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dragging the Viking from his horse.
    His enemy weighed nearly as much as he did, and Trahern grimaced when the man used his own strength to knock him to the ground.
    â€˜I don’t like being followed,’ the man remarked, his voice heavy with a Norse accent. He twisted, wrestling Trahern to the side.
    â€˜Neither do I.’ Trahern grunted, throwing the man off him. When the Viking stood up straight, he was startled to realise that they were the same height. Few men were as tall as himself, and even fewer possessed his strength.
    The man’s gaze narrowed, and both of them saw the resemblance at the same time.
    â€˜You’re one of us, aren’t you?’ the foreigner murmured. ‘I didn’t expect it.’
    Trahern unsheathed his sword. ‘I’m not a damned Lochlannach , no.’
    â€˜Then you haven’t looked at yourself recently.’ The man drew his own sword. ‘Why were you following me?’
    â€˜Where is the girl?’ Trahern countered, swinging his weapon hard. The Norseman met his blow, blocking it.
    A long blade came arcing towards his head, and Trahern sidestepped to avoid it, deflecting the slice with his own weapon.
    â€˜I suppose you mean the one we found at the cashel yesterday,’ the man replied. ‘She’s at our settlement. But I don’t know if I’ll let you follow us there. Not with the kind of welcome you’ve given me.’ He lunged forward, his blade thrusting at Trahern’s gut in a physical challenge.
    Trahern parried it, steadying his balance before he renewed the attack. He focused upon the fight, letting his training flow through him, meeting blow for blow. Sweat gleamed upon his skin, but he drove the man back.
    When his blade nicked his opponent’s shoulder, satisfaction rippled through him. He’d been waiting half a year for this. He only wished he could fight against the other invaders, killing all of them.
    He poured his rage, his grief, into the fight. It didn’t matter to him that they were standing upon holy ground, that it was a sin against God to fight here. This man had slaughtered innocents, like Ciara. He’d violated women, and he deserved to die.
    Behind the Viking, he spied Morren walking slowly. The folds of her gown draped over her thin body, and she gripped the edges of the borrowed cloak. The hood had slid down, revealing her golden hair. Fear and horror washed over her face.
    It renewed his strength, and Trahern slashed a brutal blow toward his enemy’s blade, sending the weapon spinning until it landed in the grass. The man’s look of surprise changedto grim acceptance, when Trahern grasped him by the hair, fitting his sword to his enemy’s throat.
    Staring hard at Morren, Trahern demanded, ‘Did this man dishonour you?’

Chapter Four
    A ll the blood had left her face, and Morren knew without question that the Viking was going to die at Trahern’s hands. His life depended upon her answer.
    â€˜No,’ she whispered. Then louder, ‘No, he wasn’t one of them. He wasn’t there that night.’ She kept her voice steady, hoping he would believe her.
    Trahern’s iron gaze pierced her. ‘Don’t lie. He deserves to die for what he did.’ The blade remained tight at the Norseman’s throat.
    â€˜I’m not lying.’ Though she didn’t want to draw closer, she forced herself to intervene. When she stood within an arm’s length of them, she pleaded, ‘Let him go, Trahern.’
    It was clear he didn’t want to. She took another step closer, but he snarled, ‘Stay back.’
    There was no mercy on his face, and she feared he wouldn’t listen to her words. She looked into his grey eyes, waiting. Letting him see that her words were true. The wildness in his demeanour was hanging on edge, as if he were fighting against the instinct to kill.
    â€˜Let him go,’ she repeated.
    Moments seemed to border