“But sending Toste and Vagn inside the MacNab stronghold! Dost really think that is the best course of action?”
He shrugged. “ ’Tis worth a try. It’s only been three days since Jostein left for Northumbria, and we cannot be sure that he will even reach his destination, let alone bring help in time. I sense the MacNabs feel some need to gain a resolution, or an advantage, in your dispute.”
“Hmmm. You may be correct in your thinking,” Maire said. “I wonder if it might be related to King Indulf’s scheduled trip to the Highlands this autumn. Long have I suspected that Duncan has fed Indulf and his advisors a false tale of the situation here. Mayhap he wants the entire business resolved afore then.”
Rurik nodded solemnly. “And that resolution would involve his marriage to you and taking over the Campbell lands in guardianship till Jamie is of age.”
“Aye, it makes sense now that I think on it. I had predicted to Nessa just days ago that Duncan would have me killed within days of the wedding, if I should be so faint-minded as to agree … and Jamie would be killed, as well… eventually. But now I am leaning toward another idea … that he would wait till after the royal entourage has left the area. What he wants is a united front, giving the appearance of peace betwixt our clans. After they leave, however, ’twould be a different story altogether.” She made a slicing motion with a forefinger across her throat.
The fine hairs stood out on Rurik’s nape at her calmly pronounced death sentence. “It will not happen,” Rurik declared.
Maire’s chin shot up with surprise at the forceful-ness of his pledge. “You may not be able to prevent it.”
“It will not happen,” he repeated with deadly calm. “Even if I die in the effort, there will be others after me to fulfill my promise of protection.”
She tilted her head in question.
“The brothers, Eirik and Tykir, would come forthwith if they heard of my passage to Valhalla. Or their father’s old friend and mine, Selik, who resides in Jorvik. Or my good friend, Adam, who is in the Arab lands just now, studying medicine.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You would save me with a healer?” she teased, no doubt trying to lighten their mood. “Is he a monk? Would your monk-healer pray over our situation as he prepares his medicinal cures? Oh, that would be such a picture! A witch and a doctor trying to save a clan with spells and herbs!”
“Adam is as strong a soldier as he is a healer,” he declared defensively, chucking her under the chin. “And, nay, Adam is hardly a religious sort.” He grinned at that last thought. “Hardly. ”
“So,” Maire said, whisking her hands together resolutely, “your plan involves Toste and Vagn infiltrating the MacNab keep. To what purpose? And what makes you think they would be able to do so?”
“Maire, Maire, Maire. Have you learned naught of those twins in the time they’ve been here? Those two rogues have been slipping in and out of the beds and keeps of women of many lands since they were mere youthlings. Believe me, they can scale a wall, tread soft as a kitten, and make themselves nigh invisible when it is warranted.”
She let out a breathy exhale, but did not contradict his assertions. “Once there, presuming they are successful, what in the name of Mary could they do that would save my clan? The two of them could not fight the entire MacNab clan, could they? Would they be opening the gates for us Campbells to enter? Explain to me how that could occur, undetected. Besides, the MacNabs would have an advantage, fighting inside their own grounds, wouldn’t they?”
Rurik smiled at Maire’s brisk interrogation. She had become accustomed to taking charge and apparently did not know when to relinquish some of that leadership. Taking her hands in both of his, he kissed the fingertips … and her pouting lips … ignoring her tsk-ing reprimand. Before he continued in that enticing vein, he laced the fingers of one hand with one of hers and drew her forward to continue their walk about the parapet. While they strolled, Rurik explained, “Actually, you will play a part in the plan, indirectly.”
“Me?” she squealed, and tried to halt in her tracks.
God, I love how I can make her squeal. “Yea, you, dearling. You and your witchly arts,” he replied, forcing her to keep pace with him, despite her digging in her heels. “I will go to the MacNab stronghold this evening, unarmed, under a truce flag. Whilst there, I will outline your grievances, including the senseless slaughter of sheep and cattle, the placing of a high-ranked lady in a cage—that would be you—and a long list of other complaints that Old John gave to me, going back to the time of Kenneth’s death. As recompense, I will demand that they immediately desist in their harassment of the Campbells, pay a danegeld of gold coins, and sign a peace pact with your clan.”
