’ He laid a hand on the pommel of his sword, drumming his fingers lightly against it. ‘I want the same thing my brothers want: the truth about who killed our father.’
‘We all want that!’ She sounded impatient. ‘It still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ He let his fingers go still, lowering his voice to an undertone and allowing his smile to fade slowly. ‘Can you think of no reason at all?’
‘What?’ The air between them seemed to thicken with tension as her eyes widened and then darted towards the village at the far end of the beach. ‘Maybe we should talk inside.’
‘I thought you just said I wasn’t welcome?’ He lifted an eyebrow mockingly.
‘You’re not, but it’s getting colder. The wind’s changed direction.’
‘Then we’d better make this quick. Tell me why you murdered my father and I’ll be on my way.’ He said the words casually, as if they were of no importance, but it felt good to accuse her, to see her jaw plummet and hear her sharp intake of breath.
‘I didn’t murder Sigurd!’
‘Maybe not by your own hand, but someone ordered the attack.’
‘Not me! Why would I do such a thing?’
‘Because you didn’t love him.’
‘No.’ She didn’t even pause to deny it. ‘Not for a long time, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead.’
‘You didn’t want him as your husband any more.’ Danr advanced a step closer, deliberately trying to intimidate her. ‘You didn’t want him in your bed.’
‘He didn’t want to be in it either!’ Hilda’s green eyes glittered with contempt. ‘That proves nothing. How many of the women you sleep with do you love, Danr? Any at all? But you don’t kill them to be rid of them.’
‘That’s different.’ He felt a fresh burst of temper. ‘You were betraying my father with his own helmsman and he found out about it. Brandt heard them arguing a few days before the attack.’
‘Sigurd only suspected.’ Hilda snorted dismissively. ‘He didn’t know.’
‘Then it makes even more sense that you killed him. You ordered the attack before he could find proof and punish your lover.’
‘No!’
‘That’s why you ran away with Joarr so soon afterwards.’
‘It wasn’t soon!’ She tossed her braid at the accusation. ‘I stayed in Maerr for months to nurse Alarr and help Brandt hold on to his birthright, but they were both so set upon revenge. Everything was falling apart and my sister...’ She bit her tongue, seeming to think better of whatever it was she’d been about to say. ‘Joarr said it was too dangerous for us to remain. That’s why we came to find shelter here with his kinsmen.’
‘You mean, in case someone discovered what you’d done?’
‘Enough!’ She thrust her jaw out angrily. ‘How dare you say such things! When my sons discover what you’re accusing me of—’
‘Ah, but who do you think sent me?’ Danr gave a slow, taunting smile. ‘Only, they’re good sons. They don’t want to accuse their own mother, especially when they have a bastard brother who’s more than willing to do it for them. I left Sandulf only a matter of days ago.’
He paused to let the words sink in, pleased to see her face blanch. Unfortunately, he was no closer to getting a confession. Perhaps accusing her outright hadn’t been the best tactic after all. Perhaps he ought to have bided his time and confronted her with the evidence first, or, better still, spoken to Joarr beforehand as he’d planned, but his temper had got the better of him. If he couldn’t provoke her into an admission of guilt, then he only had one other option left. It was a bluff, though doubtless she despised him enough to believe him capable of it...
‘Admit you had a hand in it...’ he drew Bitterblade in one slick, steady motion ‘...and I’ll let your sons decide on your punishment. Otherwise this is between you and me.’
‘I admit nothing.’ She didn’t even flinch, the look in her eyes only hardening. ‘I just told you I wasn’t involved.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Then kill me if you must, but I refuse to stand here and be judged by a man like you. You may be able to charm the birds from the trees, Danr, but you’ll always be worthless underneath. You take a different woman into your bed every night because you think it makes you more of a man, but it makes you less. You inherited the very worst traits of your father. You’re empty inside, Danr. You have no depth, no heart, no honour or decency.’
‘Say what you want about me, but you will not insult my father!’ Danr took a step closer, pointing the tip of his sword at her breast.
‘Why not? He insulted me every day of our marriage. He insulted me with your mother—with you!’
‘Maybe you deserved it!’
‘Get away from her!’
Danr spun around at the sound of Joarr’s shout, furious at himself for having been caught off guard. He had to give credit to Hilda. She hadn’t betrayed her new husband’s approach by as much as a twitch of an eyelid. She’d known just how to distract him, too, stoking his temper at the same time as he’d been trying to provoke hers. Now the giant warrior was only a few feet away and advancing steadily, sword and shield both raised, his expression angrier than Danr had ever seen it, redolent with bloodlust, and no wonder. From a distance it must have looked as if he’d been about to cut Hilda down in cold blood.
‘Did he touch you?’ Joarr’s gaze slid briefly towards his wife.
‘No.’ To Danr’s surprise, there was actually a placatory note in Hilda’s voice. ‘He’s come from Sandulf. It seems that my sons have some suspicions about me.’
‘What kind of suspicions?’
‘About Sigurd’s death. They think I was involved.’
‘You?’ Joarr’s stopped a sword’s length away from Danr, his eyes like chips of blue ice. ‘She had no part in it. That’s your answer.’
