In the south, burning could be seen, smoke pluming into the air on this bright, still, summer's day. Osthryth said nothing, just stood, fully armed, at the front of the warriors. There was no sound, no cries of indignation that the incoming army was burning buildings on the way up to them.

For they had been planning for many months for an invasion, all of the farmers, all of the warriors of Berric, had taken up the call that the harvest should be buried, that the people should evacuate. There had been no screams of panic, Osthryth had been told, just calm and orderly removal to her hall. It was what she herself had been ducking under cover to ensure, having sailed south since the start of the year, to listen, to observe.

And now an army was within sight. It was as big as Aeswi had told her. Osthryth had hoped for less, but it had not been so. And in the sea, a great armada of ships was heading north - her fishermen had been told not to launch until they had passed.

But they weren't passing, and neither was the army. What surprised Osthryth, however, as she waited for the men to approach, was that Aethelstan was not leading the army. No glitter and pageantry accompanied him, as the last time he was here. Perhaps he was with the naval fleet? The coast was being ravaged, too, as many of her fishermen had told her.

So, Osthryth wondered, who was it then who it was who was coming with the Englaland army in red? A brighter red livery marched with them. So. Hywel had come, with his son, Idwal Foel. it meant that Cynddylan was subdued again. Osthryth cursed herself in her mind for ever listening to Hywel, at Eamont Bridge, for she could now see that by committing herself, in her spiritual role as Gwythelth, their queen, had denounced her as traitor to Hywel, and therefore, to Aethelstan.

So, Hywel then, Osthryth thought, her hand on Buaidh. Morgan Mwynfawr and Tuwdur, of neighbouring kingdoms now part of Deheubarth. Didn't they remember that they had once been independent? That they had once united against Vortigern, with their king, Arturus?

Finan had sworn that Uhtred would not be with Aethelstan, who would be have already stood before Bebbanburg, speaking to her brother, and Finan by his side, no doubt, as the king of Englaland demanded Uhtred's position, reminding him he was a good, loyal Lord to the king of all Britain, as he came north. But, whatever had transpired, it was clear her brother had not stopped him, either. So it was Osthryth, with Berric, and her handful of loyal warriors against a host of thousands.

As the line approached, Osthryth strained to look at the front line. She did not recognise the leader, nor did he identify himself when Osthryth called out for him to do so.

"Osthryth, I have never commanded you," Finan had said, before leaving. "But I would have you flee to Alba." And the seriousness of his face returned to Osthryth's mind as she strode out to stand before the man who was clearly the warband's leader, Buaidh in hand.

"Who are you?" Osthryth demanded.

"Ealdred," said the man, his face overcome with joy. "And I am at the farmstead of the bitch of a whore called Osthryth."

"You are at the hall of the Lady of Berric, Ealdred of...where? Somewhere in Wessex, with such manners as yours." But the man did not yield to her taunt, instead, smiled wider.

"We are to take your land, bitch," he told her.

"With whose army?" Osthryth asked. "For none such a lord could command warriors such as these." And she leaned towards another of the warriors. "Whence come you? Hamptun? Sussex?" Osthryth looked over more of the warriors. "I remember better mannered Devonscir warriors when I fought, under the Lord Odda."

At the name, a quick chatter filtered through the men who had heard it. Merewalh had been with her, and her beloved Aelffrith, dead now, long dead, at Eoforwic, trying to save her and her Mercian men.

"I served the Lord Odda, and the Lord, the King Alfred," she added. "I fought under your livery, at Beamfleot. I helped to flee the lady Aethelflaed, when she had been taken prisoner. Did I not, Commander?" She turned to Aelfkin, who was lingering just behind Osthryth.

He had been primed for this, and called back, "Indeed, Lady Osthryth. I helped you escape, and you had the Lady Aethelflaed with you."

"Aye!" called back her Mercian warriors. Osthryth held her face impassive, waiting for the realisation to occur to Ealdred that, far from being an undefended backwater, Berric was highly defended, and that warriors loyal to her were with her.

