The Seventh Son

by Ashley York

  John nodded.

  His wife. Peter snorted at the irony but remained silent.

  “But they believed he had slaughtered Norman soldiers?” John asked.

  “Aye. ‘Twas a messy business.”

  “Did they have any proof of the offense?” Peter took a sip of his mead, thankfully fresh from the Priory.

  “The best kind of proof. An eye witness.”

  Peter nearly spit out the mead. “How can that be?”

  “‘Twas our little friend, Ivan,” Mort said.

  “Ivan witnessed the slaughter? Then there is no doubt he was the actual perpetrator of the slaughter,” Peter’s voice got louder in his outrage.

  “Indeed.”

  “Is this the same Ivan that was hired to see your Brighit safely to the Priory?” John asked.

  “The same. A more loathsome scum I have never met,” Peter said. “And that it was Brighit’s own uncle who gave Ivan those orders was the worst offense of all.”

  “An uncle should be trustworthy,” John said. “Although I have no uncles of my own that I know of.”

  Peter smiled at his friend, grabbing his shoulder before he spoke. John was desperate to learn who his sire was. “I wish you to be uncle to my children, John, for we are brothers.”

  “That would give me great pleasure.” John’s expression remained sad through his smile. “And you need not worry that your child will not be healthy as a horse. Brighit is a fine size for birthing.”

  “An expert are you?”

  “I spoke to many priests after Rowena lost our daughter. They assured me ‘twas Arthur’s brutality toward her that caused the child to come too soon. She will have a fine birth this time and a healthy babe. I’m certain. If I had not that reassurance, I would not be here.”

  “Rowena is a special woman, indeed. You must miss her sorely.”

  John stared out over the muck, straw, dung, men, animals, weapons, trebuchets, and battering rams. Siege was hell, but considered better than hand to hand battles which ended with death.

  “We have much to work out. Allowing her cousin to live when the king ordered his death puts me in a precarious situation.”

  “Only if Leofrid returns from Ireland.” Peter laughed. “Saddling him with Abigail will surely make his life a living hell.”

  John nodded, a far off look on his face.

  Peter could well imagine the thoughts and scenarios that worked their way through his mind. Abigail was the source of many troubles for John. She was from his past though, back when John had lived only for the next battle and William’s approval. Now he had so much more to live for. His loving wife. The people that depended on him. The future of his family.

  Learning King William was a self-serving tyrant rather than the selfless man John had believed him to be, no doubt, added even more trepidation. William taking John on as squire and away from the monks gave the boy the father figure he’d always yearned for. It wasn’t until that father figure showed little regard for Rowena or her people that John’s eyes were finally opened. Peter had no such attachment to William and he served at his pleasure.

  “There was talk, my lord, that the slaughter of the Normans was only the first action and there would be more to come.”

  “Those against us will continue to be against us. Our only chance is to win them over,” John said.

  “Or see them dead,” Peter said.

  Peter and John had uncovered a plot within Rowena’s own manor. A plot to keep the populace rejecting King William. The plan included dressing up as Normans and murdering their own. It was her most trusted man, a Saxon himself, who perpetrated the plot. Arthur. His father had lost everything, including his life, by refusing to swear fealty to William, the Duke of Normandy, once he was crowned.

  Arthur had chosen a different path, hiding his hatred behind a benevolent facade. He did swear fealty to King William and was so convincing, he was placed in a powerful position watching over the king’s ward, Rowena. Even after her marriage to John, Arthur had done all that he could to win Rowena over. He claimed he loved her. And yet, all that time undermining any attempts at peace that would have made her life easier. It wasn’t until John returned from Normandy that Arthur’s plot was uncovered. The price to both John and Rowena for Arthur’s betrayal had been a high one. The life of their first born daughter.

  “My wife had been escorted across England by Ivan,” Peter said. “If he indeed used her transport as a ruse to ascertain the amount of support for putting a Godwin back on the throne again, Leofrid may have a reason to return.”

  “You have the right of it, Peter. Methinks this siege cannot end soon enough.”

