Blood Feud: A Dark Ages Scottish Romance (The Warrior Brothers of Skye Book 1)

by Jayne Castel

  “You did what?”

  Her sister dropped her gaze. “I know you don’t want to hear it,” she said quietly, “but you make a handsome couple. I think he will treat you well.”

  Tea clamped her jaw shut. She did not want to shout at her sister, did not want the last words they shared to be angry ones. She had no idea when she would see Eithni again, so she swallowed her outrage and held her tongue.

  Yet the fact remained—both her brother and sister had conspired against her.

  “You drugged me,” she hissed. “I made a fool of myself because of you.”

  Loc approached her then. His lean face was somber as he stepped up next to Eithni. Tea went rigid. Although she had managed to rein in her temper when speaking to her sister she was not sure she could manage the same with her brother. Eithni would never have betrayed her of her own accord—this was his fault. One word, just one inflammatory word, and she would explode.

  Sensing her mood, Loc gave her a wary look. The three of them had been close growing up. Until now, Loc had been his sisters’ protector, defender. Now he was Tea’s betrayer.

  “I know what you did.” She spat the words at him, fisting her hands at her sides to stop herself from lashing out. “How could you?”

  “And I’m sorry for it,” he replied, although his tone told her otherwise. “But too much was at stake. I couldn’t have you ruin things. Understand that I’m doing this so that our children, and our children’s children may grow up secure and happy, without the threat of war.”

  Tea stared at him, rage rendering her momentarily speechless. A few feet behind Loc, she spotted Forcus and her cousin, Wid. Her cousin looked worried as he watched her, whereas Forcus’s expression was one of schooled neutrality. If he was sad to see her go, he did not show it. Suddenly, she wished she had agreed to run away with him. Forcus would never have betrayed her as her brother and sister had.

  Despite Tea’s fury, a hollow sense of loneliness settled upon her. Despair swiftly followed on its heels. Betrayed, isolated and now wedded to a man she despised—she had never felt so alone.

  Chapter Eight

  The Journey South

  Tea refused to hug her brother and sister goodbye. It was all she could do not to scream abuse at them. Instead she stepped back from Loc and Eithni and pulled her hood low over her face, making it clear she did not want to be touched. Eithni’s eyes glittered with tears; she knew what she had done had ruined their relationship.

  Loc said nothing, although his face was sterner than she had ever seen it. He knew he had just sacrificed his sister for peace—and she hoped his conscience never let him forget it.

  Tea turned away and mounted the shaggy dun mare Galan had saddled for her.

  The Eagle company moved off, and a sense of relief settled over Tea. She wanted to be away from Loc and Eithni; the sight of them made her still delicate stomach roil. Instead, she focused her attention on managing her pony. The mare tugged at the bit and swished her tail moodily. Her furry ears were back, as if she picked up on the turmoil churning within her rider.

  Giving the mare a sharp nip with her knees, urging her forward, Tea guided the mare down the steep pebbly path, leaving the Lochans of the Fair Folk behind.

  Soon after, they reached the river valley below and set off south with the forbidding outline of the Black Cuillins rearing up at their back. The ponies wove their way over rock-studded hills. They picked their way down pebbly slopes before splashing through crystalline creeks. The woody scent of heather filled the crisp air.

  Once her mare had settled down, Tea’s thoughts turned inward. There was a certain solace in travelling, on focusing on the journey. It was a welcome distraction. She rode alongside a stone-faced, silent Galan at the head of the column of riders. Their journey would take them the rest of today and most of the next morning to reach the fort on the south-western peninsula of The Winged Isle.

  She did not glance at Galan as they rode, yet was acutely aware of him next to her. Although Tea was loath to admit it, The Eagle chieftain was a man of incredible presence. The moment she had set eyes on him, she had seen he was someone who dominated a space purely by stepping within it. He appeared to be a man of few words, and her viciousness had caused him to withdraw further from her—Tea was grateful for that.

