The Seventh Son

by Ashley York

  Nodding his head, John left the room. Mort followed him with his eyes as he ascended the stone stairs. Peter would be returning with the lovely Brighit any time, her head held high and no offer of apology for their quick exit. That one’s passion matched Peter’s perfectly. Just as Mort’s own wife matched his. Myra was, no doubt, busy with the children, planting the garden, seeing to repairs. Mayhap this fall, Mort would be there to help them with the harvest, prepare for the cold weather, and even be home for the cold, dark days of winter.

  It had been many years since Mort had seen his own lovely lady. Even in his dreams, she appeared indistinct as if he were forgetting how she looked. When he awoke, try as he might, he could not recall the dream or her face. Or remember the touch of her hand in his. His chest tightened. He feared he could no longer remember the sound of her voice. Her beautiful voice. His sons would be mostly grown. What kind of men did they turn out to be?

  Brighit’s laugh traveled down to him. Mort wiped at his eyes, refilling his mead. Now Peter and Brighit! Their lives would be full. No doubt, the king would be honoring the man’s work in settling the disruptions here in York and taking back the castle. If the man could also put to rest any Godwin plans for an overthrow, the king would be deeply in his debt.

  In their debt.

  Mort smiled.

  John and Peter. And Mort. The idea of having the king in his debt was a pleasant one. Mort would need to approach Peter with it in such a way that he believed the idea was his own. They could travel west, sail to Ireland before the cursed man even set foot off his place of exile. They would demonstrate, once and for all, that King William of Normandy was the rightful heir and it would be his children and his grandchildren who held the throne into perpetuity.

  Mort could be home by fall. A pleasant thought indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ~

  TADHG PUSHED TO THE head of his mounted group. He avoided looking at Tisa, both when he’d headed to the back of the line to speak to Cormac and upon his return. That he was unsuccessful turned his mood even blacker.

  Sean moved up alongside him. “Yer foul mood will not stop me from asking for yer assurances.”

  “What are ye about?”

  “I want yer assurance that ye will not agree to another commanding us if Roland is unable to. Being under his command was the agreement, was it not?”

  “His to command. Aye. We will wait and see what he tells us upon our arrival.”

  “We’ll be there anon, Tadhg. Give me yer assurance.”

  Tadhg made his most disdainful expression. “If this is what marriage turns a warrior in to, I’m blessed to have none of it.”

  Sean snorted. “Aye. Ye tell yerself the lie but I dunna believe it.” He glanced toward Tisa. “Her husband does not appreciate her.”

  “Cease! I dunna wish to hear of her plight. ‘Tis not within me to change her situation, as well ye ken.”

  “Giving fair warning.” Sean reined in his horse to fall back behind Tadhg.

  Four armed warriors approached from the meadow. They must be O’Brien men but Tadhg didn’t recognize even one of them. He held his hand up for his group to stop.

  “Tisa! Come forth,” Tadhg called to her without turning her way.

  She moved her palfrey forward, stopping beside Tadhg. He sat with his hands crossed before him and waited for the approaching men.

  “Hail,” a leathered man called out as he approached, not stopping until he was quite close.

  “I come with Roland O’Brien’s daughter. She wishes to see her father,” Tadhg said.

  Without warning, the man turned his scowling face on her and yanked the palfrey’s reins, jerking Tisa away before Tadhg could react. “Yer father takes exception to yer absence.”

  Tadhg drew his sword, the metal cold in his hand.

  “Stay yer hand, friend, unless ye wish to draw blood.”

  “Release the lady and there’ll be no need to draw blood,” Tadhg said.

  “The Meic Lochlainn arrived three days ago and was not happy to have his daughter not in attendance.”

  Tisa paled. “I will come to him at once.”

  She dug in her heels and sped toward the castle.

  The leathered man remained motionless as did Tadhg.

  “We’ve come to see the man as well,” Tadhg said. “He is expecting us. Shall we yet draw blood?”

  “And who are ye?” The piercing blue eyes took in the party of warriors, pausing on Sean. A smile played on his lips.

