Warrior's Secret (The Pict Wars Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  “But at great cost,” Tadhg mac Fortrenn rumbled. “Drawing such a large number of our strength away from Balintur made us vulnerable to attack. This is exactly what I feared.”

  “You think The Serpent got wind of our campaign to An Teanga?” Varar raised a dark eyebrow. “And decided to seize the opportunity to attack?”

  The Stag chieftain shrugged his broad shoulders in response. “Whatever the reason, they laid siege to Balintur while you were gone … and if you hadn’t arrived when you did, the rest of us would have perished.” Tadhg paused here, his blue eyes narrowing. “Cathal mac Calum hit us with his full force. He came for a massacre … and that’s what he nearly achieved.”

  Silence fell, tension rippling through the large, cone-roofed tent.

  “The ‘Death Tide’ was indeed a warning of this.” Ailene spoke up, voicing what she knew all present were thinking. “But the bones did not give me any idea of when or where it would happen.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you should have kept your mouth shut,” Wid mac Manus’s accusing voice cut through the tent. His dark brows had knitted together, and his cheeks had flushed. Ailene had seen Wid often over the years, but she had rarely witnessed him angry like this. “We’ve all lost many good warriors. You very nearly doomed everyone.”

  Ailene’s spine stiffened, anger surging. “Punish me for withholding omens if you wish, but don’t hang the fate of us all around my neck,” she said coldly. “I have only ever tried to do what is best for our people.”

  No one spoke. However, Ailene continued to stare back at Wid, daring him to challenge her again. The Wolf chieftain’s face turned thunderous.

  Tension rippled through the tent. Eventually, Galan broke it. “Leave us now, Ailene.” His voice was gentle although the lines of his face made him look severe. “We must discuss what you have told us.”

  And we must decide your fate.

  Queasiness intruded, penetrating the anger that pulsed within Ailene. She nodded, dropping her gaze. Of course they would not want her present while they argued over what to do with her. She had no idea what the punishment was for bandruís who withheld omens from their people.

  Was it banishment … or stoning?

  She could feel Muin’s gaze boring into her, yet she did not look his way. She was too angry to meet anyone’s eye now. She just wanted to be far from all these accusing stares.

  Turning from the fire and the ring of faces still watching her, Ailene walked from the tent.

  Outdoors, the afternoon was still cold and breezy. A pale blue sky and watery sun looked down upon her. Fluffy clouds raced across the heavens. She stood in the center of Balintur. The meeting tent had been erected in the clearing, next to the charred ruin of the large round-house where the chieftains used to gather.

  The rest of the village was deserted. Everyone lived outside the walls at the moment, in clusters of hide tents, while work began on rebuilding the huts. It was the worst time of year for this to have happened. It was now a moon till Mid-Winter Fire. Although most of the food stores had survived the attack, they had little time to rebuild the village before the snows came.

  Ailene strode through the village to the north gate, fury still churning within her. She knew she had made a mistake, but Wid had glared at her as if she had personally wielded the blade that had cut the folk of Balintur down.

  They wanted to turn her into a scapegoat.

  Drawing her fur cloak about her, she passed through the gate and into the make-shift settlement beyond. However, she was in no mood for company, so she took the dirt track north that led up to where the row of fresh cairns stood out against the blue sky.

  Ailene’s throat constricted although no tears welled at the sight of the tombs.

  The situation was too serious to weep over. She felt brittle, as if the wind that buffeted her as she walked was blowing right through her.

  Ailene was so deep in thought, so agitated, that she did not notice the tattoo of approaching hoof beats at first. It was only when the ground beneath her bare feet trembled that she realized a pony was approaching fast behind her.

  Jumping back off the track, Ailene spun around to see who was in such a hurry.

  Muin, astride Feannag, bore down on her.

  The severe expression on his face, so similar to the one she had seen upon his father’s, made Ailene’s breathing catch. Did he hate her now, and had he come after her to tell her so?

  Reaching Ailene, Muin drew his stallion up alongside.

  Then he leaned toward her, one strong arm encircling her back. An instant later he lifted Ailene up onto the pony’s back so that she perched in front of him.

  Ailene gasped. “What are you doing?”

  Muin did not reply. Instead, he urged Feannag into a fast canter and they took off up the hill, heading north.

  Perched upon the pony’s withers, Ailene had no choice but to cling to Muin or risk toppling off.

  But still, Muin did not utter a word. His big body was rigid; she could feel the tension pulsing through him.

  On they raced, leaving Balintur behind. Once the village was out of sight, Muin angled his pony north-east toward the oak woods a few furlongs distant, where Ailene had spent so many afternoons collecting herbs. Dread shivered through her when Muin slowed his pony, and they crunched through a carpet of dead leaves.

  It was sheltered in the woods. The oaks kept the biting wind at bay. Tall trunks and a canopy of naked branches surrounded them. It suddenly seemed very quiet in here, with not even the twitter of birdsong to break the tense hush.

  “Why have you brought me here?” Ailene finally asked. She was aware her voice was shrill, but she could not help it. She tensed, readying herself for another attack.

