by Lexi Ander
“I brought you food to break your fast. Afterwards I have a list of chores for you. I do not have a body servant so, for the time being, you shall serve as such. Once we reach Loch Raineach, your place shall be better settled. For your well being, Donn, Arailt, or one of my other men shall accompany you whenever I am not present.”
Roi glanced away. Lord Ewen’s mistrust stung. “I know ye have no reason to believe me, but I shan’t run, my lord.”
Lord Ewen’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath. “It be known amongst my people that I can smell deceit, thus I believe you. However, my kinsmen shall safeguard you, not cage you as they would a thief.”
Roi desired to ask why, but he would not question his master, especially when he had not been given leave. As Lord Ewen spoke quietly with Lord Donn and Lord Arailt, he chewed a bit of the smoked fish mixed with the warm pottage Lord Ewen had given him and tried to ignore their conversation.
He stealthily glanced at Lord Ewen whilst he chewed. Roi was not slight of frame, but Lord Ewen’s width of shoulder easily dwarfed his own, and his raven-dark hair and beard had been shorn the night afore. Roi had noticed last eve but had been too occupied with the stroke of Lord Ewen’s fingers to judge his new appearance. Somehow, the lack of hair caused him to appear more fierce and aloof.
Lord Ewen and his closest kinsmen shared a singular quality likely unseen by most. To Roi’s sight, the three glowed. He had noticed their aura upon the field of battle but had no leisure time to study them since. None were as bright as Lord Ewen’s, though his light was smeared with a deep pain. Above Lord Donn floated the face of a black bear. From experience, Roi knew that when a person was upon the cusp of a change, images would be a part of the person’s aura. More than that, Roi could not say with surety, as every person was different. The pictures were symbols that could have any number of meanings, but the truth would oft not be revealed until the moment came. The bear could be an animal who was to cross Lord Donn’s path, wounding him or taking his life. It could mean that something was coming and he needed the strength or cunning of a bear. It could also be a gift betwixt him and another that held special meaning.
Roi scowled into his wooden bowl, for the first time frustrated he could not read the symbols. Yesterday he had walked around in a haze, his clouded mind trying to grasp why he had not died. Not only that, but Roi had met the one person to haunt his visions since the night Roi first stepped foot in Cerridwen’s temple. In fact, Roi had slept upon Lord Ewen’s pallet, and his liege ministered to Roi’s wounds himself instead of sending for a servant. Atop saving Roi’s life, this morn he had provided clothing and brought Roi pottage. More than a little in awe of Lord Ewen, Roi wished to do something in return; labour as a manservant seemed not to be enough. After all this time of attempting to hide Cerridwen’s gift, of taking exception with those who would use the dreams for their own gain, Roi was willing to bestow unto his liege lord that part of himself, despite it being forbidden.
Lord Ewen squatted next to where Roi sat upon the pallet. “I meant what I said earlier. Do not be about without one of my kinsmen.” He took the empty bowl from Roi’s slightly trembling hands. “Stay far from Cináed as well. I do not believe he be finished trying to be rid of you, since you be the only witness here that can place him in the King of the Isles’ court.”
His heart thumped hard, and Roi gazed at Lord Ewen with wide eyes. “How did you know?”
His liege tapped a finger against the side of his nose. “I told you, I can smell deceit and lies. Cináed’s told many.”
“I do not understand. Be he the one to spear…?” The vision of Gillie Ainndreis impaled cut through Roi’s sight.
“Nay, that be not his handiwork.” Lord Ewen frowned when Lord Donn turned his head and coughed loudly into his fist.
“You do not believe I had something to do with—?”
“Nay!”
Lord Ewen’s exclamation caused Roi to duck his head, his ears burning when Lord Ewen continued with some ribald swearing. He felt foolish for flinching as if he were a boy. He must become used to Lord Ewen’s loud ways, even though his experience these last three years had taught him that raised voices were followed by stinging blows by palm or fist or whatsoever lay close at hand.
He flinched again when Lord Ewen cupped the back of his neck, but his liege did not withdraw. “Roi, I know you had no hand in creating the spectacle upon the field. I have already ordered men take them down. Worry not upon it. I be sorry you espied such a harrowing sight.”
