They neared the third house. Nessa’s heart sank. Lights shone from inside, and the figures of armed men could be seen on watch in the yard. Their garb was that of the Norsemen: iron helms, short cloaks, dark, belted tunics. A great deal of weaponry hung about their bodies.

“Shadow!” she hissed. “Shadow, come back!” For the bitch was sprinting forward now, her barking drawing instant attention to their presence. Guard loped trustingly after her. Nessa crouched by an outhouse, her heart pounding. It could be only moments before the men found her.

One guard was reaching down to pat the bitch; he seemed quite unperturbed by her dramatic arrival. The other came over to stand by his side, hands on hips. They were staring at Guard now; Nessa could hear their tones of astonishment.

“Well, well. What have we here?”

“Thor’s hammer! Two of ’em! Didn’t they say one went off with…?”

“With the Wolfskin. That’s what they said. Vicious brute with teeth like knives, nearly took one fellow’s hand off.”

“Can’t be the same dog,” said the second man, reaching to scratch Guard behind the ears. “Skinny thing, but friendly enough. Looks like he’s been on the run a while.”

The two of them exchanged a glance. Then, without a word, they drew their knives and moved forward, straight toward the most obvious hiding place, the solitary outhouse where Nessa huddled, trembling, by the wall. Shadow bounded ahead, showing the way. In despair, Nessa rose to her feet and moved into the open, speaking in the tongue of the Norsemen.

“I am alone and unarmed. All I want is to travel north unhindered. Please, let me pass.”

The two men halted in surprise; whatever they had expected to find, it was not a young woman out in the night alone. They looked at each other again.

“Please,” Nessa repeated, keeping her tone soft and sweet though anger burned inside her for the wrongs these folk had done to her people, and fear still clutched at her vitals. “Please, just let me pass. I mean no harm.”

The first man’s eyes narrowed; he was looking at the rolled-up skin under her arm. “What’s that you bear, girl?”

Nessa held her head high. She would tell no lies. “You can see what it is: a badge of honor, the recognition of your Warfather, Thor. I am a friend of the warrior Eyvind; I journey to Somerled’s hall with a message of truth. I must be allowed to proceed unhindered. I must reach that place tonight.”

They gazed at her. “Hmm,” said one. “Just let you go, is it? I don’t think so.”

“What’s your name?” snapped the other. “Where do you come from? Answer quickly, now.” And he reached out to seize her arm in an iron-hard hand. In its wrapping, the harp trembled; Nessa struggled to keep hold of it.