"Stop telling falsehoods. I have been with her a number of times and she was more than satisfied," Osferth was frowning into his bowl of stew and his face flushing bright red as he talked of the alehouse whore he had been with before they left.

"Yeah, but that is what she is paid to tell you, baby Monk," Finan grinned. "Just ask Eahlswith and she will tell you that is what she did to Sihtric. And look, she did such a good job of fooling him that the daft bastard ended up marrying her."

"I married her because I love her," Sihtric muttered, scowling at Finan and continuing to pick the dirt from beneath his nails with a small knife. "And she loves me."

"She loves your money," Finan snorted, ducking out of the way when Sihtric launched the knife at him.

Orla ate hesitantly at her own stew, listening to the ribald and vicarious conversation around the fire. It was clear that Osferth, the young monk, was the prime target for picking on. It was also clear that Finan was the one who liked to do most of the picking; although it was well meant and in jest for the most part. There was something comforting about being around a group of people who were so clearly at ease with one another, but it also made something in Orla's chest hurt. She no longer remembered what it was like to feel at ease with others, and although she felt that she was warming to Finan quickly, it wouldn't last. He pitied her and sought to provide her with safety and comfort, but once they reached Coccham and he could leave her with someone else, she would be alone again.

"You will get used to them."

She turned to look at the Lord Uhtred who had appeared beside her. She hadn't even heard him approach such was his stealth, and she found herself tensing subconsciously at his proximity. It wasn't that he had even done or said anything to make her feel uncomfortable around him, it was just more that she didn't feel particularly comfortable around anyone yet. Anyone who wasn't Finan anyway. As though sensing her unease, Uhtred shuffled away from her slightly until he was seated on the end of the log that they were using as a seat and smiled warmly.

"They are… nice," Orla answered, looking down at her hands in her lap, picking nervously at the callouses on her palms.

"That is one description for them I suppose," Uhtred smirked. "But they are good men and loyal as well. Even Finan."

"I will have you know I am the goodest and most loyal of them all, Lord," Finan interjected into the conversation. "Also, I am the most handsome."

Orla found her own lips curling up into a smile at his words, even more so when Uhtred let out a chuckle that came right from his belly.

"You are also modest, my brother," he muttered.

"Brother?" Orla frowned, glancing between the two with a frown.

"Not by birth," Finan explained, leaning his body in towards Orla's more without even thinking about it. "We… The way we met was not through choice, nor was it in any way pleasant, but through it we became more than just friends or comrades. We survived together and it bound us as brothers for life. We became family."

Orla found herself wanting to ask more but she could tell by the look on both Finan and Uhtred's faces that it was not something they wished to discuss. She tried to think of something to say but before she could, Uhtred stood and announced that it was time for everyone to get some sleep before they continued on to Coccham in the morning. Sihtric was on first watch apparently, so the rest of the men made their way to their bedrolls which were dotted around the makeshift camp, readying themselves for sleep.

"I thought you might prefer to sleep away from the others," Finan cleared his throat and looked at Orla. "There is a small clearing just past that thicket. We will be far enough from the others that you won't have to feel uncomfortable, but we are close enough to help on the small chance there is trouble."

"We?"

"I will stay with you, just to keep you safe," he answered, scratching the back of his neck and feeling uncharacteristically uncomfortable. "I will not lay a hand you, you have my word. Or I will leave you to sleep alone and I will keep watch over you instead."

Orla chewed her lip hesitantly. The thought of sleeping beside Finan frightened her. It frightened her because even though she knew she trusted him, a tiny part of her was fearful that he might do something when they were alone. Liar, she told herself. That was not why she was frightened. In truth, she was frightened to sleep beside him because she was scared to let herself truly trust another human being. She was scared because she trusted Finan and she didn't want to. She closed her eyes for a moment while she thought about how nice it was to have someone to trust; to be in the company of someone that she knew would not hurt her. How long had it been since she had slept without worrying about being roused from her sleep to fulfill her master's needs or to the feel of his wife's brutality and retaliation? How long had it been since she had slept without one eye open? She stood suddenly, looking down at Finan who seemed to understand what she was saying just by her action alone. That casual smile of his flittered across his face and he nodded goodnight to Sihtric before leading them through the trees to their bedrolls.

Slipping off her worn shoes, Orla opted to keep the borrowed cloak wrapped around her body as she lay down on one of the piles of furs; partly because she was cold and partly because… well, she didn't want Finan to catch another glimpse of her torn and tattered dress. She was ashamed. She lay awkwardly on her back, pulling a fur over her body and tucking her feet in beneath it to keep them warm. Finan lay down too and when his arm brushed slightly against hers, she tried not to flinch.

"I am not looking forward to the winter," he spoke, trying to diffuse some of the palpable tension between them. "I hate the cold."

"Me too. I like the summer. I like swimming and…" Orla's voice wobbled slightly and she closed her eyes in pain. "Well, I used to."

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and willed away the tears that were threatening to spill. She didn't want to cry. What was the point? What would it change? And for some reason she didn't want Finan to think her weaker than he already most probably did. After all, she had done nothing but cry since he had first laid eyes upon her.

"I'm tired," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"Sleep then," Finan urged. "Sleep and know that you are safe with me."

She nodded and as she closed her eyes, she expected sleep to be a long time coming. However, it wasn't. Sleep claimed her quickly that night.

… … …

Orla was shelling peas in the humble cottage she shared with her parents. She had a sister once; a tiny sickly thing who had died after only a few weeks of living, but since then, there had been no other children for her parents. Her father would claim that he was satisfied with the one child God had seen fit to give him, but Orla saw her mother turn away and hide her tears when her older brother delivered news of yet another child. She saw her mother's strained smile when one of their fellow villagers would bring their new baby to meet them. Her father might have been happy with only one child, but Orla knew her mother most certainly was not.