When Maire dug in her heels this time, he was unable to make her budge; so, he stopped with her. He still held her fingers laced with his, though, and he could feel her rapid pulse.
“Have you gone daft, Rurik?”
Perchance. Daft over you. “Trust me, Maire. I know what I am doing.” Leastways, I think I do.
“What makes you think Duncan would agree to any such thing? He will laugh in your face.”
“Yea, he will,” Rurik replied with calm indifference. He let his words hang in the air for several long moments, while she tapped one foot impatiently. He wasn’t sure why he tormented her so, except that she looked so tempting with her flushed cheeks and jutting chin and heaving breasts … especially her heaving breasts.
“Stop leering at my breasts, you … you libertine.”
Caught in the act… of being a libertine. “I was not,” he lied. “I was just thinking and my eyes may have drifted.”
She made a harrumphing sound of disgust. “Get to the point, Viking. What threat can you levy that would force compliance?”
“A spell,” he announced brightly. “A magic spell.”
“Witchcraft,” she said in a dull, disappointed voice. “You would use me thus, even knowing that sometimes I fail?”
Sometimes? The way I hear it told, most times you are less than successful. But he rolled his shoulders as if her complaint were of little consequence.
“Word of my ineptness has spread as far as the MacNab lands, I am sure. Threats of my inflicting a spell on them will have no effect at all, unless they laugh themselves to death.”
“Sad, but true.”
“Not that I am in accord with your plans … but I should go with you.”
“Nay!”
“Why?”
“Too dangerous. Duncan might take you captive. Then he’d have you exactly where he wanted from the start.”
“How about you? Is it not dangerous for you, too? Could he not take you captive?”
“He could, but he would not enjoy wedding and bedding me nearly as much… nor gain the same land wealth.”
“Notice that I am not amused by your poor attempt at mirth.” He shrugged.
“Rurik, this is my battle. I should be involved. This is a Campbell feud.”
“Uh-uh-uh, Maire, do you misremember already? I was voted a Campbell by your very clan. Rurik Campbell, that’s what Old John called me.” God, did I really give credit to that ridiculous notion?
Her small groan indicated that she had, indeed, forgotten. “You are no more Rurik Campbell than I am Maire …” She paused and examined his face closely, as if searching for answers. “What is your other name?”
“I have none.”
“You must. Do you Vikings not take on the name of your father … as in Thork Ericsson, which would be Thork, son of Eric?”
He pressed his lips together tightly and refused to answer.
“You do know your father’s name?” she asked tentatively, sensing that she opened the gate to a path he would not walk.
“Yea, I know my father’s name,” he snarled. “But he denied me at birth, and I would not give him the respect of using his name now.”
She gasped and reached out a hand, as if to comfort him.
He stepped back, being long past the st
age of wanting or needing pity for his family’s ill treatment. “Back to our plan,” he said. “In my travel bags, I have ten ells of sheer fabric that I obtained in the Eastern lands, where the houri wear them whilst dancing for their sultan masters.” He waited for that information to sink in, as indicated by the blooming blush on Make’s cheeks. “Eirik’s wife, Eadyth, is a beekeeper, and she commissioned me to purchase the cloth, which she uses to make head-to-toe garments to avoid being stung by her bees. I figure that Toste and Vagn can drape themselves with lengths of this ethereal fabric and thus, in a dim light, resemble—”
“—ghosts,” Maire finished for him.
