by Lexi Ander
“I manage areas of the royal and the Mormaer’s demesnes. I be a judge when needed, administer the law, collect taxes, settle squabbles, and see to the estates of the Mormaer. I try to pass through several times a twelvemonth, but since I be called by the High Steward my presence be overdue.”
Donn indicated the spot where the wains were to be pulled over, and the men struck camp. The gloaming seemed to come sooner in the mountains. Ewen’s warm hand upon Roi’s thigh drew his attention from the scene with Ewen’s silent offer to help Roi dismount. Roi’s cheeks warmed as Ewen steadied him with a firm grip upon his waist below the belt until Roi’s feet touched the ground. When he turned, Ewen withdrew not.
“I be more sure now… with the mount,” Roi stuttered, his face heating further from the stumbling of his tongue. “Ye have no need to assist me. I be not a delicate, highborn lady in ne—” The quick kiss caused Roi to forget why his ire had risen. Ewen’s lips moved across Roi’s, plucking softly at his mouth as if Ewen would draw Roi in.
Then Ewen withdrew but a small space to look into Roi’s eyes. “I have no interest in a lady, highborn or low. A warrior priest of flaxen hair, blessed by a goddess, has captured my attentions. I would take every opportunity to touch him in small ways until he agrees to be my consort, until he be bound to me afore the eyes of my kin. Even then, I would steal moments in which to hold him.”
The truth of his words shone in Ewen’s eyes, stealing any witty retort Roi would bestow. How could Ewen desire one such as him? Yet the proof was there, burning in Ewen’s gaze if Roi dared to decipher it. Not ready to acknowledge the promise he espied, Roi glanced away. When Ewen went to see to the wains and his men, Roi hid behind his horse, his chest aching and hands trembling with the desire to pull Ewen back into his arms for a silent promise of his own.
Dare he believe in such foolish promises?
XIV
EWEN WAS NOT FOOLED. Roi held to his burning ire like a protective cloak. But with each passing hour the stoked anger against Ewen dampened. Telling Roi the story of his people, how the wyrbears came to be, had been harder than Ewen thought it should. The history was not noble or fair, and he wished Roi to behold Ewen’s people with favour. They were not responsible for their forefather’s actions, yet they lived with the consequences, bearing a curse that prevented a soul from returning to the body stolen from the bearwyr.
Had Fordel been born within Ewen’s lifetime? The curse promised he would be, and yet none came forth claiming to carry Fordel’s soul. And the man charged with breaking the curse, the buildsear, Eryl Drake, where was he?
Granda had believed the curse might be broken in Ewen’s lifetime, but had oft warned of the shock and horror that would befall their kin if, or when, the curse lifted, their beasts ripped from their bodies. He counselled that breaking the curse would do more harm than good. More than once, Ewen had wondered at Granda’s words of caution. He had seemed wise when Ewen was a lad, but as a man and leader of his kin, more and more Ewen came to view Granda’s teachings as skewed by greed. He feigned concern for the people, yet Ewen suspected he would keep power to himself if he could. Not that it would have done Granda any good, since he too was now lost to the wilderness.
Ewen prayed Granda was wrong, for he had no desire to be the man who caused such grave harm to befall the innocent. If he bore the full toll when the curse broke, he would freely pay and release Bear. Especially since, as far as Ewen knew, Bear was the only mathan unhappy.
He glanced at where Roi stirred a wooden spoon in a crock nigh to the fire. Roi caused Ewen to want to be the type of man and ruler his ancestor Reginald ought to have been. Without understanding why, Roi’s presence pushed Ewen to renew his youthful oath to find a way to break the curse. Whatever the reason, the curse had changed, and Ewen sensed that if they did not soon find a solution, his people would all be lost to the forest.
First, though, he needed to woo Roi, to prove himself a worthy suitor.
This night Ewen’s kin would have to stand watch in their human skins. Too many were about who would hunt a mathan to keep the cows and sheep from being affrighted. Not long from now, brown mathans and the wild boar would both be forever gone from Alba, their demise following that of the lynx. Da had said he had held the last wild cat in his arms as she passed into the fade. That Donn had sensed a lynx after all these years was wondrous and gave Ewen hope for the forests. When things settled, Ewen would search out the creature and see if others had followed her. The forest along the coast had been pushed miles inland, whole groves razed for planting or grazing, for homes, and to thwart the wolves’ intrusion into hamlets.
