Chapter Fifteen

Ketil was on the move again, having seen how the land lay. The fighting force he and his little band had recruited some time ago had been called to arms and were waiting to do battle with this hostile invading force. He stopped off at his hut – the only one left standing – before leaving, packing not only what he needed but what he felt he must have.

Miriam’s hairbrush meant a lot, as did the furs, stained with her maiden blood. Ketil touched them to his lips once before stowing them in his bundle.

He could not blame Magnus, Sigurd and Orm for getting captured. None of them had expected trouble on this scale.

His hand, which was sorting through what remained of his weapons, stilled. Thieves were ever opportunistic, and he hoped they were using them for good rather than just profit. The busted lock would have to stay as it was for the time being.

The thought of Miriam in the invaders’ hands led him to clench his fists. She did not deserve any of this.

“You are my heart’s blood, my