  He was a different kind of man to her brother. Although Galan and Loc were of similar ages, her new husband appeared a more serious, commanding figure than The Wolf chieftain. It seemed as if Loc was still proving himself to the men and women he led, whereas Galan gave the impression—by the way he carried himself and spoke to his warriors—of needing to prove nothing.

  After a while, the party stopped briefly at the bottom of a bare, windswept valley, where a silvery creek bubbled over the rocks. Here, they watered their ponies, and Donnel’s pregnant wife handed out hard bread buns studded with walnuts. Tea did not touch her bread; her sensitive stomach clenched at the thought of food. Although her nausea had started to abate and her aching head had eased, she still felt in a delicate state.

  Instead of eating, she sipped at a skin of water and leaned against her irascible pony for company. The mare flattened her ears back and snaked her head round, trying to nip Tea on the arm, only to receive a slap across the nose for her trouble.

  Depressed, Tea stepped away from her mount, her gaze scanning the empty valley before her. She had never travelled this far from home; this landscape was unknown to her. Mercifully, sensing her black mood, Galan and his kin did not approach Tea. She perched on a moss-covered rock and drew her mantle close about her. It was exposed here; the wind whistled down the valley and chilled her cheeks. The bitter season was on its way.

  The thought depressed Tea even further—moons and moons trapped indoors with Galan and his kin.

  How will I bear it?

  Galan urged his pony up the incline, loosening the reins to let it find its path. The stocky stallion carried his weight easily. It was a hardy creature and hardly seemed fatigued.

  Unlike its rider. Weariness pulled down upon Galan with every step. He had hardly slept the night before and the discussions with Loc had drained him.

  Stealing a glance at the hooded figure riding beside him, Galan wondered if Tea would ever thaw. Still, despite her clear dislike for him now, he did not regret the night before.

  For one night he had known a rare moment of abandon. It made him realize how serious and controlled his life had been till now. The eldest son, he had always carried the weight of responsibility like a heavy cloak.

  He had watched his father slowly grow embittered over the years as feuding with their northern neighbors escalated. As he grew older, Muin had obsessed about his enemies, and the wrongs he perceived they had done him.

  The day they buried Muin mac Uerd, Galan had made his father a silent promise.

  This hate ends with you.

  Now that he and Loc had made the first step toward lasting peace, Galan intended to make good on his word. He and Tea had got off to a rough start, but he would make the best of things.

  A chief does not marry for love.

  He was doing this for his people—so that his brothers, his cousins, and those living in the lands around Dun Ringill could live in peace and prosper.

  ***

  Tea watched dusk settle over the land in a soft, dark blanket. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes, making them water as she struggled to unsaddle her pony. Around her, she caught snatches of conversation, bursts of laughter and the flapping of goat hide—The Eagle company was making camp for the night.

  Rounded jade hills reared up either side of the camp, with the shadow of dark, craggy mountains to the northwest—the Black Cuillins were gradually diminishing in size. Tea glanced up at the sky, gaze narrowing. It would be another stormy night.

  She removed her mare’s saddle and began to rub the pony down with a twist of heather. Presently, the rich smell of burning peat drifted through the camp. Galan’s men had lit lumps of peat in a fire
pit at the center of the ring of tents.

  Leaving her mare with one of the warriors, who was fastening hobbles around the ponies’ front legs to prevent them wandering off in the night, Tea reluctantly made her way into the center of the camp. The ground was spongy underfoot, still damp from last night’s rain.

  The peat threw out a great heat, and Tea extended her chilled fingers over it in an effort to thaw them. She had been standing there a few moments when a small dark-haired figure approached her.

  “Greetings, Tea. I’m Luana—your new sister-by-marriage.”

  Tea turned and fixed her gaze upon the pregnant woman she had seen at Galan’s youngest brother’s side. Part of her wanted to snarl at the woman, to send her scurrying away, but the moment she met Luana’s moss-green gaze, the cutting words she had been about to utter died.

  Luana’s face held such gentleness, such calm, that Tea’s animosity could find no outlet. She nodded curtly and received a warm smile in response.