As each century passed, the Caledonian forest shrunk in size, replaced by bogs and moors, and with it came changes in the seasons and the rains. Once the forest was gone, so too would Ewen’s people be, either dying out with the wildwood they swore to guard or becoming caretakers of a different forest in a far away place. Life cycled, and the ages altered the land and sea. But none would remember the grandeur of nature that came afore, and the thought made Ewen melancholy.
He finished unsaddling Roi’s mare and led her to the picket line; another would be responsible for watering and feeding the animals. Returning to his stallion, he removed its tack.
Roi had walked into Ewen’s life and woken Ewen from the cycle of grief, but not only that. Thanks to him, Ewen had the courage to put away some of Granda’s lessons. Though Ewen had believed less in the elder’s teachings as he aged, he had never questioned just why he had lost faith in the words of the man who had been as close to him as his own da, in some ways more so.
Roi, with his earnest questions, roused the uncertainties Ewen had tried to forget. When he was young, he had not wished to choose betwixt his da and granda, yet their teachings about how to handle and live with their mathans were vastly different. One of them had to be wrong, and Ewen did not want to be let down by either man. He held them both in great esteem.
As he brushed the horse’s coat in long, easy strokes, soothing himself as much as the animal, Bear stirred at Ewen’s musings. Not for the first time, Ewen wished Bear would speak to him fully as the other mathans spoke to their humans. Ewen was no longer the scared lad of his youth, easily believing Granda’s claim that Bear had woken from slumber ready to do violence. Ewen wished he remembered, not because he wanted to doubt Granda, but so he could measure Bear’s current temperament against that of the early days. Bear seemed more even-tempered, though he continued to be withdrawn. Why did Bear seemed agèd? He had never felt like a cub but had always been solemn and sad. However, he ignored Ewen less now. Ewen used to get only hints here and there as to what Bear felt and naught else. Then, with the appearance of Roi, single words turned to full sentences, as if Roi brought Bear out of his self-imposed exile.
“Home.” Ewen heeded Bear’s nudge. His gaze fell upon Roi, the hair about Roi’s temple free of the braid to frame his face. Roi rummaged in his bags, retrieving a whalebone comb and running it through the richly coloured strands whilst he awaited the warming of the evening meal.
“He is my home.” The longing Ewen heard in Bear’s gruff voice caused his chest to constrict as if he could not draw breath. Bear’s desire for Roi had nothing to do with coupling, rather peace, a solace Ewen could not be or bestow unto him.
Roi glanced up and caught Ewen staring over the horse’s back and granted him a shy smile, colour flooding Roi’s cheeks. Ewen’s groin grew heavy at the glint in Roi’s pale blue eyes. Unlike Bear, Ewen was interested in all the ways he could couple with Roi.
Seemingly recalling his anger, Roi dropped his gaze and pursed his lips in a thin, hard line. Roi had a right to his ire. Donn had been correct; Roi had floundered in Ewen’s care, and Ewen had been blind to his plight. He had spent more time avoiding Roi than seeing him, his fear of what might happen blinding him to Roi’s turmoil. The sight of Roi’s wide, lost eyes as he scrambled up the tree came to mind. One missed step and Ewen would not have been able to keep Roi from
harm, possibly even losing Roi to the fade.
The most alluring thing Ewen had ever seen was Roi striding away in an angry huff, grumbling under his breath as he gathered his boot and legging. That was the first time Ewen had sighted Roi’s scars in the light of day, the old and new as well as the healing wounds upon Roi’s broad back. By the time they returned to the wain, Ewen had come to realize that though he did not mistreat Roi as Gillie Ainndreis had, in some ways he was not much different than that miserable bastard. For some reason, Roi seemed to be more… vulnerable to Ewen’s word or deed.
The stallion followed Ewen docilely to the picket line, the long day trekking through the mountains causing his head to hang low. Ewen grabbed a bucket and headed to the stream to clean off the travel dust, greeting his kinsmen as they led horses back to the picket line after allowing them to drink their fill.
