The Boar Stone: Book Three of the Dalriada Trilogy

by Jules Watson

  Ruarc, Ardal and Mellan were with a group of young Picts to one side, dicing and drinking, with some fierce boasting thrown in, which neither side could understand. Donal, Gobán and Fergal kept to themselves, watching Cahir’s back with sharp eyes.

  At last King Gede gestured for silence. ‘By the glory of Taranis Thunder God and Lugh of the Sun, we drink to an alliance made this day between the people of Gede son of Urp and the people of Cahir son of Conor.’

  Cahir’s eyes burned into Minna’s. Gede had agreed.

  ‘The Dalriadan king bears a token of an old pledge between our peoples. Now we pledge to join again, to set aside old enmities to attack the enemy of all Alba.’ He paused. ‘And that enemy is Rome!’ An enormous drunken cheer went up.

  The noise assaulted Minna’s senses. She gripped the bench, and in her mind another vast army marched over the land, spear-tips waving, feet drumming. Mother, pray we do the right thing, that I have seen true. But when she focused on Cahir she could not regret anything, for through this he had found himself. And found her.

  ‘Our alliance will draw together the four peoples of the north,’ Gede was saying. ‘Pict, Dalriadan in Alba and Erin, Attacotti and Saxon. Such a force can be forged into a blade of iron that pierces the heart of Rome!’

  More cheering and foot-stamping ensued among the young, drunken Picts, though others glowered, the big man who always guarded Gede one of them. The Pict king shouted a toast, his smile a savage baring of teeth, and through the noise, Minna tried to send tendrils of her new sight towards him. But as she probed, searching for cracks in his mask, her seeing suddenly hit a wall; inside, Gede was an impenetrable tangle of feelings and thoughts. He glanced around the room, his eyes passing over Minna like a shadow, then moving on.

  Cahir replied to the toast, and before their warriors the two kings joined hands once more. Then all the Picts were on their feet, men stumbling for more ale, the bard tuning his harp. With a timid smile Nessa told Minna she must go to her son, and Minna watched her retreat, concerned at her paleness. She had no time to think, though, for Cahir was there before her, holding out his hand.

  ‘Come,’ he said, and she was drawn in his wake as he shouldered his way through the crowd.

  Outside, a swollen moon rolled over the sky between the clouds. Cahir’s eyes were alight as he drew Minna up the steps to the walls of the dun. The Pict guards glanced at them and went back to their watch. Further along the walkway was an empty tower that stared out to sea, and a moon-trail led far into the hissing darkness of the waves.

  ‘He listened to you.’ Minna searched Cahir’s eyes. The moonlight flickered through the racing clouds.

  ‘To you.’ Cahir tucked wisps of hair over her ears, holding her face.

  ‘I have hardly spoken to him—’

  ‘It was the vision, Minna, more than the stone.’

  ‘But he doesn’t seem a man to hearken to visions, or dreams.’

  Cahir shrugged. ‘Of course, I do not trust him – I never will. I will use him, and he will use me, and that is the extent of our brotherhood. But that is enough, for neither of us can do this alone.’ Gede did have the fire in him, though: Minna had at least seen that. He wanted this as much as Cahir did.

  Her arms went around Cahir’s waist and she buried her face in the warm hollow of his throat, thoughts of war and death suddenly receding far away. But when he pressed lips to the tender place behind her ear, a flame ran over her skin. Just that one, small touch, the whisper of her name, and she was a torch in his arms.

  In fever, and icy water, the remnants of the child in her had been burned away, and it was a woman’s instincts that ruled her now.

  He parted her lips with his tongue, and she devoured what he gave, letting herself sink into him, that heat and sweetness that was like honey and silk enveloping her whole mouth. When that ravishing kiss moved to her neck, nipping the skin, she felt the strength go out of her legs, holding to his arms as the world reeled, his muscles hard with tension under her fingers. Her hips ground into his as if she had no will over them – she wanted more than kisses now, which did not consume in the way she yearned to be consumed.

  Cahir cupped her breast through her dress, and she tensed. Her nipple was exquisitely tender, and as he stroked it all feeling rushed there and she whimpered, moulding her body to his, thigh to thigh. He made a raw sound in the back of his throat as he claimed her mouth again, and she seized his free hand and cradled it to her other breast.