"So if you believe you are going to wrest this land, this peaceful land, from my hand, then you had better have more thoughts. You may have more men; I have more right."

There was silence for a moment. And then Ealdred began to laugh. He laughed, as if he had been given a particularly amusing joke which he had only just got.

"No, bitch," he called back, when his laughter had abated, and Osthryth raised a hand to stop any of her men retaliating at the insult. "It is you who have got it wrong. This land belongs to Aethelstan." He surveyed the men behind her, Aelfkin, with Oshere, Falkbald and Aeglfrith; Merewalh beside him, and beside him the Picts, Caltigar, Munadd, Beann, with the Alba warriors to their left, Dubhcan and Ceansie, with Uunst beside his son.

"I fear you are under the misapprehension that you would win a fight, your dozen men and yourself!" Ealdred boasted. "I have over ten thousand, marching north."

"Then you had better keep marching," Osthryth told him, "For though I am hospitable to strangers in my land, such an amount I cannot feed nor sleep." But her words fell to nothing when she saw a man approaching, knife to his throat.

It was Finan beag.

It took a moment for Osthryth to realise who the young man was, dark haired, bearded like his father, for a moment she thought that it was her husband. The look of shock must have appeared on her face, for Ealdred laughed again.

Surely, surely not, Osthryth thought again. He was supposed to be safe, with Uhtred. Had her brother let him out? Had he traded him as a hostage?

"Fight me," Osthryth snapped to Ealdred, as he sneered in her direction. "Fight me!" she demanded, blade aloft. For, memories of Bishop Oswald, Uhtred's firstborn, gelded at the hands of Brida and Ragnall, came rushing discomfortingly to her mind.

"Are you hurt?" Osthryth called to her son in Gaelish. Behind her, several heads of the Alba and Pictish warriors turned.

"It is a ruse, Mhathair," Young Finan called back, also in Gaelish. "Your brother is behind us, and has set this up. He wants you to give them no reason to fight you and so have pretended to threaten me. Even now, Englaland warriors have come ashore at Berric, and - "

"Enough!" Ealdred snapped. "Let the boy go. For we have caught the prize we seek!" And, before even Caltigar or Aelfkin could move, the man had siezed Osthryth and had thrown Buaidh onto the hard, summer earth.

"Your uncle and your father are with you?" Osthryth called to her son, in Gaelish, taking care not to say the name "Uhtred."

"Uncle wants you to be in Aethelstan's custody, to stop you reaching Alba and alerting the king," he told her, as carefully as he could, and she watched as her son was allowed to ride away. And when she turned, she could see that warriors had surrounded the back of the hall, come on the ships that were now in Berric's harbour.

But Osthryth was not about to stand for that.

"Don't you know who I am?" she demanded, as Ealdred dragged her arm roughly. "Don't move!" she told her warriors. "Whatever happens here, I need you alive to look after my land. Aelfkin - " he turned to Osthryth, "Caltigar? Dubhcan?" The Alba warriors disguised as Berric warriors, looked to her, the young mormaer wearing a doubtful expression.

Osthryth did not go without a fight, however, and she kicked and scratched at bit at Ealdred as he dragged her in the direction of the harbour.

"You will be going north, with the fleet, to tell them where to anchor," Ealdred told her. But Osthryth was not finished, and from her thigh she brought Taghd's seax, and thrust it up towards his arm.

It skittered away, but not before it had done some damaged. Ealdred cried out and Osthryth ducked away. But it was not as she had planned. Ealdred managed to kick at her leg and she fell to the floor. Behind her, cries of insult were being exchanged by her men and those at the front of Aethelstan's army.

"You're dead, bitch!" Ealdred hissed at Osthryth, and she felt her clothes being torn from her, until she was naked from the waist up. From near distance, Uhtred gripped Finan's arms to stop him from tearing to his wife.

