The great hall was alive with the murmurs of warriors and clan chiefs, but a heavy calm settled between Isabelle and Ewan in the hall.
The morning sun cut in through the smoke holes above, scattering rays over the polished shields and banners.
"It must have been hard for you to let your parents go."
She turned her face toward him, lips twitching. "No. I have you. And you hold a shield wall that'll never break. I'm worried more of your brother. What will he try next?"
Ewan's jaw flexed. "He was always clever when it came to poison. He'll scheme and wait for weakness."
The weight of those words pressed into her chest. Her fingers curled around the carved arm of the chair, steadying herself from the sudden heat beneath her ribs.
Then, the doors burst open.
Rollo walked in, wide-eyed and pale with sweat.
"What is it, Rollo?" Ewan asked.
"They're gone. Eirik and the others escaped."
Gasps rippled across the room.
Isabelle stood slowly, her dark eyes fixed on Rollo.
"Tell me, which guards were on duty?"
"Halfdan and Sigurd,"
"Bring them to the square," she said coldly. "Public flogging will do. They will learn that loyalty is not optional."
Ewan turned to the people. "It is time for war."
Men rose, shouting, fists hitting tables and shields."
The map of the region was spread across the long table, marked with carved tokens and every eye was on them.
"We know Eirik will not stop." Ewan said, planting his hands on the table. "He will raise cowards and criminals, strike from the shadows. He doesn't mind joining forces with his enemy to attack us and others."
Isabelle stepped forward, her eyes cutting through the tension. "There's another path," she said. "Not to replace war but to strengthen us before it."
The chiefs turned toward her.
"We forge an alliance with King Edmund."
There was silence. Then grumbling.
Chief Guthrun spat to the fire. "The King? He has silver and amies, aye, but he values his dogs than any other person that comes to him."
"Then I'll go to him myself."
The murmuring turned loud, shocked, and skeptical.
"My lady, he won't listen to a woman."
Isabelle met the man's eyes. "Then he'll listen to a woman who speaks for the Jarl and who carries the blood of his own people. And if he doesn't still listens? I'll threaten his balls."
Laughter and gasps followed.
"My family's name still carries the weight in the noble court," she continued. "If he will not meet me as a queen, then he will as the daughter of Lord Ashcombe."
The room stilled again. slowly, some of the chiefs looked at each other, considering.
"She will not go alone." The Jarl said, turning to her. "You ride at dawn, you speak for me. If there is path to peace, find it."
Her chambers were quiet. A seamstress laced her into a gown she hadn't worn since girlhood. Her dark hair, brushed to a lustrous shine, was pinned and coiled. She looked every inch the noble she had been born to be and every inch of the stranger she had become.
"You'll confuse him," her mother snapped, pacing the room with arms crossed. "King Edmund is a proud man. He will not take lightly to a wild girl dressed in silks and giving orders."
Isabelle turned, calm. "I'm not giving orders. I'm offering an alliance. One that may save everyone."
"You'll have your head on a spike if you speak out of turn."
Her father entered then. He offered his arm, and Isabelle accepted it, holding her head high as they descended the grand stairway toward the courtyard.
"Are you sure about this?" her father asked.
"I have to be," she replied.
The king's deep loom ahead. As they crossed the threshold, trumpets sounded faintly and guards stepped forward. When her father requested an audience, the steward returned within minutes, eyes flickering to Isabelle with sharp curiosity.
"The king will see you."
They entered the great hall, where King Edmund sat upon a high-backed throne.
"Lord Ashcombe and his delightful daughter. I was told this one was dead, kidnapped by savages."
"I lived," she answered. "And I have come to speak of them."
He sipped his wine and tilted his head. "Bravery suits you and I love to hear of savages. But your father knows better than to bring a woman to a war council."
"This is not a war council, " she said. "It is a warning."
Edmund frowned. "Speak then, if you must."
"The clans are stirring. A faction led by those who oppose the Jarl's rule and your rule has begun raiding noble lands. Your subjects aren't safe."
"And what would you know about these people?"
She stepped forward, voice hardening. "Because they are my lands too. And the enemy is no longer at the gates. He's in your midst."
