That moment came to him over and over again, at dawn’s first waking, at night falling asleep, by day as he lifted Biter over his head and put himself through his paces. He could not forget the touch of her lips against his cheek, the sweet smell of her, like new violets, the brush of her slender body against his own, stirring him to an instant desire that shamed him deeply. Nessa was a priestess, forbidden, untouchable. Even had it not been so, she was so far beyond him, with her composure and wisdom, that it was ridiculous that such an idea should ever occur to him; outrageous that his body burned for her, even now when she was long gone. He had only to imagine…he had only to remember…he would not remember, Eyvind told himself savagely, hurling Biter at a lump of driftwood he had set against the bank as a target. The axe struck true; the massive log split neatly in half. He must not imagine her. He would think only of today, of this moment: the axe, his arms, the target. He was once more a weapon, not Thor’s now, but hers. His mission was to go to Somerled and tell the truth; to use what he knew, somehow, to influence his friend’s actions. He could not accuse Somerled in front of others, not without proof. To do that would be to seem a madman or a fool; it would change nothing. All he could do, he thought, was speak to his friend in private, and try to shame Somerled into making peace with Engus. He must trust in the strength of that childhood bond, and hope he could set Somerled on a new path. I know you killed your brother. From now on, I will be watching you, to ensure you walk straight. Every day, every step. Odin’s bones, the oath had indeed fettered him. The task would be hard; harder than anything he had done before. He must work to grow strong, so he would be ready.