Chapter Thirteen

Ulfhild marched through the village, the morning fog licking her ankles and the mist beading on her face and leathers. The weather fit her mood. Her mind and spirit were in tumult. She could see nothing clearly after her talk with Astrid the night before. A sense of growing unease permeated her as deeply as the moisture of the morning air.

Arriving at the training field, Ulfhild surveyed the grounds, her eyes unwittingly searching out the one person she told herself she did not want to see, Brandur. It took only a moment to find him. He fought Erik this morning. Tall and proud, his muscles bulging under his shirt as their heavy broadswords sliced through the air and clashed so violently, they threw up tiny sparks.

He taunted Erik between blows, his lips quirking up in a grin. “C’mon, old man! Is that all you’ve got? My baby sister hits harder than you.”

Erik’s face reddened with the insult, and he charged sounding like a wounded bear. Brand easily parried the man’s blade and turned