by Raina Wilde
“Yes?” Brian's voice was infinitely weary. He looked up with blank eyes.
“My lord..? The men...they want you at the council.”
The council. For war. In two days' time.
“Thank you, Davy.” His voice was tired. “I will...join them in a moment.”
“Very good, my lord.”
He heard Davy walk down the corridor, footsteps echoing.
I will join you in a moment, he thought, sadly. When I will spend my night discussing how best to attack the woman I love.
He shook his head. It was cruel. Life was cruel. He sighed, dusted himself off, and left to join the council.
Chapter 9
“Go! Go Douglas!”
The field was alive with horses, flags and men. The air thrummed with the sound of horns, of shouts, of metal on metal. The sky and the grass formed a backdrop gray to the sudden wildness of steel and men, unleashed upon their banks.
It was battle.
Aigneis, mounted, wheeled her horse to let herself shout encouragement to her commanders. “Yes, Jamie! That's it!” Her voice was hoarse already and her sword-arm ached. Any other day, she would be elated. Then, she was awake and functioning, but all the while she felt a numbing ache. She faced his men in battle. Him. What if they met each other on the field? She refused to consider the notion. Her mind narrowed to the imperatives of battle: her horse, her knees, her arm, her men. Her sword.
She caught motion from the corner of her eye and whirled, blade raised, to counter it. Steel rang on steel. She grated the blade around, freeing it from the lock. Her eyes were blazing. She whirled and struck. She felt the blade pass through flesh. Grate on bone. She moved her knees and rode forward, already looking for the next assailant. “Aagh!” She found that she was screaming, a wild primordial sound. It was her battle cry; wordless and frightening. Her men rallied to it, surging to form up around her horse.
They fell on their assailants, then, with renewed vigor. Aigneis used the moment to wheel her horse, letting the motion give her a vantage point from which to view proceedings. The enemy were falling back. Already, they were in groups around the edges. All she needed then was for Douglas to bring the horses in and finish it off.
She allowed herself then, to look for men in red. There they were. Hanging back, on the edge of the field. Brian was with his standard-bearer, presiding over the battle.
She wheeled again, blocking another blade. The skirmish was brief, and she the stronger fighter. The man rode off. She did not stop to think how bad his wounding may have been. There was no time to consider anything but the immediate imperatives of battle.
“McGowan!” Her men were shouting, their war cry. She smiled, and whirled back to them.
She heard, rather than saw, a man draw his sword, standing near her bridle. She stabbed down, unthinking. That meant she did not see the rider on her right. Suddenly, she felt a ringing blow. Her horse fell, and she fell with him. She knew how to dismount from a fallen horse, and did so before her leg was crushed. There was no time to remount. The rider faced her, then, his blade drawn. She had always practiced facing cavalry on foot, but she was a rider at heart. She lifted the blade, and swung it at his thigh. He glided past, swerving at the last instant, wheeling ‘round behind her and coming at her again. She was on foot, her blade before her. In front of her, the horse was bearing down.
The rider was levelling his blade. She turned, facing a new threat: an infantryman was running at her, blade aloft. She struck at him, but the horseman was still coming. There was no room to run. She felt the impact, as his blow struck her shoulder. She felt herself faint. She did not feel the arm that caught her, nor the lift, as Brian pulled her across his saddle and rode with her towards the shelter of the woods.
Chapter 10
Trees. They were tall, almost leafless. Stark and grey and bare against the sky. Aigneis opened her eyes to trees and silence. She was lying on the ground. She slowly became aware of the hardness and the cold. With the return of sensation came also the ache in her shoulder. It spread out, throbbing, and for a moment she could not think of anything else.
Then, she became aware of other things. It was silent. Last time she was awake, she was in the midst of a battle. It should not have been silent around her. Where was everyone? Was everything over?
“Uugh…” She groaned, as she sat up. Her head ached, as well as her shoulder.
“It's alright. You're well.”
She recognised that voice. It throbbed into her, making her body ache, pleasantly. She rolled onto her side to sit up. She sat up to face him.
