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  She straightened, paying more attention to the bow and arrow than the boy whose breath tickled the back of her neck. "Which foot do you like best, Dolf?" she asked.

  "Your left one, because that's pointed at the target," he said, cupping her elbow in his hand. "Now draw, sight along the arrow..." His hand slammed into her gut, just below her breasts, forcing her to exhale. "Now I've made you breathless, you may shoot."

  The arrow whistled across the field and thwacked into the target. Not in the centre, marked by the divot from Rudolf's knife, but nearer than any of her earlier attempts.

  "There!"

  Rudolf inclined his head. "Not bad. If you were aiming for a man's heart, you might have hit him in the throat. But we can improve on that."

  With infinite patience Portia knew she would never possess, Rudolf helped her empty her quiver – all into the target this time. Then he headed across the field with her to retrieve the arrows again.

  When the quiver was full, he held it out and asked, "Are you still angry, or have you done enough shooting for one day?"

  Until she hit the centre of the target every time, it would not be enough. She sighed. A landless knight like Rudolf would not understand. "One more time," she said, reaching for the quiver.

  Rudolf caught her hand in his. "You're bleeding. I say you have done enough. We should get you inside, so one of your sisters can bandage these fingers. You can practise more on the morrow, but first, I must get you some pigs' ears."

  "Pigs' ears are no use to anyone, except the pig itself," Portia said, snatching her hand back. Her fingers tingled where he'd touched them, a hint of magic that called for more. She refused to yield. Isla would not yield.

  Rudolf chuckled. "Get you to your sisters. I'll return your things to the armoury, and find you inside." He shouldered both her quiver and her bow and headed across the yard.

  Portia sucked on her bleeding fingers as she headed inside. Arlie would exclaim over the blood, fanning herself in case she fainted. Lina would be the one to clean and bandage her, like Nurse had taught her to before age and infirmity had called the old woman from this life.

  As it would one day call them all.

  But not yet, if Portia had any say in it.

  FOUR

  The moment Arlie spotted Rudolf, she cried, "Dolf will go to war to save us! Won't you, Dolf?"

  Portia hushed her. She might only be a few minutes older than her sisters, but sometimes the difference felt like years.

  "If you ladies need saving, I would be honoured to be of service," Rudolf said as he approached. He met Portia's eyes without a hint of laughter and bowed low. "From what must I save you? Is there another spider?"

  Lina laughed. "No, only Portia screams at spiders. This time, it's some pompous king, demanding tribute from all the island lords, which they will not pay."

  "That's no way to talk about your liege," Rudolf said mildly. "I've never heard anyone call King Harald pompous before."

  "That's because it's not him!" Arlie giggled. "It's some silly foreigner called Donald. He calls for tithes and men, to combat what he calls our foreign invaders, so that he might help us make the Southern Isles great again."

  "Nay, he wants to make Alba great again, but he insists we are an important part of it," Lina corrected.

  Portia frowned. "Important enough to attract his interest, because he thinks we might offer him men or money. No king has every offered us anything we didn't have to pay for. Not King Harald or this Donald. The lords of the isles know this, and they will refuse him, which will mean war."

  "The lords are in the right of it. The isles are under Harald's protection, and they do not belong to some man called Donald. If he wants them, he will have to fight for them, and pay dearly," Rudolf declared.

  Now Portia thought of it, he did sound like one of the lords. Somehow, over the years, Rudolf the boy had turned into a man, or at least something like one. A pity he would never be one of them. Because if he was...

  "Perhaps this Donald should just ask to marry Portia. We all know no man on the islands is good enough for her, for she turns her nose up at all of them. Would a king suit you, Portia?" Arlie teased.

  Rudolf's eyes were upon her, and Portia found she could not meet them. "Father knows as well as I do that I can only wed a man who can hold the islands. Hold them, and defend them, like he has. All this Donald has done is blow wind at us, and the isles have withstood greater gales than anything he's thrown at us thus far. I will wed when a strong enough man presents himself, and not before."

  "See? Portia will never marry for love. Or she'd have picked Rudolf, long ago," Lina declared with a smile.

  Arlie dissolved in a fit of giggles, falling back to kick her legs in the air.

  Once again, Portia felt far too hot. She rose and marched out of the room, the sound of her sisters' laughter following her. And booted footsteps. Rudolf, of course.

  "Portia," he began cautiously, as if wishing to warn her of his presence.

  She turned and held up her hand to halt him before he said any more. "My sisters like to joke at my expense. And yours. I'm sorry if their levity sounds insulting to your ears. You are a strong and skilled warrior. Both my father and I know that. So do my sisters, I think. But when we hear whispered news of war...well, you see how we react. Lina will pick herbs to dry for every wound and ailment imaginable, and fill the cellars with all the food she can possibly preserve. Arlie...she will make light of everything, as she always does, for laughter is her way."

  "And you shall shoot things, because even if every man on this island dies in battle, you will still defend it while you have breath left in your body," Rudolf finished for her. "Isla is your home, and the Southern Isles are your kingdom as much as Harald holds Viken, or Donald does Alba."

