The news came near to throwing the seamstress into a swoon. Such was the vastness, the might of the weight of guilt that crashed down upon her shoulders. It had in truth never been her intention to take Tormod or Rhona captive. To think, she told herself bitterly that she would not only be responsible in some capacity for the death of Ainsley, but those of countless people in Nordleia!

  An Arran or Thormvrain could mayhap live with their sense of shame; it was almost more than Kenna could bear.

  “Release him,” Kenna urged turning now to Arran, who looked as though he might argue. “We have naught to gain by keeping him as our prisoner.”

  “We have a great deal to gain, especially with áed marching upon us,” the chief of the Gormcruach brotherhood argued fiercely. “Have you ever met MacMurchadh? He is obstinate and hot-tempered, and though stout of build he is mightier than some Minotaurs or Ogres physically. His is an unruly nature that will not heed our most heartfelt of entreaties, our best hope is to flee north and hope that he will not give chase.”

  There were many a nodded heads from the midst of the sell-swords.

  Desperate Kenna, tried once more to secure the freedom of the innocent messenger, “Heed my words, Arran, and the brothers of the Gormcruach! If he does not hear this message, áed may indeed give chase after us, and will not learn that Badrách has invaded his lands.”

  “I doubt he is ignorant,” Arran grunted indifferent, “Not a bird takes flight, or a fish leaps up from the sea or a tree bristles in the wind without his knowledge.”

  “Yet he was surprised by us,” Kenna snapped growing furious with him, “Mayhaps if we plead, and set not only this messenger free but his son and granddaughter, he will show mercy.”

  Arran appeared doubtful, as did many others such as Thormvrain, and others amongst the elder members of the company. Some such as Solamh and the younger brothers, who had never met the laird in question, and knew him only by reputation, appeared to be considering her words. Great were the hopes of the headwoman, when she saw the many pensive expressions on those around her.

  It was a desperate act, but she was indeed anxious to dissuade Arran from his present folly.

  She must have entreated with him for the better part of an hour… all to no avail.

  *****

  Consulting with those she trusted most was no less helpful with a great many of them unsure of how best to proceed. Ainsley’s daughters were not taken into Kenna’s counsel, due to their recent loss this left her with only Ida and the Salmon to consult with. The absence of Ainsley was particularly noticeable in her mind, when she ushered them away under the pretext of helping Ida tend to her sheep. Kenna could have used the older woman’s advice; both a restrained woman by nature and with a natural sense for the importance of subtlety Ainsley could not be replaced.

  For their own part, the other two widows were divided themselves over the matter of what was to be done. Ida for her own part was weary of those from Nordleia, saying dryly, “I suppose it might be too late to send Tormod to his father to inform him that you are his newest good-daughter.”

  “I am serious, Ida this is a disaster,” Kenna hissed at her face flushed red with anger at the folly of the sell-sword. “He has stated that he may consider releasing them, only when we have left the lands of Bj?rndun. Yet has refused to give any guarantees, to that effect, I truly have no inkling of how best we are to proceed.”

  “No need to hiss at me,” Ida retorted impatiently, shearing some of the wool from one of her plumper sheep as it grazed heartily at the nearby grass.

  “What say you Salmon?” Kenna inquired, turning now to her other friend in the hopes that he might give her proper counsel for how best to proceed, in response to the disaster brought down upon them by Arran.

  Salmon, eyes upon the suns, was seated a short distance away upon the ground, complaining with a distant gleam in his eyes. “I cannot see the sea from here.”

  Nettled Kenna growled at him, “Sea? Sea? You fool what in the name of Scota and her great golden locks of hair are you jabbering on about? I’faith, have you lost the last of your wits Salmon?”

  Salmon turned angry cerulean eyes that were so like those of his much beloved granddaughter Inga, save where hers had always been merry, his rarely were. Especially in recent days, “Mind your tongue Kenna. I have no desire for a quarrel.”

  “Then why speak of the sea?”