“Brian?”
“Aigneis.”
His voice was low, and longing, and it matched, entirely, how she felt. She felt her womb clench with the sweet ache she felt for him.
She sat up, and paused while her head cleared. “Brian? Where are we?”
“You fell. We're in the forest.”
“The battle?”
He shrugged, then. There was a strange, sweet smile upon his lips then. “Our battle?” He paused. “Without us, perhaps it will die down.”
He was right, she thought. We fuelled it. Started it. When we are gone, our men will cease to fight. At least, she hoped it was true. “We...should get back.”
“No.” His voice was low, deep. A breath of longing. His eyes, when they looked into hers, were strangely guileless.
“No?”
“Not...now. Not when I'm here, with you.”
Their eyes met. She felt the trembling longing in her womb gather to a slow, pulsing ache. She moved forward, rolling over so that she sat beside him. She looked into his eyes. He leaned towards her. Their lips met. Her mouth was soft, and strangely hesitant. Sweet, like meadow-grass. His mouth moved over hers slowly, their lips playing over each other, touching, teasing. Her lips parted, and his tongue entered her mouth. Her eyes closed. Her lips, likewise, moved over his. They leaned in closer. His arms were around her, stroking the mane of her hair. Her fingers moved to touch, lightly, the back of his neck.
He stiffened at that, the sudden stab of desire too much to bear for a moment. Her arms tightened around his body, pulling him back towards her. His body pressed forward, eagerly, and then they were lying on the ground. He was over her, her hard body a new sensation. Her arms pulled him against her, his densely muscled chest hard against her breasts. She wanted to feel the full weight of him on her; wanted so much to feel him inside her.
Her legs wrapped ‘round his waist, and their bodies pressed together. The ache of that was almost too much to bear. They writhed together, loving the sweet pressure of their bodies as they felt them press, hard against each other’s skin. Her hands explored his back, and his mouth found her skin, kissing down the margin of her neck. Her skin was scented with soap, and sweat—magical and surprising. It kindled the fire inside him to new heights.
He sat back a little, looked down at her form. Her eyes opened, and she looked him a question. He returned it then.
“Yes.”
She nodded. Her voice was deep, throbbing with longing. It made him ache for her. She reached up to the buttons of his shirt, even as he began to unbutton hers. He kissed the soft, satin skin of her chest, and worked her shirt down, taking her breast in his mouth.
She cried out, loud and breathily. The sensation was like fire; warm and intense, kindling nerve-endings and setting them alight with sensation. He nuzzled and sucked, gentle and insistent, and she felt the tightness in her womb as she ached for him.
He moved to the other breast, and she cried out her need for him. Her thighs wrapped round his waist. He groaned, sat back and started to undress. She undid the ties of her breeches, and then they were naked in the grass.
Their bodies pressed against each other, and he moved back, sliding into her. She cried out, and so did he; their voices joined in a gasp of sudden delight.
He moved back, and slowly entered her again. Her thighs locked behind his back, drawing him inside. He moved back and thrust,
moved and thrust, and soon they were riding wave after wave of desire as it rocked through them. They thrust and thrust, losing all awareness of anything besides the rocking, raging fire that ripped through both of them, coursing up their bodies as if to consume them.
She cried out, an explosive gasp of pleasure; and a second later his voice followed, a grating grunt of pleasure so intense it could not be expressed in words.
They collapsed back onto the grass. He remained inside her, his weight pressed onto her body. She already loved the feel of him there, the weightiness of him.
It felt like hours that they lay there, lost in the dizzying mist of pleasure. Then, slowly, he rolled off her, and sat back, looking down at her. His face was awed, and soft with care. She saw it, and how it transformed him to true beauty. She smiled. Her green eyes were aflame with warmth.
They kissed, slowly and then deeply; desire rekindling. After a moment, they sat back.
“We should...go back?” It was a question, and he asked it reluctantly.
“Yes.” her voice was soft. “Yes, we should.” She said it reluctantly, too; a merest whisper.
