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Valhalla, where he could enjoy the splendors of Odin’s feasting hall. “But first I’d hear why the pagan raiders haven’t ravaged your stretch of this coast.”
    “They know better.” Godred swelled his chest. “My men’s prowess is known, even to those thieving bastards. What I’d hear”—his eyes glinted suspiciously—“is why you’d dare to ask.”
    “Sigurd Sword Breaker has returned.” Magnus’s tone hardened. “Word is he seeks to settle here. He craves a good haven and boat strand for his dragon ships and sweet grazing for cattle.” Magnus watched Godred carefully. “He wouldn’t leave such ripe lands as yours untouched, no matter the fierceness of your men.”
    Godred spat again, this time into the surf. “Who am I to know that devil’s mind?”
    Magnus shook his head, letting the wind toss his hair. “Do you know much of Norse gods? Perhaps that Odin gave up one of his eyes for the gift of a golden tongue? Could it be that you’ve allied yourself with a deep-pursed, land-hungry Norse warlord? That you’ve surrendered your loyalty to this land for the promise of Viking silver?”
    “You snake!” Godred’s eyes bulged. His face turned purple. “I’ve ne’er heard such lies!”
    “You’re the liar.” Magnus stepped forward and threw back Godred’s cloak to reveal the bastard’s rows of silver and gold arm rings. “Vikings use such baubles to reward men who serve them well. Including fools who believe empty promises made to them. Such men have arms bright with the rings that bought their loyalty. They—”
    “Cur!” Godred jerked his cloak from Magnus’s grasp. “You wear no less. All men speak of your arm rings. See them now, glittering on your—”
    “My arm rings mind me of each sword Viking I’ve slain.” Magnus flexed his muscles, proud of the rings.
    “I wear different ones each day and have taken them all myself, one silver or gold ring from each dead Norseman. They aren’t gifts from a Norse warlord. I bear them openly and ne’er hidden beneath a dark mantle.
    “Nor”—he yanked the silver chain from Godred’s neck—“do I wear one of these!”
    Magnus clenched his fist around the Thor’s hammer charm and then flung the necklace into the sea.
    “You dinnae need such an amulet to feel close to Viking gods.” He slapped his sword hilt. “I mean to speed you into their presence.”
    “Odin’s arse, you will,” Godred snarled, reaching for his own brand. But before he could unsheathe it, Donata ran between them, flinging herself at Magnus.
    “Touch him and you’re damned!” She beat his chest with her fists, her dark eyes wild. “You and yours will burn in your god’s hell. Your children and theirs and all the offspring to come after them will be cursed on this earth and in every world beyond.”
    “Hah!” Magnus hardly felt her blows. “Your words are wasted. I dinnae have children. And I’ll no’ be making any, either.”
    “You’ll soon wish you could.” She lifted a hand to slash her cheek, flicking the blood from her talonlike fingernails into Magnus’s face. “I curse you to want a woman so badly that you won’t be able to breathe, eat, or even take a step without burning for her.” Magnus swiped the blood off his face. “I desire no woman.”
    “You will.” Donata’s eyes narrowed, glittering madly.
    “She’ll be a woman you can never have. She’ll haunt your dreams and you’ll see her everywhere, but she’ll remain as distant as the stars.”
    “The woman I loved is far away.” Magnus wiped his fingers on his plaid, unmoved. “She’s dead.”
    “Another woman lives. And you’ll want her with a fever that will scorch your veins. You’ll chase after her, never catching more than air.” Donata tossed her head, her voice rising. “You’ll lose your reason, wishing yourself dead. That is my curse on you!” Magnus laughed and seized her arms, lifting her off the ground. “I live in hell. You cannae curse a man