  “Because… I long for it,” He said with such sorrow that her hot words were stalled in her mouth, “I do not know how we should best proceed, Kenna. If I am to be entirely honest, it appears almost hopeless to me, as we have chosen to throw our lot so to speak in with these brigands. We must leave for the north, in all haste. This must be done, regardless if the messenger from Nordleia returns south or meets with áed or not.”

  His words had the weight of wisdom behind them, yet Kenna had little love for them. They seemed to her mind, lazy in spirit as in mind. It appeared to her all of a sudden, as though the once wise and sly-natured fisherman had lost some of his wits.

  Leaving in such a huff, she was to seek out the company of the children to distract her for a time and to aid her to temporarily forget her sorrows until such a time that Solamh could gather some of their fellow Glasvhail-fugitives from the village. She wished to inform them that they must leave the green-lands of Bj?rndun.

  Keenly aware that she would likely be resisted she put forward the case to leave, leaving no detail out of the present danger that loomed over them.

  There was considerable melancholy, as many beat their chests or wept at having to leave the remains of loved ones behind, with the news that áed may soon arrive with troops angering many.

  Some such as Solamh proposed rather impetuously, “I say we fight! We take the fight to them, for why should we flee, when we have our own warriors now, herewith us in the shape of the Gormcruach?”

  His words began a cascade of approving shouts from some of the men. Shouts that were soon quieted when next Arran spoke, with his words ones that brought about more than a little shock to some of them. Their stupefaction though was not shared by all, as some had become aware of the Gormcruach’s refusal to clash with the forces of Nordleia.

  “If such is your wish, you will battle with áed without my blue-steel,” He declared in a quiet voice that somehow carried out over the shouts of all assembled. More than one upraised hand descended then, as his words sunk in.

  “But, why?” Conn’s good-son spluttered unable to understand why the older man, refused to do battle with the laird in question.

  “Because, áed is a formidable man, one whom I have seen tear into the ranks of more than one Brittian army, and also that of Donnchad when he sought to strike north against Mael Bethad. I swore then to never do battle with him,” Arran informed him quietly.

  “Coward!” One man shouted from the rear of the crowd of fugitives, face purpling with rage at the seeming lack of courage on the part of the chief of the sell-swords.

  “What did you say? I dare you to repeat that accusation!” Thormvrain bellowed for his leader, with the voices of the other sell-swords carrying as they appeared prepared to initiate violence against the ranks of those from Glasvhail.

  “Coward ye may think me, but I fear not for myself but for those I have taken into the ranks of my company.” Arran snapped in a voice that almost choked with anger, his eyes narrowed and cheeks puffing a little with the fury of a man barely in control of himself. “No matter what danger presents itself before us, we must not fight áed. I would sooner face a dragon than that devil.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Dismayed at his lack of bravery, or what appeared to them as a lack of bravery, the villagers and even some of the sell-swords stared down at their feet in despair. Eyes downcast, many searched for some sort of rebuttal to his words, or looked to one another for support. They searched one another then, for some sort of argument that might at last, turn the tide against old Arran, and win them the means by which to cling to Bj?rndun. It was a futile gesture.

  Satisfied that he had won the day, Arran declared with finality, “Good, we set out on the morrow just after the dawn.”

  He made to leave for his own encampment to see to the breaking of parts of it, ere their departure. Convinced that the discussion was at an end, and that there was to be no further quarrels between his men and those they had taken under their protection, he did not foresee any further defiance.

  His back to her, he could not have seen the spark of frustration that took life as a fire might thanks to flint, within Kenna’s eyes.

  “Wait! We must now discuss the messenger your men captured earlier this day,” She proclaimed with many of the villagers having by this time become aware of their newest prisoner.

  Some were not aware, such as Tormod who had hitherto remained silent and had been kept securely within reach of two Gormcruach in the northern part of the camp. Where the vast majority of those of Glasvhail were located, a concession that had been hard-won on the part of Kenna, but that she had been determined to have the previous day, in the hopes to shield him and Rhona from Arran’s wroth.

  “Wait? What is this talk of a messenger?” He demanded of those around him, with few of them meeting his gaze.

