Authors: Jen Black
“Grey Cloak’s orders,” muttered Paul, gripping his right arm. “You shouldn’t have hit the girl.”
For a moment Flane stopped fighting the men who held him. The thought of Emer, who had no idea the hunting dogs were on her trail, had filled his mind to the exclusion of everything else, but Paul’s comment made him pause and recall striking Katla.
He supposed Skuli Grey Cloak could not allow a man to go unpunished after publically striking his daughter. Flane snorted. He should have beaten her in private and no one would have objected. As soon as the whipping was done, he would set out to find Emer.
On the thought, he let them lead him on through the cool, breezy sunshine. A faint twinge of guilt touched him now that he thought of Skuli’s daughter. He had struck her hard, and his palm still stung a little from the impact with her cheek. She would bear a bruise for some time, but that was a small thing compared with what might happen to Emer.
The crowd surged behind them, and spread out at the whipping post s to gain a good view of the proceedings. Flane looked up at the tall wooden frame and clenched his jaw. Tofi held the coiled leather whip, and Flane wondered at Grey Cloak’s anger. If the whip stripped his back raw, he might not be able to ride for a day or so, and that would have fatal consequences for Emer.
He got one arm free before they rushed at him. Strong, trained warrior that he was, Flane went down under the combined strength of six men who held him and roped him into position. Hide ropes bound his wrists, ran through a groove in the top of the thick wooden pillars on either side of him and held him poised on his toes between them.
“Remove his tunic,” Grey Cloak snapped.
The knife blade was cold on his back, and cool air breathed over his skin. Someone wrenched his tunic apart and left the fabric rucked on each shoulder. Flane faced the dark trees of the forest behind the settlement. Immediately in front of him, pale sunlight heaved shadows across the ground. One shadow moved, and came closer than the others; the elongated shape of a tall man holding a huge whip.
Grey Cloak let the whip uncoil and flicked it to get the feel of it.
Breathing fast, Flane watched the shadow, waited for the hand to lift and strike. Skuli’s voice came out of the background hubbub. “Flane Ketilsson. You raised a hand to my daughter and struck her in front of witnesses. For that, you must be punished.”
Get on with it, man.
Flane tightened his grip on the ropes. Rigid, every muscle taut, he waited for the first blow. Was Katla here, watching? He fought the urge to look for her. He did not want to see her gloating. The shadow moved and Flane’s gaze jerked to follow it. He saw the hand rise, saw the thin line of the whip go up, but did not see the black line fly toward his back.
He flinched, gritted his teeth and snapped his eyes shut against the stinging pain that ripped through his back. He drew a long gulp of air and braced himself for the second blow, thinking he was ready for it; but it shocked him still.
Red hot and terrible, the pain shrieked up his spine to his brain and made him dizzy. It took every ounce of will power he possessed to stand there and not cry out. That was two, he thought wildly. Skuli didn’t say how many. Three? Five, perhaps? Too much of this and he wouldn’t be able to go after Emer. He had underestimated Grey Cloak’s anger.
There was a sixth, and a seventh. Perhaps ten would be the limit. Surely the tenth would be the last? He thought he could bear it. The pause seemed long, and Flane ached for it to come, for it to be over. He clenched his aching jaws and curled his hand around the rope in readiness.
Come on, man, get it over with!
He felt movement beside him, and opened his eyes. “It’s finished,” Paul muttered. “Grey Cloak’s gone back inside.”
The relief was overpowering. He watched them loosen the ropes, and thought he might be sick. He swallowed several times and lowered his arms slowly. They marched him back into the hall and left him standing below the dais, facing Skuli Grey Cloak’s empty chair. Before he had time to think of leaving, Skuli snapped the red curtain aside and strode through from his private quarters.
The silver hanging-lamp shivered as Grey Cloak thumped down into the ornate, carved wooden chair beneath it. Flane eyed the heavy torque of twisted gold, the symbol of Grey Cloak’s leadership. Was worse punishment about to befall him? He looked up and clenched his fists as he met his leader’s steely, angry gaze. At least no one else was within earshot. He doubted anyone would risk Grey Cloak’s anger today for the sake of overhearing what was said.
The crimson curtain behind the dais twitched. Katla would be skulking behind it, listening to everything that was said.
