Page 71 of Her Celtic Captor
"But I know you, and I know Taranc. He has assured me that there was a mistake, some sort of misunderstanding. Is that not correct?” The old man turned to greet Taranc who had entered as they spoke.
“Aye, that is the only explanation,” confirmed Taranc as he helped himself to a mug of ale. “But if we are all to live here together we should seek to establish what really happened."
"Everyone believes Fiona’s account,” observed Brynhild bitterly, her baby nestled against her chest. “What is the point of re-opening the wound?”
"Both Dughall and I believe that Fiona is telling the truth as she understands it to be, but we cannot accept the implications of that. There has been a mistake, a misunderstanding." He reached for her hand. "You are a good woman, a fine, brave woman, not a coward. I know that you would not do this thing. I have always known."
"Then why does Fiona insist that I did?"
"I do not know. That is why I want you to ask her."
"Lord Dughall could ask her."
The old man flattened his lips. "I have, and she says she is certain of what took place. I do not think she is telling me false, but equally I am convinced, as Taranc is, that it cannot be as she says.”
“Yes,” urged Taranc. “Youmust speak with her. You must discern what we are all missing because no one else can do it. Only you and she were there that night, the truth lies between the pair of you. You must settle this, my Viking, for yourself, for Dughall, for me, and for our fine wee laddie here."
Brynhild sat in silence long after Taranc returned to his duties in the village and Dughall left their house to make his way back up the hill in the small cart he had used for the journey down to Aikrig. As the sound of the metal wheels clatteredinto the distance leaving just silence behind, she heaved a long, frustrated sigh. But she could not fault Taranc’s words.
He was right. It was time this matter was settled.
She foundFiona in the lord's solar at Penglass, retching into a bucket. Brynhild had chosen this morning to make her approach as she knew both Ulfric and Taranc were off hunting, and Dughall had assured her they would not be disturbed. She held her baby on her hip as she regarded the other woman from across the room.
Fiona must have sensed her presence. She called for a damp cloth and some water with which to refresh herself. Brynhild glanced about and spotted the pitcher of cool water which had been left in readiness on the low table. She dipped the cloth which lay beside the vessel and wrung it out, then placed it in Fiona's flailing hand.
"Thank you, Hilla." Fiona had mistaken Brynhild for the servant who usually attended her needs. She wiped her lips, then turned to face the servant. Fiona’s eyes widened, whether in alarm or annoyance Brynhild could not be sure. Without doubt, though, her presence here was neither expected nor welcomed.
"Brynhild!" Fiona rose to her feet, but her upright stance proved to be short-lived. She sank to her knees with a groan and retched again into the pail.
"'Twill pass. Does Ulfric know?" Brynhild recalled her own misery in the early stages of pregnancy. Her sympathy was grudging, but genuine.
Fiona nodded. "Yes, but no one else, yet. It is very early."
"I wish you and the babe well."
"Thank you." Fiona eyed Brynhild with undisguised suspicion. "I had not expected to see you here today. Is there something I can do for you?"
Brynhild chose to ignore the cool note of dismissal. She had come here for a purpose and would not be dismissed.
"Yes, there is. I want you to know the truth of what happened that night in Skarthveit, the night of the stocks.
Brynhild stood her ground as Fiona glared at her. She did not anticipate this to be a conversation the other woman would relish. That could not be helped. It was happening anyway.
In the days since Taranc had convinced her that this must be done Brynhild had devoted considerable thought and planning to her mission. It was ever her way to do so, but on this occasion it was vital that she succeed. Taranc was correct, they had to reconcile this if their families were to thrive together.
Brynhild was convinced the key lay in convincing Fiona, and then Ulfric, that she had become distracted that night rather than deliberately abandoning the Celtic slave to her fate. Fiona was perfectly aware that Njal had been ill. Indeed, she had rushed to fetch a pail. But for some reason she refused to share this crucial detail with Ulfric. Brynhild was determined to know why.
Unfortunately, Fiona had other ideas. "I have no wish to discuss it further. Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to." She offered Brynhild a polite nod and made for the door.
"Wait." Brynhild did not intend the commanding note which laced her tone, and it was clear that neither did Fiona. Nor did the other woman care for it.
Fiona's eyes hardened. "If you will excuse me..." She was leaving.
"Wait...please. I would have you hear me out." She did not come here intending to beg, but Brynhild was not above doing so if that was what it took.
Her plea was sufficient to give Fiona pause. The other woman halted, looked back over her shoulder, then gestured to a seat. Fiona set about making herself comfortable.
It was a start, enough, thought Brynhild. She settled beside Fiona and concentrated on steadying her breathing. Never usually one to balk at a difficult conversation, she found herself terrified now. She must pick her words with care for she was unlikely to find another opportunity to set out her case.
