“He was making trouble,” someone mumbled. “Shouting, rattling the bars, crazy Wolfskin stuff.”

“But he’s tied up.” Olaf’s tone was cold with disapproval.

“We were told—” the guard began, and Somerled’s voice cut in like a lethal blade.

“Had you something to say?”

“Er—no my lord. It’s just—what about the priest?”

“You’re telling me you’ve managed to damage him as well? How very careless. Is he dead?”

A groan from somewhere farther down the hallway indicated this was not so. Spitting out blood and shards of broken tooth, Eyvind found his voice. “Let him go. I will face whatever penalty you have decreed. I’m not afraid to die. But let the sentence be carried out in daylight, before the men of the settlement, not furtively here in darkness. And let the priest go free. He means you no harm.”

There was another silence. The men hauled Eyvind to his feet. He could hear Brother Tadhg coughing behind him, a wrenching, rasping sound.

“These men will pay the price for their misguided attempt to take the law into their own hands.” Somerled’s voice was calm and precise. “That was very foolish. Very foolish indeed. The tide of opinion is against you, Eyvind; this is simply a sign of that.”

“Why have you come here?” Eyvind asked as the world spun around him, threatening to blur into the blankness of unconsciousness. The faces of his guards had turned pasty white. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a sudden passion for justice. Or did I finally shout loudly enough to awaken your conscience?”

“Stop trying to be clever,” Somerled snapped. “It’s never suited you. We have unexpected visitors, and it’s become necessary to show them that you have come to no harm in my custody, thus far.” He glanced at the guards. “Bring them up!”