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scrawny boy who’d been accused of murdering the járl ’s son.
    Thorarin curled his fingers around his eating knife and felt his breaths grow heavy through his nostrils. None remembered the boy whose life had been destroyed because he happened to witness Ragni’s brutality in person. If he had stayed, he might have been better able to protect his family. They would be alive if he hadn’t been sent away.
    A fragrance wrapped around him, drawing him from his bitter memories. It broke through the smoky air and clung its sensual fingers to him. He didn’t need to look to know where the scent emanated. A slender arm reached over and poured mead into his goblet. She smelled sweet and he had to assume she’d been creating her own perfumes or rubbing flowers on her skin. Deep down in his gut, a sea of heated desire erupted.
    Keita, picking the fragrant flowers, rubbing them along her pale skin...
    He nearly groaned aloud and through the fog of lust realised Ragni was speaking with him.
    “Forgive me, my járl . Of what is it you speak?”
    “The next raids. You will come?”
    “ Já . We go when the weather breaks?”
    “ Já , to Ireland.” Ragni leaned in, a finger to his lips as if departing some great secret. “You can prove yourself to me.”
    Thorarin forced a laugh. “Have I not done that already, my járl , when I saved your life?”
    “A man can prove himself in many ways. I have yet to see you in battle.”
    “Give me leadership of this raid and I shall prove my battle skills.”
    Ragni peered at him, his cold eyes narrow slits. A hint of a smile curved his lips and he tapped a finger to them. “I shall consider it.”
    Across the table, Fleinn released a sound of exasperation. Thorarin kept his expression composed but the urge to grin in triumph warred within.
    “You would have a stranger lead your men into battle but you would not let me?” Fleinn slammed down his goblet.
    “You are not ready, Fleinn.”
    “I am eight and ten. I am a man. I have been ready for several summers.”
    His father laughed. “When you speak like that, I hear only a boy.”
    “You hear what you want to hear. You refuse to see me as anything but a boy.”
    “Fleinn, you shall be killed. You are no match for Irish warriors. I must send only my strongest and best men.”
    “And this man—” Fleinn thrust a hand in Thorarin’s direction “—is your best man? You know nothing of him.”
    The járl jabbed his knife into the table top, sending the ivory handle quivering. The laughter and talk dulled and even the slaves stilled.
    “He proved himself when he saved my life from that beast. Every man at this table had proved themselves to me in some way. What have you done, my son, except be born from your mother’s cunt? Why are you sitting at my table?”
    Fleinn’s pale face reddened. His mouth opened and shut several times before he stood. “You would deny everything to your kin and give it to a stranger. I am not Fálki. I will not be struck down by some boy. If you let me, I would prove as much but you are blind, old man. Soon, I will prove myself and you shall regret every chance you denied me.”
    The lad did not wait for a response. He snatched up his goblet and a jug of mead from a thrall ’s hand and stormed out of the longhouse.
    Ragni shook his head and yanked the knife from the table. He directed it at Thorarin, motioning with it as he spoke. It would be so easy. All he would have to do was turn the knife and he could drive it into the man’s chest. While he spat blood and died, he could tell him exactly who he was. Once I was known by a different name, once you had me blamed for the violence that had taken place by your hand.
    But there would be no honour in such an act. His honour had been eroded away for ten summers. His family and land had been taken from him. It would take much to repair that and if he was to regain it all, he would have to continue to be patient.
    “You are lucky not to have sons,”