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

by Jayne Castel

  The bandruí of Dun Ringill accompanied them. Walking a few yards behind Ruith, Tea observed the seer with interest. She was a small, wiry woman with thick greying hair braided into plaits. Despite her advancing years, she held herself straight and proud as she walked.

  Inside the trees, the bandruí led them deep into the woods, to the places where drualus grew upon ancient oaks. While the other women went in search of the other seasonal plants, Tea helped Ruith cut the drualus. As she worked, the bandruí murmured words of blessing. Oaks were sacred, and the drualus that grew upon it like a parasite was a symbol of life in the dark winter months.

  Ruith stepped back from her task, glancing across at where Tea now held a basket full of evergreen leaves with woody stems, and waxy, white berries.

  “It is good to see color in your face and light in your eyes,” the seer said. Her directness took Tea aback. She had not thought Ruith had paid her any attention since her arrival here. Today was the first time the two women had actually spoken.

  Seeing her consternation, the bandruí smiled. “I saw you the day you rode in,” she said by way of explanation. “All I remember is an ashen face and wild eyes—you looked formidable. I feared our chief might have his throat slit one night while he slept.”

  Tea grimaced. “I considered it.”

  “But something prevented you?”

  Tea nodded, looking away from Ruith’s intense gaze. “I can’t harm Galan.” She glanced back at the bandruí to see that she was smiling. “He told me that he came to you about me.”

  Ruith nodded, her smile fading. “He came looking for answers, but I fear he left me less happy than when he arrived.”

  The two women moved over to the second oak in the mossy clearing, and Ruith climbed up to reach the drualus that grew higher up in its branches. She climbed with impressive agility and confidence, bracing herself against two boughs while she began cutting the plant and dropping it down to Tea.

  “He told me about his father and my mother,” Tea said eventually. “That Muin had wished to wed my mother all those years ago.”

  Ruith looked down at her. “All those years ago … so says the young woman. Seems only yesterday to me.”

  Tea tried to smile but failed; she had little sense of humor where the subject of Muin was concerned. “Was he embittered?”

  The bandruí sighed. “I remember he returned from that gathering elated at the prospect of having Fina as his wife. A few moons later when he realized she’d wed another he was angry, yet I don’t remember his disappointment lasting long. If he felt resentment, he hid it well.”

  Ruith paused here as she turned her attention to her task. When she slid back down to the ground, her expression was introspective. “Muin was very happy with Galaith, Galan’s mother. After her death Muin and I became lovers.”

  Tea listened with interest. She was still unconvinced, yet like most folk, she respected a seer’s opinion. Besides, her time here had softened her opinion of Galan’s people. She had treated them all with contempt since her arrival but for the most part they had accepted her. Luana’s death had made something shift within her—had made her see the world differently.

  Ruith met Tea’s eye once more, her expression serious. “Muin hated the People of The Wolf, but it was a loathing born of years of feuding, one passed down to him through his father, and his father’s father before that. I never sensed there was more to it than that.”

  Their task of gathering drualus complete, the two women started walking back through the trees in the direction of Dun Ringill. The pale winter sun shone down through the skeleton trees although there was hardly any heat in it.

  “Do you still hate Galan?” Ruith asked, a twinkle in her eye. “In your place I’d find him very hard to resist.”

  The seer’s comment reminded Tea of Luana—of her attempts to make Tea see Galan in a better light. Those honey oatcakes she had packed for them that day had been yet another attempt to thaw the ice between them. The memory of Luana’s kindness, just a short while before her death, made Tea’s throat constrict.

  Tea looked away from the bandruí, as if the frozen ground had suddenly become fascinating. “He is hard to resist,” she admitted quietly.

  Ruith gave a soft laugh. “You make that sound like such a terrible thing. Do you know how many women can’t abide the sight of their husband?”

  Tea glanced up. “How I wish that was the case between us. For the sake of my people, for my parents’ memory, I wanted to despise him.”