  Now it was Portia's turn to laugh. "No one understands me the way you do, Dolf. I swear it is as though you have some magical power to see into my head. I'm glad I didn't shoot you."

  Rudolf laughed with her. "I'm glad you didn't shoot me, either. If it comes to war, I hope I am never on the opposing side to you and your father. I meant it when I said I would protect you." He held out his hand. "Here."

  Portia glanced down and recoiled. "What in heaven's name do you intend to do with those?"

  "Give me your hand."

  Reluctantly, she did as he asked. He wrapped the pig's ear around her middle finger, the leather surprisingly warm and soft from being in his pocket. Next, he threaded a thin leather thong through the holes edging the ear, until he'd laced it like one of her gowns. He pulled the whole thing taut, then tied it at the bottom. "Now the others." Soon he'd shrouded all three of her middle fingers in pigs' ears. The leather was paler than boot leather, as though the pigs' ears were tanned differently. In fact, the pigskin was so close to the shade of her own skin that it looked like she wasn't wearing the finger guards at all. "Next time, wear these when you need to shoot out your frustration. Your arms will tire long before you make your fingers bleed. Pigs' ears are tough."

  "Thank you, Dolf!" Portia threw her arms around his neck. Too late, she realised as her body moulded to his that she shouldn't do such things any more. Though he cared for her as much as any brother, Rudolf was most certainly not one of her siblings. Awkwardly, she peeled herself away from him, only now realising that he held his arms stiffly at his sides. Stopping himself from returning her embrace, or pushing her away? Oh, she was so stupid.

  "It's my pleasure, Portia," he said. With a slight bow, he left her.

  Portia sighed, only now realising she held her well-wrapped fingers over her heart. If only she was as free as her sisters. But the world didn't work the way she wanted to, for life was nothing like a fairytale.

  FIVE

  When Angus, Lord of Isla, slumped into his seat at dinner, no one dared ask what made him so weary, for they all knew. Lina gestured imperiously for servants to fill her father's plate, while Portia poured wine for him. He would share what he knew after dinner, and not be
fore.

  It wasn't until Angus dismissed the servants that Rudolf began to worry about what he might say. If he wanted to share secrets with his family alone, then Rudolf should retire and save the man from doing him the dishonour of dismissing him.

  Rudolf rose. "I took Hector for a long ride today, and it occurs to me that he was limping a little toward the end. I should go check on him before it gets too dark to see."

  Angus lifted his hand. "Stay, Rudolf. What I have to say concerns you, too. The horse can wait until morning."

  Rudolf sat down. He could feel Portia's curious gaze upon him, but he forced himself to keep his own eyes on Lord Angus. Hope flared in his breast, but he forced it back behind his ribs.

  Angus drained his cup and set it down with finality. "As you all know, King Donald of Alba has laid claim to the islands, and a list of the tribute that he believes is his due. Tribute we have failed to pay in the past, he says, which must be paid, too. He sent these demands by way of a messenger, who was commanded to read Donald's missive aloud to me, and all the other lords, to make sure we understood. For, apparently, we are an illiterate lot on the Southern Isles, or so he says."

  This time, it was Lina who leaped to her feet. "I suggest all the lords should pen him a message by their own hands, suggesting he shove his missive up his arse. No, that he instruct his messenger to do it for him, as he probably can't find his arse with both hands and a map." As quickly as she'd risen, she subsided again. Lina was both as calm and relentless as the sea. She'd make some man a good wife, one day, as long as he let her run his household without interfering.

  Angus waved a hand in acknowledgement. "Our response to Donald is something all the lords of the isles will decide in council. I sent my own messenger with his, so they should start arriving soon, and I will be there to greet them when they do." He turned thoughtful eyes toward Rudolf. "I'd like you to come with me."

  "So shall I!" Portia declared.

  "No. You must stay here and protect your sisters," Angus said. "This may be a council of war, and no place for you. Your presence would complicate matters." He deliberately didn't look at her.

  Portia looked ready to explode.

  Rudolf placed a sympathetic hand on her wrist. "I would be honoured to attend a council. Then I will be able to carry a full account of the decisions back to the girls here if you are called away by other responsibilities."

  Portia yanked her arm away. "You'd better," she said darkly.

  She said little to him for the rest of the meal, and for the days before Rudolf departed with her father for Loch Findlugan. Her father received a fond farewell, but Rudolf merely earned a pointed look before she disappeared into the practice yard, where the thwack of arrows hitting the target could soon be heard.

  He and Angus were barely out of sight along the road before the lord asked, "What do you think of her?"

  "I think Portia is a lovely, strong-minded young woman," Rudolf said cautiously.

  Angus laughed. "The stubbornest of my three little pigs, you mean. If it comes to war, as I fear it might, she would take up a sword to fight right alongside the rest of us. It would have been better for her if she'd been born a boy."

  "I would not like her so much if she was," Rudolf said without thinking. He regretted the words the moment they left his lips, but it was too late to retrieve them.

  Angus turned an appraising eye in his direction. "Yes, and she likes you, too. She doesn't think anyone notices, but sometimes she looks at you the way her mother used to regard me. She listens to you, too, though she won't listen to anyone else. Maybe you'll be able to control her."