  “I had to get you out of Balintur,” Muin replied; his voice had a harsh edge to it. “Things became heated between the chieftains after you left. I won’t have any of them hurt you.”

  Ailene’s breathing hitched. “So, you don’t share Wid’s view?”

  Muin growled a curse. “Of course not.”

  Ailene pulled away from him, craning her neck around so she could see his face. Muin’s expression was stony, his grey eyes narrowed. With a jolt, she realized he was as angry as she was.

  “I admit I was at fault,” she said, her voice low. “I should have told you all about the ‘Death Tide’.”

  “Aye.” The word came out in a growl. “But even if you had, it wouldn’t have stopped the attack. It was too late … and how would any of us have known what was going to happen?”

  Ailene opened her mouth to answer, but Muin pushed on, cutting her off. “If you’d told us, and we’d called off the siege of An Teanga, that fort would still belong to The Serpent … and Balintur would have been attacked all the same.”

  Ailene stared at him, taken aback by his vehemence.

  “I’m not going to let them blame you for the massacre,” Muin continued. “They can discuss matters all they like … but no one is going to lay a hand on you. I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

  The tone of voice Muin used then, flint-hard, left Ailene in no doubt that he meant his words.

  “Do they want to punish me?” she asked finally. Despite her brave face, fear fluttered up inside her.

  He nodded. “Tadhg and Wid especially are furious … they lost many warriors in the attack. “Da and Varar are trying to convince them to show you mercy.”

  “Varar?”

  Muin grunted. “Aye … I’m as surprised as you.”

  They had reached the heart of the woodland now, and the press of trees and undergrowth had become too dense for them to continue riding. Muin swung down from Feannag before helping Ailene to the ground.

  Face to face now, Ailene felt heat creep up her neck. Muin’s gaze was so intense it robbed her of the ability to breathe, to think. With a great effort she rallied her thoughts and straightened her spine.

  “This is my fight, not yours, Muin,” she said firmly. “You can’t go against the chi
eftains. I won’t let you put your life at risk. The folk of this isle make enemies for life. One day you’ll be chieftain of The Eagle … you can’t sour your relationships over me.”

  Muin took a step closer to her. He was standing so near that Ailene had to raise her chin to keep holding his eye. “I’d set this isle alight for you,” he said gruffly. “I’d make every man on this rock my mortal enemy if it saved you.”

  And with that he hauled her into his arms, his mouth covering hers.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  A Good Man

  IT WAS A hungry, dominant kiss—one edged with a desperation Ailene had never sensed in Muin. He was afraid for her, she realized with a jolt.

  His hands were all over Ailene then, possessing her. They slid down the column of her back and cupped over her buttocks. Muin then pulled her hard against him, grinding their hips together as the kiss deepened.

  Ailene’s head swam, her senses reeling. She had never been kissed like this; it was as if he wanted to devour her. Heat pulsed between her thighs, and she let out a low whimper. Hunger rose within her, deep and fierce. Ailene locked her arms around Muin’s neck and kissed him back with equal violence.

  In response, Muin lifted her up, so that her legs wrapped around his hips. And then he carried her over to the nearest oak. Ailene’s cloak slipped from her shoulders. Muin kicked it aside, pushing her up against the trunk.

  Their mouths locked once more as they savaged each other. And as their tongues tangled, Ailene fumbled with the laces on Muin’s breeches, while he hiked her skirt up.

  Freeing his shaft, Ailene wrapped her fingers around its solid heat. Her breath caught; he was so big, so powerful. She ached for him to be inside her.

  With a growl, Muin grabbed her wrists. He lifted them high above her head and pinned them against the trunk before kneeing Ailene’s trembling thighs apart and driving into her in one deep thrust.

  The sensation of being deep inside Ailene made Muin’s heart pound against his ribs with such force his head spun. He was buried to the root inside her, wrapped in her tight heat, and it was nearly driving him mad.

  If the Gods struck him dead right now, then he would die a happy man.

  Still holding Ailene’s wrists pinned above her head with one hand, he started to move inside her, in slow, deliberate strokes that he knew would unravel her self-control.

  Moments later Ailene started to cry out, high mewing sounds that made excitement ignite in his veins. Muin ground his hips against hers with each thrust, and her cries lengthened into a long keen of pleasure. She cried his name and arched up, her breasts thrusting toward him.

  Releasing Ailene’s wrists, Muin reached down and unlaced her vest. Underneath she wore a thin sleeveless tunic that left little to the imagination. Her glorious breasts, soft and high with small pink nipples, rose toward him with each shuddering breath. Muin continued his slow thrusts, while he bent his head and suckled each breast through the fine linen.

  Ailene gasped and groaned, writhing against him. Her hands tangled in his hair, pushing him against her breasts, demanding more.

  Pleasure pulsed through Muin’s groin, building in intensity with each thrust. He could feel his stomach muscles tightening in anticipation, yet he held himself back. He loved seeing Ailene like this.

  She was an incredible woman. Sensitive, wise, and brave. He would not let the others blame this tragedy on her.