  The bandruí inclined her head slightly. “It’s for the sake of both our people that Galan wed you—to bring peace to our corner of The Winged Isle. Why do you continue to fight your attraction to him?”

  Tea sighed, forcing a wan smile. “I don’t rightly know. I suppose I fear that once I cross that line, there’ll be no going back. Dun Ringill will finally be my home.”

  Ruith smiled. “It already is, Tea.” She then reached into her basket and withdrew a sprig of drualus. “I bless this plant with life, love and happiness for you both—wear it in your hair tonight.”

  Tea took the drualus, her stomach fluttering in sudden nervousness at what the seer was promising. “Very well,” she murmured. “I shall.”

  ***

  At dusk, the folk of Dun Ringill lit two bonfires of oak just outside the defensive walls. Tea and the other women brought steaming iron pots of spiced cider outdoors to toast the Long Night, and to share the drink with the crops and trees in the fields outside the fort.

  The women had done an admirable job of decorating the fort, both inside and out, with holly, ivy, drualus and boughs of pine. The latter filled the interior of the fort with its pungent resin-scent. A great oaken log now burned in the hearth, before it would smolder for the coming days.

  Cheeks reddened from being outdoors in the cold, folk packed inside the feasting hall. They took their places at the long tables around the hearth, their chilled fingers wrapped around steaming cups of spiced cider.

  Men brought in spit-roasted pigs that had been stuffed with apples, dried damsons and nuts; placing one on each table. There were also roasted turnips, carrots and onions and large tureens of braised kale—all of which were served with fresh loaves of caraway bread.

  After she had finished pouring cider for all who sat at the chieftain’s table, Tea took her place next to Galan. It was the first time she had seen him all day, for the preparations for the Long Night had occupied them both. Galan looked dangerously attractive tonight, clad in fine doe-skin breeches, a studded belt and a dark leather vest that left his muscular arms bare. The sight of him made Tea’s pulse quicken.

  Meeting her eye, Galan smiled. “It’s a fine feast.”

  “You have many good cooks here at Dun Ringill,” she replied with an answering smile. “Deri prepared most of this—I cannot take credit for it.”

  Galan carved some pork, placing it upon the dish they shared before spooning out some stuffing. Despite the excitement his very nearness elicited, the aroma of the roast meat and stuffing made Tea’s mouth water. Feasts such as these were special events indeed, and to be savored for there were still many moons of cold weather before them.

  At the table opposite, Tea spied Ruith. A revered member of the community, the bandruí was always invited to feasts inside the fort. The seer laughed at something the man next to her said, flicking her braids flirtatiously. Watching her, Tea fought a smile. She liked Ruith’s spirit and zest for life.

  She raised her cup to her lips and took a sip of warmed cider before glancing at Galan. He was watching her under lowered lids, a heated look that made her breathing grow shallow.

  “You look lovely this evening,” he murmured. “You have drualus in your hair.”

  Tea found herself smiling. “Aye—Ruith gave it to me.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Have you been spending time with the bandruí?”

  Tea nodded. “We collected drualus together today.” Her smile widened when she saw his discomfo
rt. “What is it?”

  “I’ve never been comfortable around the seer,” he admitted, casting a reproachful glance in Ruith’s direction. “She has a look that devours a man.”

  Tea laughed, realizing as she did so that it was the first time she had let mirth overtake her since coming to Dun Ringill. “She certainly thinks you’re attractive—she told me so.”

  Galan grinned at that. “What else did she say?”

  Tea gave him a coy look. “Men shouldn’t know what women say amongst themselves.”

  His grey eyes gleamed. “Really? Now I’m curious.”

  Tea looked away and pretended to be interested in her meal. However, the heat of Galan’s stare made her feel stripped bare. She took another sip of cider and let its spiced warmth calm her. His nearness made her feel as if she was sitting right next to the burning oaken log in the hearth. His thigh sat just a hair’s breadth from hers on the bench. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt him shift closer, and his leg pressed against hers.