  “The men have readied your tent. I can take you there if you want?”

  Truly, Tea had no wish to leave the warmth of the burning peat; the pungent scent of its smoke calmed her.

  “Worry not,” Luana said, with another gentle smile, “We have lit a fire in your tent too.”

  Tea followed the woman to the largest tent in the circle, entering it to find a brazier with a lump of peat burning in the center. A slit in the roof let out the smoke and someone had placed a pile of furs a few feet away from the brazier. The sides of the tent billowed and snapped and a gust followed the women inside, making the peat glow red.

  Once inside, Luana turned to Tea. Her smile had faded although her expression was still welcoming. “I will bring you some supper and water to wash with,” she said softly. “You must be exhausted.”

  “Thank you.” They were the first words Tea had spoken since leaving the Lochans of the Fair Folk, but she could not continue being rude to Luana. Frankly, she felt embarrassed that this heavily pregnant woman was waiting upon her. Her sister-by-marriage looked drained; her pretty face was drawn and she had dark smudges under her eyes. “I should fetch my own supper and water,” she said, surprising herself as she uttered the words. “It’s you who should be resting.”

  Luana shook her head, flashing Tea another warm smile. “My back hurts after riding all afternoon. It’s good to move around a little.” She gestured to the furs. “Make yourself comfortable—I’ll be back soon.”

  As soon as Luana departed, Tea shrugged off her heavy mantle and removed her leather foot wrappings. A few drafts gusted in through gaps in the tent’s stitching but the peat had warmed the interior nicely. Gathering two of the four furs, Tea carried them over to the other side of the brazier. With a sigh, she sank down onto their softness.

  Luana returned presently, laden down with a heavy tray. Tea leaped to her feet and relieved the smaller woman of her burden. “You should have asked someone for help,” she scolded. “This was too heavy for you.”

  “I’m stronger than I look,” Luana replied, chagrined.

  Tea gave her a narrow-eyed look. “How far along are you with child?”

  “Seven moons.”

  Tea carried the tray across to her side of the brazier and set it down. “I’m surprised your husband let you come on this journey. You should be resting.”

  Luana made a soft scoffing sound. “I insisted he bring me—this handfasting was too important to miss.”

  Tea turned to face her sister-by-marriage, and found Luana watching her. The air inside the tent suddenly grew heavy. Tea realized that Luana was gathering her courage to speak on a more difficult subject.

  “I know you are not happy about this match,” she said finally, “and I understand why, but I am glad you are with us nonetheless.”

  Luana’s words came as a surprise to Tea. She had expected hostility, not a warm welcome. She was so taken aback that it took her a few moments to gather her wits and respond.

  “My brother forced this upon me.” Her voice sounded harsh and bitter, especially after Luana’s softly spoken words, and Tea almost winced at the sound of them. “I will never accept Dun Ringill as my home.”

  Luana’s face sagged a little at this, her disappointment clear. When she spoke, sadness tinged her voice. “Never is a long time, Tea. I hope you prove yourself wrong.”

  Chapter Nine

  Opposite Sides of the Fire

  Galan delayed entering the tent for as long as possible. He ate a light supper with his brothers by the outdoor fire pit, watching the lumps of peat burn bright in the darkness. However, the seeking wind had a raw edge to it.

  “Another storm is coming,” Donnel announced, peering up at the dark sky. “I can smell it on the wind.”

  Tarl laughed. “All I can smell is burning peat.”

  “We should reach the fort before it does,” Galan replied, moodily staring into the fire. He felt his brothers’ gazes upon him.

  “What happened?” Donnel asked finally. “After watching you at the feast I thought you’d both be all smiles today—yet you look as if you just wedded The Hag herself.”

  Galan threw him an irritated look. He’d already warned Tarl off this subject; clearly the two brothers had not spoken.

  “Aye—you should have seen his face this morning,” Tarl added ignoring his elder brother’s frown. “I think the lass wore him out. Maybe she needs a man with greater stamina.”

