The day Askeladd and his men departed from the English beach with their new…companion, the image of the black-caped Vikings lingered in Askeladd's mind. The moment they set sail, the scene etched itself deeply. As they rowed out to sea, three figures stood at the shore's edge, watching them. The one in the center drew Askeladd's attention the most, his authoritative presence and apparent displeasure unmistakable.

Or, more likely, it was displeasure for the woman leaving them behind.

Leaving him behind.

Askeladd found himself intrigued by her connections to those Vikings adorned with a family crest—the Norse-Gaels from Ireland. Clearly, her role extended beyond that of a mere cook, a fact he couldn't ignore.

He pondered whether these ties had any bearing on the mysterious contract for her father that had surfaced seven years ago.

When the contract first arrived amidst a slew of other requests, he nearly tossed it into the fire without a second glance. The notion that anyone in Denmark would pursue a bounty so distant seemed absurd; the journey alone wasn't worth the offered sum.

But he did take a second look, for this bounty summons was too detailed to dismiss, too strange. Typically, higher-born bounties came with sparse information—just a name and a vague description of the target, with negotiations and further details reserved for face-to-face meetings with the client. Yet this contract was different. It not only named the bounty and specified the location but also included an unusual detail—a runaway daughter.

Red hair, green eyes, three daughters. Their heights, appearances, even personalities were meticulously described. It was the most peculiar contract he had ever encountered. But upon meeting her, he understood its true purpose.

The contract was likely already fulfilled or nearing completion.

It wasn't just a summons; it was a deliberate outreach. Its purpose wasn't to attract mercenaries but to seed a rumor, to spark conversation among the common folk. And if the common folk were talking, word would spread. Eventually, it would reach its intended target.

The runaway Irish daughter.

And what better way to lure the runaway back than by threatening her family? The one who sent the contract had no desire to draw attention to the daughter or put her in danger, so they never issued a bounty for her capture.

Whoever wanted her back desired her return of her own free will, not through coercion.

A gambling tactic Askeladd could appreciate, deftly manipulating her emotions and compelling her to act of her own volition.

And the one who sent the contract, Askeladd suspected, was present on that beach that day, visibly displeased by her departure.

When their eyes had locked on the beach, Askeladd felt a keen satisfaction in witnessing the seething rage emanating from the Viking. It wasn't his doing; the girl had left of her own free will. But it was still satisfying nonetheless.

At least it would provide some amusement for him. However, relying solely on her charm and charisma wouldn't be enough to achieve her newfound ambitions that had prompted her departure from the group. He expected her efforts to persuade Thorfinn to abandon his loyalty to him would end in inevitable failure.

It'd be quite entertaining to watch it unfold.

But Askeladd's thoughts of the woman were fleeting. He had to focus on preparing for the coming season. Contracts arrived from all corners of the continent, each needing review to align with the king's raiding plans against the English. He also had to pinpoint any small settlements worth plundering along the way. While his uncle typically managed rations, Askeladd still had to oversee various logistics.

It was all time-consuming, but worth it for a successful Viking season. Just as satisfying as watching a Viking seethe with rage, brought down a peg, was the thrill of raiding and killing the English. The Saxons.

However, his presence was also required at numerous events—marriages, Yule celebrations, feasts hosted by Gorm to flaunt his wealth, and the occasional duel he was asked to oversee. Though his winter months were as busy as the Viking season, they were far less enjoyable.

Particularly irksome were the obligatory appearances at celebrations. It wasn't that he disliked feasting and drinking; he simply despised watching so many Danes reveling in their leisure.

This year was no different from the last. Uncle Gorm hosted a grand feast in his great hall, urging the women to lead the festivities on the first night of Yule, known as Mother's Night. It was the only night of Yule when revelry lasted through the night, as the subsequent evenings were spent indoors, wary of Odin's Wild Hunt, which began on the second night.