  Crushing each other, they stumbled back against the watchtower, Cahir’s shoulders braced against the wood. ‘Gods! I could take you now, but a stór,’ he shuddered, ‘I don’t want the first time to be … I want to savour you, to show you—’

  ‘But I need you,’ she said thickly, her lips bruised. Her fingers traced the moonlit line of his bones.

  ‘I need you as well, but not like this, not in this dark place.’

  Suddenly the hunger released her and she was trembling all over. ‘But it aches!’

  He laughed unsteadily, raking back his hair. His eyes glittered in the moonlight. ‘It’s a sweet ache, though, you will see. I haven’t felt it for … much too long.’

  Minna sighed and pressed her forehead to his chin. The stubble scratched her, but even that small sense was exquisite, and a tenderness swamped her, a feeling as strong as the lust. Her mind raced to when they might have the time to explore this, and be consumed … and that made her think of Dunadd again. She could not help it, for all thoughts and paths led back there.

  She leaned back and gazed up at him, suddenly cold. ‘What is going to happen when we return?’

  His smile faded. ‘It will be different,’ he said bluntly, taking her hand. ‘Difficult, perhaps.’

  She said nothing as he smoothed a finger over each one of her nails. ‘Minna. I need to ask you again because this war is imagining and hope no longer, but real.’ He stared intently at her hand, his eyes veiled. ‘Are you really willing to be my lennan? Women can take their pleasure with any man, but being a king’s lennan is like being another queen. The people will look upon you as that, for though you are not the legal wife, the love I bear for you and the honour I do you brings its own power. You do understand what you are accepting?’

  Maeve’s petulant face came to Minna. ‘Yes.’ She touched his bent head lightly, curved a hand about his neck. ‘And it is you I want – to be bonded to you.’

  He looked up at her, the moon caught in his eyes. ‘It is about more than love.’ The power in his voice held her. ‘If we do this, you will be held accountable for the decisions I make. There is no way then for you to claim innocence in the face of our enemies.’ He swallowed, breathing hard. ‘So if you choose not to risk this, a stór, I will send you wherever you want to go – even back to Britannia.’

  She shook her head, smoothed his tight jaw. ‘If I turn away from you, I turn from a land that has claimed me as its own. Don’t you see that? I am one with you: we share the blood and the dream. If I foreswear you I deny my own soul. There is no going back for me.’

  Cahir expelled his breath, his fingers caressing her hard skin beneath the slave-ring. ‘I have my reasons for not striking this off right here and now, Minna. Wear this a little longer, and trust me when I say you will be free.’

  Sunlight rippled over Keeva’s naked body as she stretched out on Lonán’s cloak. Unfurling leaves fluttered above them in a cold wind, but in this hollow among the bushes it was sheltered.

  They were in the woods to the north of Dunadd, a deserted place because hidden in the trees was a cluster of standing stones, some fallen, some hunched upright, splotched with lichen. Keeva often came here to escape all the bustle at Dunadd – after all, they weren’t raised by her ancestors, and it was the one place no one ventured.

  Lonán rolled on his stomach, touching a nodding hyacinth to Keeva’s small, bare breasts. She smiled lazily at him.

  ‘You are a shameless Attacotti maid,’ Lonán murmured, still blushing. ‘In the m
iddle of the day! Master Fintan would have my ear if he knew that collecting firewood entailed this.’

  But he had looked so intent and serious with that load of wood balanced on his shoulders. Keeva trailed a finger over one of his soot-blackened palms, the thick fingers blistered and cut. ‘I didn’t hear you protesting too loudly.’

  ‘You make it hard to say no,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Do I?’ With a sly grin, Keeva picked up one of those misshapen, burnt fingers and ran her lips and tongue over it.

  ‘You’ll leave me with no strength for work this day.’

  But Keeva had paused, Lonán’s finger slipping from her mouth. Voices were floating from the clearing of the stones. ‘Hawen’s balls,’ Lonán hissed, grabbing for his trousers. ‘We’re not meant to be here, and you know it!’

  ‘No one comes here but druids.’ Keeva was on hands and knees peering through the bushes. Lonán grunted as he pulled on his trousers.