Confusion swirled in Roi. “Why?” he whispered, unable to halt the burning question. “Why do ye show me such favour?” Lord Ewen’s quiet fed his bold tongue, and the words spilled like a waterfall from his lips. “Gillie Ainndreis destroyed all I knew and made me a bondsman, a slave. Every day, by deed or word, he proved how low he held me. Yer kindness, yer care, confuses me because it be not what I have known.”
Lord Ewen stared, the green bleeding out of his hazel eyes until they glowed amber. His palm slid from Roi’s neck to the scar that covered the right side of his face. “Was he the one who marred your visage?”
“Aye.”
“And the markings?” Lord Ewen traced the blue lines on his cheeks and forehead, his touch lighting a fire in Roi’s gut.
“I were sick for a long time from the burns. The healing be very painful. A crone was sent to tend me and ensure I lived. When I be almost utterly healed, I woke in the night to her applying the ink and humming. When she finished she said I had a shield evermore should I go to battle. Not that it did me any good when Gillie Ainndreis striped me after he had seen her handiwork.”
Roi had forgotten he and Lord Ewen were not alone when Lord Donn suddenly spoke. “Ye went into battle without armour. Methinks she spoke truth, just not in the way you counted upon.”
“True,” Roi allowed.
Lord Ewen’s eyes, once again their brown-green hazel, bore into Roi. It had not gone unnoticed that he had yet to answer Roi’s question. Life with Gillie Ainndreis taught him to drop his gaze, yet he could not look away from Lord Ewen’s eyes. He held his breath as Lord Ewen slowly leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Roi’s ear as he whispered, “What if I want more from you than what be a manservant’s due? Would you look upon me with such favour?”
Roi was lost, again. A fire raged under his skin, stoked to life by Lord Ewen’s simple touch. Did his question mean what Roi thought? If ever so, Roi already knew the answer.
Lord Ewen pulled away. Roi was sure his visage appeared stunned whilst his swift reply stuck in his throat. Roi shivered when Lord Ewen swiped his thumb over Roi’s cheek, his gaze once again taking in the marring upon the right side of Roi’s face. He missed Lord Ewen’s touch when he gained his feet.
His liege glanced down as if he had forgotten he still held the bowl. “I would do it again,” Lord Ewen said under his breath, turning to gaze at Lord Donn and Lord Arailt.
Roi was confounded. He would do what again?
“With what I have seen and heard, I would have helped,” Lord Donn replied.
Lord Ewen left after the cryptic conversation, not a word more said. Roi rose and gathered the garments he had planned to wash, following Lord Donn and Lord Arailt from the tent, mayhap with a small bounce to his step as he counted down the hours until Lord Ewen returned. He worked diligently whilst he devised the eloquent words he would say in reply to his liege’s question till he was happy with his plans.
But the gloaming came and went, and Lord Ewen returned not to the tent, not that night or the next three. And Roi began to wonder if he had dreamed the words Lord Ewen had spoken. Considering what little he had to offer in return, Roi eventually decided Lord Ewen had said nothing at all.
VII
THE GREAT HALL of Renfra Castle was again rife with knights and revellers. Ewen could not wait to get back home to his quiet life instead of smiling and nodding at the host’s wife, who seemingly wanted him married afore he headed north. He refused to s
leep in the hall another night. The High Steward had mentioned to her that Ewen headed to Loch Raineach in the morn, and the women gathered in the corner, sending Ewen sly glances. He would not be caught in their web if he could help it.
But staying the night in the tent with Roi could potentially be more ruinous. Roi confused him in more ways than one, and he suspected Roi was younger than himself by at least five years, if not more. The pagan was deadly upon the field of battle, yet peace cloaked him much like it did an innocent. Then, at times his gaze held an old, weary wisdom. Yet, with one glance from Ewen, Roi came alive, as if he had awaited Ewen all his life. Every time Ewen saw Roi’s visage he sensed something within himself begin to topple. It would not take much for Ewen to do something he would later regret if he did not keep his distance.
