“The greatest love is the love of God, Eyvind,” Tadhg said at length. “That underlies all other loves; it is more powerful and binding than any earthly passion. Still, I understand you. If you have given your affection, your devotion, your loyalty to anyone on these islands, it does not surprise me in the least that it is to…this friend of ours. She does inspire strong feelings. You know, I suppose, that she is a priestess of her own faith?”

“Shh,” hissed Eyvind, terrified that the guards would overhear. Whatever he did, he must not put Nessa at any farther risk. “Yes, of course I know that.”

“I say this only to caution you. Should you survive, there might not be quite the future you envisage when you speak so passionately of your will to live.”

“That’s not important,” Eyvind muttered. “Let us speak no more of this.”

“I expect they’ll call us soon enough,” said Tadhg placidly. “Perhaps there’s time for another prayer. Let me see…”

“Say the one about the shepherd again,” Eyvind whispered.

The soft voice began its flow of fair words anew, weaving a picture of a place where love and peace and beauty walked hand in hand, where hurts were forgotten and wounds salved, where everything was as it should be. It seemed to Eyvind like a sweet bell measuring out the time of shadows.

FOURTEEN

There were whispers in the dark, furtive voices telling of something that must not be known beyond the walls of this shadowy place of captivity. It seemed they believed him asleep, huddled as he was on the straw pallet, his face turned to the wall. But Eyvind was a hunter, and a hunter hears what other men cannot. They were discussing the manner of his death. Something had changed. Something had happened, and now no formal decision would be handed down, no fitting remarks would bring the hearing to its close. There would be no execution at dawn. Instead, there would be a covert snuffing out, in darkness. Eyvind strained to catch every word, his pulse racing, his heart thumping. He could not move, he could not alert his fellow captive, for it was vital they not realize he was awake.

“…completely unexpected, and unbelievably inconvenient. What does he think he’s doing here?” That voice was Somerled’s, and there was an edge to it that Eyvind knew well, and disliked much.

“How many are with him, my lord?”

“The messenger said thirty at least…straight on from Silver Bay…certainly before dawn.”

“Right, my lord. So what do we do now?”

“We can’t wait, this must be cleared up before they get here. And cleared up in a way that leaves no adverse impression. You understand me?”

“Yes, my lord.” That voice was familiar too: one of those thugs from the knarr, quicker with his fists than with his wits. “You want him finished off quiet-like.”