  “Ye think ‘tis best because ye have a soft heart, mo mhíle stór.” Sean kissed the tip of Thomasina’s nose. “And I have duties I must see to, but I will do as I promised the man I would.”

  She was again seated in front of him as they headed north to the Meic Lochlainn territory.

  “And what is this Tisa like?”

  Sean again saw the little girl Tisa had been. “She was headstrong. Had courage.” He smiled down at Thomasina. “Methinks she is much like ye.”

  “Then I look forward to meeting her. Mayhap we will have much to speak of.”

  Something about the smug turn of her lips made Sean uncomfortable. “Now why am I questioning yer motives in speaking to Tisa?”

  The corners of her eyes creased with her closed smile. “Because I want ye to always think of what I may or may not be up to.”

  Sean’s mouth dropped open. He fought against smiling. “I yield, woman!”

  She sat up straighter. “As well ye should!”

  He kissed her cheek. She sat up tall, flexing her shoulders.

  “Are ye uncomfortable, lass?”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Aye. My bottom is tired of this horse.”

  Sean grinned. “Oh, I can see to that as soon as we’ve a warm, soft place to set ourselves.”

  A snap of a branch and Sean jerked back on the reins. Too late.

  “HOLD!” Five men with their bows at the ready and trained on them blocked their way.

  Large men with broadswords and a few short-handled maces came out from the woods on either side. There were at least fifteen men surrounding them. Sean raised his hands up.

  “I mean no harm!”

  “Get down.” A dark man dressed in black leather dismounted and swaggered toward Sean, tugging off his gloves as he approached. Their leader.

  Sean slid off his horse and took a step away from Thomasina who remained mounted. He’d rather the men direct their weapons at him and not include her in their sights. He ground his teeth. This was twice he’d been caught off guard just since he’d arrived back home. He was thinking with his prick again.

  “I’ve come from Roland O’Brien.”

  The leader tipped his head and circled him, his eyes traveling up and down as if working on the best way to handle him. If given the chance, Sean could easily best him. The man stopped in front of Sean. Nose to nose, they were of the exact same height. The man seemed pleased, his smile relaxed.

  “My friend, ye are very far from home.”

  Sean did not avert his gaze from the bright blue eyes piercing him. “I am. I’ve come to see the Meic Lochlainn.”

  “And I see ye’ve brought entertainment.” The man grabbed Thomasina off the top of the horse, the swords of his men keeping Sean from interfering.

  She slapped at his hands. “Dunna lay hands on me, ye foul beast!”

  The dark man smiled, clearly amused by her attempts to defend herself. With ease, he twirled Thomasina toward him and looked down into her face. His hips cantered toward her.

  “A very nice playmate. Very nice, indeed.” He shot a glance at Sean. “So nice that ye forgot ye were a warrior on a mission.”

  Thomasina scowled at the man.

  Sean swallowed and tightened his lips, his nostrils flaring. More men were moving in. Sean had no chance for defense. “I have come
to speak to the Meic Lochlainn.”

  The man kept his eyes on Thomasina. “Ye’re a pretty thing. I might like a taste of ye.”

  He moved in close and closed his eyes. She pulled back as far as she was able.

  “Hmm, ye smell like grass and ocean and swiving.” He opened his eyes and stroked a leather-clad finger along her cheek.

  She jerked her head away.

  “Does this rather large man see to all yer needs?” His eyes on Sean now, he continued speaking in a slow, quiet voice. “Mmm, I bet he does.”

  The man seemed to savor the thought of what Sean did and did not do for his wife and again perused the length of him. A metal taste spread over Sean’s tongue. His teeth had sunk into his lip.

  “Ye were so wrapped up in her, ye paid no attention to yer surroundings. Tsk. Tsk. I would take ye to task for that if ye were one of mine.”

  Sean swallowed down the rage swelling in his chest. The soldiers around him never took their eyes off of him. Well trained soldiers, indeed. He would cut the man’s hand off without a second thought.

  “He bid me to come see his daughter, Tisa.”

