Legend of the Mist by Veronica Bale

was unalterable.
    And it did not include the name Einarr Alfradsson.
    “N- No,” Norah stammered, shaking her head. “No, Father, I canna.”
    Fearchar’s face darkened. He had anticipated her disapproval, expected it even. But he had not considered that she would outright refuse in front of the entire clan and their Norse guests. Her shaking head and her flat denial of his will embarrassed him; embarrassed the proud name of Gallach.
    “Ye can, and ye will, lass,” he said evenly. “Get ye, upstairs. Now.”
    “Come, Norah,” Garrett urged beside her. “Come upstairs wi’ me, will ye?” Gently, he lifted her by the elbow and led her from the hall. Fearchar followed with Iseabal at his side; Iobhar trailed behind Einarr. No one else dared move or speak as they left.
    Norah’s chin swayed from shoulder to shoulder absently; her vision blurred and the hall darkened. She felt the light touch of Garrett’s hand on her elbow, perceived the colours of objects as they slipped past her on her way. Her knees bent and lifted her feet one after the other as she mounted the wooden stairs of the keep. Conscious action, however, was not behind any of it. Her mind had turned inward, revolving at a furious pace.
    She could not marry Einarr, she simply could not . She did not know exactly what her fate was meant to be, but this was not it. He was not it. He would take her away, take her over the water. And water would be her end. Did the man not see that? Did Father not see that? They had to know that she would die if she married Einarr Alfradsson, they simply had to!
    “Father please, I canna marry him,” she begged when the group reached the upper floor of the keep and the door shut behind them. The fire was not lit, and the last of the evening light was disappearing rapidly, swallowed up into the mist which spilled into the room over the windowsills.
    “Enough, daughter,” Fearchar insisted. “Ye’ll marry him. Ye’ll do as I say.”
    “I promise, I will be fair and gentle with you, fifla ,” Einarr put in. “You will want for nothing as long as you are an obedient and good vif .”
    “Bu t—but I canna be yer wife, sir. I’m sorry, but ‘tis impossible.”
    “Norah, for heaven’s sake, shut yer trap,” Iobhar growled. “Ye dinna have a choice, lass.”
    “This were yer destiny three years past, daughter,” Fearchar agreed. “It’s time ye meet it, for Einarr has been patient.”
    “Patient?”
    “It were yer father that asked the marriage wait a few years,” Iseabal explained gently.
    Norah looked around at the occupants of the room, taking in one face after another. They all stared back with a range of expressions: Iseabal and Fearchar with concern and regret; Iobhar with impatience; Einarr with satisfaction. Garrett was the only one among them that could not meet her eyes.
    “Garrett?” she implored, her voice wavering.
    He raised his chin and lowered it again. “Aye, Norah, Father speaks true. ‘Tis time.”
    “ Ye ... ye kent? Ye kent and ye said nothing to me?”
    “What would I have said even if I could have?”
    The realization that they had all conspired against her—all of them, even Garrett—washed over Norah like the waves of the winter sea. Her knees buckled and she sunk to the ground. She’d been betrayed by the people who were meant to protect her. Dazed and silent, she stared into the empty fire pit.
    “Well then, that’s settled,” Fearchar said heavily. Addressing Einarr, he concluded, “We’ll back to the hall, sir. Norah, I think it best ye remain here for the rest of the night. Collect yerself, and make peace wi’ yer future, aye?”
    They departed quietly, leaving Norah alone in the keep. With only the silent mist for company. It swirled around her, enveloping her in its folds.
    She wished bitterly that it would swallow her into oblivion.
    * * *
    Night settled over Fara , shielding its sleeping inhabitants under its black, starless canopy. Most of the Norsemen had