Foxmask by Juliet Marillier

were leaving and getting to Stensakir the night before. How long would they be gone? Which way were they going? And how could she do it without worrying Eyvind and Nessa half to death?
    The very thought of it made her belly churn with unease. There was such danger in it, peril and uncertainty. Thorvald must have asked around, of course, though she knew he had not spoken to Eyvind. He must have found out the likeliest route, the probable landfall for Somerled’s lonely voyage. Surely Sam, the most practical man in Hrossey, would not have agreed to take him if there had not been suitable safeguards. All the same, there were questions hanging over the very idea. What had it come from, after all, but a chance remark of her own about finding out the truth? Perhaps their destination was far away. Perhaps they would be gone a long time, a whole cycle of the moon or even two. Her mother would be anxious, her father shocked. Eyvind would be furious with Thorvald, even though her presence on the boat would be all her own doing. He might even take it into his head to come after them, though there was no other vessel in the Light Isles that could match Sam’s for speed and maneuverability. Her father could hardly commandeer a longship. And what about Margaret? Who would help her with the weaving? Who would comfort her when she discovered her son had abandoned home and hearth in a wild search for a father he had neverknown? All the same, Creidhe knew that she must go. It was a knowledge that owed little to logic, but was nonetheless deep and strong, a conviction that beat in the heart and flowed in the blood. She must be there. Without her, Thorvald could not do this. Without her, this quest would fail.
    She was careful to follow her usual routine, making herself useful at home, walking or riding down to Aunt Margaret’s most days. Her parents talked about her trip to the Northern Isles again and she pretended to be thinking about it. It was not a good feeling to deceive them. The household was built on trust and truth; she longed to seek their wise advice but could not, knowing they would never agree to let her go on such a voyage.
    Her sister Brona was the only one who sensed there was something wrong, and it was Brona who helped Creidhe find a way. A wedding was to be held near Stensakir: Grim’s eldest daughter Sigrid was marrying a farmer from West Island, and the whole family was invited. The day before they were to head eastward for the festivities, a messenger came with news that the chieftains of the Caitt had sent a delegation to Hafnarvagr, wanting to speak with Eyvind about some kind of arrangement to protect the straits between the Light Isles and their own northern coastline. The traffic of Norse and Danish vessels in those parts had picked up considerably, and one could never be sure whether an attacker might decide to help himself to a cargo of livestock or fine timber, furs or thralls. It was necessary for Eyvind to travel south immediately, and Nessa, who was looking tired and pale these days, made a sudden decision to stay at home with Ingigerd rather than go to the wedding without her husband.
    Nessa did not want to disappoint her daughters. Creidhe and Brona could still go, she decreed, as long as they traveled there and back with the three men Eyvind had chosen to accompany and guard them, and stayed with Grim and his wife Eira until the celebrations were over. Margaret was not going, and nor was Thorvald.
    At around the same time, Creidhe had an amazing piece of luck. One of Eyvind’s housecarls, a girl called Solveig, was walking out with the fellow who worked on the
Sea Dove
as deckhand. When Solveig happened to mention that Sam was giving her sweetheart an unexpected holiday soon after the coming wedding, it all fell into place. There could be only one reason, Creidhe thought, for a decision that would cost Sam dearly in lost fish. The
Sea Dove
must be almost ready to leave. And she herself