He gently eased Eilidith away.
She blinked up at him, momentarily unfocused. Then recognition set in and she pulled away. Her dog gave a soft woof.
‘Time to begin, my lady,’ he said. ‘Are you ready? Shall we teach Thorbin a lesson?’
She nodded. ‘Coll and I are eager to play our parts, but Thorbin may listen to reason.’
He leant forward and adjusted the kerchief so that her flame-coloured hair was completely covered and less of a distraction.
‘You, yes, but your dog will stay with my men.’
She gave a hiccupping laugh. ‘Good luck with that. Coll will find a way to be with me. Your men won’t be able to hold him.’
‘They can and they will.’
A tiny frown appeared between her brows. ‘Why?’
‘Thorbin’s guards won’t let you anywhere near him with that dog. For my plan to succeed you must make your petition. You must be able to show Ketil’s ring to Thorbin yourself.’
The tension flowed from Eilidith’s face. ‘I knew Hring had it wrong. You would not have me play the whore.’
He stared at her astonished. She’d been worried about that? He captured her hand between his. Her fingers were long and narrow. The inside of her wrist was naked and vulnerable. Her eyes met his with a clear gaze. He realised he was staring. He hurriedly dropped her hand.
‘You are not the type,’ he said and knew from the flash of hurt in her eyes, his voice was a tad too harsh and he had put it badly. Her sensibilities shouldn’t bother him, but they did.
‘I never considered a whore for this,’ he said, trying again. ‘Thorbin knows how faithless women can be. You are perfect for what I need.’
Her hand grabbed on to Coll’s fur. Silently he willed her to see the sense. Making her a present to Thorbin would be something Thorbin would expect and would have planned for. His half-brother was thorough in that regard. They needed to be as inconspicuous as possible. Thorbin had to have no inkling until Sigurd sprang the trap.
‘If Coll senses I am in danger, he will find a way to get to me, but he can stay here.’
The air went out of Sigurd’s lungs and his neck eased. Eilidith was truly a gift. There was no pouting or demands that he list her undoubted charms as most of the women he’d dealt with would have done—instead, she turned her mind to the next problem. An attractive woman who was sensible—he couldn’t ask for more.
‘Hring will take care of him for you. I will inform him how to keep Coll under control.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Now we need to move.’
She remained where she was.
‘Do you think we will emerge alive?’
He reached out and cupped her cheek. Her soft skin trembled beneath his fingers. ‘Thorbin failed to kill me once. He won’t succeed this time. Trust me to get this right.’
Her tongue flicked out and moistened her lips. ‘What are we going to do? Tell me now or I will go straight to the gate and proclaim that Ketil’s men are here.’
With great reluctance he let her go. Soon, he promised his body, he would taste her lips, but he needed her courage first.
‘Warriors are allowed to challenge for the leadership,’ he said, forcing his mind to work, ‘if, and only if, they are in the assembly. A decree from King Harald Finehair in order to stop disputes. Thorbin seeks to prevent anyone from Ketil’s felag from reaching the assembly. That is where you come in, you are going to get me into the assembly today.’
Sigurd hunched down and outlined his plan, concentrating on the important aspects of it, rather than thinking about how her lips might taste or how her hair slowly turned a glossy red in the rising sun. Such considerations had no place in the here and now. He had to focus on his task as he had a thousand times before. Focus kept him alive.
Eilidith was useful to him as a reason to challenge something Thorbin could not duck or forestall on—that was all. He knew what was important in his life and where his future lay. It had nothing to do with a flame-haired woman and her overgrown wolfhound.
* * *
The gates finally swung open mid-morning after much grumbling in the growing throng that they normally opened at dawn as they had done on previous days. The crowd began to shuffle with much jostling and shoving to get a good position.
Against her natural instincts, Liddy obeyed Sigurd’s instructions and waited. According to him, they wanted to be in the centre of the stream of people going in. They were less likely to be questioned, more likely to make it to the great hall where Thorbin would hear the petitions. Her stomach had twisted itself into knots. The last thing she wanted was to be questioned about who her companion was. Her ability to lie was laughable.
She put her hand out to pat Coll and encountered empty air. She curled her fingers into her palm and wished Coll was there, but he was back being fed dried meat by Hring and she was here with Sigurd, trusting that her curse would not ruin everything.
The queue moved forward and then stopped abruptly. Sigurd changed his gait as they inched forward. To her sidewise glances, he appeared much more flat footed and slow, rather than possessing the arrogant swagger of a Northman warrior.
A large warrior jostled a fishmonger’s wife and she told him what to do in no uncertain terms in Gaelic. All banter ceased. The man stared at her while other people nudged each other. When she finished her tirade, she said very loudly in Norse that she wanted to go in to sell her fish, the freshest in the land. He nodded and waved her on.
‘Most Northmen don’t know the Gaelic language,’ Liddy whispered. ‘They taunt him. It is what passes for sport in this country these days.’
‘They should be careful. Not everyone from the North is ignorant or tolerant.’ Sigurd watched the warrior who was inspecting the woman’s basket of fresh fish with a dubious expression. ‘Gorm used to be well thought of. Slow to anger, but when he does, watch out. His double-axe skill is legendary.’
‘Is that his name? Gorm?’
‘Yes, that is his name—Gorm the Two-Axed. We served together briefly a few years ago against Ketil’s great rival, Ivar the Boneless, and his band of dark Northmen, the men from the Black Pool, or Dubh Linn as you Gaels call it.’ Sigurd pulled his hood more firmly over his face and leant on his stick more, giving the impression that he was old and feeble. ‘He fights with two axes and no shield. I saw him clear an entire ship of Gaels on his own and emerge with only a slight cut on one arm.’
A shiver went down Liddy’s spine. The people were playing with fire. All it would take was for someone to point out what was being said. ‘Is he still...a great warrior? He seems to be running to fat.’
Sigurd was quiet for a long heartbeat. ‘He broke his leg in a fight after a feast more than two years ago. See how he still walks with a limp. I’d prefer him not to be against us should it come to a full-on fight.’
Her heart thudded. If he knew Gorm, then Gorm would know him. Any hope of surprise would go. Her mouth tasted like ash. And she would be condemned as an accomplice. Any hope of rescuing her father and brother would be lost. She stared up at the clouds. There were too many people behind them to run. She kept trying to remember the sound of her seanmhair’s voice as she declared that Liddy would do great things, rather than thinking about Brandon’s scorn.
‘Gorm will recognise your voice.’ She kept hers to barely above a whisper.
Sigurd nodded. ‘It is why you must speak if he acknowledges us.’
She risked a glance at him. He had straightened up a little and was surveying the crowd. ‘No one will ever take you for a servant. Stoop