  The man gripped Thomasina’s chin and tipped her head back, his smile twisting into a cruel grimace. Sean shifted forward. Three burly men moved to intercept him. Sean bumped the first man’s sword up. It connected with his face. Blood gushed from his nose. Ducking, one man tumbled over Sean’s shoulder to land flat on his back. A step to the left, Sean fisted his hands and rammed his elbow into the man’s back. He arched in pain. It was the soldier beside Sean that was able to plow the hilt of his sword into his gut, forcing the wind out of him. Sean dropped to his knees in pain.

  Gerrit was unperturbed, keeping his focus on Thomasina.

  “Yea, I do like pretty things. And I do like ye.” He spoke in a low voice.

  “I dunna feel the same,” she spat the words at him.

  He glanced toward Sean when he stood back up. “Is this one yers? Or do ye share?”

  “She is my wife.”

  The man’s eyes rounded and he removed his hands, palms out, as if he’d been scorched. “Wife? There seems to be an abundance of wives around here.”

  Thomasina ran to Sean’s side, not giving the man a chance to grab her back.

  “I will take ye to the Meic Lochlainn. Ye and yer wife.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ~

  THE DARK DAYS OF rain shifted to days of heavy snow. Despite their proximity to the ocean, a cold wind kept the air thick enough that their breath misted, their nostrils froze, and their fingers numbed. Tisa took to spending the days in the little house rather than to venture out. Melancholy settled in and she had little reason to push it away.

  “I’ll be needing to stay with the Meic Lochlainn for the next few days if ye do not object, mistress.” Malcolm stoked the fire in preparation of leaving Tisa to her mending.

  The warmth in the small area made her sleepy. Tisa shook it off. “If need be. How do the children fare in this cold?”

  Malcolm scowled. He scowled every time she mentioned what she was not to discuss.

  “We are alone,” she said.

  He bristled like an old woman.

  “Do they have any needs I can see to?”

  “Nae, mistress. Ye have done well by them. It is yer fair face they miss the most. Ye should have never started spending time with them.”

  “Why ever not? They give me great joy. I miss them as well.”

  With Leofrid’s visit came frequent trips for both Aodh and Darragh to the other clans. Breandan complained of his abandonment when they were alone but managed to keep himself occupied. Sometimes she didn’t see him for days. For Tisa, it gave her the time she needed to see to the needs of the outcasts. Many had difficulties that were eased with her teas and tinctures. Aednat showed a keen interest in learning about the herbs. In the spring, Tisa planned to take her out and teach her where to find the different plants. The knowledge would be very beneficial for them.

  Malcolm hesitated at the door, displaying an unaccustomed shyness. Tisa became immediately alert.

  “Tell me.”

  Malcolm’s eyes rounded and she smiled.

  “Ye so seldom seem at a loss for words, there must be something wrong.”

  He dropped his shoulders and his lips relaxed into a soft curve. “Ye have the right of it. Aodh has asked me if I have seen any strangers in our woods.”

  “Strangers? The dead of winter does not seem like the best time for strangers to be among us.”

  “‘Tis not a stranger he speaks of.” Malcolm paused as if to give her a moment to catch on but she had no idea what he referred to. “He has heard about ye.”

  “Me?”

  “Yer visits to the outcasts. Someone has mentioned seeing ye with them.”

  Tisa’s jaw slackened. “Who?”

  “Aodh’s own granddaughter is among the outcasts. Mayhap she got word to him.”

  “His own granddaughter? What a cruel—” She clamped her mouth shut when Malcolm’s eyes narrowed in warning. The man’s loyalty to Aodh surpassed what was deserved. Tisa could not begin to understand how men chose their loyalties.

  “Methinks ye need to be more careful with yer ventures into the woods even when yer husband and father are away.”

  “So it appears.” Her one reprieve through the dark days of winter had been her time with the children.

  “Oh.” Malcolm reached into his tunic. “For ye.”

  He opened his hand to show her a small figure carved out of wood. The strokes were more like gashes but she was able to make out the shape of a woman. She glanced up at him. “Is it me?”

