The sun was down, but the sky was still light, the few clouds violet-tinted in the twilight. Two or three stars were already glowing low on the horizon; the breeze was rising out of the west and it smelled of rain. There was no one about as Murdo proceeded through the yard, looking at the various buildings; he stopped before the barn, but it was dark inside so he did not go in, continuing around the house instead. There were two fields hard by the house, and in one of these ploughing had begun for the spring planting. Other fields and grazing lands lay further off, and more, no doubt, were scattered among the surrounding hills. He saw pens for sheep and cattle-though none for pigs-and, glimmering darkly at the foot of the nearest hill, a pond for ducks and geese.

Lord Brusi's farm, though larger, was much like his father's, Murdo concluded, and wondered how much land Brusi owned, and how many vassals Cnoc Carrach maintained. As his circular path brought him once more into the yard, the scent of wood smoke told him the hearth fires had been lit, and it would soon be time to eat. There was a low stone trough a few paces from the door, so he took a drink and, remembering that he was an honoured guest, washed his hands before going inside.

Candles had been lit in the vestibule and, curious about what lay behind the right-hand door, he lifted the wooden latch, pushed the door open a crack and looked inside. It was the great hall, and the size of it gratified Murdo, for it seemed at least twice as large as his father's hall at Hrafnbu. The ceiling was high and open, and there were iron sconces hanging from the beams and rooftrees. The hearth alone took up the whole of the further wall and it was laid with a single immense slab of stone; three more huge slabs formed the opening, looking like the uprights and lintel of the doorway to a cavern. The lintel was handsome grey-green slate which had been chiselled smooth, and carved with the intertwined knotwork of the old Celts.

Two long black boards on trestles ran side-by-side the length of the hall to end at a third, shorter board before the hearth. Both long tables had benches either side, but the short table had benches only on the side nearest the hearth. Iron sconces lined either wall, and iron candletrees and candleholders of various kinds were scattered around the room in profusion. New straw had been laid on the floor, filling the room with the fresh scent of the field.

'The hall is being readied for the feast,' said a soft voice behind him.

Murdo turned quickly. 'Ragna, I -

It was not Ragna who stood before him, however, but one of the servingmaids: slight and dark, her hair pulled back and bound in a length of white cloth. She was holding a trencher on which lay a small loaf of bread and bowl of salt. 'You are to sup in my lady's chamber tonight,' the maid explained cheerfully.

'I see,' he replied.

The two stood for a moment looking at one another, and Murdo, unused to such bold scrutiny from female servants, shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

'You are Murdo,' the maid informed him.

'Yes.'

'I am called Tailtiu,' she said. 'I serve Mistress Ragna, and my mother served Lady Ragnhild-until she has died two years ago.

One day, Mistress Ragna will be a lady, and I will serve her just like my mother before me, you see.'

'Yes,' Murdo answered; then, fearing he was repeating himself, added, 'I see.'

'You are from Dyrness,' the maid blithely continued, 'and your father is one of Jarl Erlend's noblemen-just like Lord Brusi.'

'He is that.'

'Lord Brusi and his sons has gone on the pilgrimage to the Holy Land with your father and brothers,' she said, warming to the discussion. 'You were not allowed to go, for you has not taken arms yet, for all you are too young.'

'I am sixteen summers now,' Murdo announced haughtily. He stared hard at the impertinent creature, and wondered how she had come by her information and whether he should send her away. But she was not his to command, so he stood firm and hoped his scowl would drive her off.

'Mistress Ragna is good to me,' Tailtiu continued. 'She is very beautiful, too, and she has given me many gifts, for I am her maid.'

'So you have said,' replied Murdo.

'You do not look like a Dane,' the maid observed.

'My father's line is descended from Sigurd the Stout,' Murdo declared. 'My mother's people are blood kin of King Malcolm of Scotland.'

'My father was a Dane, too,' the girl countered, as if the illustrious Sigurd were no more to her than an itinerant farmhand. 'My mother was of the Irish. She was brought here as a wee girl no bigger than a cricket – is what she used to say. One day I will go to Ireland, too. They say it is a fine land-an island, it is, and much bigger than all of Orkneyjar.'

'That is what they say,' agreed Murdo wearily.

Footsteps in the vestibule alerted them just then, and they turned to see Ragna approaching. 'There you are, Tailtiu,' she chided. 'I am certain Master Murdo has better things to do than listen to your chatter all night.'

'Yes, Mistress Ragna,' Tailtiu said, not chastened in the least.

'I will take this,' Ragna said, reaching for the tray, 'and you can return to the kitchen.'

Ragna took the tray and the maid departed, casting a lingering mischievous glance at Murdo as she went. 'The chamber is ready,'

Ragna told him, moving towards the door. 'You can come in if you like.'

'Thank you,' he said, following her.

Ragna turned and met him at the threshold with the trencher of bread and salt. 'You must take a bit of bread and dip it in the salt,' Ragna explained. 'It is the custom of the king's court.'

Murdo pinched a chunk of bread from the loaf and pressed it into the salt. He held it for a moment, uncertain what to do next. 'And then?' he asked.

'You must eat it,' Ragna answered. The laughter in her voice charmed rather than shamed him, and he laughed, too.

'Why must I eat it?' he asked, to prolong the pleasantry.

'It is a sign of hospitality by which honoured guests are received in this house,' she told him. 'My father learned of it in King Olaf's court.'

Murdo put the bread into his mouth, and Ragna indicated that he should go into the room. He stepped across the threshold, and caught the warm scent of her as he passed-slightly sweet, like heather, or a spice of some kind. She followed him into the chamber, which had been transformed into a dining room. A table had been set up before the hearth, where a fire now crackled, making the room warm and welcoming.

Ragna placed the trencher on the table, and turned to the hearth where a pitcher and cups were waiting. She took up one of the cups, and brought it to Murdo. 'A drink while you wait,' she said.

Murdo sniffed the warm liquid and caught the same scent of spice which he had smelled on Ragna, though he did not know what it might be. He put the cup to his lips and sipped. It was metheglin, and although Murdo had drunk it but twice in his life before now, he pronounced it very good indeed. His commendation brought a smile to Ragna's lips. 'Did you make this?' he asked.

'I did,' she answered. 'How did you know?'

Lady Ragnhild entered the chamber at that moment, and Murdo turned to greet her. She joined them at the hearth and accepted a cup from her daughter. 'I see Ragna has made you properly welcome,' she said. 'As the hall is being prepared for the Easter festivities, I thought we might enjoy ourselves better here.'

'It is a good room,' Murdo agreed, then remembering his manners, he lifted his cup. 'Here's health to you, my lady.'

They drank together, and Murdo, the temporary lord, felt pleased with his thoughtfulness. When Lady Niamh joined them a few moments later, he proposed her health as well, and the evening began. Tailtiu and one of the kitchen servants brought a succession of dishes to the table, beginning with braised fish, and then roast fowl and turnips. There was ale to drink, and flat bread, both soft and hard.