Skuli cleared his throat. “You struck my daughter.”
“I did, lord.” Flane bowed his head, but lifted it straight afterwards, ignoring the red hot sensation that accompanied the movement. He was not going to behave like a craven coward before Grey Cloak, and if this conversation went on too long, he would walk out.
“I brought you to live in this hall and this is how you repay my kindness? Never have you caused me so much displeasure. You and she were brought up in the same household. Why did you strike her?”
Flane didn’t hesitate. “She angered me, lord. She set the hunting dogs after my slave. She was wrong to do that.”
There was a long pause before Skuli Grey Cloak nodded in reluctant agreement. “True. But was there a need to strike her?”
“Probably not, lord. But I feared for the life of the slave. I still do. The dogs are running even as we speak.” He met Skuli’s steady gaze head on. He might as well save time and get it over with as quickly as possible. “I told your daughter we could not marry. To believe that we could was an honest mistake, and no insult is, or was ever intended, to you or your daughter. I wish to marry elsewhere.”
Skuli Grey Cloak shifted from side to side as if uncomfortable in his carved chair. “I cannot release you from your promise, Flane Ketilsson. The offer of marriage was made and accepted in good faith, and my daughter would hold you to your promise.”
The dogs in his mind growled and paced closer to Emer. Flane forced his thoughts back to Skuli Grey Cloak. “Lord, I was a fool to think that I could ever be worthy of your daughter, but I hope I am still worthy of your trust. I thank you for your generosity through the many years of my youth and because of that I cannot lie to you. I know you have long thought on Snorri Longnose as a wise choice of husband, and the two steadings being stronger together than alone. I will never be the husband your daughter expects and deserves. The fault lies with me alone. I cannot in all fairness go on with the marriage and I must withdraw.”
Skuli’s frown deepened. His pale, cold eyes raked Flane from head to foot and he spoke after a long pause. “You say you wish to marry another?”
“This is true, lord.”
Skuli sat forward, elbows on his knees, beard jutting. “You cannot mean to marry the girl you bought in the Dublin market?”
Flane nodded. “She is of good family, lord.”
Skuli flung himself back in his chair and banged a solid fist on the stout wooden armrest. “Have you taken leave of your senses, man?”
“No, lord. I do not believe the lady Katla will hold me when my heart begs to be released.”
There was a long silence. “You talk of your heart,” Skuli Grey Cloak said wearily. “Perhaps you would be wiser to listen to good sense and marry my daughter. If you marry this other girl, you must leave the steading. It would not be fitting for you to stay afterwards.”
Flane had expected it; but he simulated surprise and dismay as a courtesy to Grey Cloak. He owed the man much for all the years of his care. “But…am I not your best…” He amended it swiftly. “One of your best warriors?”
“That cannot signify when the happiness of my daughter is at stake.”
“Have I not brought you—?”
Skuli Grey Cloak jerked to his feet.
Flane twitched, and his back smarted as if someone had doused the wounds with vinegar. He did not step back.
“In three days you must marry my daughter, or you will leave the steading. I want your answer at daybreak.” Skuli grunted. “You must do what you will. But first, there is the matter of compensation. You struck my daughter, and therefore you must pay me silver.”
“You may have all the silver I own, lord.” He would have given anything to get away from here. How much longer was this going to take?
Skuli’s brows lifted. The smooth answer surprised him, but he had to accept the offer, or look like a vengeful lord. He rose, flung the curtain aside and strode into his private quarters without further words.
The glance Flane turned on the red curtain would have melted steel quicker than the blacksmith’s forge. He spun round on his heel, clamped his jaw shut as his back protested and walked stiffly back to his bed space. Once there, he leant one shoulder against the bed post, and took several deep breaths. His back pained him more now the danger was over. He guessed it would hurt a good deal worse than this very soon.
Skeggi was waiting, bowls and clothes to hand. He pointed to the bed, and watched Flane lower himself gingerly onto the edge of the bed platform. “Well? What happened? I assume you want me to do something about that?” He nodded at Flane’s back.
“Better now than later. Do what you must, but do it quickly. We have to ride.” He twitched the two halves of his tunic clear and eyed the bowl and cloths with distaste.
