Page 72 of Her Dark Viking
EPILOGUE
One month later
"You have been avoiding me."
Gunnar looked up from polishing his sword in the great hall to find Dughall of Pennglas standing behind him. For an elderly man, and one who was almost blind, the lord of Pennglas moved with astonishing alacrity when he chose to. Gunnar stood and bowed to the Celtic lord.
"I trust I find you well," he started, uncertain how to properly address a man whose son he had slain right before his eyes. "Would you prefer me to leave you?"
Dughall ignored the question. "I am well enough. These old bones feel the onset of winter keenly though. It comes early this year." He eased himself into his usual chair at the head of the huge table
"Aye, so I understand." Gunnar sheathed his sword. "I will ask Fiona to bring you a warming draught."
Dughall waved his hand in dismissal. "I do not need anything, not just yet." He fixed his keen but near enoughsightless gaze upon Gunnar. "You will not be able to return to your homeland until the spring."
"I prefer not to," agreed Gunnar, "given my wife's condition. She is enjoying her visit to her old home."
"A fine woman. I do recall seeing her here, from time to time, in the old days. Before..."
"Yes. Before." Gunnar met the old man's gaze, but could find nothing more to say to him. 'Sorry' seemed hardly enough, and in any case, he was not truly repentant. Had he not slain the youth, Adair, it would have been Gunnar's own life blood spilt that day. He was a warrior, a Viking. He had done what he must, though he had thought it a waste at the time and was minded to say that much at least. "I would have wished that day had ended differently. I did not seek his death." He had no need to say more. They both know who and what he referred to.
"I know that. My eyes are bad now, but not so much then. I watched. I saw that you gave Adair time, time to surrender, to drop his weapon. I, too, pleaded with him to do so but he was always hot-headed, my boy. Always one to rush in and think later. Fiona too, come to think of it. They both take after their mother."
"I expect she was a fine woman," offered Gunnar. It was little enough by way of mollification, but he would take what he might find. “You have not told Fiona that her brother died at my hand.”
It was a statement, not a question. Gunnar had spent the first few days in Pennglas fully expecting to be confronted by a vengeful Fiona demanding retribution for the death of her brother. Ulfric would not oblige her, he knew that, but it would be awkward. Gunnar would feel compelled to leave the village. The fact that Fiona had not mentioned the matter could only be explained by her ignorance of it. He had thought back to that day and realised that apart from Dughall himself, no one else witnessed Adair’s death. Even Mairead did not know. Forreasons known only to the old man Dughall had not shared the information.
"I have not," agreed Dughall. He paused, then, "You may choose to, but I leave that decision to you, when you consider the time to be right.”
“I do not understand,” began Gunnar.
“You might, if you live as long as I have. I have concluded that in old age we see things differently. Perhaps it is the knowledge that we shall not share the time to come which compels us to do what we may to influence future events while we still can.”
Gunnar was still at a loss. The old man grinned at him and patted his arm.
“Lad, if hating you would restore my son to me I would do it, make no mistake on that. But it will not, and I see nothing to be gained by using what I know to drive a wedge between my remaining child and the husband she loves and who clearly loves her. Ulfric is your brother, and I would not compel him to defend you against his wife’s grief and anger. Whether I like it or not you are a part of this family. I hope you will prove yourself worthy of it.” He paused then grinned in wry amusement. “You have done well."
"I beg your pardon."
"This is a small enough place. You have done well to evade me, despite my failing eyesight."
Gunnar suspected it had been the other way around in truth and that the old man had chosen to shun his company until he was ready to speak to him. It would seem Dughall had now chosen his moment. What was more, he had plenty still to say.
Dughall leaned forward to plant his elbows on the table before him. "I hated you, at first. You and all your kind. Murderers. Robbers. Abductors of our women, and of our fine young men. Your raids brought death and hunger to our villages, enslaved our people."
"I know. I..."
"Do not apologise," snapped the old man. "Not unless you truly mean it. What is past is past."
"Yes." On this much at least, Gunnar could agree.
"I was listening, that day."
"Lord Dughall...?" Gunnar found himself at a loss.
"The day you arrived here. After the onset of your wife's sudden malady. I was pleased to see her much improved so quickly."
"Yes, just a brief disorder, mercifully."
