Gunnar sprang into action, sweeping her into his arms and demanding that he be directed to a place where his pregnant wife might lie down and rest. Brynhild was equally quick to respond. Still with Morvyn squirming at her hip she ushered the pair from the hall into Dughall's solar and slammed the door behind all four of them.
Taranc, Ulfric and Dughall regarded the dark oak of the door for several moments. No one spoke. Dughall shook his head, muttered something which Taranc could not quite catch, then gestured for his manservant to assist him from the hall. He followed his daughter in the direction of the kitchens.
Taranc sank into the seat opposite Ulfric. "What was all that about?"
Ulfric scraped his fingers through his tousled blond locks. "I am not entirely certain, though I could make a wager."
"Adair?"
"Aye. Adair. Fiona's brother died in the raid, when we took the slaves from here. Dughall saw him slain, right at the foot of those steps outside."
"Gunnar?" Taranc knew, even as he uttered the name, that it had to be so. There was no other explanation.
"I never asked, but I expect so. Dughall remembers, he will denounce him."
"Shit."
"It was a battle..."
"An unequal one. You cannot seek to defend what your brother did here that day."
Ulfric hesitated, then shook his head. "I know that. At least, not if I wish to retain Dughall's regard, not to mention that of my wife."
Taranc cocked his head toward the solar. "So, she is pregnant? Mairead? Does he treat her well?"
"'Twould seem so. And aye, he does. He is besotted. Gunnar will want to remain here over the winter, to see the child safely delivered. Will you permit that, given...?" The Viking raised his hands in a gesture of bitter frustration which encompassed all about them.
Taranc pondered that question for several moments. His could find little to commend Gunnar Freysson to him thus far, but he knew Brynhild had always claimed to be close to her youngest brother and would doubtless enjoy his company. And Taranc wished no ill will to Mairead. Still, the decision was not his to make.
"I will not go against Dughall in this. Nor Fiona. If they refuse him their hospitality, he must leave."
Ulfric waited for several moments, then nodded. "Let us hope it does not come to that."
The door from the solar opened and Gunnar emerged. Both men regarded him from their vantage point at the high table.
Taranc heaved a resigned sigh. "Your brother has vented his displeasure upon you most effectively. I daresay he is even angrier with me for the part I played in Brynhild's fate." He stroked his chin thoughtfully, wondering in what condition the Viking might seek to leave it. For certain, he would not make the matter simple for the Nordic warrior, not this time. He started to rise. "I suppose we'd better get this over with."
Ulfric grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his seat. "Wait. See what transpires. If my brother seeks to take issue with you, I believe my sister will actually kill him."
Taranc's derisive snort was his response. "And I fear that you are quite deluded my friend. She would more likely offer to hold his cloak."
"She loves Gunnar. She will be glad enough to see him here, however equivocal her greeting just now. She and I... well, she has not entirely forgiven my actions though we get by. But you? My sister adores the very bones of you. And Morvyn, of course. She has chosen you as her husband and she will protect you with her life. It is simply the way she is—the Viking way."
Taranc wished he could believe that.
"Is that also the Viking way?" Taranc nodded to where Gunnar had paused on his way over to the high table where they sat to speak with Donald. The lad had burst through the outer portal and run headlong the length of the hall, his expression distraught. The dark Viking stopped his flight and ushered the boy into the vacant window seat, then sat beside him. Their heads were bowed together, their conversation low but, to Taranc's mind, intense.
"The last time I saw them together, as far as I recall, your brother was purchasing the lad from you as a slave. You drove a hard bargain."
"Aye. A decent purse of silver. I knew he wanted the lad, or more to the point he wanted the mother and the lad came as part of the deal. He was never going to further distress Mairead by haggling over the price he was prepared to pay for her son, so I took advantage. Trade is trade, after all."
Taranc chose not to dignify the remark with an answer. "That does not look like a master talking to a slave," he observed.
"I tend to agree."
They watched as Gunnar stood, ruffled the boy's tawny head and sent him on his way. The lad took a few paces toward the door, then turned to rush back at the tall Norseman. Donald flung his arms about Gunnar's waist and hugged him.
"Maybe your brother has something to commend him after all. We shall see."