  “As many are aware, Arran has taken the lady Deirdre’s messenger to áed, sent in the hopes to secure aid against Badrách, who has invaded Nordleia.” Kenna informed those around her, adding for effect, “But the laird unaware of the danger to his lands is giving chase after us, just as Badrách has. They will seize us; they will slaughter us all this is why we must release the messenger to report to áed. It is also why we must release Tormod and Rhona.”

  It was this last declaration that lost her, her suit. Few there were in the midst of the people of Glasvhail and the Gormcruach were of a mind that releasing their captives was wise.

  Intoxicated as they were by their victories, few as they were and frozen with terror of the wraith that haunted the locality, they refused to follow her counsel.

  Bereft of support, Kenna was to bear witness to her people complaining endlessly until they were swayed by Arran’s foolish arguments.

  “We must retain our prisoners, mayhap we could ransom them for the vast wealth áed has once we have reached the High-King’s lands, or otherwise use them to negotiate with the two of them.” Arran proclaimed in a powerful voice that served to win him the staunch support, of the vast crowds all around him.

  Ending the council, he was to try to pull Kenna aside to discuss with her. Humiliated and infuriated against not only him, but Ida and the rest of those who ought to have supported her, she would have none of his courtesies.

  “Kenna I would eat with you, and discuss our routes north with you,” He told her politely, his voice calm and a small smile on his lips.

  Glaring at him, Kenna was in no mood for civility saying to him, “I have naught to say to you. It is clear to me that you have torn all authority, and reason I have to discuss such matters. Therefore do what you think best and leave me be.”

  Visibly wounded by her words, he stared at her for some time, wherefore he turned away with a huff of frustration and anger. The brief flash of hurt feelings and anger in his eyes gave her no true satisfaction, with the seamstress demurring furiously from eating with her friends. Alone, she did not need to look up to meet Tormod’s gaze to realize he likely felt betrayed.

  The only ones, who joined her for supper, were Eillidh, Helga, Doada and Rhona. The lasses all being keen for her company. Doada appeared visibly ill, where her sisters were as ashen that day as they were everyday since the death of their beloved mother. For her own part, Rhona was unusually subdued speaking only a little with few boasts where she ordinarily would attempt to bully Helga or Eillidh.

  *****

  It was after they had eaten that the younger lasses, who had against all expectations mostly gotten on well in days hitherto this one. Where once they may have danced about, boasted of imagined accomplishments of their ancestors or real ones of their fathers. At present though they were not of a conciliatory mind towards one another, with their disagreement beginning over Rhona boasting of her beloved grandfather.

  “My grandfather never loses in war, and he loves papa and I,” She said without any glee, simply stated it matter-of-factly, with this remark one that worried Kenna.

  Helga contrary to her usual disdain for the lass, did not contradict her, or oppose her in any way. Pleased by this show of maturity on her part, Kenna very near praised her on this trait when she caught herself, as she was not certain of how to word it.

  It was then that Eillidh intervened with her own brash temper, “It is impossible to always win, he must have lost or soon will.”

  “Grandfather can!”

  “That is not what Cailean said,” Eillidh harrumphed with even more venom, “He said that Arran could defeat the ‘Hatchet’.”

  “Cailean does not know anything about anything,” Rhona rebutted with all the maturity and wisdom of a lass who had witnessed little more than a single decade of life. Adding with incredible ferocity, “And what would you know about battle? In war, we nobles always win, no matter what.”

  “Enough the both of you,” Kenna hissed with far more heat than she originally intended, frightening both lasses into submission. “I think it high-time that we remember that it is hardly proper for young ladies such as yourselves, to discuss such things in so uncouth a manner.”

  The threat implicit in her tone was not lost on either child. Certainly, in another life and time the daughter of Tormod might well have remained unaware of it, but after her first meeting with the seamstress she knew full-well the extent her wrath could reach.

  Miserable the lasses subsided into a cold silence, glaring at one another coldly. This result hardly pleasing the headwoman any more, than the argument had, as the last she wished for was even more division between them.

