“I know,” Idwyr snapped. “I’m not the fool I look.”
“Or act,” Alyn said with a grin.
Idwyr responded, sheepish and snaggletoothed. “I’m saying that you might do more for your faith as a merlin than a priest.” He offered his hand. “If our people dealt with the likes of you—or Emrys—instead of Arthur, much bloodshed could be avoided.”
Alyn shook his head. “Nay, I loathe politics of government. As Jesus said, give Caesar his due, but my life belongs to Christ.” Alyn helped Kella down from the wagon seat.
Faith, she was weary and stiff as a hag. Surely the plump mattress Brenna had sent with them would be welcome this night.
“Ah,” Idwyr protested, “but if Caesar were surrounded by men like yourself, this world would be a better place.”
Kella had to agree. She’d seen so many self-serving wolves at court who pretended to be Arthur’s sheep. She could count the true champions for Alba and Alba alone on her fingers.
“You honor me again.” Alyn extended his hand. “Now allow me to buy you and your good men drink to wash down the dust of the road. Surely you’ll not ride back this night.”
But wait. These were the men who’d killed Lorne and, at the least, wounded her father. How could Kella forget that? How could Alyn? Yesterday, she’d expected them to hang her head on a pike. A bit of talk about Jesus, and suddenly they were hearth companions?
Idwyr glanced over at the leader of the small escort. “I’m bone weary. What say we spend the night here and make our way home on the morrow?” It was a courtesy, for there was little question of who was in charge. “Always trouble on the road at night,” he added, as if the men needed encouragement. Their relief was written on their faces.
But visions of a good night’s rest vanished with Kella’s heavier-than-necessary sigh. The men had talked half last eve with no drink stronger than honey mead. Tonight, with taverns close at hand—
Alyn heard her unspoken opinion loud and clear. “I can check at the inn to see if they’ve more comfortable accommodations. Perhaps you might retire early.”
An inn crowded with folk headed to Fortingall’s spring fair? Kella shook her head. “Unless the weather bodes ill, I’d as soon sleep here on this fresh, clean mattress. Does it look clear?”
Her husband was obsessed with weather signs. Kella could never keep them straight.
“Clear tonight, indubitably,” Alyn and Idwyr said at the same time.
Old and young, wizard and priest—Kella couldn’t help but giggle at the similarity in the unlikely pair. Those who were educated were few and far between. When one found another, they thrilled in sharing and comparing knowledge. Idwyr, like Emrys on occasion, apparently played the wizard to appease his superstitious followers, or the fool, at least at first, to loosen Alyn’s tongue—each role to suit his purpose.
“Thank you, kind sirs. Now off with you,” she ordered. “I can unroll the mattress and bed down, but if I hear you two talking into the wee hours, I shall rise screaming like a banshee. Understood?”
The two agreed as quickly as two boys caught with their fingers in the pie. While Kella climbed into the back of the cart to prepare it for the night, the men quickly saw to the horses. By the time the bed was made up and her lance and sword hidden but close at hand, the horses were fed, watered, and tethered, tack-free, for the night. Two guards stayed behind for the steeds’ and the lady’s safekeeping. Idwyr was certain someone with questionable character lurked, waiting for a good man to become careless.
Kella shared some of the honeyed mead with the guards until some of their mates came back with food and drink from the tavern. Over ribs, salmon pies, bread, and cakes from the tavern and honey from Kella’s stores, she learned about the guards’ families and how they felt betrayed by Arthur. That she spoke their native Pict, like their beloved Queen Gwenhyfar, made her one of them. They said that rumor had it Arthur was becoming paranoid, trusting no one but his priest. Aye, Kella had heard it—seen it. That Arthur had chosen a Rome-favored Briton over his queen’s own people—over his own cousin, as his second-in-command and successor—affirmed it. She understood their concern, felt it, but knew war was not the way to solve it.
“What concerns me,” she told them, “is that, if the Picts and Scots kill off each other, who will remain to fight the Saxons?”