It was also the sole occasion Askeladd witnessed so many women celebrating alongside the men in the great hall, with some choosing to remain outside by the Yule Log.

This night honored their female ancestors, believed to watch over and aid their families in times of need.

And due to his status, he was obligated to attend. At least the food and drink were exceptional.

Askeladd sat at the head of the great hall, observing the Danes basking in their merriment. Throughout the evening and now into the night, many approached him with drinks, food, and gratitude for an easy winter.

It was all so... merry.

And over the years, Askeladd had grown accustomed to women casting glances his way, fluttering their eyelashes, and offering him their company for the nights ahead. But this year, something was different.

One woman in particular caught his eye, not with flirtatious glances or inviting looks, but with a gaze of deep thought and contemplation. She made no effort to conceal her sudden interest like she would have done the first time they met seven years ago. Twice their eyes had met, and twice she hadn't looked away.

Those damn green eyes…

He couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips when their eyes met for the third time. He wondered if Fiadh's sudden interest was sparked by a comment he'd made to Bjorn a few weeks past about her actively avoiding him. In truth, she hadn't been avoiding him at all. If anything, she'd grown bolder around him, whereas before, she seemed downright uneasy in his presence.

But a little prodding never hurt anyone.

His smirk must have sparked something, for she suddenly rose from her seat and approached him, maintaining unwavering eye contact, her eyes only momentarily flicking to his drink. She rounded the table where he sat with his legs propped up and one arm slung behind his head while the other held his drink near his lips. He followed her movements with his eyes, watching as she took the empty seat beside him, her cloak that was too long for her short frame pooling on the ground.

Askeladd spoke first. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

She gave that damned smile, the one that crinkled her cheeks into her eyes, making her delight evident. "You know why I'm here, Askeladd." At least she didn't spit his name out like last time. She was making an effort.

Askeladd arched an eyebrow and he let an amused glint fall in his eyes. "Do I? You'll have to enlighten me, then," he said, tilting his head toward her. "My memory can be quite selective after a few drinks."

Her eyes suddenly took on a mischievous twinkle that slightly piqued his interest. "Oh, come now, Askeladd," she teased, leaning in closer as well, her left hand falling to the table. "Surely your memory isn't failing you already. Or is age finally catching up to you?"

"Careful now," he said, his tone light, but he maintained an edge to it. She may be a guest, but she hadn't earned the right to tease so casually. "Underestimating an old wolf can be dangerous. Now, remind me again—what was it you wanted?"

She lifted her hand to her masked chin, resting her elbow on the table. Her other hand, a closed fist, rested atop her thigh. "I'm throwing my sword in with your lot, Askeladd," she said casually. "I want to join your crew."

Askeladd raised an eyebrow, skepticism lacing his next words. Really now? He didn't think her foolish enough to actually consider his jest to Bjorn. "Throwing your sword in with us, eh?" he remarked, a faint smirk curling his lips. "Life at sea is rough. Are you certain someone of your... status can handle the rigors of a Viking crew? Can you even wield a sword, aside from resorting to trickery, that is?" The memory of Frode's hand flying through the air flickered briefly in his mind.

If only Frode knew it was a woman who severed his hand that day. The sheer humiliation would had likely driven him to fall on his own sword.

"I've spent the last seven years at sea, and Vikings, or pirates, are my preferred company," she countered, winking mischievously. That damned wink. "And I can handle a sword just fine, though I'm better with a bow." Her eyes held a playful glint as she added, "But if you prefer a--" she briefly paused, "a person who's skilled with both, I'm sure I can manage."

Then her eyes took on a suggestive half-lidded look, her voice lowering seductively. "I maintain many skills, in fact. I've been told I'm quite proficient with my hands."

Askeladd grinned broadly at her audacity, all of his teeth showing at once. She blinked back at him, a hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. It appeared her remark had been more spontaneous than intentional. Did flirting come naturally to her, or was there some other motive behind her playful banter?