  Heart pounding, Tea looked up and helped herself to a piece of roast turnip.

  How am I going to get through tonight without bursting into flames?

  Across the room, Ruith caught her eye. Perhaps seeing Tea’s struggle to contain her desire for the man sitting next to her, the bandruí winked before favoring her with a wicked smile.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mid-Winter Fire

  The feasting of the Long Night passed with agonizing slowness. Although the food was delicious—including the apple and prune pudding served with thick cream that was served as a sweet—Galan had no appetite for it.

  All he could think about was Tea.

  He had not been exaggerating earlier—she had truly never looked lovelier than tonight. She wore a simple, high-necked tunic of jade green, edged in gold thread, and that same heavy circlet about her throat that she had worn for their handfasting. The tunic showed off the full swell of her breasts. It left her long, shapely arms bare, and upon her left bicep she wore a golden arm ring. Her hair, which she usually wore braided, she had brushed out before piling it high on her head, the drualus woven amongst it. This hair-style showed off the long column of her neck, including her nape.

  Galan had ached to kiss her there all night.

  Once the feasters had eaten their fill, more spiced cider was mulled and a harpist began to play. Men and women rose to their feet, pushed two of the tables to one side and began to dance.

  Watching them, Galan was aware only of the feel of Tea’s thigh against his. Struggling to calm his breathing, he reached over and took her hand in his. Her skin was warm, her fingers slender and strong. Wordlessly, he laced his fingers through hers before stroking her palm with the pad of his thumb. He heard Tea’s sharp intake of breath next to him and felt a thrill of victory.

  He was beginning to think he was the only one who was suffering, that she was sitting next to him in cool oblivion. However, that gasp told him it was not so.

  Galan looked over at her, their gazes meeting. As always, he drowned in the storm-blue of her eyes.

  Around them, the crowd of revelers cheered as a man with a bone whistle joined the harpist. An exuberant tune echoed high into the rafters, accompanied by laughter as one of the men dancing spun his woman around, her hair flying like a flag behind her.

  Galan was oblivious to it all. His thumb continued its gentle caress across Tea’s palm as he watched her. He watched Tea part her lips slightly, a gentle sigh escaping her. Suddenly, it was as if they were alone in the cavernous space. She too paid the dancers and revelers no heed.

  “Galan,” she murmured his name like a caress.

  He tried to smile and failed. His longing for her felt like a blade in his groin. His heart thundered like a galloping pony.

  “Yes, Tea.”

  She swallowed, the smooth skin of her cheeks burnished by the flames of the hearth, mulled cider and arousal. “I don’t want to fight this anymore … I can’t.”

  Her words made his breathing still, made hope flare in his breast. They were the words he had been waiting for since their handfasting. To hear them made the wait worth it. He would not let this moment pass unnoticed—he had to act now before she changed her mind.

  “Come,” he murmured, rising to his feet.

  Tea glanced at him, her gaze widening. “But the dancing?”

  His gaze held hers. “No one will care if we leave.”

  It was true, the crowd were too busy clapping and cheering for the dancers. Few of them—save Ruith, who missed nothing—noticed the chieftain rise to his feet and lead his wife away from the table.

  Tea’s body felt molten, her limbs boneless, as she stepped into the chieftain’s alcove. Galan stepped in behind her, the heavy fur hanging swishing shut. Beyond, the music and cheering echoed through the fort, yet she barely noticed it.

  Instead, she turned and reached for her husband.

  Two steps brought her hard up against him, and then her arms were locked around his neck, her mouth attacking his.

  Galan gave a deep groan, pulling her hard against him. His hands were everywhere. He unfastened her hair so it fell in heavy waves around her shoulders, and tore at the flimsy material of her tunic so that it fell from her body, pooling around her ankles. Likewise, Tea ripped at his clothing, untying the leather vest and tearing it from him, her hands fumbling with the laces on his doe-skin breeches.