At the side of her hall a large barrel was sitting contaning the broth from many plants that were to be used to dye this year's linen. Bundling her over to it, Osthryth managed a glance behind her, and she saw that her men were surrounded.

Good, she thought. Good that they had not chosen to fight. But that was the last she thought for some time, for Ealdred pushed her, head first, into the barrel, her breeches tearing as he clawed at her sword belt.

"Die, bitch!" he called, and it would be the last Osthryth would have heard, as she began to drown in the woad broth that was foaming around her, the caustic reaction to her skin nothing compared to the liquor filling her lungs.

"Athair, an Himmel Hoch." The words began, unbidden, in Osthryth's mind as the Lord's Prayer, in Anglish came to her. Drowned, naked, in woad in the land she loved the best. What would any writer of her time make of that as the salt sea covered her face, as the two Ulaid princes stood by and watch her die.

Her throat choked, water filled her lungs. The blackness might have been the bottom of the barrel, or Osthryth passing out. Her eyes closed.

And then she felt her head being pulled up. Ealdred was smirking as he saw her face, dripping with dye, emerge from the water.

"And now we go to Aethelstan, bitch!" he told her, pushing her roughly. "You wanted to be a Pict, and now you are one, naked, and blue. Behold!" he called to those surrounding them, her warriors, her men, Berric's farmers, Aethelstan's army. "Behold, the Lady of Berric, the Lord of Bebbanbug's dear sister.

And he reached down, still holding her hair in one hand, pulling her head back, hard as he mauled first one breast and then the other, paying close attention to her nipples with his fingers, pinching and pulling them to hardness, sucking the air in through his teeth as he did so with obvious satisfation as he felt her up. "And what mighty fine tits you have too!" he declared. "I bet you are all wet in your cunt now," he added, his breath heavy.

It was the strangest thing, Osthryth thought, as found the energy to bring her head back and force it against his nose, so that the Lord Ealdred reeled in pain. Buaidh and Taghd's sword and her sword belt were no longer on the ground in front of her. They had quite gone.

But Osthryth lurched from Ealdred now, as the dye water that has entered her stomach came back again, and she bent double, throwing it back up. Ealdred pulled at her hair so she could not get it all up and laughed as she choked.

"Have you finished?" he said Osthryth pretended she had not, pretended she was incapacitated from her drowning. Which she nearly was. She made to flop down, and Ealdred sneered at her. Instead, she pulled the sword from the man, and kicked him hard in the stomach, while bringing her fist round to his nose.

Ealdred writhed on the floor as he held his nose, bleeding as it was down his face and Osthryth held the man's blade high, the Pictish words that she had once learned, from the stones in the dungeon halls under Dunnottar, which she had, with patience, learned. This was her land, she declared, this was their land, they were Picts, and the incomers needed to know that.

About to thrust Ealdred's own sword into his groin, her naked body now proudly displaying the battle colour of the ancient Picts, and saw their faces. Many looked away, those West Saxons and Mercians from Aethelstan's army not from her shame, but the shame that she had been assaulted.

Instead of thusting the sword into Ealdred, she threw it aside, in the direction of Falkbald, who had recently broken his own sword, and turned to her hall, calling to Caltigar to bring her fresh clothing. For while she was wearing the Pictish blue battle dye on her skin, she was, equally, naked in front of hundreds of warriors. She knew that they would never attack her: she had the power, and she was using it.

"Osthryth!" called one of her men, as Finan and Uhtred looked on from near the back of one of the Englaland columns. Of course they had set up young Finan, but they did not expect such a vicious attack on her.

But the call came too late. Behind Osthryth, a man had appeared, had slid from his horse, and had shrouded Osthryth in a thick cloak. She struggled, but the man had extended a sword.

"You know something," Uhtred accused Finan. But Finan just stood there, and stared, as the man on the horse, helmeted and now trying to tie a struggling Osthryth over the saddle, abducted the Lady of Berric.