He smiled. “Yea. The most lustful ghosts this side of the Skelljefjord. But let me explain further. At first, I will warn Duncan and his chiefs that, unless they comply with my demands, you will inflict a grievous spell on their land that involves the ghosts of their misdeeds … which they will of course scoff at… till they see Toste and Vagn in all their spiritual glory. Because they are twins, they will be able to confuse their victims into believing they can float about from one place to another. They will be seen in multiple places at the same time. The next part of the plan will be ingenious, really, stemming from something you started.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “Yea, I will tell them that not only will their keep be infested with ghosts, but a curse will be placed on them whereby …” He waggled his eyebrows at her.
“Go on,” she prodded, already suspicious.
“… whereby their man parts will shrink, and they will be unable to perform in the bed furs.”
She laughed then, despite her obvious inclination to frown at him. “Hit them where it hurts the most, you mean.”
“Precisely. But the whole point is that eventually we want to lead them to Ailt Olc.
“Ailt Olc? Devil’s Gorge?”
He nodded. “That narrow valley that separates your land and theirs on the north side. There we will attack them till they are all dead or have surrendered.”
“But, Rurik, even if you are able to accomplish all that, you fail to consider two things. One, that is an exposed area, visible from all sides, with few hiding places. Second, we Campbells are still severely outnumbered by the enemy.”
He smiled widely. “That is the best part of our plan. Look below and see our plan in operation.” Maire directed her gaze to where he pointed off in the distance to the military exercise fields beyond the castle walls. There, she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. All the young boys, even Jamie under the watchful eye of Stigand, were target practicing with slingshots, of all things, and some of them were very, very good. It took only a moment for understanding to dawn. “Like David and Goliath, from the Bible.”
“Yea. Am I not brilliant?”
The wench did not respond to his self-compliment. Instead, she glared at him. “You would use children to fight? You would place children in that kind of danger?”
“Nay, you misunderstand. The young ones would only be used in the background where it is safe.”
She seemed to accept his explanation without argument … for now. “And those sheep moving along the periphery of the field… what are they doing there?”
Rurik chuckled. “Look closer, m’lady. I got the idea from your tapestry. Remember how you said that things are not always what they appear from a distance.”
“Rurik!” she exclaimed as she narrowed her eyes and peered more closely. “Those are not sheep. Those are men hiding under those sheepskins.”
He couldn’t resist then. It had been much too long since he’d held her in his arms … at least two hours. So, Rurik picked her up by the waist and swung her into a hearty embrace. Breathing deeply of her scent, he placed a kiss at the curve of neck where it met her shoulder and whispered, “The plan could work. Dost agree?”
When she gave a tentative nod, he announced in a husky voice, “I have another plan, as well.”
Maire moaned … especially since he’d already turned around and walked her, with her legs dangling off the ground, to the back wall of the parapet, beyond view of those below. Her garment was already halfway up her thighs, and his erection was already pressed against her woman place, and his lips were already nibbling at her parted mouth, when Maire registered his words.
“Aaah, Rurik, I must tell you, some of your plans are questionable. Some are bad, regardless of what you may think. Some are good.” Then she did the unthinkable. The saucy wench placed a palm on each of his buttocks and squeezed, adding in a seductive purr, “And some are spectacular.”
Rurik would have smiled, but he’d forgotten how.
Chapter Thirteen
For the rest of that day, Maire’s great hall was so a-bustle with activity, she scarce recognized it or her people. Whatever else Rurik might, or might not, accomplish that day, he’d already succeeded in renewing the self-confidence and hopes of her battered clan. For that, she would be forever thankful to him.
All of the women were working industriously on disguising garments for the children to wear while they plied their slingshots from the trees. Little more than hooded robes, the costumes were made of quickly basted woolen scraps of brown, black, green, and beige that should blend in with the foliage. The more mature boys who would be positioned closer, behind boulders, would wear cloaks of iron gray or sheep pelts, complete with heads.
Rurik, Stigand, and Bolthor were out in the exercise yard training, as much as possible in this short time, the men and older boys who were capable of wielding weapons. To Maire’s delight, he’d reported during the noon meal that some of them were extremely proficient with sword and lance and bow and arrow, despite their physical impairments or age. These skills, combined with the advantage of surprise and location, might just be enough to triumph over the MacNabs.