  She pushed the breeches down over his hips, his shaft springing free. She stroked the length of him, before she wrapped her fingers around his girth. Tea’s breathing caught in her throat.

  He’s magnificent, beautiful.

  His mouth still devouring hers, Galan scooped her up against him and closed the gap between the edge of the alcove and the pile of furs—the place where they had lain side-by-side night after night without touching.

  Tonight, all that would change.

  They collapsed on the furs, limbs and tongues tangling. Galan tore his mouth from hers, only to kiss and lick his way down the length of her body. Tea gasped at the heat of his mouth, the aching pleasure as he took each of her swollen nipples into his mouth and suckled her. Her hands raked over his skin, marveling at its velvet softness over the hardness of muscle. How long had she longed for this? How long had she fought that longing?

  “Tea,” he groaned as he parted her thighs. “I’m going to spend all night showing you how beautiful you are—but right now I can’t wait. I have to be inside you.”

  Her breathing caught in her throat. She wanted him so much, she could not bear to wait a moment longer. In answer, she spread her legs wide and wrapped them around his hips, angling herself up to him.

  Galan entered her in one smooth, deep thrust; so big and hard that she cried out. Her body started to shudder uncontrollably. Waves of pleasure crashed over her. Tea started to sob and gasp his name.

  In response, he grabbed hold of her wrists, pinned them together and held them over her head so that her breasts thrust up to him. Then he plowed her, slow and hard.

  Tea felt as if she was flying, as if together they had had left the mortal world behind, and were soaring like falcons high above the earth. Nothing mattered but this moment—the past and future ceased to exist.

  Rearing over her, his skin flushed with pleasure, his lips swollen from the violence of their kisses, Galan threw back his head and let out a low, throaty groan. In response, Tea dug her heels into his buttocks and thrust her hips up to meet him.

  His groan turned into a hoarse cry, and she watched him give himself up to her.

  ***

  Galan propped himself up on an elbow and stared down at Tea. Unspeaking, he drank her in.

  She looked up at him, her dark-blue eyes wide, her face soft. The light from the cressets that burned on the walls caressed her nakedness, and Galan found his gaze slipping from her face, down her long, smooth limbs, over the flare and curve of her hips to the lushness of those delicious breasts.

  He would never tire of admiring h
is wife’s body—she was divine.

  When his gaze travelled back up to meet Tea’s he found she was smiling.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she replied gently. “I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

  He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Thinking about what?”

  “About how things change.” Her gaze flicked away. “I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

  Galan stared down at her for a moment before replying. “Believe in us,” he murmured.

  Tea’s eyes glittered with emotion. “I’m sorry for being so foul toward you—I’m surprised you didn’t beat me for my insolence?”

  He grinned. “I don’t think I’d dare ever try.”

  “I mean it—you are a good man, only you never bargained on getting a shrew.”

  Galan shook his head. “I didn’t—I got a proud, beautiful woman whose trust I needed to win.” He reached down and took her hand in his, cupping it tenderly.

  “I wish to believe that my father is innocent of killing your mother,” he said after a few moments, “but I have to accept that it could have happened. It’s not something that’s easy to bear.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Please believe me when I tell you that I and my brothers had nothing to do with her death. None of us would ever stoop so low. I would never harm you or yours.”

  Tea nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “I realize that now.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  No Other Woman

  In the days following the Long Night the snow finally melted away and the earth thawed. The oaken log in the hearth smoldered for the following twelve days, until finally nothing but embers and ash remained. Once the snow had cleared, leaving the earth soft and muddy, a chill mist settled over The Winged Isle.

  Mists like this were commonplace, especially in the winter. Tea knew this weather well, although she, like most folk, disliked it when the mantle of mist descended, as it would linger for many days, obscuring the friendly face of the sun and chilling all to the bone.