"Are you listening to me, Orla?"

Orla blinked and found her mother's blue grey eyes looking at her impatiently.

"Hmm?" she frowned.

"I knew you weren't listening," her mother sighed. "When you marry one day, you'll have to listen to your husband. No man wants a wife who doesn't listen to him."

"You never listen to Da," Orla muttered.

Her mother tried to maintain a stern façade but the frown upon her face crumbled and gave way to a radiant smile that made her look like the younger woman Orla's father had fallen in love with all those years ago.

"That is because your father only ever talks shite," she snorted, sending Orla into a fit of giggles with her course language. "Now, I asked you if you would go and take your father his lunch. He's got a lot of crops to sow today and you know as well as I that he'll not stop to eat, so if you take him some bread and cheese he can eat while he works."

"Of course," Orla smiled, pushing her chair back to stand up. "Anything so that I don't have to keep shelling peas."

"They'll be waiting for you when you get back," her mother reminded her as Orla picked up the small lined wrapped parcel of food.

"No, they won't," she grinned over her shoulder as she reached the door.

"Off with you," her mother pretended to tut, but the truth was that she would finish her own bowl of peas and move on to Orla's long before her daughter returned.

Orla dawdled across the field where her father was turning the soil with a pitchfork. When she reached him, he stopped to smile at her and brush her cheek with his lips.

"Mam sent me with some lunch for you," she smiled, unwrapping the food and taking a bite out of the cheese. "I was just checking she hadn't poisoned it."

"Aye, sure you were," her father chuckled, taking the food from her hands tearing off a hunk of bread hungrily. "I swear you must have hollow legs because you eat so much and I have no idea where it all goes."

"I'm just blessed I suppose," Orla grinned, patting her father's slightly rounded belly playfully.

He opened his mouth in mock outrage, but before he could utter a pretend comment of rebuttal, the sounds of screaming came from the distance. Smoke appeared in the air and Orla glanced at her father in concern and confusion. More screams were heard along with the sounds of horses' hooves thundering towards them.

"Orla, run," her father ordered suddenly, gripping hold of his pitchfork and wielding it like a weapon.

"Da, what's happening?" she didn't like the panicked look in his eyes or the way he pushed her away desperately.

And then she saw them, coming up over the hill. Danes.

"Run!" her father shouted. "Get home to your mother and I'll follow."

"Da, please come with me," she begged. "I'm scared."

"Don't be scared," he kissed her on the forehead quickly before pushing her away again. "Just go!"

Orla ran. She ran as fast as she had ever run before. She tripped on the skirt of her dress, the too long skirt her mother had been reminding her to hem for weeks, and she scrambled hurriedly too her feet. She turned to look at her father and saw that he was singlehandedly attempting to fight of two Danes. One of them thrust his sword through her father's stomach without so much as a second thought, and Orla screamed when her father crumbled to the floor like a sack of flour. Her screams had alerted the Danes to her presence and she knew she had to run again.

"He's dead," she screamed, bursting through the cottage door where her mother was armed with a knife. "Da is dead and they are coming. The Danes are coming."

"No," her mother wailed pitifully, dropping the knife to the floor with a clang.

Orla picked it up and thrust it forcefully into her mother's hand, forcing her fingers around it and then she reached for a weapon of her own. She was terrified and her mind was plagued with the horrific image of her father's pained and stunned expression as he fell to his knees, but Orla knew that they had to fight. If they were to die, they would not make it easy for the heathens.

"Hide under the table," she decided quickly, shaking her mother by the arm.

But the opportunity to do so never arose. The cottage door was kicked open and Orla's mother screamed and threw her knife to the ground immediately.

"Please," she begged, getting down onto her knees. "Please do what you want with me but spare my daughter." The Dane's eyes fell upon Orla who was poised with a small knife, and her mother continued to plead and beg for her daughter's life. "Even you heathens have children, do you not? Spare my child, I beg."

The Dane grinned, his teeth filed to sharp points, and when he reached for Orla, she lunged at him with her pathetic weapon. He wrestled it from her with no difficulty and knocked her to the ground, where she hit her head on the way down. From where she lay on the floor, she watched helplessly, unable to move and trying to stay awake, as the Dane grabbed her mother by the hair and slit her throat. Orla's final memory of her mother was the sight of crimson blood pouring from the wound before she fell silent.

Finan opened his eyes when she let out the first cry. It was quiet and pitiful, and when he glanced over he could see Orla twitching in her sleep. Her head thrashed from side to side and when her cries became louder, Finan tried to call out to her.

"Orla," he murmured, touching her on the arm.

"No," she shook her head, sweat beading upon her forehead. "Please don't."

"Orla," he tried again, stroking her hair back from her head. "You need to wake up now. You're dreaming. Orla, wake up."

He touched her face, patting gently as his voice became firmer and louder. With a gasp, she sat up and Finan hissed when the top of her head met with his nose and it crunched sickeningly.

"Please don't hurt me," Orla sobbed.

"It is alright. It is me, Finan. You are safe with me, remember?"

Orla blinked, and it was as though the befuddled haze lifted and she covered her mouth with her hand as she let out another small cry. She was safe. She was really safe. And she was free.

"Finan?" she croaked, shuffling closer towards him. "You're bleeding."

"Aye, well your head came at me before I could move," he grinned, holding one hand to his nose as his other reached for her face. She flinched momentarily before closing her eyes and leaning into his touch as her frantic breathing began to slow. "It was just a dream, Orla. You can go back to sleep now; it was just a dream."

But it was not a dream. It was a nightmare; one that she was certain would never leave her no matter where she was or who she was with. It was a nightmare that would haunt her forever.