  If only she were half as quick with her tongue, as Tormod or Trygve could be, she mused melancholically to herself, full of loathing for her own tactlessness. She would have done anything at that moment, for either of them to be present to make up for her stupid mistake.

  “If you will excuse me, I would like to eat with Bhàtair,” Doada said all of a sudden, excusing herself after several minutes of visible discomfort in the very quiet corner of the encampment they occupied.

  Nodding to herself, Kenna hung her head a little for her costly mistake.

  It was ultimately Helga who rescued them from the abyss of the cold silence, when she asked a little later, “When will we depart on the morrow? Ere the dawn or after it?”

  “After, as we have little desire to travel from this day forward, after night-fall.” Kenna explained to her, grateful for the break in the icy quiet that was far colder than the previous winter had been, she mused to herself tartly.

  Another uncomfortable silence followed, with Helga once again pushing past her own visible desire not to speak since the passing of her mother, to ask, “Why did you not oppose Arran’s decision about the imprisonment of that mercenary? It appears to me that his decision is rather foolish.”

  “Indeed it is,” Kenna murmured honestly.

  “Then why did you not resist it?”

  “Because I could not,” She admitted plainly, feeling a little ashamed at the frustrated lack of comprehension on the faces of the lasses surrounding her. “I could no more convince the village, than I could Arran of the wisdom of releasing our prisoners unconditionally. I have no support anymore dear, not since all the death on the Red-Hill.”

  “I do not see how anyone could possibly blame you for that,” Helga grumbled genuinely angry. Her loyal words were more of a balm for Kenna’s heart than she could possibly have known, or so thought the older woman, grateful for them. The words that followed them were to cause her heart though, to squeeze all the more with warmth, such that it made the previous dash of affection appear minute and tiny in comparison. “It is as ridiculous as everyone, seeking to blame Cormac for Inga and Graeme’s deaths.”

  Flooded with affection for her, Kenna smiled with all the joy and emotions that welled up within her for the kind words of the lass, “Thank you, Helga.”

  The smile she returned made her suddenly glad, to be therewith the lasses, she still missed Ainsley and wished her and the others who had been slain could be returned to life, and that Cormac, and his friends could have been there.

  “Cormac is your son, correct?” Rhona asked, with the uncertainty of a child who had not yet, come to consider this very important information, and required continuous reminders. “Can you tell me of him? Would he have freed my papa and I?”

  “Doubtful,” Eillidh snorted at once.

  “He would have,” Kenna stated firmly, knowing her son better than any present. “He likely would have convinced Trygve to join him in the doing of it, and mayhaps the Salmon. Or the lads would have done it after night-fall.”

  It was then that the realisation of what she must do, struck her with full force in the face.

  Her last words drifted a little in the wind as she studied the curious daughter of Tormod who continued, to stare at her and demand descriptions and knowledge of her son.

  This hardly bothered the seamstress, who went on to do as she was bid. Her mind did wander off on her as she perfunctorily told the lass all that she could think of. Hardly noticing the interested if distant expression in Helga’s gaze, which since Ainsley’s death always appeared a little distant, part of her mused to herself, Kenna focused upon what Cormac would have done.

  Quite how he might have accomplished the deed, she was not certain. She knew only that when he put his simple-mind to it and to the evasion of any real work put before him. The weakness for Cormac that, Ainsley’s third daughter had for her son still remained she realized with a start. Kenna sincerely hoped then it would diminish, as that road could only signify further disappointment.

  Pulling her mind away from any further thoughts of what might be best for the lass, to properly focus upon the task at hand she determined to decide upon the best time to free Tormod of his chains.

  Naturally as headwoman, she had been entrusted with a set of the keys, with the other pair as Arran always kept two pairs, according to Thormvrain, on the Gormcruach chieftain himself. A careful man, he was likely she mused to suspect that Kenna might decide to take matters into her own hands.

  Does that mean she should simply not attempt to free them? Kenna wondered to herself, certain that Arran would explode with rage, as would most of her kith and the Gormcruach, if she did free their prisoners.

  https://www.youtube.com/@BrosKrynn