The stream was as wide as Ewen was tall, running over a rough rock outcropping from high above. The place Ewen chose ran calm, and the chilled water numbed his hands in mere breaths. He drew his tunic over his head afore kneeling again at the edge of the water, sluicing water over his shoulders and back, rinsing the travel dust from his face and armpits; he had shaved that morn, a habit he needed to get back into. Ewen’s skin pebbled and a shiver worked up his spine.
The stubble upon his head had thickened. Within a couple of weeks Roi would be able to hold a fistful. Ewen closed his eyes and groaned, shaking his head to uproot the visions of the many ways Roi could sink his fingers into his hair.
The sound of footfalls prompted him to grab the bucket and fill it with water afore grasping the tunic and rising to his feet. Roi stood several feet away, his gaze moving over Ewen’s bare chest as if he mapped the lay of the skin over the dips and valleys of Ewen’s frame and arms.
He was a fit man, though not muscled like his brother, Donn, whose body resembled some of the statues Ewen had seen in Rome in his youth. Most wyrbears’ physiques resembled Donn’s, which Ewen attributed to their ability to change and run in their mathan form. Many of the nobles Ewen was acquainted with carried more flesh around their waist and face, a sign of wealth, of a life of leisure and abundant food. Ewen resembled neither. Though his family came from moderate wealth, Ewen worked actively alongside his people because he would never ask them to do a chore he would not do himself. Thus Ewen worked off most of the heft, carrying a bit more weight but not having the more attractive body of a true noble. Never afore had he been as aware of the difference.
The ladies of court always sought after the most rotund of the nobility. Would Roi be drawn to those stately forms, or would he find Donn’s hard male body with his taut skin more pleasing to the eye? Roi’s own lean form was closer to that of a wyrbear’s.
Roi’s gaze, which had pinned Ewen in place from the moment he had turned around, rose lazily to meet Ewen’s. Desire burned there like a forest fire, taking Ewen’s breath away and causing his body to respond in kind with an eagerness he had not felt since his youth.
How Ewen wanted to drop everything and go to Roi right then. Bury his nose in the crook of Roi’s neck and take in his scent. To have his hands upon Roi’s body, roaming over taut skin to find those places which brought Roi the greatest pleasure. To hear Roi call his name upon a breathy whisper so faint none else heard, vowing Roi wanted him, only Ewen who could play Roi’s body like an instrument, whose touch could send Roi soaring.
As Ewen drew his next breath, Roi’s visage changed as he scrambled to hide from Ewen how he truly felt. Angry and crestfallen Roi might be, but he did not find Ewen repulsive or undesirable. Mayhap, if fortune was with Ewen, one day Roi would look upon him with deep affection and a warm heart. If lust was all Ewen had to begin with, he would make the best of it and find a way to challenge Roi to see the truth of Ewen and his intent.
Ewen adjusted the belted cloak, tossing the excess over his shoulder along with the tunic afore shifting the bucket to his other hand. He nodded at Roi as he passed, noting the fine shiver that shook Roi. Roi released a pent-up breath.
Bear whined with longing. “Home,” he said once again.
“Aye, my friend,” Ewen muttered in agreement. “He be our home and much more. We shall woo him back, I swear.”
That evening played out like a formal dance betwixt them. What was courtship if not the short, measured stepping about each other as each dancer gave and took?
When Ewen returned to camp, Roi had laid upon their combined bedding freshly brushed garments for Ewen. Standing betwixt two wains for privacy, Ewen changed clothing, hoping to please Roi. Again, he heated water, bathing Roi’s hands and feet, even though Roi returned from the stream appearing as Ewen had, rinsed if not utterly washed clean. Roi blushed prettily again over Ewen’s attentions afore his kinsmen. For the evening meal, they both surprised each other with gifts of prized morsels and nuts, and with a bit of honey in the pottage.
Then, when they lay down for the night, so as to not push his attentions upon Roi, Ewen rolled over and presented Roi with his back. Amongst those who held not the same beliefs as Ewen’s kinsmen, the sleeping pallets were laid a respectable distance from each other. Afore sleep over came Ewen, Roi’s hand found its way under the coverlet, Roi’s fingers brushing against Ewen’s upper back. He and Bear nestled down into blissful sleep, contented by the mere touch of Roi’s hand.
The next morn was rushed, for people began to arrive afore the sun touched the eastern horizon. The pavilion Ewen had occupied whilst they fought upon the field of Renfra was erected, the canvas walls tied to the support poles. The table and a stool were unloaded from the wain and placed inside the shade of the tent. To Ewen’s surprise, Donn lifted a second stool from the wain and placed it next to his.