Was it an attempt at manipulation? He doubted it, but certainty eluded him.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice low and teasing. Playing along. "I'm always in need of crew members with versatile talents. Perhaps you'll have a chance to demonstrate them."

He straightened his legs and leaned back further in his chair, swirling the liquid in his horn. Her eyes momentarily followed the motion before returning to meet his gaze.

"But then again," he added, glancing away from her and settling his head back into the nook of his arm behind his head, momentarily closing his eyes, "I'm in dire need of carpenters more than what you're currently offering. Besides," he continued, his gaze returning to her from the side, but he managed the lounging position, "shouldn't your loyalties lie more with Ireland than my band of men? Last I heard, your homeland had a recent surge of raids."

She looked away from him and let out a small laugh, her fingers that were splayed over her clothed cheek tapping at the meat. "That isn't something I need to worry about."

"Because you don't care for your homeland? Gotta say, that surprises me."

She looked back at him sharply, but not with malice or ill content, her fingers no longer tapping. "I care more than most," she replied. But then her smile returned, reaching her eyes once more. "Don't mistake my nonchalance for lack of concern. It's just something I don't need to worry about." Then she said under her breath while glancing away again, "I made sure of that."

That caught Askeladd's attention. "Made sure of it, you say?" he asked, his voice calm yet probing. "Sounds like a tale worth hearing." He brought his horn cup to his lips. "Care to share?" He took a sip, her eyes watching the action.

She leaned in again, her other arm sliding up onto the table, still fisted, her gaze unwavering. "Why, Askeladd. Why would I divulge all my secrets to a Viking chieftain? Especially regarding the homeland you likely intend to raid under King Sweyns order once the English are under Danish siege?"

Askeladd rocked himself slightly in his reclined seat, a subtle smile curling his lips. "Fair point," he admitted, his tone imbued with humor. "We all have our secrets, don't we?" He regarded her knowingly. "You left your homeland once, for reasons I won't pry into. Yet now, you profess a deep care for it." His expression turned more serious. "Is there a reason for this change of heart?"

He was curious to know her answer, a curiosity that hadn't stirred in him before for a woman. She was intriguing, just different enough to catch his interest, which was why he had decided to allow her to accompany him, among other reasons. But this line of conversation had truly piqued his interest.

Her eyes flickered with contemplation, perhaps wondering why he bothered to ask such a question. After all, why should he care? In truth, he shouldn't. Yet, there was a curiosity in her response that struck a chord of familiarity he couldn't ignore.

"No," she began hesitantly, then paused. "Yes. Maybe." Her response hung in the air, laden with uncertainty yet hinting at deeper layers of thought.

What was going through her head…

"Interesting." He couldn't keep the intrigue from his voice. "Care to elaborate on that?"

She turned her gaze to him once more, a contemplative expression settling in her eyes. "It's not a change of heart," she asserted, her words measured. "My heart has always belonged to Ireland. Though now, perhaps there are fewer pieces of it left. But the piece that remains, I give it wholeheartedly."

Askeladd regarded her with a thoughtful expression, acknowledging the depth of her words, even if she were playing at them. After a moment of quiet consideration, he nodded slightly. "I see," he replied softly, but he kept the amusement present. "A heart divided, yet steadfast in its loyalty. Admirable."

And he meant it. Yet, he couldn't shake a nagging feeling. Why was she divulging such sentiments? Did she truly believe that opening up to him would curry favor?

She was either foolish or overestimating her abilities.

Or… there was another motive…

But still.

"Spilling your heart won't get you a spot in my crew," Askeladd said, his tone growing sharper. "You still need to prove your worth. And your motives? They make me question your loyalty to me and the crew. I can't afford someone who resents me over a boy whose hatred drives him—a force none of us can control, not even me."

Askeladd half-lied. He knew how to channel that hatred, at the very least.