“The highlands,” one of the men replied. “Urien and the lowlanders canna hold their footin’ in our land any more than the Saxons. We can gnaw them away a bit at a time, like a spreadin’ canker on their buttocks. Beggin’ yer pardon, milady,” the man added hastily.
The other guard’s wife had just had a baby. To see the man so giddy with excitement raised mixed feelings within Kella.
Lorne would never know that joy.
Yet Alyn would. Alyn, a man among few who would take another’s child as his own and love it, because, he said, it was hers. But if he’d loved her, why hadn’t he said so before now? Why had he always treated her like the little sister and scolded her for her fanciful dreams of becoming the wife of a gallant prince or nobleman? He’d never approved of any of her suitors.
Because they were not him.
Despite the late hour, that was a thought that kept Kella pondering as she wandered along a makeshift row of stalls to see what the merchants had to sell. Food and the bit of activity had renewed her, at least long enough to satisfy her curiosity. While most villages were self-sufficient, these mercers were importers of luxuries—spices, Mediterranean wine, beautiful silks, and other fabrics, carpets, glass, and jewels. Even if she had no intention of buying, Kella loved to examine items from places she’d only read about.
“I tell you, the lord of this village is a thief!” a plump vendor with a heavy accent and a black patch of beard on his chin complained to his companion. “I will be blessed if I am to sell enough to pay the toll for moving through his lands.”
Upon seeing Kella slow at the board he’d set up on trestles to display his laces, his demeanor changed. “Good day, milady. May I show you the most beautiful and well-crafted laces in the world?”
“They’re lovely,” she agreed, fingering the small purse she’d tied securely to her waist in case she changed her mind.
There was one roll of tiny width that would look precious on the little gown she was sewing, if the baby were a girl. If a boy, perhaps she might put the lace aside for a later child … Alyn’s. Just the thought sent rills of embarrassment through her, for she certainly did not know her new husband in that way. Yet.
But she had grown accustomed to the warmth of his body, the protective way he held her, the tender brushes of his lips across the top of her head and the occasional stolen kiss on the cheek. He made her feel as if she was the most important thing in his life, next to God. Something about his godliness filled her with peace, even joy. How foolish she’d been to scorn him when they were younger for choosing such a boring future. It was his love, not his station, that would make life good for her and the babe—
Kella caught sight of a big bush of red hair at the far end of the row of camped vendors. Whoever it belonged to was nearly a head taller than most of the crowd.
“No, no, milady, where do you go?” the vendor called after her as she dropped the lace and hurried away. “I will give you good bargain.”
Kella moved steadily through the crowd toward the man’s head. Her pace increased to a run when she saw him turn from a stall selling leather goods and start away. She’d only caught a glimpse of the man’s face. Though shaved of Da’s thick beard and wide mustache, it looked so much like him.
“Da!” Kella didn’t mind the faces that turned her way, startled by her loud cry. Her heart beat to the rhythm of her racing feet. She had to stop the man. “Da!”
The big man paused at the corner of the last tent and turned to stare. The cluster of trees next to it cast a shadow over his face, but Kella was certain it was her father.
“Da, it’s me, Kella!” It had to be him. “Wait!” sh
e cried out, but in her blind haste, she tripped over an uneven rise in the terrain and fell facedown. Her skirts tangled with her feet as she scrambled to get up. Each time she rose, they or her undershift would hold her back.
Finally, instead of staring at her as if she were part of a gleeman’s act, a tall man in an indistinct cloak of brown and green helped her up. “Here now, miss, take your time. If your da’s got ears, he’s heard you for sure.”
Kella stared hard though mist-filled eyes at the tent where her father had been, but alas, no one stood there waiting. With a scant breath of “Thank you, sir,” she hastened toward the spot, but upon reaching it, there was naught but a scatter of cottages with gardens at the rear, edged by a thin green wood. A couple of children and dogs milled close to the doors, and chickens were penned for the night, but there was no sign of the giant redheaded man.
“He … he’s gone.” But Kella knew it was Da.
She spoke to no one in particular, so she was astonished when the same man who’d helped her to her feet replied.