  Malcolm beamed. “Aye. Cad worked on it with Will. His ability is progressing quite well.”

  “Tell him how much I love it.” Tisa sensed a ray of sunshine in her darkness and placed the sculpture beside the carved chest in the alcove. The chill within had her pulling back the hanging so the heat could reach the area. “I will treasure it. Mayhap I can go and thank him.”

  “Nae! Ye need to wait until they are no longer searching for the strange woman in the woods.”

  “They’re searching for me? Are ye certain ‘tis me they look for?”

  He tipped his head. “Ye think I dunna ken exactly who is in these woods? ‘Tis ye they search for and none other, so ye must remain here.”

  “Aye.” The darkness was back. “Methinks I will rest until Darragh returns.”

  She lay down beneath the heavy covering on the pallet. Malcolm left without comment. Being with the children brought back memories of home. Of her time with Brighit and her brothers. Of Tadhg.

  The blue sky was endless and the heat from the sun was soothing. Tadhg’s handsome face. His warm lips pressed against her own then sliding across her cheeks, her neck. She shivered. Hands grasped at her hips, urging her closer. A sigh of longing. She opened her eyes. The room was dark, the fire nearly out. She must have slept for a long time but she felt as if she’d just laid down. The door opened.

  “Malcolm?” Her foggy brain tried to remember when the man would be returning.

  The curtain was yanked back just as she sat up. Gerrit stood there, his bright blue eyes taking in every part of her.

  “What do ye want?”

  “Ye have visitors.”

  “Who?” Tisa didn’t dare come out from beneath her covers with him there. She didn’t feel safe around him. It was as if he looked right into her soul. Darragh had never spoken of him but she was sure this was the man Aodh had said his son had first been with. Yet he looked on her as if she were a morsel he would like to eat. Surely the man could not have desires for both men and women. She forced herself out of the bed. When she made to move past him, he did not step aside but forced her to rub against him as she passed. A shiver of revulsion went through her at the contact and he grabbed her arm. His expression gave her the impression he was offended, as if she’d insulted him.

  “Unhand me.”

  Gerrit smiled at h
er. His even, white teeth were visible in the dim light. “What do ye here? By yerself? In yer husband’s bed?”

  “I said unhand me.”

  “Do ye pleasure yerself? Is that why ye are here alone?”

  Tisa gasped before she could hide her shock. His smile widened. He stepped closer, his body rubbing against hers. His fingers bit into the flesh of her arm.

  “If I drag my finger between yer luscious nether lips, will ye be damp from yer own ministrations?”

  Tisa held her ground. “Now!”

  Gerrit released her, took a step back, and turned to move about the room as if he belonged there. His eyes taking in the lot, he paused beside the open alcove before entering to stand at the table. He slid his hand across the top of the intricately carved chest like a caress, as if feeling the detail of a lover’s body.

  “I wish ye to leave,” Tisa said.

  He faced her. “I’ve been sent for ye.”

  Darragh would not send this man to her for any reason. He avoided Gerrit at every turn.

  “Who sent ye to me?”

  He moved closer, sitting at the bench beside the table.

  “Yer visitors.”

  Her heavy gown was not intended to be worn out and about. She needed to change if she was to see someone else.

  “I’ve asked and ye’ve refused to answer me. What would Leofrid think of such open defiance?”

  Gerrit’s eyes widened, a clear expression of disbelief, before nearly busting with laughter.

  Her indignation increased in direct proportion to her tightening lips.

  “Do ye threaten me, woman?”

  Standing suddenly, he closed the distance between them. All laughter gone. His face almost touching hers. “I have no fear. Or secrets to hide.”

  Secrets? Like her visiting the outcasts? Tisa did not want anything to happen to any of them because of her. Their lives were hard enough. This man may very well be worse than Aodh. A knock at the door made her jump.

  Gerrit did not move away. He merely smiled, no doubt amused by her nervousness. “Will ye see to that?”

  His arrogance left her speechless. It was only for need of another person in the room that she went to the door herself. The bar lay across the inside. She glowered back at Gerrit.