In the past, when he first brought up the boy, a flicker of hatred—one he had only seen in Thorfinn—flashed in her eyes. That had intrigued him greatly. Yet, she managed to rein it in. When he had tried it again later, she'd shown frustration, but nothing more.

But today she was in a talkative mood, likely trying to get him to loosen up to her. He was curious to hear her response, and if he saw that familiar fury.

It lightened his heart to see such fury in a woman's eyes.

However, nothing flashed in her eyes this time. "You may have shown Thorfinn the chasm he's stuck in, but he's the one who leaped right in. You didn't push him. I can't hold that against you, now can I?"

She was acknowledging the complexity without blaming him outright.

"Fair enough," Askeladd acknowledged, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But I didn't stop him, either."

"I understand," Fiadh replied calmly, meeting Askeladd's gaze directly. "Everyone makes their own choices, and we live with the consequences. Thorfinn's path is his own burden to bear, as are the repercussions for those around him. If I were to join your crew, I'll prove my loyalty through my actions, not just my words."

She sat up and crossed her arms over her chest. "But that doesn't mean I'll try not to sway that path. Maybe I'll succeed." She shrugged, closing her eyes. "Maybe I won't. But I'll respect your command in the end."

He could sense an unspoken sentence lingering in the air, just beneath her words.

Askeladd smirked. "Let's see if you live up to your words. If you succeed in joining my crew, your loyalty will be tested."

He couldn't envision her participating in a raid on any village. Askeladd figured she'd prefer staying on the boat, perhaps offering to keep watch over the vessels instead.

Again, when she opened her eyes, they were soft, inviting, seductive. Then they widened slightly, realizing her mistake. "I look forward to it," she grunted out, her eyes scrunched up with clear displeasure at her action.

So, it was a natural response. Interesting.

Askeladd chuckled softly, humor flooding him.

"Indeed," he replied casually, his tone suggesting he saw through her momentary slip. "I'm sure you do." His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his drink, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

He half expected parting words from her, but after a moment, she let out a chuckle.

"Something amusing?" he asked, his eyes gliding back to her to see her staring at his cup again.

"I was just reflecting on how differently I imagined this conversation going two weeks ago." Her eyes moved to his. "This is much more civilized," she remarked casually.

Askeladd grinned. She surely was keeping him amused, for the time being. "Expecting a bit more fire and brimstone, were you?" he remarked dryly. "Civilized or not, don't let your guard down. We're far from finished until the next Viking season begins."

Fiadh's smile turned sharper, a hint of mischief returning to her eyes. Her blunder from before seemingly forgotten. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," she replied smoothly. "After all, I did consider how much easier it would be to free Thorfinn by simply killing you. But where's the fun in that?"

Interesting tactic.

Askeladd chuckled, his eyebrows cocked. "A tempting thought, I'm sure," he replied, his eyes gleaming with interest, but when she looked at him, her eyes did not reflect the firelight of the hall. "But it takes more than idle threats to rattle me. Besides, you'd miss out on all the fun of proving yourself. And tell me, how would someone like you even achieve such a thing?"

That was when she did something that had him tensing.

Her eyes shifted to his drink—the same drink he had just finished off during their conversation, the same drink she had pointedly looked at repeatedly.

Made a show of looking at it…

"Not a death fit for a warrior," she murmured. "I know my limitations, where my weaknesses lie," she continued, leaning forward, her elbow back on the table, chin in her hands, her gaze narrowing on his tense form. "And my strengths. Tell me, Askeladd, how many hands did that drink pass through before it reached you?"

In the stifling silence that enveloped the room, oblivious figures moved about in their oblivious ways, mere shadows to Askeladd's brooding thoughts. Amidst the facade of merriment, only Askeladd and Fiadh existed in a tense silence, their presence casting a heavy, palpable weight over the room.

His silence stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Askeladd's eyes narrowed, a glint of calculation veiling the uncertainty in his gaze. The cup he had just finished hovered near his chin, an unwitting prop in their silent standoff.