The king straightened slowly in his chair. "What nonsense is this? Have you lost your senses?"
Before her father could speak, a sudden shift stirred the hall. From behind the carved columns, armed warriors emerged, silent and grim. They surrounded the periphery of the throne room, not with drawn blades, but presence. Poised. Waiting.
"Edmund shot to his feet. "Guards!" he bellowed. "Seize them!"
"No, your Majesty," she said calmly, stepping forward. "They mean no harm. But they entered quietly, unnoticed. Just as your enemies will. You were unprepared, and you will be for what is coming."
The king stared at her, fury and fear flickering in his green eyes. "Who are you to speak so boldly in my court?"
She raised her chin. "I am Isabelle, daughter of the house of Ashcombe. Noble by blood. Clan by marriage. And I stand between your crown and the chaos beyond your borders."
Silence fell. "What do you want?"
"I want to forge an alliance between your Kingdom and the clans who follow the Jarl. If we join forces, we can end the raids, hunt down the traitors who seek to destroy both our peoples. I want peace, but I will not beg for it."
"An alliance...for now." he said. "But if your savages cross me, it will be war."
"Then it will not be the clans you face," Isabelle said, "but me."
The wind had shifted by the time they rode through the gates of the clan's stronghold. Isabelle sat upon her horse, cloak trailing behind her like a banner.
People came with cheers and raised arms, warriors thumping axes against their shields, women lifting their children to see. The clang of iron and the shout of voices echoed through the courtyard like a storm of joy.
She smiled, though her heart beat like a drum in her chest. She had not expected the warmth from the people who once saw her as an outsider.
Beside her, Moira grinned at her from her saddle. "Don't look now, but I think half of the clan missed you. The other half? Just missed how the Jarl looked without you."
Isabelle scoffed. "Hush."
She turned in time to see him. Ewan stood beneath the arch of the stone hall, tall and handsome as ever, but the moment their eyes met, his expression softened to relief, and longing.
She didn't have the time to step forward. He strode to her and, in a breathless moment, pulled her into his arms. His kiss was raw and consuming. It was not a greeting, it was passion.
"I missed you," he whispered against her lips. "Don't leave me that long again."
She smiled. "Then don't let me go easily."
That evening the council gathered. The Jarl stood at the center, his queen on his right, her posture regal but alert.
Rollo was the first to speak, rolling a scroll across the table. "Our scouts confirmed activity on the border near Fjorn's reach. The rogue was seen there. It was your brother, lord."
A murmur stirred among the council. One of the older chiefs leaned forward, brows knitted. "Are you sure it was him, boy?"
"Yes." Rollo said grimly. "He is travelling with men. Many men. And one scout swore he saw Freya among them and and her father.
Ewan's jaw tightened, eyes flickering with familiar flame of fury. But Isabelle placed a calming hand on his arm.
"He is gathering support," she said. "And hiding in the folds of enemy territory. That means he is not ready to strike yet."
Ewan looked at her, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "Then we strike first."
Morning had not yet broken, but the hearth's flames still danced low across the chamber walls, casting golden shadows across their naked bodies. The air was thick with the heat of their love and Isabelle lay curled beneath the thick pelts, her skin flushed and breath uneven.
Ewan hovered above her, one strong hand tangled in her hair, the other pressed beside her head. He had taken her more than once that night, with a hunger that had grown wilder with each touch, but even now, as the world stirred beyond their walls, his need for her hadn't waned.
"You should sleep," he whispered, his voice husky.
Her body responded before her lips could, her hips lifting slightly to tease him, to taunt his control. "You think you're any easier to resist?"
He rolled her beneath him again, his body blanketing hers, hard and soft. He took her lips possessively, as if tasting the core of her soul.
She ached to him, moaning softly, and they moved again beneath the covers like fire and wind, raw and alive, tangled with passion and oath.
After, as they lay tangled in silence, her head resting over his chest and his fingers slowly stroking her back, Isabelle sighed.
"I feel strange." she murmured.
He tensed, sitting upright, his warrior instincts taking over. He rose from the bed and ordered the guards,
"Send for Moira and the healer. Now."
She reached out, trying to stop him. "It's probably nothing."