‘Is that what she told you?’
‘It’s what I know.’
‘Something tells me you’re not the best judge of character where she’s concerned.’
‘I believe my wife.’
Danr blew air between his teeth contemptuously. ‘And you always said I was the one who was driven by lust. Apparently you’re guilty of the same weakness, old friend.’
‘I love Hilda and she loves me.’ Joarr drew his brows together in a ferocious line. ‘Is love so hard for you to understand, boy?’
‘Yes!’ Danr answered without thinking, though it was only the truth. He loved his brothers, but love for a woman, the kind that Alarr had found with Breanne, Rurik with Annis, and Sandulf with Ceanna, that had never made sense to him. It never would. His mother’s love for his father had brought her only pain and regret. Just the thought of it filled him with anger.
‘She needs to pay for what she did.’ He jerked his head towards Hilda, his ragged temper fraying even further.
‘She didn’t do anything!’
‘Then ask her why the assassins had some of her jewellery—three pendants.’
‘Pendants?’ Hilda’s voice seemed to crack on the word.
‘Aye. The ones you used to pay them.’
‘What kind of—?’
‘She’ll explain nothing!’ Joarr’s roar was like a crack of thunder. ‘You always talked too much, Danr. You should have been a skald, not a warrior.’
‘Wait!’ Hilda lifted her hands as if she were trying to calm them both. ‘Perhaps we should talk.’
‘It’s too late for that.’ Joarr waved his shield in her direction, gesturing for her to get back. ‘He just threatened you. That’s reason enough for me to kill him.’
‘You can try!’
Danr gave a harsh laugh, shifting his weight to his right foot as he waited for the older man to attack first. It didn’t take long. Barely a second after he’d issued the challenge, Joarr rammed the boss of his shield forward, attempting to knock him down, but Danr was faster, moving to the left, parrying the thrust aimed after him and then darting forward, running his blade across the warrior’s mail coat as he went.
The old helmsman gave a grunt of anger and whirled around, slicing his shield through the air with such bloodthirsty force that Danr had to duck to a crouching position to avoid having his skull smashed. He used the position to strike at Joarr’s legs, aiming a kick at his kneecaps to send him reeling backwards, but the helmsman recovered quicker than Danr had expected, charging forward again almost immediately and knocking him sideways. It was a foolish attack, one that left Joarr’s right flank exposed and unprotected. If Danr lifted his blade then, it would be easy enough to skewer him in the armpit. There was a gap in his mail. He could see it—a clear, almost perfect target. If he chose, he could sink his blade there and then cut Hilda down where she stood. He could finish them both in a matter of moments. The killing blow was his for the taking. If...
He hesitated as a succession of memories swept through his mind: Joarr teaching him how to hold his first wooden sword, how to wield it, how to use his opponents’ weaknesses against them, giving him ten times more attention than his real father ever had... How could he use those lessons against him now? How could he kill him? He couldn’t, he realised, jumping aside just in time to dodge another blow that sent a flurry of pebbles up into the air where he’d just stood. All he wanted was to knock him down long enough to talk, to explain to him how he knew Hilda was guilty...
He circled around, knowing that, if he started to give ground, the pummelling would be relentless. Joarr was a hulk of a man and a fearsome fighter, though his size and age made him slow. Fortunately for Danr, after years of training together, he knew all of the man’s tactics, whereas his own range of manoeuvres had expanded and been honed by necessity over the past couple of years. If it hadn’t been for the rib he’d injured in Alba, then he might have found a way to end the fight already, but he still wanted to do so without hurting his former teacher. This wasn’t the fight he wanted. If they could only put down their weapons and talk man to man as the friends they’d once been...
There was a sound of shouting and Danr turned his head sharply, grimacing at the sight of at least a dozen warriors emerging from the village at the end of the beach, all running to Hilda and Joarr’s rescue. He gritted his teeth and muttered a string of the most colourful oaths he could think of. He’d wasted his opportunity with Hilda and run out of time. All he could do now was escape to the forest while he still had the chance, then take some time to consider and come up with a better plan. That was what he ought to do, but when he tried to move something felt wrong.
He glanced down in bewilderment. His right arm felt strangely numb and his fingers seemed to be having trouble keeping a grip on his sword... The moment he thought it, the blade fell from his grasp, hitting the ground with a heavy clatter. That was when he noticed the gash in his mail, accompanied by a searing burst of pain. The metal links must have torn when Joarr had charged him, allowing his sword to find its target for a moment. He had no memory of the blade even touching him, though obviously it had.
He touched his fingers to the hot stream of blood trickling down his arm and then looked back at Hilda. Confusingly, her hands were wrapped around Joarr’s waist as if she were holding him back, restraining him even, while the warriors from the village were coming ever closer. If he stayed where he was then he’d be captured and executed for certain, which in itself wouldn’t matter so much, but it wouldn’t give his brothers the answers they needed either. That was why he was there and why he had to survive. For them.
He picked up Bitterblade with his good arm, took a few steps back towards the forest, then ran.