The Englaland warriors were too slow to act, too slow to release Osthryth's men who were struggling to be released in order to help her. Caltigar had been the nearest. But the man simply turned his head and looked at the Pictish man, before kicking his stirrups into the horse's side and rode away, with Osthryth tied across the saddle in front of him.

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Osthryth did not know where they were going. It was dark, and very uncomfortable trussed up in a heavy blanket, and it rubbed her skin. From the speed the rider was going, Osthryth estimated that they were heading north, for he was going fast over flat ground.

And then -

- the horse's hooves changed sound, and now there was metal shoes over denser wood - they had just crossed the pack horse bridge that spanned the Tuide.

The horse had stopped, and Osthryth tried to wriggle, so that she might fall on the floor. But a hand on her back stopped her from moving. She tried talking, but her throat was sore from the woad mixture and, even if it hadn't been, Osthryth doubted he would be able to hear her.

But she could smell smoke, the smell of burning. Wriggling still further, Osthryth managed to see a little through a tiny gap in the blanket: the bridge was on fire! If any of her warriors were following her, they would be too late, for there was no way across the deep, wide Tuide for miles. She struggled. But it was some miles north until the rider stopped, and helped Osthryth down from the back of the horse.

Osthryth readied to raise her fist as soon as she could, as the blanket fell from her. She was naked, and the blanket had absorbed any of the moisture still on her. She blinked, the caustic solution burning her eyes, but she still could not see properly.

"It might be the woad," she heard a familiar voice say to her. "It may have hurt yer eyes. Yer not supposed to take a bath in it, Osrit."

And she sat there for a moment, aware that she knew the voice. After a few moments, the blanket wrapped around her again, she felt a hand take hers.

"...Domnall...?" she tried.

"Aye, aye!" Domnall mac Aed Ui Neill laughed. "And I've never seen such a thing - you would have fought that shite of a man, even after what he did to yer."

"Well, you didn't give me a chance, did you?" Osthryth snapped back. Her words sounded harsh, but there was light relief in her chest. How he ever had been there, she wondered, for Osthryth knew she would have fought the man, naked, woad-painted, as her ancestors, and defeated him too.

"There was word that there was a great host," Domnall told her. Her eyes seemed to be recovering a little, and at least now, in the bright sunshine Osthryth could make out vague shapes, such as the landscape line, such as where the sun would be. "How do yer feel?"

"Angry," Osthryth told him. And that was all she was prepared to admit. As well as the burning she all over from the woad, she also felt frightened, frightened about what was happening in her land, what orders the leader, Ealdred had had from Aethelstan.

"I do not have any clothes for ye," Domnall admitted. "But you can wear the blanket until we get to Constantine."

"Back to Dunnottar?" Osthryth asked. "But that's miles."

"Even further," Domnall told her. "I am taking yer to him, to Constantine, as he bade me. God knows it took a lot of devlish skill to get past all of Aethelstan's bastard ships, but it seems I got there in time."

But how did he know, Osthryth thought. How would Domnall, or Constantine, come to that, know where she was? It was a question for another time, for others were more pressing, and Domnall had answer for them all.

"I am alone," he told her. "And, if yer will let me, I can help you bathe in yon burn in the mountains there."

"So we are going north? And we are beyond Melrose?" Osthryth asked, suddenly self-conscious that Domnall had offered to help her wash.

"Yer need to get all of the dye from yer."

"Is it just the two of us?" Osthryth asked, looking in the vague direction of Domnall, and could just make out the shape of his head, long hair past his neck, the shape of his shoulders.

"Oh aye!" he told her cheerfully, "Just me, and ye, and three thousand Alba warrors!" And when he saw her mouth fall open, Domnall burst into laughter.

"Nay, just tha thu agus tha mi," he told her. "We are quite alone. I will try not to look upon yer," he added.

It was not as if he had not seen her naked before. The last time that someone had tried to drown her had been the last time, tied naked to a rock so that the tide would come in over her head.

