“This isnae a siege.” Ragnar straightened, and the room went still. “We hit from three directions at once. We dinnae negotiate. We dinnae offer terms.” His blue eyes swept every face. “And we dinnae take Douglas alive.”
The fire popped and crackled in the grate, sending tiny red embers shooting into the air, a log shifting into ash.
“Where d’ye reckon he’s keepin’ her?” Harald asked quietly.
“East tower. Most defensible position inside the walls.”
“Then let one of us—” Magnus started.
“Nay.”
“Ragnar, if ye’re thinkin’ with yer heart or anythin’ else instead of yer?—”
“Magnus.” Ragnar’s voice dropped.
“Ye’re nay good tae her if ye’re?—”
“I saidnay.” Ragnar’s eyes blazed. “I reach her first. That’s nae open fer discussion.”
Erik looked at Magnus, who looked at Harald, a knowing look passing between them.
“Get some sleep. I’ll need ye sharp by mornin’,” Ragnar said.
The jarls filed out of the solar one by one, their footsteps scuffing against the flagstone floor. Erik paused at the door, his hand on the frame.
“We’ll get her back.”
“Aye,” Ragnar said. “We will.”
The door closed.
Ragnar stood alone, his palms flat against the map, over the ink outline of Mingary Castle where his wife was being held.
Hold on, little wolf. I’m comin’.
The next morning,the signal came from the southern cliff face—two blinks of lantern light peeking through predawn mist. Erik was through.
“Go,” Ragnar said.
The long boats ground against sand and Ragnar was over the side before the hull stopped moving, boots hitting shallow water. Forty men surged up the beach behind him—a dark tide of steel that split around boulders and reformed without breaking stride.
The gatehouse stood open. Two of Douglas’s sentries lay inside the arch, throats cut so cleanly they’d never woken. Erik was pushing forward, his men fanning across the lower courtyard.
Ragnar moved through the compound the way he’d moved through every fight he had ever been in—each flex of his muscles deliberate, controlled. A man came at him from a doorway, axe raised high. Ragnar stepped inside the swing, caught the haft below the blade, and wrenched the man off-balance. His knee found ribs. The axe clattered free. His sword finished it.
Two more, flanking from a corridor. The first lunged. Ivar turned the blade aside with the flat of his own, pivoted on his heel, and drove his pommel into the man’s temple. The secondhesitated—just a heartbeat’s worth––and it cost him everything. The Raven’s broadsword opening his guard and cut him down in a single devastating stroke.
“East tower!” Ragnar shouted.
“I see it!” Ivar kicked a man backward into his own comrade, dropped them both, and jerked his chin toward the inner compound. “Go! I’ll hold the yard!”
Ragnar broke from the main assault and drove toward the tower. The corridor was narrow, dim, stinking of tallow and fear.
Two guards stood at the base of the stairwell. The first drew his sword.
“I’d reconsider,” Ragnar said.
The man swung anyway.