People moved about him purposefully, examining his wounds, applying salves, wrapping linen strips around his body. A cup was held to his lips; he drank thirstily. Here in the sleeping chamber shared by the Wolfskins, the light was less bright, a candle only, and the first rays of dawn seeping in down the hallway. Eirik muttered to himself. Grim was quieter, a certain air of satisfaction about him as he readied a pallet, then fetched blankets of best wadmal cloth, far finer than any of them was used to. The cup was offered again. Eyvind sniffed at the contents. Not water this time. They had every intention of rendering him insensible at least until midday, that much was clear. It would not do. It could not be so. His mind dwelt on Nessa’s face as he had left her; he saw those clear, courageous eyes which, despite her victory and his own, despite all they had done and all they had endured, had nonetheless held the shadow, not merely of exhaustion, but of defeat. That, he could in no way allow.

He had never been a man of words. He understood there would have to be discussions. He realized Nessa’s people would want them gone from these shores, all of them. They could never be accepted here, not after what had been done under Somerled’s command. But he knew that Magnus, wise and just chieftain as he was, was also too astute to let slip the chance to secure the use of safe anchorage in such a strategic place, now that he had made the journey for himself and knew it could be done with relative speed. To influence the course of such delicate negotiations was beyond Eyvind’s own abilities. Had not Somerled reminded him, this very night, how lacking he was in the skills of weighted argument? It was not he who had won this battle, but Nessa, and the voice she had brought with her. It was Ulf who had defeated Somerled, not a Wolfskin with a talent for killing and no gift at all for words. Still, he was not quite helpless. There was something he could do to start putting it right, something to ease that dark weariness in Nessa’s eyes and lift just a little of the burden from her slender shoulders. Perhaps it was all he could do for her, now. She despised them, that was clear. She wanted them gone. Why would there be one rule for Eirik, for Grim and Thord, good men, all of them, and a different rule for himself?