  Rudolf burst out laughing. "Control Portia? I pity the man who tries. She will huff and puff and blow his manhood away. She is your daughter, after all."

  "And as my daughter, she is also my heir, as I'm sure you know." Angus paused, as if he wanted this to sink in. Finally, he continued, "The man who marries her will also inherit her claim to Isla, when I am gone, and perhaps even my place in council, if the other lords accept him. Birthright is not enough here on the Southern Isles, you understand. A man must also be a leader and a warrior worth following."

  Rudolf nodded. His father had told him the same thing when he was a boy in Viken. Varg was the older brother, yet Harald had become king. "My people are much the same. This way, if a king dies while his sons are still young, another man may take the throne while the sons are brought up like any other highborn warriors. When the next king dies...his successor is chosen from among the men with suitable claims of birth, blood and marriage, but he must have the strength to lead the...I suppose you would call them chieftains, much like your lords."

  "Here on the islands, every lord is a king within his borders, for an ocean separates him from the others. We have no kings."

  This was less true than it appeared, as Rudolf well knew. "Ah, but there is King Harald, whose claim to these lands is responsible for the kind hospitality you have offered me for so many years. And this King Donald, a neighbour who covets what isn't his. And there is yourself, a lord among lords. If the islands had their own king, it would be you."

  Angus nodded in satisfaction, as though this was the answer he'd hoped for. "You've fought with us, as one of us."

  "We both serve the same king. Protecting these lands is as much my responsibility as it is yours, though I do not command any men." Yet, Rudolf added silently. He'd distinguished himself in the battles and raiding parties he had fought in, to the point where he easily assumed command when circumstances required it. Lord Angus had taught him battle tactics and strategy were just as important as the strength of his army when battle was joined. But the men he commanded had always belonged to Lord Angus.

  Unlike his father, who commanded all the armies of Viken, and the ships, too.

  Lord Angus seemed to read his thoughts. "You fight well in the field, and the men follow you. That is no small thing in a land like this one. You understand battle tactics better than most, both on and off the field."

  Rudolf was not accustomed to such high praise. "It is a while since I have had a worthy opponent. Perhaps you would agree to a chess match while we wait for the other lords to arrive?" He patted his saddle bag. "I brought mine."

  Lord Angus shook his head. "I think your skills at that game surpassed mine a long time ago. But never let it be said that I turned down an offer for battle. We shall play on the shores of Loch Findlugan after the sun sets."

  "I look forward to it."

  They rode on in silence, lost in their own separate thoughts. As they always did, Rudolf's thoughts turned to Portia, and what she might be doing now without him.

  SIX

  "You have a longer reach. You should be able to best him easily, Keith!" Lina called.

  "Widald is so much stronger. Hit him harder, Widald, and you will surely win!" Arlie said.

  Portia found her sisters watching a mock battle in the practice yard between two young men who were surprisingly evenly matched. She observed them for a few moments before she realised the men were not really battling at all. All that flexing of muscles, fighting without armour or even shirts, and blows that did not seem to land was a show to impress the two girls. A show that was working, judging by Arlie's gasps and Lina's white-knuckled hands as she clutched them to her chest.

  "Your turn," Widald whispered. He hooked Keith's wooden practice sword out of his hand and sent it spinning across the yard, scattering chickens that squawked in protest.

  "I yield," Keith said thickly. At some point, Widald must have landed a blow to Keith's nose, for it was still bleeding.

  "You won!" Arlie dashed across the yard and wrapped her arms around Widald, who grinned at Keith over Arlie's head.

  Lina beckoned to Keith. "Let me see to your wounds."

  Keith winked back at Widald.

  Portia pursed her lips and waited. When her sisters' ministrations culminated in an invitation to dinner that both men eagerly accepted, she knew the wait would soon be over. Sure eno
ugh, the men left the yard to put their weapons away.

  "Does my father know you are trying to seduce my sisters?" Portia asked.

  Keith and Widald exchanged glances, then bowed. "No, Lady Portia." Neither seemed to want to look at her.

  "What do you think he will say when I tell him?" Portia said.

  Widald lifted his head to meet her eyes. "When I ask for Lady Arlie, I would hope Lord Angus supports my suit."

  "And mine for Lady Lina," added Keith.

  Portia hesitated. They meant to marry her sisters, not simply seduce them? The girls were of an age for it, much like herself, but it had not occurred to her that they might marry so soon. Unlike the slavish daughters of other places, the women of Isla and the other Southern Isles were proud mistresses of their own destiny. They chose their own husbands, or at least most of them did. Even Portia's father could not force her to marry a man not of her choosing. Though the council might put pressure on him and hence her if they had a man in mind.

  Perhaps that was why he had left her here – he wanted to discuss possible husbands for her with the council.

  "We know how many suitors there are for your hand, Lady Portia. Lina and Arlie might not have the same claim as you, but they are no less beautiful," Keith continued.

  Of course they were. The three girls were identical in appearance, if not disposition. Little wonder that people had called them the Three Little Pigs when they were children, for most people couldn't tell them apart.