She didn’t like the way his eyes lingered on her flat belly, nor the sneer in his voice. ‘My father may have been baseborn, but my grandsire Ívar Wide-Realm conferred on him true title, according to Sveär law. Your Danes may have slain five thousand of my people, but fifty thousand would stand in their place at a word from me.’

‘Horse shit! They wouldn’t lift a finger for you. You stood on our side of the field, Sviggarsdottír, remember? So don’t pretend you weren’t complicit in every Sveär death. You’re a traitor to your people. They know it. So do you.’

That was no lie, although she had done her best to justify it, to herself if no one else. ‘I’ve no time to bandy words with you. There’s your brother. Make your peace with him. I must go back.’

She turned to go but he snatched her arm. ‘You’re a conceited little bitch, aren’t you?’

‘Let go of me!’ Her reaction was pure instinct, her hand swinging with full force at him, cracking across his jaw. She felt her father’s ring smash against his teeth. For a second he was stunned, although his grip around her arm loosened not a whit, and slowly he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. It came away smeared red. ‘You fucking whore.’

She made to scream but before any sound could escape the crook of two massive fingers jammed around her throat. Seeing the sudden wildness in his eye, a wave of panic rose in her. She tried to hit him again but her fist merely glanced off his chest. His wild look turned into a bloody grimace. ‘Let’s have some fun, eh? What do you say, sister? Any objections?’ His grip squeezed harder. A feeble gargle sounded in her throat. ‘No?’ He gave an ugly laugh. ‘Nice to see you’re as game with one brother as another.’

Out of nowhere, the back of his fist struck her. Pain exploded through her skull like a starburst. She dropped onto the slope of her husband’s grave.