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already damned.”
    “Nae, but I can kill you.” Godred drew his sword, flashing it from side to side.
    “You’ll have your chance.” Magnus smiled, relishing the fight.
    “No chance, your death.” Godred glared at him.
    “Release my sister.”
    “Och, I shall.” Magnus broadened his smile. The cold smile men came to fear these last bloodred years.
    Knowing Godred wouldn’t strike so long as he held Donata, he threw a glance to where his guardsmen stood near the bottom of the cliff path. They were six, all clad in mail and well armed. Two clutched bulging leather sacks.
    “Ewan! Come take her back up the cliff. And”—he ignored Donata’s flailing legs and clawing fingers—“dinnae let the lady scratch you.”
    “I will nae.” Ewan, a strapping lad and Magnus’s youngest warrior, came sprinting up to them. Without glancing at Godred, he scooped Donata into his arms and carried her away, across the strand.
    She fought Ewan’s grasp, still hurling curses at Magnus, her voice shrill.
    Just before Ewan reached the cliff path, he looked back over his shoulder. “I like ’em with spirit! She’s no bother whatever.”
    “No foolery, lad.” Magnus whipped out his sword as he spoke, his eye on Godred’s glinting blade. “We dinnae make war on women. She’s to go to a nunnery, along with Greer’s other ladies.”
    “My women are no’ your concern.” Godred swept his steel in an arc that would’ve slit Magnus’s gut if he hadn’t leapt aside fast enough.
    “You no longer have any women.” Magnus scythed his own blade, cutting the air, taunting. “My men are seeing them to a new home, a place where they’ll enjoy the benevolence of Holy Church.”
    “You lie.” Godred made another vicious swipe, clipping Magnus’s arm. “They’re at Castle Greer.” Magnus tossed back his hair, ignoring the sting at his elbow. “Castle Greer is no more.” He whirled his blade in another hissing arc, forcing Godred down the strand. “I have many men. Some used my ship, Sea-Raven , to make a swift visit to your hall after you left this morn. They burned your keep while others saw your women away. All that remains is a blackened hillside and”—he lunged, slicing Godred’s cloak—“that which was mine.
    “Alan, Donnie, bring the sacks!” Magnus raised his voice above the clash of swords. “Show this dung beetle what you found when you dug beneath his hearth.”
    Two large men with broad chests and thick arms crossed the strand and hurled the heavy pouches at Godred’s feet. The bags clinked as they landed.
    Magnus slashed down with his sword to split open the largest sack, and a river of silver and gold spilled onto the sand. Coins, rings and necklaces, jewel-rimmed drinking horns, silver cups and candleholders, several large Celtic brooches, and even a fine warrior’s helmet inlaid with gold.
    “You did fire my hall.” Godred paled, staring at the plunder.
    “I retook what was mine.” Magnus raised his sword, pointing the tip at Godred’s belly. “Thon treasure was part of my Liana’s bride gift. Sigurd Sword Breaker kept most of it, I’ll vow. But he paid you a good share for letting him know where he could find such bounty.”
    “You’ll have no joy in it.” Rage burned in Godred’s eyes. Snarling, he swept his blade in a furious arc, aiming for Magnus’s side. He roared when he missed by less than a hairbreadth.
    Magnus spun away, whirling with lightning speed and bringing his brand against Godred’s in a blur of sparking, ringing blows that sent his foe staggering backward into the surf. Magnus fought like a fiend, sweeping his blade from left to right, cutting and slashing until a bright tide of crimson spilled down Godred’s mail-clad ribs.
    “Whoreson!” Godred slipped in the waves washing the sand, but kept lunging, clumsily now. His swings grew wilder, each one missing by inches, slicing air.
    “Killing me changes naught.” He grunted, stumbling again. “Sigurd will sleep