“Still, you said yourself, he made himself into the kind of man some folk admired. Perhaps, on that day, he made himself into the sort of man who mourns his brother’s death. Another game.”

“But there’s no proof,” Eyvind said. “Only that, because I know him well, I see something in the execution of it that points to one man only. A clever killing, all tracks covered, and the prophecy accounted for down to the last detail. I don’t want to believe I’m right, for this is a crime against blood, against kinship, against natural law.” His tone was hushed.

Nessa inclined her head. “But you do believe it,” she said. “This is what keeps you from going back, even now that you are regaining your strength. You fear to confront him with the truth.”

“How could any man perform such an act? It was surely a vengeance far too great, even if Ulf did use Somerled’s birthright to help pay for the journey here. After all, Somerled is well equipped to make his own way; indeed, that is what he prefers. I asked myself, would he do such a deed, take such a risk, simply to punish his brother for not loving him? And I remembered…”

“What, Eyvi?” She saw his hands shaking again and, without thinking, put her own out to take and steady them.

“I remembered another time when his vengeance was terrible indeed, another time with no evidence, no proof. When we were young, back in Hammarsby, there was a girl hurt—taken by force, and got with child before she was ready for it. She killed herself. They never knew who was responsible. I knew, but I denied it to myself, I refused to believe he was capable of it. There was a lad, Sigurd, who was fond of the girl; he left Hammarsby soon after she died. Later, on the voyage here, we met Sigurd again, a man still consumed by rage after all those years. He tried to kill Somerled; I stopped him. And then…then there was a terrible accident. Or it seemed like an accident. Sigurd was killed. He was gored by a bull. It was Somerled’s little knife that goaded the creature to charge. But…but I stood there too, on the other side. Somerled had no way of knowing if the bull’s horn would pierce Sigurd’s breast or mine. That made me think. It made me think more than I wanted to.”

“He, too, swore a blood oath,” Nessa said. “But you cannot expect loyalty from such a man. Your brother was right to warn you. Somerled is only interested in winning. He doesn’t care who falls by the wayside.”

“He has been kind to me.”

“Can such a man understand kindness?”