But it was dangerous to form any attachment. He knew the risks of confronting Feann. It would likely mean his own death, but Alarr hardly cared. The only ones who mattered were his brothers—and they understood his need for vengeance. He couldn’t allow anything to threaten his plans—especially Breanne.
Even more, he knew that once he had taken Feann’s life, those green eyes would transform with hatred. And if he claimed her body or worse, filled her with a child, it would hurt her even more. Though he despised Feann, Breanne deserved better.
As he took his brother’s hand, he realised that Rurik likely owed his life to Breanne. It unsettled him that she had woven herself into their lives. He had planned to use her for information, but guilt weighed upon him. Breanne would not tell him anything now—not after Rurik had revealed his hatred of Feann. Alarr was torn between the ruthless need for information...and his own regard for her. She was a woman of honour, and it bothered him that he had to betray her. He needed to push her away, to ensure that she despised him. Only then, he could he distance himself.
Alarr was glad his brother was sleeping, for it gave him time alone with his thoughts.
He closed his eyes, bringing back the darker memories of his wedding day. Never would he forget the faces of those who had fallen, of the blood that stained the earth. And of Gilla’s sightless eyes staring back at him. The wrenching regret pulled within him, reminding him of his purpose. He could not be distracted by a beautiful slave.
When he strode outside, he tried to mask the limp, but it was impossible. His leg was aching from the exertion, and he made his way towards one of the unfinished longhouses. There, he picked up a saw, wanting to occupy his hands. He measured the correct length and sawed the wood, welcoming the familiar ache of physical effort. A few other men joined him, but as he worked, his mind turned over the problem of Feann. He still knew very little about the fortress, nor did he have a solid plan of how to infiltrate their defences long enough to kill the king.
Styr joined him and said quietly, ‘I am glad of your help, my friend. But I would like to have words with you and your brother about your journey to visit Feann.’
‘Later,’ he agreed. ‘Rurik is recovering from his wounds. The healer gave him a sleeping potion.’
Styr paused, resting against the longhouse. ‘As you will. But we must come to an agreement about your journey and my men as your escorts.’
He understood the man’s unspoken words—that he would not endanger his kinsmen under any circumstances.
‘I only want them as escorts to Killcobar,’ he said. ‘They may remain outside the gates when I speak with the king.’
Styr inclined his head. But then he narrowed his gaze. ‘Rurik told me of Feann’s role in your father’s death.’
‘His men slaughtered my father and my bride.’ He made no effort to hide the cold fury.
Styr regarded him. ‘While I understand your reasons, I cannot let my men be involved in this. If your intent is vengeance, you must go alone.’
‘I am asking for your men to protect my brother and Breanne on the journey. I will act alone.’
‘But if Feann survives, it will bring war between my tribe and his people.’ Styr shook his head. ‘This I cannot do.’
‘He won’t survive.’ In this, he had complete faith. Though he knew not how, he was confident that Feann would die.
‘And what of Breanne? You would kill her foster father?’
‘She knows what Feann did to my family. And to me.’ He climbed down from the ladder. ‘When Rurik awakens, we will speak again.’ He nodded to Styr before he turned back towards the longhouse where he’d been staying with Breanne. She was not there, and he saw her walking towards the healer’s hut where he had left Rurik. A hard ache caught him in the gut that she was concerned about his brother’s welfare.
He hurried towards her and stopped her before she could go inside. ‘I must speak with you.’
He expression remained guarded, but she asked, ‘How is your brother?’
‘The healer gave him a sleeping potion,’ he answered. ‘And he had a few other minor injuries that she treated.’
‘But he will recover?’
He nodded. ‘In a few days, I think.’ He reached out to rest his palm against her spine, guiding her away. ‘We need to talk about the fate of your foster father.’
Nerves gathered within her, but Breanne knew she had to choose her words carefully. Alarr had strong reasons for wanting vengeance against Feann, and she didn’t delude herself into thinking she could change his mind. He led her towards the horses and asked, ‘Do you want to ride?’
She glanced up at the sky which was turning amber, the sun rising higher. ‘For a short time,’ she agreed. There was no doubting that he intended to speak with her about his plans. And somehow, she had to talk him out of them.
He chose horses for them and helped her mount. Breanne followed him outside the gates and noticed that he was leading her south, towards the coast.
After half an hour of riding, she saw the gleam of the water and the reflection of the sun. The sky was a blend of fire and gold, beautiful in its wildness as it embraced the coming afternoon.
He paused when they were near the edge and guided her towards an outcropping of limestone. He helped her dismount, and she went to sit on the pile of limestone while he hobbled their horses, allowing them to graze.
The air was still cool outside, but she hardly felt the chill. Her heart was aching at the thought of what Feann had done and Alarr’s need