Being around the man caused Ewen to act unlike himself. He had been celibate since Caitriona passed; none had roused his interest until he laid eyes upon Roi. Even from a distance Roi had caught his eye and stolen his breath. Roi’s form was pleasing to the eye. His scent called to Ewen, equally soothing and raising the beast within. Roi made him forget about his obligations, the weariness that pressed down upon his shoulders, the way the ache in his chest eased every day Roi shared his tent. The thought of Roi’s rough treatment at the hands of Gillie Ainndreis brought a red rage to the edge of Ewen’s sight. Roi was a confusing mix of warrior prowess and timid obedience. Ewen expected him to fight and attempt to overcome Ewen’s right as his new lord, yet Roi yielded with grace. He was fierce, but a soft, malleable covering lay over that hard core.
Ewen had separated himself from Roi because if he lay beside Roi, he would take Roi to his bed as a lover. Yet the mere thought of lying with someone other than Caitriona caused the guilt to rise again. As the Toisech of Athall, his responsibilities lay in caring for the properties of the mormaer, so when he was not called to battle by his king, he administered Mael Coluim’s holdings, causing Ewen to spend more time away from home than not. Therefore, when Caitriona had needed him when she birthed their fourth child, he was elsewhere rather than by her side.
Much time might have passed since Catriona’s death, but the thought of her still twisted Ewen’s heart. She mayn’t have wanted him widowed the rest of his life, but the thought of drawing another close made his knees tremble. Giving into the lust he felt for Roi was the first step towards possible madness. The way Roi gazed at Ewen, how he shivered when Ewen touched him, sparked a fire in Ewen’s cold, withered heart. He wanted to know from whence Roi hailed, where his family were, and whether he had people who missed him. What did he do afore Gillie Ainndreis enslaved him? What were Roi’s thoughts? How did Roi behold him? Roi’s eyes told Ewen a great many things, and yet he itched to hear Roi speak the words.
Even now Ewen felt pulled to the pagan. For the last several days he had watched Donn or Arailt break their fast with Roi from afar. No matter what his day held, he stepped away to first check upon Roi. Bear fussed and pouted because Ewen refused to become close to Roi. But the pain of losing Caitriona was too fresh. If Ewen allowed himself to once again develop soft affections for another only to endure another loss, he might not survive. Then there was the question of whether Roi was the one to help Ewen to break the curse. Did Ewen even want the curse broken? His people would lose their mathan. After losing his maik he could not, with good conscience, inflict the agony of losing a part of themselves upon his kinsmen, cursèd or not.
But if Granda was wrong and Roi was only the marrae to Bear, then how could Ewen deny Bear? Could he indulge in Roi for Bear’s sake and keep his heart to himself? Was it possible for him to be a friend to Roi and draw the line there, keeping to the safety of familiarity without falling into deep affection? Ewen knew not, and quite frankly the prospect scared him. He did not know if he would ever be ready to move past the death of his maik. Donn wanted to fight with him over what he considered Ewen’s stubbornness. His brother’s vision of what Ewen ought do had ever been clear to Donn. Ewen lacked his confidence.
Cináed entered the great hall, drawing Ewen’s gaze from the bottom of his empty cup. The last several nights he had taken to following his cousin. When Ewen’s people had moved to Alba, they were adopted into the Meinnear family. In truth, blood did not tie them to the clan, but many generations had passed, and those who had first accepted Ewen’s people as kin had long agone crossed into the fade. Memory could be long, but his family’s origins had been forgotten by the Meinnear clan, for his family claimed land in the heart of the forest and not many ventured to visit them in the wilds. During Ewen’s da’s age, the time had come for his kinsmen to be more visible and so he, and now Ewen, were tasked with bringing their kinsmen out of the shadows.
Both Ewen and his da had brought back great knowledge from their travels. They built up their lands and holdings, and made themselves valuable to the liege lords. Ewen’s acclaim with the mormaer and High Steward caused Cináed to reek of jealousy. Even when they were lads, Cináed had done naught to better himself, instead leeching off others, borrowing kindness and not returning it. Cináed had travelled overmuch, oft returning smelling of strangers, and normally Ewen had thought naught of it. Until Cináed became secretive and lied about his whereabouts. Thanks to the battle, Ewen had been able to connect those scents to the King of the Isles’ nobles, and now questioned Cináed’s loyalty to King Malcolm. Ewen did not know if Cináed’s bitterness and slothful ways had motivated him to visit the court of the King of the Isles to consort with Gillie Ainndreis and the other advisors, but it was apparent now that whatever the reason, he had.