  Donnel roared with laughter at this. “Are you offering?”

  “Shut your mouths, both of you,” Galan growled, his patience snapping. “It appears my new wife doesn’t remember much of last night. Her sister made her a draft, a special potion, so that she could go through with our handfasting.”

  He glanced up to see Tarl and Donnel staring at him. At least his admission had wiped the smirks off their faces.

  “Surely she remembers the handfast?” Tarl asked.

  “Aye, and the rest of it too—although she denies it. She wants nothing more to do with me now that the effects of that potion have worn off.”

  Tarl’s mouth twisted. “Sounds like female mischief to me. Just throw her down on her back and teach her who rules.”

  Despite his foul mood, a smile tugged at the edge of Galan’s mouth. His brother had no idea how he longed to do just that; only such an act would make her hate him even more. For this union to work, he needed to go softly.

  Donnel snorted at Tarl’s comment. “Your knowledge of women astounds me,” he said. “No wonder none of them will warm your furs.”

  Tarl laughed. “Marriage has turned you soft, brother.” He punched Donnel’s shoulder. “I don’t need them to warm my furs—I’m too busy riding them.”

  Donnel punched him back. “One day you’ll tire of just riding them—you’ll want a woman to share your life with, to have your children, to grow old with.”

  Tarl smirked. “That day is long off.”

  Despite himself, Galan smiled at his brothers’ banter. Since becoming chief he had lost his sense of humor—his brothers reminded him that he was still young. Tarl and Donnel grounded him.

  However, it grew late and eventually his brothers made their excuses and retreated to their tents. Galan stood alone beside the smoking fire.

  He did not want to face her.

  Before arriving at the Lochans of the Fair Folk, he had wondered what his bride would be like—none of his imaginings had brought him to this eventuality. He hated to admit as much but Tea, daughter of Domech mac Bred, had completely unbalanced him. His usual calm, unwavering sense of purpose had started to falter and he felt strangely lost.

  Remember why you did agreed to wed her. This union must forge lasting peace.

  He turned from the fire and strode toward the tent he and Tea shared. Enough. He could not shy away from his duty. He needed to mend things with his bride, to approach her gently like a skittish pony, and build her trust.

  Tea lay on her side, with her back to the glowing brazier, when she heard Gala
n enter. She had been dozing, teetering between wakefulness and an exhausted slumber, when a gust of cold air warned her of his presence.

  Instantly, her entire body went rigid.

  Under the furs, her hand went to the sheathed knife she always wore at her waist—one she used for skinning and de-boning animals or chopping vegetables. She had climbed into the furs fully-clothed, unlike her usual habit of sleeping naked.

  Galan’s heavy tread stopped behind her and she felt the weight of his gaze settle upon her.

  “Tea,” he spoke her name softly, his powerful voice a low rumble. “Are you awake?”

  Tea ignored him, feigning sleep.

  “I know you’re awake—you’re not breathing,” he continued, a faint edge of amusement creeping into his voice. “You’re a poor mummer.”

  Irritation surged through Tea. She rolled over and fixed him in a hard glare.

  He met her gaze, his own steady, before favoring her with a slow smile. “That’s better.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We have not spoken all day—it’s time to break the silence between us.”

  “I have nothing to say to a Dun Ringill dog.”

  Galan gave a heavy sigh and shrugged off his cloak before unbuckling the heavy leather vest that covered his strong torso. “Your insults become repetitive, wife. Surely you have better names for me than that.”

  Stinking pig turd. Maggot spawn. The insults rose within Tea but she choked them back. He was deliberately baiting her, and she would not give him what he wanted.

  Galan’s clothes fell to the ground, leaving him stark naked before her. Tea wanted to look away; the sight of him—powerful, tattooed and virile—made her loins melt. Once again, it was a test and she would not satisfy him. Men liked to assert their dominance over women, but she was not easily cowed. Still, she made sure she kept her eyes on his upper torso—far from his manhood.