Roi took the seat, and with care he set a scribe’s box upon the table, withdrawing and arranging parchment, quills, and ink upon the table afore him. Ewen was a bit taken aback at Roi’s more than passing familiarity with the writing instruments. Mayhap it was a false perception of pagans in general, but Roi’s actions were a stark reminder that there was much about him Ewen had yet to uncover. Usually, Ewen recorded the grievances for the mormaer’s records, but he was pleased Roi would be the one to mark down the day’s events, sitting by Ewen’s side where he should ever be.
For the most part, people only eyed Roi with his fearsome visage whilst they stood in line and awaited their turn to speak with Ewen. By the time they stepped afore him, the novelty of Roi’s presence had worn away as the goodfolk turned their attention from the newcomer and aired their complaints. Ewen became lost in issuing solutions and remanding judgement.
Breaking mid-morn for sustenance, he watched Roi forage in the pack Donn had helped him to retrieve from Gillie Ainndreis’ camp to withdraw a large, tooled leather satchel. After selecting some bags smaller than Ewen’s fist, he approached several of the people awaiting to speak with Ewen. Roi towered over most men, but he had a way of making himself seem smaller, less dangerous as he went from person to person.
“He did the same whilst we camped outside Renfrewshire.” Donn’s shoulder brushed Ewen’s as he chewed upon a slim piece of jerked meat. “He has a keen eye. With a look he sees a man’s ailment. The next day, they returned to him exclaiming how much better they be. Many heard of his ability to heal and sought him out for his help. Barely a week had gone by afore the people named him ‘Healer’, as if it be a title of high importance when there be none.”
Coughing, sallow-faced people, colicky babes, women heavy with child, Roi spoke to them all. Some he handed pouches to, others he did not. Calling an end to the morning repast, Ewen almost felt guilty when he began to hear grievances again. Roi chewed upon a slice of meat provided by Donn as he took his notes. Men with buckets of water walked the line offering drink to those who waited.
One day turned into two as more people arrived. At night, Ewen crawled into the sleeping pallet drained, too tired to be mortified when Roi coaxed the boots and cloak from him as he lay there half asleep. At
gloaming of the second day, the last of the petitioners finally wandered away. Tired, Ewen rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyelids. It was a relief to be finished with the duty, the lack of noise as the crowd abated soothing his sore ears. Roi had quietly attended Ewen throughout the day again, whether to record an incident upon the parchment or to retrieve a cup of water whenever Ewen’s throat became rough.
“Milord.”
One more quick rub to his tired eyes, then Ewen blinked up at the two goodwives who stood afore the table. Betwixt them they bore a large plank covered in a light-coloured linen.
Roi quickly stood and greeted them. “Let me help ye with yer burden.”
“Here, allow me to clear a space.” Ewen gathered the leafs of parchment, the inkwell, and motioned for the women to put down their burden.
“We wished to give thanks to ye for bringing yer man along to tend to our sick. The families donated what they could to the meal.” She removed the linen cloth to reveal a veritable feast. More women arrived carrying planks heaped with food and set them about the camp as Ewen’s kinsmen gathered. It had been a long time since his men had consumed something more substantial than pottage, and they readily gave the women words of heartfelt praise.
“Goodwife, I am honoured by the hard work that went into making this delectable meal, even a king would fawn over such a feast,” Ewen conceded.
The group of women bobbed afore Ewen with smiles of pleasure, a couple good-naturedly clucking at Ewen for flirting with married women. Roi was drawn to the side, and he dipped his head to listen to a couple of the wives. Not able to hear what they spoke of, Ewen decided he would inquire when they did not have an audience.
Famished, he dug into a bowl of sweetmeats and chewed thoughtfully. He would have the huntsmen bring around a couple of elk. This gift was expensive, especially as stores of grain ran low. Ewen would not have people starve because they desired to pay for Roi’s services these past two days. If Roi continued to serve the people under the mormaer’s care, Ewen would need devise a barter price these humble people could afford. Highlanders were a proud lot, with no wish to be beholden to another. They paid their debts however they could. The costliness of the goodwives’ gift spoke of the value they placed upon Roi’s skills.