  Tadhg sheathed his sword in disgust. “Roland O’Brien bid us come and come we have. If ye turn us away, ‘twill be on yer head.”

  Tadhg reined the horse about. Let O’Brien rot in a hell of his own making.

  “Yer name!”

  The leathered man’s bellow caused Tadhg’s mount to rear. He struggled to settle her without being unseated.

  “Gerrit, ye ken who I am,” Sean said. “Allow us to pass.”

  His friend’s demanding tone surprised Tadhg as did the response the man gave him—a graceful sweep of his arm. His mount again under control, Tadhg and the rest of the men followed behind Sean.

  “Pompous arse.” Sean muttered under his breath.

  Once within the bailey, they dismounted and were escorted into the main hall. Music and a blazing fire greeted them. The room was full of people drinking and eating.

  The sight of a man other than Roland in his seat of honor startled Tadhg. “Where is Roland?”

  Sean approached the gray-bearded man, still impressively broad in the chest despite his advancing years.

  “Roland is visiting with his daughter. My thanks for her return though ‘twould have been better for her to stay here, among her own people.”

  Sean faced Tadhg, his flaring nostrils the only visible sign of his annoyance. “This is Aodh Meic Lochlainn, their chieftain.”

  Aodh stood and nodded, his hand resting on the ornate hilt of the sword at his side, the gold trim of it glistening. His eyes perused the length of Tadhg, missing not a thing. When the man’s eyes finally settled on his face, Tadhg raised his brows. “Have I passed yer inspection?”

  Sean turned away, no doubt, to hide his smile. Aodh reddened and glanced beyond them at the others with them. “Ye must be the warriors Roland has on retainer.”

  Tadhg and Sean exchanged glances but neither answered him.

  Aodh settled himself. “Roland will be down anon. Please,” he indicated the table against the wall with a shake of his hand, “make free of the food and drink. We celebrate!”

  The men crossed to the table, their eyes wary. Tadhg took a long draw on his mead, watching Aodh in deep conversation with a fair-haired man now seated beside him.

  “They do like their celebrations,” Sean said. “‘Tis not the way I remember Roland O’Brien.”

  “Methinks Roland has little say over what happens here,” Tadhg said in a quiet voice.

  Sean drank from his horn as well and nodded. “Something is amiss. ‘Twas the same when we came with Tisa which is why I dinna press her to stay here.”

  Tadhg looked away not bothering to hide his irritation.

  Sean stiffened. “I am not speaking of her except in the most general way, Tadhg. I ken what ye said. I will abide by yer wishes.”

  Tadhg blew out a breath and refilled his mead. “So why would a man as rich with land as Roland just step aside for someone like this?”

  “He said he feared he would be easily overrun if he dinna find protection.”

  “Protection such as this is not what the man needed. Where are the strapping sons he was so proud of? The ones whose arses we kicked with little effort.”

  “Dead.”

  A deep sadness welled within him. Tadhg knew loss. “I dinna ken.”

  “Methinks he dinna even tell Tisa.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed as if assessing how much he should say. Tadhg hardened his resolve, standing tall. He wanted Sean to say nothing more about Tisa.

  A glimpse
of a blond man ascending the stairs drew Tadhg’s attention. The music became more lively. Couples moved about, lining up for some sort of dance. The blond reappeared and Tadhg’s mouth gaped open. He pulled Tisa behind him. Her eyes downcast, a small smile on her lips. She wore a dark blue gown that hugged every generous curve. Large, amber stones on a chain hung around her slender neck. Tadhg wetted his suddenly dry lips and took a deep, slow breath.

  Tisa smiled up at the tall, young man who grinned down at her. He was impeccably attired in the same blue. Her husband? He was neither old nor feeble. Pain pierced through Tadhg’s heart like an arrow but he could not tear his eyes away as the handsome man led her through the dance.

  They touched, palm to palm, after every clap with the slow beat of the song. When Tadhg expected them to pass by shoulder to shoulder, they, instead, wrapped an arm familiarly around the other’s middle, holding close as they turned. Then crossed. And did the same to the left. Then crossed back again. Each time Tisa’s bosom pressed into her husband’s chest, Tadhg felt her against his own body. His own hand around her slender waist. Holding her tight. Her cheeks pink with exertion and a smile just for him.