But it had been not Constantine, but Domnall who had pulled her free, had bundled her into a cloth and carried her back to Doire, to Muire, to recover from her ordeal. She wondered whether Domnall was remembering it too because, as he helped her into the burn, throwing the blanket away from her, he said, "I will only look as much as I have to."

And she ducked down into the water, Domnall's hand still in hers, the cool water over her body.

"I have some weeds here," he told her, "Docc."

"That should work," she told him, and Domnall handed them to her, splashing out of the way. The docc soothed her skin and she ducked under the water, emerging, but still not being able to see much.

"I cannot reach my back," she told Domnall, small stones getting between her toes, "And it itches." And Domnall stripped to his shirt and breechs before getting in with her and smoothing the soothing docc over her body.

"When he pushed my head into the water..." Osthryth said when Domnall had finished.

"I know, Osrit," he soothed. "Aethelstan is coming north, and Constantine knows it. So, would yer hurry now that we get there before him?" Domnall gently helped Osthryth out of the small stream before wrapping her body in his cloak and helping her up onto his horse.

"I think I am starting to see more now," Osthryth told her friend, although she hadn't much faith in her own words."

"Good to know," Domnall told her. He saw a glimpse of Osthryth's shoulder as the cloak slipped down her back. "You know, your skin is still blue, and your hair," he told her, "It looks as if it is going green."

For a few moments there was silence between them, only the clip-clip of the horse's hooves on the dry earth. Osthryth laughed, and could't help but carry on, and soon Domnall was laughing too.

"I really thought I would die today," she told him.

"And that shit of an Ulaid did not come to help yer," Domnall returned. "Do you want your marriage to end?" Domnall asked suddenly. Osthryth shook her head.

"No," she said, and put her hand on Domnall's. "No, I wanted peace - I thought Aethelstan would give us that, and Finan is happy serving my brother to his cause. Aethelstan is happy.

"Constantine is not. He has his own grandfather's dream to fulfil every bit as much as Aethelstan. And I asked you what you wanted, "Domnall reminded her, gently. Osthryth said nothing for a time.

"I don't know, honestly," she told him. "Nothing for myself, but for the people I care for to be content, all of them. For my brother to never bother me again.. For Finan Beag, and I and Finan to be a family and peaceable neighbours to Constantine and whoever is south of us, and - " But Osthryth broke off as Domnall pulled her back against him and wrapped his arms around her.

"Not the queen of the Hen Ogledd?" he asked. "You know that what you said at Burgham to Hywel may have influenced his decision to ride with Aethelstan?" Osthryth suspected that she may very well had.

"What I want is my husband beside me, and our son together."

"And I suspect that's what he wants too," Domnall told her. "You still love him?"

"Still?" Osthryth repeated. "I have always loved him, ever since Winchester. And yes, despite everything."

"And I suspect the Ulaid bastard feels the same," Domnall told her. "Who do you think compelled me to kidnap you, if not to take you to a place of safety?"

And, as they rode further and faster north, Domnall told her the whole story, about how Trinity had been escorted to Bebbanburg for a friendly chat with Finan. "Alternatively, I could have spoken to Uhtred, and chats with your brother are never friendly. So they devised a plot that involved Finan beag, which was to get your attention. Unfortunately, that slime-shit Ealdred tried to drown you."

But Osthryth was no longer listening. Her heart was sore knowing that Finan had deemed the safest place for her to be was in Alba. Finan beag had never been in any real danger.

Oh how she loved him and, whether she would regain her sight or no, Osthryth was determined to be with the man she loved once more.

"Of course I love him," Osthryth told Domnall, as held onto her tightly. How could she not? She closed her eyes, which seemed to soothe them, and the image of his face appeared in her mind, and for the first time in her life she just wanted to run off to find him, beg him to stay with her.

"I know you do, Osrit," Domnall said softly by her ear, "I know you do."