"No." he said sternly, returning to her side and lifting her gently into his arms. "Not when it comes to you."
Moments arrived, Moira arrived with worry and the healer followed, a short woman who needed no words. She examined Isabelle, felt her pulse, her temperature and her womb.
"Well?"
The healer gave a small smile. "She's with child."
Silence struck the chamber like a thrown axe.
"What?"
"You're with child, my queen."
Ewan stared at her as if thunderstruck, then his lips broke into a slow, dangerous grin, one of pride and fierce joy.
He kissed her knuckles, stroking her face.
Isabelle stared at him, overwhelmed, heart thudding wildly. "But I can still help with-"
"No." He kissed her deeply. "No more battles. You have given me more than victory, Isabelle. A future."
The healer handed her a small wooden cup. "She must rest. She needs peace if the child must stay strong."
He took the cup and helped her drink, then gathered her gently in his arms and laid her down against the furs.
"Ewan-" she protested.
Moira blushed as the Jarl turned to her. "Stay with her. I will go to the council alone."
The light that filtered into the chamber was quiet, soft as a breath. Isabelle stirred slowly, not from sound but from restlessness deep in her bones. Her hands stretched across the bed, fingers stretching blindly.
Nothing.
Her heart missed a beat.
She sat up, brows drawn as her eyes flicked toward the door. The air was still.
A folded piece of parchment lay on the table, weighted by the dagger the Ewan always kept beside the bed. Her chest tightened as she reached for it.
My beloved,
By the time you read this, I will be riding to meet what awaits me. Eirik's trail leads there. I've sent word to King Edmund. I do not know if he will come, but I cannot wait. The clan must be defended.
You are my heart. You and our child are the promise of peace. Stay rested and heal. Let me bear the burden of war just this once.
- Ewan
Isabelle's breath caught, and a hollow ache spread across her chest. "You fool," she whispered.
Moira entered with a bowl of water. "Would you like to wash now?"
She didn't answer, she rose, pulling her long riding tunic from the carved chest.
Moira moved to her quickly. "You can't. You're with child!"
"Then I will die as a mother who intends to see her child grow in peace. Don't you want that for Rollo, your sweetheart?"
She blushed, turning away. "That, I cannot say."
"You deny it? I can feel you ache for each other from here."
"I only want to protect you."
"I carry this child because of love, Moira. But if love does not act when it's needed the most, then what's left is despair."
Moira helped her dress without another word.
In the main hall, she gathered five of her most trusted warriors, men who had once doubted her, who now would follow her into the sea if she wished it. She handed one of them a scroll.
To his majesty king Edmund,
The Jarl rides to battle. If you still honor our alliance, you will meet him with your banners flying. If not, you may prepare to explain to your people why a woman had to win your wars to protect your people.
- Isabelle of the clan people
Her horse was brought to her. As she mounted, Moira stood as the gates, biting her lip.
"Be safe." she said softly.
The morning mist clung low to the forest floor like a shroud as she rode alongside her small band of warriors, the air was thick with the scent of pine and iron. Her thoughts were on Ewan and how he had disappeared the night before.
A rustle snapped her focus forward.
From the trees, dozens of figures emerged. Armed and ready to strike. Her warriors barely had time to move before arrows flew like hungry ravens, finding flesh. Her men were strong and loyal, but they were outnumbered.
Her sword and dagger were red, and her hands steadied, though her belly ached. But then came a crack of club against her ribs as she was forced to kneel in the mud beside her dead guards.
A boot pressed down on her shoulder. She looked up, face bloodied, yet eyes defiant.
Freya.
Clad in leather and fury, she stood like a vengeful goddess, her eyes wild with triumph. Beside her stood Hrothgar, his mouth curved with satisfaction and rage. And then, stepping out from the gloom was Eirik.
"I would say you look well." Eirik sneered, stepping closer, brushing a finger beneath her chin. "But you look like a beaten wolf."
"Do not raise your guard down, Eirik," she spat. "Beaten wolf would strike at every turn."
Freya's eyes flared. "Enough of this." She drew her dagger. "Let's kill the wretched brat and be done with it. Her head will make a fine display."