Skeggi threw the remains of the tunic on the bed. “I went to Inga while you talked to Grey Cloak. She said this will help the healing. Can you—let me—”
“It’s cold,” Flane complained when the salve touched him.
Skeggi worked quickly and ignored the harsh gasps Flane could not prevent. By the time he finished, Flane’s face was buried in his palms and his fingers hooked like claws over his head. Skeggi wrapped clean linen around Flane’s chest and tied off the ends. “That’s the best I can do. Inga said it would numb the pain in a little while.”
“It’s working already. Thanks.” Flane shook his head and stared at nothing while Skeggi packed the bloody cloths into the empty bowl and tamped them down. “Skuli said I have to marry Katla in three days or leave the steading. Oh, yes!” Flane threw Skeggi a bitter glance. “And I have to decide by daybreak.”
Skeggi studied his nails, and then picked up the wooden flute he had been whittling the night before and studied that instead. “I thought you had already planned to leave?”
Flane twitched. “Maybe I had, but I grew up here.”
Skeggi stared at him, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “And you hate being told to go?”
Flane glared at him. “What’s funny?”
Skeggi held the flute between the fingertips of both hands, and examined it from all angles. “Emer was uprooted from her homeland, and you expected her to cope with it. I can’t see that this is so different.”
Flane scowled, opened his mouth to retort and thought better of it. He straightened slowly, testing his back. “I can’t sit here and chat. Find me a tunic from that chest and help me into it. I’ve got to go and find her. Why don’t you come with us when we leave? We’ll probably take the boy as well.”
Skeggi dropped the flute on the bed. He picked out a tunic and held it over Flane’s head. “Where will you go?”
Flane shrugged, and winced. He got to his feet. “If we ever find out where Pabaigh is, we could go there. Or Skye? Will you come?”
Skeggi nodded, and followed Flane out of the hall. “I doubt my girl will leave her mother, but yes—”
“We might overtake the dogs,” Skeggi suggested. “They’ve been out less than an hour at most.”
“They’ll have been at my den first,” Oli panted as he ran up behind them. Skeggi slowed, and turned. “Your den?”
Oli pointed into the trees east of the settlement. “We went there first. The hounds will follow the scent, won’t they? I showed Emer the way to the river through the trees, so no one saw us. If you go straight to the river, you’ll save time.”
Flane ruffled the boy’s hair with a rough hand. He met Skeggi’s glance over Oli’s head. “That’s what we’ll do.”
Skeggi stopped. “I have an idea,” he said. “What if we lay a false trail? Emer wore your old tunic for a day, didn’t she? Could we knock the dogs off the scent with that? We’d have to get ahead of them first.”
Oli beamed. “I know where it is.” He turned and raced back to the hall.
Flane stared after him. “You know, that boy will be a great man one day.” He shook his head and then headed for the stables. “Let’s get the horses.”
By the time they led the ponies out of the stable, Oli was back, the tunic clutched in his arms. Skeggi took the excited boy up before him on the saddle. “Keep tight hold of the tunic, and tell us exactly where Emer was going,” he said as they rode out of the settlement. “Then you and I can make a diversion while Flane finds her.”
***
Emer walked along the lower slopes of a mountain and skirted the long, thin loch. She picked early blackberries and ate them one by one as she walked, enjoying the burst of rich dark juice on her tongue and the sunshine’s warmth on her shoulders. Walking soothed her. She and her brother drove their family’s sheep and cattle from pasture to pasture and thought nothing of walking half a warm summer’s day to reach the high grazing.
Watching the landscape, using deer trails where she could, Emer took care where she placed her feet, especially among rocky patches. This was no time to injure herself. Loose stones were a menace, flies were a nuisance and the sun burned one side of her face and neck. The hillsides were very like her island home. Bracken grew impenetrably in some places, and boggy patches were best avoided. Somewhere a cuckoo kept pace with her, repeating its monotonous call, but always from a different stand of trees.
She stopped when the sun was high in the sky and ate the last of her bread, now grown so hard she soaked it in water before she could chew it. Walking made her hungry, but she saved the little square of cheese left in her pouch to eat that evening. She lay back on the hillside, closed her eyes and rested. For some reason, memories of her brother Donald filled her mind, and she viewed them with quiet pleasure. On the edge of sleep, other memories slid into her mind.