  He would make her forget all the sadness, all the grief. He wanted to lose himself in her and forget his own loss. The Reaper had cast a long shadow over them all, yet in the midst of grief and pain, there was also love and life.

  He took Ailene now to remind them both of that fact.

  She writhed against him then, her lush body shuddering as she found her release, but still Muin did not cease driving into her. She was pleading with him now, and he could feel the heat and wetness of her core as he slid deep once more.

  It was slowly unraveling him.

  Yet he did not increase his pace. Instead he let trembling wrack Ailene’s body, let her sob with pleasure, and only then did he give himself up to her, thrusting into her with a frenzy that made it hard to breathe.

  The small fire crackled in the darkness, sending up a spray of sparks when Muin added a handful of sticks to it.

  Pressed up against the wall of his chest, Muin’s fur mantle covering them both, Ailene relaxed properly for the first time in days. A feeling of safety crept over her, suffusing her limbs with a warmth that had nothing to do with the hearth that burned before her.

  “Are you hungry?” Muin asked, his breath feathering against her ear.

  Ailene grimaced. In the aftermath of their lovemaking, her appetite, which had been non-existent over the past days, had returned, leaving her belly aching and hollow. “Starving,” she admitted.

  “I didn’t have time to gather much.” Muin reached left, digging into a leather satchel. “But I managed to pack some bread and cheese.”

  He might as well have told her he had brought a great feast with him. Ailene’s mouth filled with saliva at this news.

  She eagerly took the hunk of bread and wedge of sharp cheese he passed her, taking a large bite. The bread was very heavy, filled with crushed oats and barley, yet it was fresh.

  “This is delicious,” she mumbled through her next mouthful. “Where did you get it?”

  “Ma had left a few loaves cooling before the meeting … so I helped myself to one.”

  Ailene twisted her head, to see that Muin’s mouth had lifted at the edges. The sight of his strong face, and the tenderness in those storm-grey eyes, made her throat thicken. “I’m glad you came after me,” she murmured. “I was too angry to be left alone with my own thoughts.”

  He huffed. “You can always talk to me, Ally. You always could.”

  Ailene swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese. “I know,” she whispered.

  They both fell silent then, each retreating into their own thoughts.

  Ailene finished her bread and cheese before brushing crumbs off the fur mantle wrapped around them. It was a cold, breezy night, although the surrounding trees kept the wind off them. Ailene curled against Muin’s chest, enjoying the heat of the fire. She wished they could stay there forever, that all the sadness and hardship their people had endured over the past months could cease to exist.

  But she knew this night was merely a reprieve from the rest of the world. She could not hide from it forever.

  “You know I’m going to have to go back there,” she said finally.

  Muin’s body stiffened against hers, and she sensed him readying himself to argue with her.

  “You want to protect me,” she continued, before he could speak. “But you can’t shelter me from this.” She reached down then and took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. “There are some things that I must face alone.”

  “I won’t let them harm you,” Muin replied. His voice held a rough edge, his expression hardening. “I won’t let them take out their grief and rage on a woman who has only tried to help them.”

  Ailene released a slow breath, squeezing her eyes shut. “Then I’m grateful you will be at my side tomorrow.” She paused then, a shiver passing through her as she considered the future. “However, they may decide to banish me.”

  “Then I will go with you.”

  Ailene’s eyes flew open. She pulled away from Muin, meeting his gaze fully. “You can’t do that.”

  His jaw was set as he stared back at her, a stubborn light in his eyes. “I can.”

  “But you’re Galan’s first-born … you’re destined to lead The Eagle one day.”

  He shook his head. “I’m destined for whatever life I choose. I’ll not have my fate dictated by others. If they cast you out, I’m going with you. I have no wish to remain with my people if you cannot.”

  Ailene’s throat tightened. “You’d give everything up?” she whispered. “For me?”

  Muin’s mouth quirked. “Aye … without q
uestion.” He reached up then, raking a hand through his hair. “The responsibility for our tribe has never sat easily upon my father’s shoulders. Peace is all he has ever wanted, and yet it has eluded him. He even wed a woman from an enemy tribe in an attempt to build another future for us all.”

  “Aye, but that ended well for him.”

  “It could have easily been different … he could have ended up unhappily wed to my mother,” Muin replied. “My father’s a good man, but I don’t want his life.”

  Ailene reached out and traced the line of his strong jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble under her fingertips. “You are a good man, Muin mac Galan.” Her voice was low, husky. “The best I’ve ever known. You have a big heart, and I love you.”

  She watched his pupils dilate, before his mouth stretched into a full smile. “I’ve always loved you, Ally,” he said softly. “There has only ever been one woman for me … and there only ever will be.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Meeting with the Chieftains

  THEY RODE BACK into Balintur just after dawn. Smoke rose from the clusters of tents outside the village walls, merging with a mantle of low cloud that had settled over the valley. The burned-out shell of the settlement below was an eerie sight, a reminder of just how far people were prepared to go for power. Ailene’s brow furrowed at the sight of it.

  Cathal mac Calum would now be ruing the day he ever set foot upon this isle.

  Folk noticed their approach, and as they neared the first tents, a tall dark-haired woman stepped out to greet them.