He waited, the silence heavy with anticipation, for her to finally speak and get to the point. Only then would he make his determination. He became all too aware of his sword at his side.

"Three," she continued, a sly smile playing in her eyes. "If you were curious. But tell me, Askeladd, how much do you know about the different types of poisons that we have strewn across the world? How easy it is to procure them?" She didn't wait for him to answer as she continued, "There are those that will instantly kill you once consumed," she lifted her left hand, and between her thumb and finger was a bean that looked like a tick, "and then there are some that take their time, often mistaken for an illness or disease." Her hand fell to her lap again, the bean rolling between her fingers.

"Which do you think would be my preferred choice if I wanted to use such methods? Quick, or drawn out?"

Askeladd's expression darkened slightly at her words, his demeanor shifting to a more guarded stance, his hand tightening around his cup. He regarded her with a cool intensity before responding.

"I've heard my share of such methods being used. And I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't use them myself," he replied evenly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "They can be as subtle as a whisper in the wind or as unmistakable as a storm. But let me ask you this: why reveal your tactics so openly? Is it trust or a challenge?" His eyes narrowed fractionally, silently daring her to answer.

Fiadh leaned back slightly, her smile softening into something more genuine, the firelight reflecting in her eyes. "Honesty, Askeladd," she said calmly, meeting his gaze directly. "I have no interest in secrecy for its own sake. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't announce it over a drink." She paused, her expression earnest. "But I do believe in showing you the depth of what I'm capable of. It's a matter of trust, isn't it? You knowing what I'm capable of, and me knowing you can handle it."

"Bold words indeed," he remarked, slight respect showing in his tone. The tension easing away just as quickly as it came. "It seems you're not one to mince words or shy away from showing your hand." He leaned back slightly in his chair again, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If you're offering your expertise, I might find it useful under the right circumstances."

"Well, Askeladd," she said, her voice steady and eyes meeting him with a hint of a challenge, "should the right circumstances arise, you'll find me quite capable." She stood up from her seat, ready to depart, a faint smile playing in her eyes again. "Until then."

He watched her walk away, his mind swirling with thoughts from their conversation. Fiadh had managed to engage him thoroughly, surprising him in a way he hadn't expected. Hadn't predicted. There was more to her than meets the eye, and her ability to reveal that strategic side intrigued him, even if it might be part of a calculated maneuver.

The way she subtly drew attention to his cup before making her big reveal…

The way she coaxed him in with sentimental drivel…

It mirrored the kind of strategy he'd employ if he played a similar game. But for him, it wouldn't have been a bluff.

As he considered the implications of their potential conflicting interests, a faint smile played on his lips.

All of this because of a woman…

But if she believed that would be enough to consider her for his crew, she was sorely mistaken. They were at war, and strategic poisoning wasn't part of the game. Not part of his game. He needed strong men, strong Danes, who could withstand the brunt of a sword and fall when necessary.

However, if her aim was to catch his attention, she had certainly won that bet. In the coming weeks, he'd keep a close and calculating eye on her. He was intrigued to see what she had planned, what she wanted to reveal, how she intended to sway him. Each move she made would be under his scrutiny, and he'd analyze every step she took. He only hoped she was prepared for the scrutiny she'd invited. He still harbored his doubts.

But there was no harm keeping watch.

Askeladd reached up and smoothed his mustache with his free hand, feeling the corners of his mouth lift into a smirk. It only widened as he chuckled softly, one side of his mouth curling upward.

Someone handed him a fresh horn of liquor while retrieving his empty one—a young boy, barely a man. Askeladd glanced at the drink, then turned his gaze toward the exit. There she stood, arms crossed, leaning against the wall near the door, her eyes tracking his every move.

Askeladd smiled, lifted the horn in cheers and ever so slowly, winked...

And drained the entire cup in four gulps.