by Jayne Castel
WARRIOR’S SECRET
A Dark Ages Scottish Romance
The Pict Wars
Book Two
JAYNE CASTEL
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Historical Romance by Jayne Castel
DARK AGES BRITAIN
The Kingdom of the East Angles series
Dark Under the Cover of Night (Book One)
Nightfall till Daybreak (Book Two)
The Deepening Night (Book Three)
The Kingdom of the East Angles: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Mercia series
The Breaking Dawn (Book One)
Darkest before Dawn (Book Two)
Dawn of Wolves (Book Three)
The Kingdom of Mercia: The Complete Series
The Kingdom of Northumbria series
The Whispering Wind (Book One)
Wind Song (Book Two)
Lord of the North Wind (Book Three)
The Kingdom of Northumbria: The Complete Series
DARK AGES SCOTLAND
The Warrior Brothers of Skye series
Blood Feud (Book One)
Barbarian Slave (Book Two)
Battle Eagle (Book Three)
The Warrior Brothers of Skye: The Complete Series
The Pict Wars series
Warrior’s Heart (Book One)
Warrior’s Secret (Book Two)
Novellas
Winter’s Promise
MEDIEVAL SCOTLAND
The Brides of Skye series
The Beast’s Bride (Book One)
The Outlaw’s Bride (Book Two)
The Rogue’s Bride (Book Three)
The Brides of Skye: The Complete Series
Epic Fantasy Romance by Jayne Castel
The Light and Darkness series
Ruled by Shadows (Book One)
The Lost Swallow (Book Two)
Path of the Dark (Book Three)
Some secrets will break your heart. Friends to lovers and unrequited love set in Ancient Scotland.
Ailene is the bandrui—seer—of The Eagle tribe. With her role comes much responsibility. She lives a solitary existence and prefers it that way. Ailene doesn’t realize that her best friend, Muin, is in love with her.
Muin is The Eagle chieftain's son. He's loved Ailene since they were children yet has never gotten up the courage to tell her. But with their island under siege from marauders from the mainland, he's running out of time.
It’s only when Ailene dreams of Muin's death that she starts to see her best friend in a different light … only, has her change of heart come too late?
All characters and situations in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
Warrior’s Secret by Jayne Castel
Copyright © 2019 by Jayne Castel. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.
Published by Winter Mist Press.
Edited by Tim Burton
Cover photography courtesy of www.shutterstock.com
Eagle image courtesy of www.pixabay.com
Map of ‘The Winged Isle’ by Jayne Castel
Visit Jayne’s website: www.jaynecastel.com
Follow Jayne on Twitter: @JayneCastel
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For my Tim—who is proof that your lover can also be your best friend.
***
Contents
Maps of Scotland and The Winged Isle
Prologue
Your Friend Forever
Chapter One
Too Late
Chapter Two
All is not Lost
Chapter Three
Ailene Casts the Bones
Chapter Four
An Honest Conversation
Chapter Five
Our Old Ways
Chapter Six
Adrift
Chapter Seven
Through the Mist
Chapter Eight
Blood Will Soak the Earth
Chapter Nine
Occupied Territory
Chapter Ten
Raising Concerns
Chapter Eleven
Mutton Stew
Chapter Twelve
Stubborn
Chapter Thirteen
I Can’t
Chapter Fourteen
Think Like Your Enemy
Chapter Fifteen
Turning Away
Chapter Sixteen
A Chill Premonition
Chapter Seventeen
Journeying East
Chapter Eighteen
Taking Shelter
Chapter Nineteen
Secrecy
Chapter Twenty
I Can’t Breathe Without You
Chapter Twenty-one
Take Your Pleasure
Chapter Twenty-two
Let Them Come to Us
Chapter Twenty-three
Turning the Tide
Chapter Twenty-four
A Formidable Foe
Chapter Twenty-five
Smoke Over Balintur
Chapter Twenty-six
Defeat
Chapter Twenty-seven
Burying the Dead
Chapter Twenty-eight
This is My Fight
Chapter Twenty-nine
A Good Man
Chapter Thirty
Meeting with the Chieftains
Chapter Thirty-one
The Path of Vengeance
Epilogue
Curious Things
From the author
Historical and background notes
for WARRIOR’S SECRET
More works by Jayne Castel
About the Author
Maps of Scotland and The Winged Isle
“There are two kinds of secrets.
The ones we keep from others and
the ones we keep from ourselves.”
—Frank Warren
Prologue
Your Friend Forever
SHE’S NOT DEAD.
It did not seem real. It could not be real.
Ailene stared down at her mother’s face. It looked frozen, pained. Her blue eyes stared back, glassy and unfocused.
“I’m so sorry, lass.” Eithni murmured from beside Ailene. The healer placed a gentle hand on Ailene’s shoulder, before she reached down and closed Mael’s eyes.
