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we discuss what we need to do next.”

Tavis’s anger flared. If they left him out of the discussion, they would never understand his position. “I insist on presenting my case.”

Arne sat on the bench away from the hearth, leaning against the wattle and daub wall, pulling his cloak around him. Tavis wasn’t the least bit chilled. If anything, he was scalding. He sat cross-legged on the dirt floor in a circle of foggy firelight.

“The Council is already aware of your…case…as you call it. The funeral of a Viking chief will proceed according to our traditions. The head of Erik’s household will select a sacrificial female slave. She will drink large amounts of alcohol before every man in the village rapes her. She will then be strangled with a rope, stabbed by a village matriarch, placed in the boat with Erik, and set ablaze.”

Tavis almost threw up at the viciousness of their tradition. If they forced him to participate, they’d have to kill him first. He took another swig and used all his reserves to hold it together. There was still an issue he had to discuss with his father-in-law.

“After the funeral, I want to take my family to the future. Life here is harsher than in my time. I want to give my family opportunities they’ll never have if they stay here. And Astrid won’t go unless you give her permission.”

Arne’s face remained stoic, and Tavis couldn’t read anything in his dark eyes. “The Council will discuss it.”

If Tavis had to bet, he’d say his odds weren’t good at all. He’d have to convince Astrid first and ask her to put pressure on her father.

Yeah, right. Good luck with that.

A few minutes later, the other three Council members entered the longhouse. Tavis stood to greet them, then returned to where he’d been sitting on the ground while the four men sat on the bench, leaving the center seat empty.

Erik’s absence suddenly became very real, not that Tavis wasn’t already grieving. But the empty seat forced him to face the stark reality that Erik’s moderating influence, so crucial to the Council’s objective view of the future and the brooches, no longer existed.

And he no longer had an advocate.

Which one of these men would become the moderating influence? None of them. Unlike Erik, they didn’t have negotiating skills, insight, or forethought. The Council would be rudderless without their chief.

And he was unsure of what that meant for his future and his family’s. Although he did have the Keeper’s protection, he had no way to contact him, but he was confident Elliott would show up eventually. Remy would see to it.

“Erik didn’t mention bringing you back with him this time,” Bjørn said.

Tavis opened his mouth to explain his presence, but Arne spoke first. “Erik was killed fighting a bear while protecting Ensley Williams. Tavis returned with his body.”

The other three Council members jumped to their feet, and Bjørn shouted, “Impossible. Erik could fight a bear and live to tell the story.”

“There had to be two to kill him,” Birger said.

“Only one,” Tavis said. “It was a grizzly bear, taller, bigger, meaner.”

“His cloak should have protected him,” Birger said.

“He didn’t have it with him. I believe, but I won’t know until I go back to my time that Erik gave it to the Keeper’s son.”

“What makes you think that?” Forde asked.

“Erik saved Ensley’s life at least twice, and both times she remembers the red cloak. He didn’t have it on when he fought the bear. Elliott sent two teams back to rescue Ensley and James Cullen. The team that included Elliott and his wife went to MacKlenna Farm. The other team, which I led, went to the Badlands in the Dakotas. Elliott sent a telegram saying he was taking his son home. There are only two reasons he would do that. Either JC was seriously injured or dead. If he was injured, maybe Erik gave James Cullen his cloak.”

“The Keeper will protect the cloak,” Arne said.

“What about his brooch?” Forde asked.

“I have it,” Tavis said.

“Your inheritance does not include the brooch,” Bjørn said. “The Council will keep it in the box.”

“We must plan Erik’s funeral and Tavis’s formal induction,” Forde said.

“Induction to what?” Tavis asked.

“A seat on the Council. However, you will not be entitled to the knowledge until you have earned it,” Arne said.

“Erik never mentioned a formal induction. Give the seat to someone else.”

“You are Erik’s heir,” Forde said. “The seat is yours. Now we must talk about the funeral. Erik told us you would object to the tradition, and we should weigh your objections when we make arrangements.”

Bjørn looked directly at Tavis. “Leave us. We will give you our decision shortly.”

Tavis returned to the cliff to await their decision. It didn’t take long, but by the time Birger came for him, he was shivering from both cold and, to be honest, fear.

He retook his position on the floor and remained stone-faced.

“We will respect Erik’s request and excuse you from participating in the tradition. You will, however, sit on the dais,” Arne said.

“And watch the debauchery?” Tavis swallowed the bile rushing up to the back of his throat. He would have to shut down his mind to get through it. “It goes against everything I believe in.”

“But you are here, and this is our tradition,” Arne said. “As for your other request, we deny it. You will remain here and take Erik’s place on the Council.”

“Or,” Bjørn said, “one of us will escort you and Astrid to the future, but your son must remain here. He has Erik’s blood, and he will not be allowed to leave.”

Tavis jumped to his feet. “That’s outrageous! How could you possibly think I’d go without my son? When I leave, he will go with me. And he doesn’t have Erik’s blood any more than I do.”

“You are Erik’s son, which makes your son his as well,” Arne said.

Tavis shook his head. “No, I am his heir, but not connected by blood. I grew up with both

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