  Tadhg turned his back to the room, his breathing heavy. His groin tightened with need. He reached for the clay pitcher for more mead, downed the liquid then closed his eyes.

  Someone slapped his back and Tadhg nearly exploded.

  “Wonder what they’re celebrating.” Lughaidh smiled as he looked across the sea of bodies.

  “I’ll be seeing to the horses,” Tadhg said, his throat tight. “Get me when the O’Brien shows himself.”

  Tadhg stomped out of the hall and into the chilly night air. He didn’t stop until he was hidden in the shadowy darkness of the stable. Leaning his back against a post, he closed his eyes and struggled to steady himself. The mere sight of her made a mockery of his feigned composure. He ached to hold her against him. To touch her. To smell her. To taste her. She should be his.

  Moving within the small building, he stretched out on top of the scattered straw and hay. Need raged through him like an uncontainable fire. Seeing her was killing him. Seeing her with a man able to satiate her needs, give her the children she’d always wanted, was even worse. He could not be this close to her.

  “Ye’ve not eaten.” Sean towered over him.

  Tadhg rolled away from the tall man. “I dinna want anything. Is the O’Brien about?”

  “Nae. Aodh said he would not be available until the morrow.”

  “Fine. Let me rest.”

  “Ye’re not resting. Ye’re torturing yerself.”

  “Sean, get yerself away and now!”

  “I’ve no mind to leave ye to yer own vile thoughts.”

  Tadhg refused to respond to the jab. He recognized Sean’s ploy for what it was. Talking would not lessen the need or the loss or the pain of his miserable existence.

  “Ye’re in a hell not of yer own making.”

  “And that makes it no easier to take.” Damn. He wasn’t going to respond.

  “Nae and it won’t.”

  “Won’t?”

  “Make it any easier.” Sean hunkered down a few feet from him. “I want to remind ye of the legend.”

  “Ye dunna even believe in legends so speak no more of it, Sean!”

  “Ye’re the sixth son. That means ye’ll have nothing but trouble.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Do ye want to lie down for it? Or do ye want to prove the legend wrong?”

  Tadhg bolted to his feet. “I dinna want to live a life of trouble. Not ever but look—” he pointed toward the castle. “The love of my life is married to another. What am I to do?”

  Sean’s somber expression didn’t change as he waited and watched and eventually Tadhg sat back down.

  “I will not speak to ye of her again,” Sean said. “Ye have my word. But please dunna let yerself get swallowed up into a pitiful life that has no meaning, where ye have no happiness, where ye have nothing to get up in the morning for. Will ye promise me that?”

  How could Tadhg deny that was his life? He certainly could not promise it would get better. By all indications, it would not but he forced himself to respond with an even tone. “Aye, Sean, I promise ye. Now let me get some sleep.”

  Tadhg forced a smile for his friend and went back to lying down in the hope that Sean would feel better about leaving him there.

  At daybreak they received word that Roland O’Brien would receive them.

  The man sat in his own chair. His cheeks sallow. Dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked like death warmed over.

  “Tadhg.” Roland did not smile. His voice low. “So ye’ve come to offer yerselves to me?”

  Tadhg was not offered a seat so he stood before the man, his hands joined behind his back.

  “As we agreed,” Tadhg said.

  He’d left the others in the bailey so that he could speak privately with Tisa’s father. No witnesses were necessary to his groveling before the adulterous swine. “I appreciate that ye saw my clan through the winter from yer own provisions.”

  “I dinna wish to see them starve.”

  Tadhg said no more. He’d said all he needed to say. Now he waited. Roland sipped from his cup, his eyes fixed on Tadhg. The moments plodded by.

  “Ye will head north to Inishowen with the Meic Lochlainn and go where Aodh Meic Lochlainn commands. He has need of more warriors and I offer him only the very best.”

