Chapter 30

A Dance of War

B agpipes wailed. Flutes whistled. Drums thundered against my beating heart. The melody echoed through the rafters and into the embers and it made the fires roar. It is how I choose to remember my previous life. It is burned upon my heart. When I close my eyes, I can smell it. I can taste it and the drums still beat.

Outside, the sky threatened snow but within the wattled walls of the fortress, the heat burned fiercely. We were packed tight as a shield wall. Danes lined long benches in the centre and my father’s men around the outside, like the petals of a flower. I had been sat between Sigurd and Finlay, the Earl of Moray. We were closer than I would have liked, my elbow brushing the ribs of the man at my side with every mouthful of wine. Remembering that evening, I do not know if my father had intended my placement so that I would involve myself further in his ruse while the ale flowed freely.

Tonight, my bairn had decided to answer, whipping and whirling to the music. No longer tiny fluttering but kicks and prods. I placed a hand on him. I had promised that I would keep him safe. That he would come to no harm. I kept those words. I gave a sideways glance at Sigurd. I knew to my bones that Orkney was to be our home. That we would be safe. That Sigurd would give his life for our family. He would be the father I never had and I would be sure to be a good mother.

My gaze wandered about the room. Agda sat two seats down on the other side of Sigurd, drunker than I had ever seen her as she pawed over a young woman carrying a flagon of ale on her hip, with a fixed, false smile. She waved her away and carried on serving. There were no rules within the walls of my father’s fortress, not like there were in our Mead Hall.

‘Your sisters play well,’ Sigurd said, taking another gulp of ale. ‘Do you not play with them?’

‘In feasts gone by, he would have me play the lute in the hope that I would catch the gaze of a wealthy admirer,’ I said, over the din. ‘He always hoped to marry me off.’

‘Then I am pleased that you played it so badly.’

I snorted. ‘Who says that I play it badly?’

‘If you play anywhere near as bad as you ride, I can see why you have frightened off all your suitors. Perhaps it is why your father thought us a good match?’

‘He did not.’ I poked fun at him. ‘Your match was Donada, dinna forget. It is through my stubbornness that brought me to you and not my terrible lute playing,’ I laughed.

He looked over at Donada and grimaced. ‘It seems I had a lucky escape. Remind me to never let you play an instrument.’

As we laughed together, I watched my father snake through the crowd, eyes fixed upon us like a wolf on a hunt and wearing ceremonial plaid. ‘Good evening, Jarl Sigurd,’ he crooned. ‘I trust that my daughter will not refuse a dance with her father?’ he bowed, holding his hand open before me.

Sigurd glanced between my father and I.

‘Your daughter is a grown woman. She does not need her husband’s permission or her father’s. If she wishes to dance, she will.’

Both men held each other’s gaze like cocks about to fight. Sinew and muscle stiffening. I stood between them.

‘What kind of daughter would I be to refuse such an offer,’ I said and took his hand, leading him into the centre of the room.

‘It seems your husband has a different way of dealing with his women,’ he said as we crossed the broadswords laid on the floor. Dull and tarnished with age. The only weapon my father would permit within our walls during a feast. It was nothing but a dangerous concoction, loose-lipped men drunk on ale and brandishing swords.

We faced each other as silence settled over the room, even the Danes quietened. The drums began to beat a steady tattoo. My father’s hair was scraped neatly back, accentuating his rat-like features. I wore a gown of green, my shoulders wrapped in a wolf pelt and my eyes were charcoal to match my husband’s. We bowed in unison.

I raised my arm. My father mirrored me.

The bagpipes began to sing. Precise and strongly we danced. Feet never touching the swords. I was no longer agile, but my feet never touched the swords. Never missed a step. A true test of skill. A sign of a good omen and victory in a coming battle.

It is strange to me how quickly life can change.

‘For all your pagan costume, you are still my daughter,’ he said, bowing as the music drifted to a close.

As we walked back to our seats, the noise began to build, voices rang out above the instruments. I would not be returning. Neither would my husband. Trying to steady myself, I slipped my arm in his so that I might be close enough to whisper.

‘I do not want my husband or our men going to war against Finnleik. You had my answer in the summer, why did you think it fit to ask again?’

He let out a noise between a laugh and a snort. ‘A woman should not presume to tell me what to do. Play your lute and do your mending. Spit out a child if you must, but do not tell me what to do.’

‘I have as much say in this as my husband.’

‘You always were too pretty to think. Let the men deal with such matters.’ He waved a hand. ‘Go and be on your husband’s arm, like the rest of his gold arm rings. Plans are already in motion.’

‘No. I balled my hands into fists. ‘I will not.’

He shook his head as though I were as irritating as a fly. ‘I should never have listened to the priest. From the moment you agreed to marry him, I knew you would want to betray me, Judas.’ He licked his wicked lips. ‘The Danes have always been intent on destroying our way of life. Look at what they did to your mother.’ He swept me with a glance. ‘But do not worry your pretty heid, the men have dealt with it.’

‘Well, I will not allow it. I will make sure that my husband and his chieftains do not do your bidding.’

‘Do whatever tweeting you like little bird. He will not listen to you.’ He nodded his head towards my seat. ‘Now, go and sit at your husband’s side, like a good wife and do as your telt.’

He turned away and slipped back through the throng of plaid and furs. He took the seat next to his greasy priest. The only salvation that the priest should have been praying for was my father’s and his own.

‘Do not take our men to fight Finnleik,’ I said as I took up my seat. ‘I believe my father plans an ambush.’

‘I expected nothing less.’ He supped another swig of ale, so calmly that I was starting to think he had lost his mind.

‘If you expect it, why have you agreed to go?’

‘In open battle, he would never get the better of our men.’ He smiled. ‘I am hungry. When will they bring out the food.’

He would not take me seriously. He never did.

‘How can you only think of your belly when my father intends to have you and all your men slain?’

‘I am not only thinking of my belly. I am thinking of yours as well.’

‘Sigurd. You must listen.’

‘Look how fierce you are,’ he kissed me, disarming me. ‘That is the fire of our son growing inside you.’

‘Sigurd,’ I said, trying to keep my voice to a whisper. ‘Promise me that you will return with me to Orkney? That you will abandon this quest to prove that our men are more formidable than the Lairds. You know it is an ambush. You know he is not to be trusted. You once told me that your promises were your bond. Show me.’

He studied me for a long time.

‘You have my word,’ he said finally. ‘Tomorrow, I will tell your Laird King that we return to Orkney, that we will not go to war with Finnleik. He will not be happy and neither with Agda.’

‘He never is.’ I took his hand in mine. ‘But you cannot imagine how furious your wife would be if you disobeyed her and ended up dead.’

He rolled his eyes and kissed me.