Just to be sure, Maire was praying… a lot. Too bad the monk, Father Baldwin, had gone off to a neighboring district to perform a funeral. She could use a few priestly prayers at this point.
She had asked Rurik earlier if he wanted her to attempt a good luck spell, but he’d declined with touching gentleness, fearing her charm might backfire. Under other circumstances, she might have been offended, but the fate of her clan was at stake now. She could not let her ego stand in the way. Truth to tell, she was not a very good witch.
Whatever the outcome of this fight, which should take place the following morning if tonight’s ghostly scheme worked, Maire had to be thankful for the pride Rurik was giving back to her people. She had forgotten how much a man’s dignity was influenced by his feeling that he could protect his family or his clan.
“Whoo-whoo!” Toste and Vagn said as one, coming up to the table where the sewing was taking place. Waving their hands in the air eerily, they were modeling the gossamer-thin fabric made into shroudlike garments, which would help them pass for spirits.
“ ’Tis not bad,” Maire said, pressing a forefinger to her lips as she studied them pensively. “Tell me true, Nessa. What think you?”
“I think they are enjoying this game overmuch,” Nessa concluded while the women watched the twins prance about in front of them, swirling the voluminous folds of their garments, the whole time making what were supposed to be ghostly sounds. “Their foolery will be the death of them if they are not careful.”
“Oh, we will be very careful, Nessa. Fear not,” Toste said, coming up behind Maire’s maid in a whirlwind of transparent cloth to press a quick kiss to the exposed nape of her neck. Then he pinched one of her buttocks.
“Oooh, you go too far,” Nessa squealed, rubbing her backside as though he had hurt her, which he obviously had not.
“Best ye exercise caution, Toste,” warned Fenella, a young farm girl from the village, “lest Stigand see you fondling his lady love. He is said to have a tendency to lop off heads first and ask questions later.”
“That was not a fondle,” Toste contended. “Believe me, I am noted for my fondles, and that was not a fondle.”
“ ’T
would seem you are noted for many things,” Maire commented dryly.
“I am not Stigand’s lady love,” Nessa protested, but it was clear from the roses blooming on her fair skin that something was going on between her and the berserker. Maire could not recall a time when she’d seen Nessa blush… not even when her husband, Neils, was still alive, and Neils had been an outrageous teaser. “Furthermore, Stigand has not lopped off any heads in a long while.”
Everyone just gaped at Nessa’s defense of the burly Viking, who surely did not need to hide behind the skirts of a wench.
“Back to me,” Vagn interjected with a saucy grin. “Well, back to the subject of me and my brother,” he amended. “Our disguise will be perfect this evening when it is dark—no moon is expected, thank the gods!—and when our apparel is donned properly.” He and Toste exchanged meaningful smirks on that last word.
“Am I supposed to rise to that bait?” Maire tried to keep her expression stern, but it was difficult when these two rogues were around.
“What bait?” they both asked with mock innocence, batting incredibly long eyelashes, and putting hands on hips that were enticingly narrow. By the rood, Maire could see why maids swooned in their paths. These two braw laddies were nigh irresistible when they employed their abundant charms.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk-tsk,” was all that Maire could come up with. Nessa was shaking her head at their antics. And some of the younger women giggled.
“Well, if you insist, we will tell you about the proper attire for a ghost,” Toste said with a long sigh, as if the women had been pestering him for an answer. “When we dress this evening before we enter the MacNab castle, we will be”—he paused dramatically—“naked. ”
“I don’t believe you!” Maire exclaimed. She looked to all her maids for corroboration, but they were staring at the two men. ’Twas plain as a wart on a witch’s nose that they believed … and would like to be there for the unveiling.
“Hah! Would we dare lie?” Toste grumbled. Both he and Vagn held up middle fingers, which sported scarlet bows of yarn.
Sandra Hill - [Vikings I 05] Page 20
