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carried them from Godred’s hall. See here”—he rolled back his sleeve, showing the bite mark—“the kind of hellcats—”
    “That’s all the more reason to gift them with a new life of prayers and penance.” Magnus sheathed Vengeance. “Begone now. Take the treasure and Greer’s sister. If you ride swiftly, you’ll catch the others before dark.”
    And before the sight of the tainted bride goods could stab more fiercely into Magnus’s heart.
    The pain was already beyond bearing.
    As was his surety that, in the midst of cutting Godred to ribbons, he’d glimpsed a beautiful naked woman standing in the surf, looking on in wide-eyed horror as he’d given Greer the final blow.
    Dripping wet and with water streaming down her body, the spume glittering in her shining, sun-bright hair and on her shoulders, the droplets sparkling like jewels on the lush swells of her breasts. She’d looked straight at him, crying out as he’d swung his blade.
    Her scream was silent.
    He’d blinked and she was gone.
    Her image had stunned him. And even in that bloodthirsty moment, he’d wanted her. Desire, hot, swift, and powerful, had swept him, making him burn with a need such as he’d never felt before.
    Not even for Liana.
    It was a blaze of passion that could only have been conjured by dark magic. And that slew him more roundly than if he’d felt the cold steel of Godred’s sword slicing into him.
    He no longer had any use for women.
    And he certainly didn’t want to lust after a will-o’wisp summoned by Donata to plague him. Doing so could only give credence to what his men had been harping on for so long. His determination to follow the sword path, his fierce quest for vengeance, was finally getting the best of him.
    He was losing his wits.
    Hours later, once again at Badcall Castle, Magnus stood on the raised dais of his great hall and looked out at the men enjoying their supper. Blessedly, he didn’t catch the merest glimpse of an unclad siren, her shimmering, soaking length slipping through the shadows to taunt him. There was nothing to stir his vitals. Whoever— or whatever —he’d seen had vanished with the tide.
    He could’ve laughed out loud with relief.
    Instead, he drew a tight breath and put the naked beauty from his mind.
    Donata’s screeches and his own joy in savaging Godred had clearly left him befuddled. There could be no other explanation. Wet, bare-bottomed vixens didn’t appear out of nowhere and then disappear before a man’s eyes.
    More like, she hadn’t been there at all.
    Willing it so, he stood straighter. Then he sent one more probing glance about the hall, just to be sure that all was well, the evening progressing as it should.
    And it was.
    Thick candles on the long tables illuminated his men’s bearded faces as they applied themselves to a meal of ale, bread, and cheese. And enough roasted meat to satisfy an army. Braziers burned in corners, spending warmth, as did the fire on the large central hearth. But it was a dark night and cold wind lashed at the shutters, the icy air seeping in to chill the poor souls unlucky enough to have claimed seats beneath the hall’s small, high windows.
    Magnus glanced down when his dog, Frodi, shuffled over and leaned into him. He reached to rub the beast’s bony shoulders. Magnus’s friend and companion of many years, Frodi knew him better than any man and no doubt sensed his restlessness.
    The seething anger that coiled inside him always, twisting his gut even now.
    Triumph should be surging through him.
    Godred Greer was a he-ass and had deserved to die. Seeing his blood stain the sand and hearing his last groans fill the air had satisfied him. Magnus’s only regret was that his death hadn’t been slower. A more torturous end for the black-hearted fiend who’d brought such horror to the innocent fisherfolk of Badcall village.
    He’d sold Liana’s and her people’s lifeblood for the glint of silver and gold.
    Now he’d paid the price of