Knut’s response to Jouko was emphatic.

“Knut is keen to test his skills against Cathal’s.” There was a note of apology in Jouko’s translation. “He asks this as a special favor of you, Johnny. He does not expect to be part of the training, only to have the use of one of Sam’s blades for practice until the next challenges. He is a fighting man, and wishes to show you what he can do. I’m sorry. I did explain, as well as I could.”

“I fight,” Knut said in Irish. “Show heart. Strong. Fight best man here.”

Cathal unfolded his long frame from his seat and stood to face the Norseman. “Then you don’t want me,” he said. “Johnny is my superior with the sword, whether it’s the old broadsword or the new weapon. And I don’t suppose you have the gall to challenge him.”

There was a little silence, broken only by Jouko’s murmured translation.

“Me, you. Good fight.” Knut’s gaze met Cathal’s, blue eyes fiercely intent, black ones, if anything, mildly amused. Among the men there was a stirring, a whispering, as everyone waited for Johnny’s response.

“Your request will be given consideration, Knut.” Johnny’s tone was calm as always. “As Rat explained, the bouts are intended as part of our visitors’ training, and to keep our men’s skills sharp. If you and your wife are still here on the island in seven days, and if Rat judges it wise to allow you the use of one of Sam’s blades in the meantime, you may get a chance to prove yourself.”

If this was intended as a not-too-subtle suggestion that Knut had bitten off more than any man could chew, it was lost on the Norseman. “I fight. You give me sword, I show.”

“There’s no doubting your courage,” Johnny said, giving him a look that was impossible to read. “Any other questions?”

“Come on, Sibeal.” Clodagh grabbed my sleeve and headed toward the gate. No sign of Svala; she had already left. Perhaps Knut’s behavior was as embarrassing to her as hers was to him.

At breakfast Cathal had asked me to make sure Clodagh rested in the afternoon. After a bite to eat, she and I went to the married quarters, where I sat by her bedside and told stories until she fell asleep, blanket tucked over her expanding form. With her flame-colored curls spread across the pillow and her features smoothed by the sleep that had quickly overtaken her, she looked young and vulnerable. Not for the first time, I felt like an older sister, not a younger.