  ‘Goddess,’ Keeva muttered.

  Lonán was madly lacing his boots. ‘What?’

  ‘It is the queen.’

  ‘So?’ Lonán grabbed for his tunic, which had been flung into a patch of primroses.

  Keeva threw him a look. ‘It is the queen and that Oran man again, and the priest we saw in the port – I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Gods!’ Lonán tossed Keeva’s dress over her bare buttocks. ‘All the more reason to get out of here then. Hurry up!’

  ‘Wait.’ Keeva’s face was grim. ‘There are Dalriadan warriors there; I don’t know their names. But they are not the king’s men.’

  ‘Keeva, we must go.’ Lonán was tugging on his tunic. Keeva glared at him. He did not live in the hall. He did not know anything about the anger between queen and king, Ruarc and Oran, Carvetii and Dalriada, beyond the fact that he made swords and shield rivets and daggers for them all. He didn’t care about Minna’s baffling disappearance with the king.

  Keeva felt sick; something wasn’t right. Her decision made, she flung herself down and started wriggling through the undergrowth towards the voices. Behind her Lonán hissed her name, but she ignored him.

  The ground was slimy with last year’s leaves, and she got close to the stones without making much noise. In any case, the people gathered there were speaking intently and did not hear her. The queen was sitting in shadow on one of the fallen stones. The dangerous-looking priest was a silent, hooded figure beside her. Oran was addressing a group of grim warriors, around a score in all, crouched in the bracken.

  ‘You have been handpicked,’ he was saying in Dalriadan, ‘and I trust we have your complete loyalty.’ Some of the warriors shifted uneasily on their heels, others lowered their heads. Oran stared at them one by one. ‘Know that the payments you have received are only a fraction of what you can expect once we control the dun and port.’

  Keeva pressed into the ground. Goddess.

  ‘It had better be a lot,’ one man said, shifting his shoulders as if shrugging off a weight. ‘This is no small thing you demand. It is treason.’

  Maeve glared at the man. ‘Treason is a word much open to interpretation,’ she retorted. ‘It is my father who will arm those ships, and he is the King of the Carvetii—’

  ‘But this raid isn’t sanctioned by the Romans, is it, my lady?’ one of the warriors interrupted quietly. ‘So we could be damned by them as well as our own king.’

  Oran smoothly took over. ‘Both the Dux and the queen’s father have been trying to make your king see sense for years. He refuses, and in so doing puts all his people in great danger. They are in danger from the Picts, because he persists in rejecting the protection of the Roman army; and from the Romans themselves, who grow impatient with his indecision. Now is the only chance we have to put right what has been wrong.’ His nostrils flared as he raised his chin. ‘So it is not treason to topple a foolish king; it is wisdom, and as we intend to install the prince Garvan as king, the line of Dalriada will still claim this throne. However, this young king will command allies that can protect Dunadd and allow it to prosper, bringing in more riches, more trade and better access to the markets of Roman Britannia.’ He paused. ‘More access to riches for everyone. And as loyal queen’s men, you will be highly favoured.’ His eyes strayed to Maeve, and they exchanged a small smile that turned Keeva’s belly.

  There was a long silence. ‘We’ve already agreed,’ one man muttered. ‘No more speeches for us.’

  ‘Then we will turn to facts. The ships will dock at Beltaine in two weeks among the first trading fleet – any earlier and they would have attracted undue suspicion from the coastal duns.’ He shrugged. ‘Waiting for the seas to be safe was the risk we had to take. The original plan was to catch our king fox in his den,’ again that smile towards the queen, ‘but Cahir’s continued absence is neither here nor there. When he returns with his paltry guard of, what, ten men? – he will ride straight into a trap, and find himself dispossessed.’ The man in the hood laughed softly – he was no priest, Keeva thought – and Maeve’s eyes lit up.

  ‘Still, we cannot afford to give that mule Finbar the opportunity to resist. The takeover must be swift and complete. With the port secure, we can ride on Dunadd. You men inside,’ he indicated them, ‘will make sure the gates are kept open. There will be enough confusion to buy you time – the king has left a dun seething with resentments and uncertainty; indeed, many of the warriors are not sure to whom they give their loyalty at all. That is his great weakness, and our advantage.’ He met each frowning face in turn. ‘So will you seize this moment? Are you ready and willing to set this tribe to rights? It is now or never.’