Ewen watched as Cináed sought out certain people, the amulet about Cináed’s neck seeming to shine brighter than it had on nights past. Oddly, he had not ever seen Cináed without the oversized ornament. Something about it always made Ewen’s nose itch, so he had never wanted to examine it up close. Mayhap he should have. Bear shifted within him, grumbling as Ewen watched Cináed move from group to group, following at a distance. And every time he acrossed Cináed’s scent path, something odd seemed to be twined with his cousin’s musk, an odour he had not noticed afore.
Bear became alert within Ewen, and for the first time since his childhood Bear whispered to Ewen, his word feathering across Ewen’s thoughts. “Sorcery.”
Surely not. Ewen moved closer behind and to the side so he could make out Cináed’s visage, straining to hear the conversation amongst the noise that battered at his sensitive ears. Cináed fingered the medallion as he spoke, lifting it off his chest, and the scent of wrongness not only tickled Ewen’s nose but tingled displeasingly across his skin. Bear growled, low and deep. “Buildsear.”
How could Cináed be a sorcerer? Ewen had known him all his life. Cináed had even travelled several years with Granda and Ewen whilst Ewen learned of his people and how to control Bear. Natheless, if something about Cináed alarmed Bear to the point that he spoke to Ewen—when Bear had given Ewen no word of greeting since his tenth summer—then how could he discount Bear’s words of caution? Though Cináed had smelled off afore now, the tickling of Ewen’s nose had increased since the battle, since he had brought Roi into his care. Though he rejoiced at the step Bear took in speaking thus, Ewen did not allow himself to be turned aside from the whole point of the last few days: discovering what mischief Cináed was up to.
The High Steward’s foremost advisor, Marcel, halted next to Ewen, sipping his mead. “What have you found?”
“Other than suspicious associations with those most vocal about their dislike of the new laws King Malcolm has drawn up, or their displeasure with him for keeping the Normans in the country, Cináed has been careful with his words,” Ewen replied. The bit regarding the buildsear he would hold close to his chest until he could uncover more.
“You have a witness who places him in the King of the Isles’ court?”
“Aye, a servant confirmed Cináed’s presence, but Cináed’s purpose be murky.”
Marcel sipped from his cup. “I shall keep an
eye upon his actions. The Mormaer of Athall shall arrive soon to decide Cináed’s fate. However, I heard tell you shall be upon your way in the morn. Walter’s ladywife be most frantic to have you wed one of the maidens.” He gave Ewen a jolly clap upon the shoulder. “If you value your bachelor life, you should seek the privacy of your own tents this night lest you be wooed by the gift of soft flesh.”
In his twenty-nine-year reign, King David had made many changes to Alba, and King Malcolm had followed in his granda’s footsteps. Much to the displeasure of many, Gaelic ceased to be the language of the royal court, replaced by the tongue of the Normans. In fact, many Norman customs, laws, and practices had permeated Alban royalty, and were what led some to chafe under the deluge of foreign ideas. The people Cináed spoke with were those most vocal about the Scoto-Normans, believing the French ran the country, the Scottish kings naught but puppets. Despite their loyalty, even Ewen and his brother took care how they spoke when outside their home, lest their loyalty be questioned. Each year following King David’s death, the people had become more and more unsettled. A civil war loomed, and Ewen had yet to decide what to do to protect his kinsmen from the bloodshed to come.
“I be sorry to miss Mormaer Mael Coluim, but duties await me in Athall.” Ewen placed his empty cup upon the table, more than ready to leave the great hall and all intrigue behind.
“Ewen,” Marcel studied Ewen openly with his hard gaze, “whenever you decide to leave the Highland wilderness, I have it upon good authority that King Malcolm would favour you. He, and even Walter, speak highly of you. You be known in Athall for being fair and even in judgement. Your peers bestow unto you much acclaim. A man like you in the royal court would go a long way to soothing the ruffled feathers of the people, a bridge for the commoners, so to speak.”
Ewen allowed interest to show in his face, but his mathan meant he could not give Marcel a positive answer, for the heart of the kingdom lay far from woodlands. Thus, he stalled. “Let me think upon this. I must take into consideration my house and kin. I shall send a missive with my decision.”