When Eithni straightened up, her cheeks were wet and her chin trembled. She was one of Mael’s closest friends.
Ailene drew in a trembling breath. Desperation bubbled up within her. “Stop weeping,” she gasped out the words. “Ma’s not dead!”
Eithni turned to her. The kindness on the healer’s face, the pain and sympathy in her hazel eyes, made it feel as if someone had ripped Ailene’s ribs open and grabbed hold of her heart.
It hurt to breathe.
“Lass,” Eithni reached for her once more. “I’m sorry … but she’s gone. The sickness has taken her.”
Ailene ripped herself free of the healer’s soft touch. Body quaking, she staggered back from the pile of furs, where her mother’s emaciated body lay.
“You’re lying.” The pain in Eithni’s eyes made her want to lash out. She would not believe her mother no longer breathed. She had been around four winters when her father died suddenly, leaving her and her mother alone—it was one of her earliest memories. He had collaps
ed while preparing Ailene and her cousin, Talor, something to eat. When he fell, he knocked hot coals out of the hearth, setting fire to their round-house. Her mother had returned from collecting herbs to find her beloved Maphan dead and their home in flames.
Ailene had now only just turned eight. Her mother was all she had.
“Ally,” Eithni whispered. “I know it’s hard to accept … but your mother’s heart has stopped beating. She has left us.”
“No!” The scream ripped from Ailene, hurting her throat.
Ma was not dead—only sleeping
She turned then and dove from the doorway. A grey afternoon greeted her, leaden skies presiding over frozen earth and clusters of sod-roofed huts.
“Ailene, stop!” Eithni’s plea followed her, but she did not heed it. She had to flee. If she ran fast enough, maybe she could outrun the pain that dug its talons deep in her heart.
Feet flying, Ailene took off across the fort. Tears blinded her, sobs wracked her, but she did not stop.
“I knew you’d be here.”
Ailene raised her head from where she had buried her face against her knees, her gaze traveling to the mouth of the cave. A lad stood there, his silhouette outlined against the darkening sky beyond.
Tightening her grip on her knees, Ailene favored the boy with a watery scowl. “Go away, Muin,” she rasped. Since taking refuge here, she had sobbed until her throat was raw and her ribs ached.
But the lad did not go. Instead, he crept close and lowered himself to the ground next to her. “Everyone’s looking for you,” he replied.
Ailene shifted her gaze to his face. Muin mac Galan, the chieftain’s son, stared solemnly back. Five winters old, and three winters younger than Ailene, Muin had become her shadow of late—a slightly annoying one. Of course he had known where to find her; he trailed around after her like a puppy.
“Aunt Eithni is upset,” he continued, slate-grey eyes observing her with a maturity that belied his years. Ailene often felt older than her eight winters; she found other girls her age annoying—and Muin was an old soul too. Instead of collecting frogs with his cousin Talor or getting up to mischief with the other lads of the fort, he had developed a fascination for Ailene. “She says it’s her fault,” Muin continued, “… that she didn’t explain things right.”
The lad spoke slowly, carefully. His face was a study in confusion. He had just reached the age where he was struggling to understand that folk did not live forever.
It was a truth that Ailene wished she was ignorant of.
“She’s not to blame.” Ailene bowed her forehead to her knees and closed her eyes.
“Ma says that The Reaper has taken your Ma,” Muin said quietly. “Is she right?”
“Aye.” The answer gusted out of Ailene. Grief sat like a boulder upon her chest. She had denied it, raged against it—but in the end she could not hide from it, even here in this cave that lay a few furlongs south of the fort. “She’s gone.” Her voice was weak, broken. “She’s left me all alone.”
A small hand, its grip surprisingly strong, fastened upon her knee. “You’re not alone. You’ve got Ruith, and Talor, and Eithni and Donnel.” He listed the names, his voice earnest. The lad paused there, his grip tightening. “And you’ve got me. I’ll be your friend forever.”
Tears leaked from Ailene’s eyes, despite that she had them screwed shut. Muin, who had no idea what it was like to lose not just one but both parents, spoke those words with such conviction. As if the world was so simple.
She raised her head and looked at him. The lad stared back. A face that was so much like his father’s watched her. He had Galan’s long, silky dark hair too, although the determined set of his jaw most definitely came from his mother, Tea.
He looked obstinate now, almost as if he defied her to deny his words. Muin’s grey eyes gleamed.
“Forever.” Her mouth quirked. “That’s quite a promise, Muin mac Galan.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
His throat bobbed. “I wish I could bring your Ma back too.”
Ailene’s vision blurred, and she managed a wobbly smile through the tears that coursed down her face. She placed a hand over Muin’s, squeezing hard. “So do I.”