  The warriors agreed dourly, with no signs of excitement or pleasure. Forcing her thoughts through a storm of rage, Keeva had the presence of mind for one thing only.

  She peered at every traitorous Dalriadan warrior and marked their faces, hardly daring to breathe.

  Chapter 39

  Cahir and Minna sat with Gede in his hall as their men prepared to depart. Their swords had now been returned to them as a mark of the alliance, and Cahir sat more easily with his against his thigh.

  The gnawed bones from the feast had been thrown on the refuse pits, the spilled cups righted, the benches swept. Gede sat beneath his wall of shields, stroking the ears of an enormous grey hound that stared at Minna from unblinking golden eyes.

  ‘This has to be done with the greatest surprise,’ Gede remarked through Taran, who stood as always at his shoulder.

  ‘And yet to muster such an army takes time. It will be hard to hide.’

  ‘Hard to hide, yes, but essential.’

  Cahir nodded. ‘I will suspend all trade to and from my port. My mission to Erin can be taken in secret. The men should be mustered on land in small groups that only join when we leave the mountains for the plain that leads to the Wall. And the rest go by sea.’

  Gede folded his fingers around his chin. ‘There is something I have not told you. On the east coast, I have certain Roman scouts in my pay.’

  ‘In your pay?’

  ‘They were native recruits from the Votadini.’ He sniffed. ‘The Romans have ever been complacent about their allies, as if no one would ever think to reject the Empire once they were in it.’ He smiled slyly. ‘Have you never wondered why our recent raids were so successful?’

  Cahir whistled. ‘Then we must use them to find out how the Dux is positioning his forces now leaf-bud has come. Our best approach is to strike before he can rally his troops.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  Cahir paused. ‘If you have this intelligence, then I do not think we should wait until the longest day. The longer we take to muster, the greater the chance that word leaks out to the Dux, and instead of his Wall forces alone we are faced with the entire army of the Province.’

  Gede nodded. A guarded respect had grown between them. ‘I will send messengers to the Saxons and extract what information I can from the scouts. Let us say by the end of the Beltaine moon we should be at the Wall. I will se
nd you word when I have more detailed information.’

  The Beltaine moon. Minna glanced at Cahir as they went out into the sunshine. Only a few weeks away. So little time to draw him into her soul, so she never forgot what he tasted like, how he smelled, his voice.

  She farewelled the queen in the women’s house. Her old shift, tunic and hide trousers had been burned they were so filthy, but Nessa had given her long wool dresses for the journey home, and new riding breeches. Her fur-lined cloak had been cleaned with salt, the tanned outer rubbed with wool-fat for the rain.

  Nessa squeezed her hands. ‘I am sorry you are leaving, Minna, and that I’ve been so grim. You must think me weak not to stand up to Gede. I am ashamed of it.’ Her eyes fell on Drustan, gnawing on a pig-bone. ‘But he has ways of holding me.’

  Minna chose her words carefully. ‘It is not right that you are so alone.’

  Nessa pulled away, turning to the doorway to gaze out at the sun. ‘Gede has made this a dun for warlords, their wives hidden away in their forts. He said he is sick of the interference of women.’ She turned and smiled bleakly. ‘That is why I crept in to see you that first time, just to hear and see something of the world outside.’

  Minna regarded the queen with pity. ‘Then I wish you were not so far away.’

  ‘I wish so, too.’ She took a breath, picked up a package of rolled linen beside the loom. ‘Before you go, though, I have a gift for you.’ She placed the package in Minna’s hands. ‘Promise you’ll open this in private, and if you’re wondering what they are for, remember that my heart is not so cold I do not know what new love is. Remember that whenever you smell them.’

  Minna was too moved to answer, until Nessa touched her arm. ‘Safe travels.’

  ‘And you.’ Impulsively, she hugged her, the queen’s body thin and awkward in her arms.

  When the Dalriadans rode away from the Dun of Bright Water, Minna glanced back to the only person who climbed the walls to watch them go. Nessa raised a hand in farewell, and it glimmered white against the dark timber, small as a bird.