“I’m thinking he went through the woods there, milady.” He pointed to a barely distinguishable pathway. “I’ll go with you, if you wish.” The words were an offer, but the hard clasp on Kella’s arm made her wary. “If we hurry, we can catch him.”
Kella wanted desperately to chase her father down the narrow path, if he’d indeed gone that way, but not with this stranger. Swarthy of complexion and clad in common tunic and braes that met worn boots at the knee, he had no problem taking possession of her arm. And from the way he looked at her, more, if she gave him the chance.
“No, thank you. I … I must have been mistaken.”
“Come along now, miss,” he cajoled, ignoring her resistance. “If we hurry, we can catch—”
Kella wrung her arm out of his grasp the way her father had taught her. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” She was fully prepared to shriek for help from those at the edge of the campsite who watched.
Or brandish her dining dagger. His gaze shifted from their audience to the hand she tightened about its hilt.
Suddenly, he held up both hands as if in surrender and backed away. Kella noted that he favored one leg, a weak point, should she need it.
“No need for hysterics, milady. I only meant to help.” Though if looks could kill, Kella stood no chance. The man must be crazed.
“And I thank you for it,” she replied, hoping not to antagonize whatever she saw in his eyes. “I’m clearly overtired. I thought I’d seen my missing father,” she explained, both to the man and the gathering who’d noticed them. “Da—he’s not been well, and he wandered off. A giant of a red-haired man.” She held up her hands as high as she could. “With a great thatch of hair and beard and a wide mustache that he waxed to make it look as if he always were smiling.”
A merchant’s wife smiled before Kella’s misting eyes blurred out the sympathy. How Kella hated tears, yet they seemed in endless of supply of late. “I’ll raise no whinybairns,” Da used to warn her. But Kella was too tired to hope, much less fight anymore.
“I a-apologize for the fuss. I simply thought I’d seen him and … and I miss him so much.”
Run.
Kella followed the urge, weaving her way half blind through the waning crowd toward the safe haven of her cart and the Miathi guards. The irony that she could be safe with possibly the very men who’d slain Lorne almost made her laugh.
She no longer knew how she fit in this world. Except at Alyn’s side. There was a rock-solid refuge in her husband that put things back in order. Oh, for his faith instead of this wretched anxiety!
God, please don’t let him try to save souls half the night. Tonight I, too, need saving.
Chapter Nineteen
Alyn could hardly believe his ears when Kella told him that she’d seen her father. Because of her condition and stubbornness, he’d humored her on the journey by agreeing to search for Egan. Accepting one loss at a time might be easier. As for his own thoughts, he was torn between faith and logic. He didn’t want to blindly accept his old friend’s loss, but he, Daniel, and Ronan had all agreed that it wasn’t logical that Egan had survived and not been able to return home.
But with God all things were possible, despite logic.
Alyn promised to ask around about Egan the following morning. Then he held Kella as she drifted off to sleep, a smile on her lips that tortured him beyond measure. When he’d resolved to wait until she came to him to claim his husbandly rights, he’d had no idea how difficult it would be with the curves of her body fitted against his. Or how many silently recited psalms and prayers it took before fatigue overcame raw desire.
Kella rose fresh as a morning glory before sunrise to prepare bannocks on the fire, while Alyn fed and watered their cart horse. He learned that the leader of the merchant caravan had decided to stay on another day. The interest shown in the mercers’ hastily displayed wares yesterday upon their late-afternoon arrival gave them hope of recouping more than the hefty toll that Crief’s chieftain charged them for passing through.
Idwyr, who’d drunk more than a good share of the tavern’s fine beer, ambled over to Alyn’s hearth fire and joined them. Given his uncommon silence, the wizard’s tongue was likely thick and dry from too much drink the night before. Though the reason for Alyn’s groggy silence differed, both men stared dully at the fire, while Kella chattered enough for the two of them. She was determined to go door to door in the village scattered atop the hill until she found the whereabouts of the redheaded giant she’d seen.
Alyn didn’t see the scrawny, wiry man approaching them until feet appeared in the line of Alyn’s vision. After introducing himself as Goll, the shoemaker, the man waved hands bearing the calluses of his trade as if they powered his speech. There was, he said, indeed a large, red-haired stranger in town.