Sixteen years later …
Chapter One
Too Late
Late autumn, 389 AD
Balintur
Territory of The Eagle
The Winged Isle (The Isle of Skye)
SOME MEN KNEW exactly what to say to women. They understood the right words to make them smile, the way to approach a shy lass or to impress a cold one. Muin mac Galan reflected that he was not one such individual—although his cousin was.
He watched Talor move through the crowd, flirting with one woman before catching hold of another’s hand and drawing her into the dancing.
The girl turned, her forehead furrowing at having her conversation so rudely interrupted. However, her mouth curved in delight when she saw that ‘The Battle Eagle’s’ handsome son wanted to dance.
Muin resisted the urge to snort. Typical. He knew it was a bit uncharitable, but a part of him sometimes wished that one of these lasses would rebuff his cocky cousin’s advances, or better yet slap his face.
But they never did.
Muin shifted his attention from the dancing and went to retrieve himself a fresh cup of mead. He was standing on the edge of the crowd, sipping the sweet, pungent drink, when Talor extricated himself from the group of eager lasses who now swirled around him and made his way across to his cousin.
“I’ve got a warrior’s thirst,” Talor announced. He helped himself to Muin’s cup and took a long draft before wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “That’s better.”
Muin snatched the cup back from him, before he could drain it. “Get your own drink.”
Talor grinned at him. “I wish you could see your face, cousin. You look like you just stepped in a turd.”
“And you’re grinning like a lackwit.”
Talor laughed. “Gods, you’re in a sour mood tonight.” He paused then, his blue eyes gleaming. “Why don’t you do us all a favor and ask her to dance?”
Muin tensed, scowling. “Excuse me?”
Talor raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Every time I’ve looked your way tonight, you’ve been staring at her. I’m surprised you haven’t burned a hole in her back.”
Muin’s scowl deepened to a glower. Times like now, he wished he had never confided in Talor. He had let it slip one night just over a year earlier after one too many horns of mead. His cousin had been sympathetic then—but he was not tonight.
“Leave it,” Muin growled.
Talor’s grin turned wicked. “For the love of the Gods, ask the lass to dance.”
Muin stiffened, his gaze shifting to where a tall, shapely woman with sky-blue eyes and wavy dark hair chatted with Fina, another of his cousins.
Ailene, the bandruí—seer—of Dun Ringill.
The only woman he had ever loved.
Fina was recounting a tale, her hands moving expressively. The light of the Gateway bonfire that burned behind them caught the golden highlights in her hair as she talked, and gleamed off the bronzed skin of her arms. His cousin glowed like the sun, while next to her, Ailene’s beauty was of a different kind—dark and mysterious, like someone had tamed the night.
Her dark hair gleamed. In daylight it was the color of peat, yet in the firelight it appeared pitch-black, making her fair skin look even paler by contrast.
As Muin watched, Ailene threw back her head and laughed, exposing a long, swanlike neck.
Muin’s chest tightened. How many times had he imagined trailing kisses down that beautiful throat? He had wasted countless nights imagining what her skin would taste like.
“You’d better get in quick.” Talor was back, his tone changing from teasing to warning. “Fingal is headed her way.”
Muin tensed, his attention snapping to where a tall, rangy warrior swagge
red through the dancers. Talor was right—he was making for Ailene.
Muin clenched his jaw. He had no claim on Ailene, to her he was nothing more than a good friend. Yet the sight of Fingal Mac Diarmid made him want to rip that man’s head off.
Fingal was a warrior of The Wolf and had shadowed Ailene’s step since The Ceremony of the Dead three months earlier. The ceremony had followed a hard-won victory for the united tribes against the invading Cruthini. Despite the victory, they had lost many warriors and had honored them by lighting torches around the perimeter of the camp—one for each of the fallen.
Ailene had been upset that night. Fingal had comforted her, and then later Muin had gone to check on Ailene and had seen her lead Fingal into her tent.
Muin’s gaze narrowed as he stared daggers into Fingal’s back. They were lovers—or had been—and the knowledge twisted like a blade in Muin’s guts.
He had not known what jealousy was till that night.
“Too late,” Talor said, keeping up his commentary. “You’ll never get the girl if you let other men ask her to dance.”
Fingal had stopped before Ailene. Head bowed, he asked her something. She looked up at him, her lovely face solemn, before nodding.
“Ally only sees me as a friend,” Muin replied biting the words out with effort. “Sometimes I don’t even think she realizes I’m a man.”
Talor snorted, and Muin swung his gaze back to find his cousin watching him, brow furrowed. “Bitterness doesn’t suit you,” Talor said. “If Ailene sees you like a brother, it’s up to you to change her mind.”
Muin glared at him. It was easy for Talor to say that, Talor who could charm any woman he wanted into the furs. Talor who changed loves with the passing of a new moon.