  Tadhg might have found pleasure in hearing such a compliment from this man earlier in his life but not now. Now, he didn’t care what Roland O’Brien thought of him. He remained silent, uneasiness shifting inside him like a bear waking from a winter’s sleep.

  “Ye will fight with them until the Hunter’s Moon and then ye will have fulfilled our agreement.”

  The bear roared into wakefulness and his arms fell stiffly to his sides. “To what purpose do they fight? Do they defend their home? Are there raiders they wish to curtail?”

  “Nae.” Roland answered in the same low tone. “They fight for conquest. They fight for Leofrid Godwin, son of Tostig Godwin, against the Norman invaders. They fight for the throne of England.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ~

  THE TRIP NORTH WAS not an easy one. Winter held a firm grasp as they headed along the coast to the Meic Lochlainn village. Frozen roads and driving snow made everyone miserable. Traveling with more than two score unhappy warriors at a fast pace made each stopover a raucous occasion. The mead flowed, the talk was bawdy, and the tempers flared. Being unfamiliar warriors to the Meic Lochlainn, Tadhg and his men were not included in their nightly disorders. He’d not even been introduced. Their attempt to send someone back to O’Brien land and get word to Peter was thwarted by a sudden need to count their numbers. Sean was correct; they were indeed hired thugs.

  Tadhg kept his distance and avoided Tisa whenever possible. She and her husband slept away from the group. At night, Tadhg was beset by wild dreams where he was the husband, receiving her generous bounty. Each day he struggled against the darkness that threatened to overwhelm his thoughts.

  “There is an inn down the road where we will stay our last night. We will push home on the morrow.” Aodh made the announcement astride his mount at the front of the group.

  The grumbling he received in response indicated they still had quite a distance yet to go.

  Tisa rode near the back of the Meic Lochlainn group but just in front of Tadhg and his men. Gerrit was the only one who stayed behind when they arrived at the inn. Almost as if the man were to keep an eye on them. It seemed strange that after her husband had stayed by her side the entire trip, he would spend the day mingling with the men. She didn’t seem to mind, hunched as she was with her husband’s long, fur wrapped around her against the cold. Her mount, at least, seemed mild with an easy gait that probably made the travel easy.

  Tadhg forced himself to turn away. What did he care of her comfort or why her husband had seemingly aba
ndoned her?

  “Is aught amiss?” Lughaidh came up beside him.

  Tadhg swallowed down his angst. “There is not.”

  “‘Twill be good to be sheltered this night. My fingers freeze right through my gloves.”

  Tadhg did not respond.

  “Have ye ever been this far north?”

  “I have.”

  “The frigid wind is relentless.” Lughaidh finally faced Tadhg. The man’s eyes widened. He ducked his head and returned to his place in the line.

  From atop his horse, Tadhg watched as Aodh and Darragh went inside the inn. A large out building in the back, mayhap there would be room for all to be warm this night. A slither of something shivered up his spine. He turned in time to see Gerrit nudging his horse forward, his eyes locked on Tisa. When she noticed him, the look of fear that flashed across her face could not have been Tadhg’s imagination. Without forethought, he jumped from his horse and hurried to her side. The leathered man pulled back and avoided looking at him. He moved toward the outside of the group as if it had always been his destination.

  Tisa frowned at Tadhg, no doubt for his sudden appearance. He cleared his throat. “Can I assist ye?”

  “With what?”

  He raised stiff arms toward her. Confusion furrowed her brow but she leaned toward him. His hands at her waist, he lifted her down with ease. All ceased around him and she became his total focus. The earthy scent of her filled his senses. He breathed her in. Her dark hair brushed against his cheek like a caress. He turned into it. His fingers spread at her waist. He pressed against her ribs.

  When her feet touched the ground, she stared at him with wide eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Heat surged through him. Did she feel the heat as well? He ran his tongue over his lips, his breath caught in his chest and he moved his face in closer. Just a taste of those luscious, red lips.

  “Tadhg.” Sean’s forceful tone broke through his passion-induced fog.

  Tadhg yanked his head back. His breathing labored. The knife burned where it sliced through his gut and he stepped away from Tisa. He gave her his back and faced Sean.