“I seen your lady chasin’ after him last eve and heard she was lookin’ for her da. But t’be honest”—Goll turned a bit sheepish—“I wasn’t keen on lockin’ horns with that tall ’un followin’ her about. He looked like the kine to know his way wit’ weapons.”
Alyn straightened with alarm. Kella had told him about seeing her father but said nothing about someone threatening her. “What tall one?”
“Aha! I knew I smelt trouble.” Idwyr pulled his curved shoulders back as far as they’d go and rolled his eyes up until they almost disappeared beneath their wrinkled lids. “Aye, there’s somethin’ amiss.”
The old druid had fallen back into his crazed wizard role for the benefit of his audience. Sure enough, the shoemaker put a good two strides between them and would not look at Idwyr’s face. Fearing the evil eye, most likely, Alyn guessed.
“About the tall one,” Alyn reminded the shoemaker. “Is he a stranger also?”
“Aye. But not as strange as ’im.” Goll nodded toward the swaying, blank-eyed Idwyr but riveted his focus to Alyn.
“Yep, I’m thinkin’ I just might tag along with ye to Fortygal,” Idwyr chanted in a singsong tone.
With an exasperated cut of a glance at the not-so-crazy wizard, Alyn pressed the townsman. “What about the stranger?”
“He offered to help me catch Da,” Kella put in. She inadvertently rubbed her arm and winced. Alyn suspected it was bruised beneath the sleeve. “But he was so insistent that I go with him into the wood that I refused.”
Alyn fisted his hands at the very idea that someone might intend Kella harm. “Have you seen him today, Goll?” As bonnie as his wife was, Alyn didn’t have to guess the villain’s intentions.
“Nay,” the shoemaker replied. “Never seen him come nor go. Just seen him with the lady near dark. Didn’t look right to me.”
Kella tapped her dagger. “But I was armed.”
Armed and trained by Egan with a knife, but still the weaker. And she was with child. God have mercy! Alyn was almost as angry at her for thinking she was invincible as a champion’s daughter as he was at her would-be assailant.
“Them types is a
lways about,” Idwyr claimed.
“Do you know where the redheaded man is? Is he still here?” Alyn asked the shoemaker.
“If word wasn’t out that you was a priest, I’d say nary a word to nane. But them who bless God get blessed.” Goll stood on tiptoe, staring at Alyn’s forehead. “Though ye don’t have the look of a priest. A mite young, too.”
“The big redheaded stranger,” Alyn prompted.
“Aye, he’s been here nigh two weeks,” Goll said. “Rode in on a farm wagon from Dunblane, out of his head. Found the giant playin’ with the children by the river, lettin’ ’em climb on ’im like he was a mountain and slide off his back. Had a nasty clot o’ blood on his head, like as not from that skirmish t’the south we heard about, though I can’t say what side he took.”
“It is Da! I knew it! He loves children. Such a gentle heart,” Kella declared, giddy with elation. “I just knew it in my heart. I felt his heartbeat with mine.”
She’d said the same about Lorne’s as she’d cried in Alyn’s arms the first night out of Carmelide, but Alyn could say nothing now. At least about Egan. It was feasible for the champion to head north if he was confused. Possible.
“So where is this giant?” Alyn asked.
“We took him to the healin’ woman in the glen, and he’s lived with her since. Taken a real strong likin’ to her, if you get my meanin’.”
Kella gasped, puffing like a wet hen with outrage. “My father would not ‘take a real strong likin’ to’ any woman after my mother, but especially to some old hag living in a … a cave.”
“I might,” Idwyr offered. “Has she any teeth left?”
Alyn checked his amusement. ’Twould be more than could be said for the wizard.
Instead of answering, Goll turned to the river. “Just follow the burn upstream about an hour’s distance. Brisen will show herself, if she is receiving visitors.”
“Receiving visitors?” Alyn echoed. “You make her sound as if she’s royalty.”
“To those she’s saved, she is,” the shoemaker told him.
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