They looked at each other. So much passed between in that moment; things that neither could have said in words.
“Well, then.” He held out a hand and took hers, lifting it to his mouth and kissing it. Her fingers were muscled and hard. Not unlike his.
“Well.” Her voice was warm, satiated.
They sat up. It took them much longer to dress, as each moment they were kissing, touching; lost in the impossible delight of closeness.
Then they were riding back again, through the woods.
Chapter 11
A last day of summer. The soft, diffuse golden light slanted into Aigneis' chamber. She closed her eyes, letting the rays warm her, soaking into her body. She smiled. She felt deliciously relaxed.
Brian. She could not help that his name brought a grin to her lips. She could still feel the sweet sensation of his body inside her; could still see his eyes before her own gaze.
Her mind was full of memories, and she thought through all of them, their sweetness rekindling desire deep inside her. Her thoughts turned too, to the feud. The war.
Brian was right. When they left the field, the fighting had stopped. The men, bewildered, had called it a truce and left, waiting for them to return. She had not explained anything to them then, but had brought her forces here, to the fortress, until further notice.
She still had to think about this. There was so much to consider.
The circumstances of her father's death were still baffling. There was so much she did not know. Strange, to think that all her life she had lived convinced it was the Learys. She knew better. She and Brian had talked a little on the way back to the field. He knew from talking with his men why she hated them so. He also knew that it could not be true, as he remembered that his father was away then, fighting in a raid on the opposite border of their lands. If it was the Learys, it had happened without his father's knowledge, and without his giving any order. That made it better. But she wanted to know the truth.
Aigneis went down to her father's study once again. There amongst his papers, there must have been a clue. She was sitting, reading through them, when she heard a footfall behind her in the hallway. She whipped ‘round, battle training too strong to let an enemy walk up undetected. She saw Gareth, her father's master-at-arms. Her master-at-arms.
“My lady?”
“Gareth.” She smiled.
“May I help you?”
“Actually...there is something.”
“Anything.”
“Gareth...you were there. That day. The day...my father...”
“Yes, my lady.” Gareth did not meet her eye. “To my shame.”
“Gareth.” her voice was firm. “There was no shame. You were one, and they were too many. What could you have done?”
“I could have taken the blow that killed him, my lady.”
“He would not have wanted that. I am sure you had completely different orders. He would have wanted you doing those.”
They shared a smile. That was just how her father was.
“I...You are right.” He mused. “But there were so many. And that tall bastard...”
“Yes?”
“You know, it's strange.” Gareth thinks, slowly. “I never saw those men again. Any of them. You'd think I would have.”
“That is true.”
That fitted very well with what she had been thinking.
“Gareth.” She decided to ask directly. “You were there. Did everything seem...normal to you? Did it seem the Learys had laid an ambush. Or could it...could it have been...not them?”
“What do you mean, my lady? A trick?”
“Yes, Gareth. That is precisely what I mean.”
She told him. All the things she suspected then. At the end, he shook his head.
“You could be right, my lady.” He shook his head again. “That is...terrible.”
“Yes, it is, Gareth.” She agreed. “Terrible, and wrong.” She thought for a moment, then continued.
“It is time we put it right.”
Chapter 12:
It was dark. And cold. The horses moved silently, their hooves wrapped. Aigneis glanced across at Brian. They were both draped in black, covering even their mouths. No one would be able to see them.
They were in the heart of enemy territory, deep in McGuire land. Each step could be their death, if they were surprised on these lands, alone. They rode together, side-by side. Her knee bumped his, and they both felt aware of it, even as they turned to smile at each other. Their smiles were obscured by the coverings, but they saw them in each other’s eyes.
They rode on. The night was loud with crickets; everything else was quiet. There was even no full breeze, only a slight whisper that rustled in the leaves.
Brian reined in. Aigneis stopped. Their eyes met as he nodded his head towards the trees. Sure enough, there was someone there. A lone man, standing at a tree, sharpening a knife with a whetstone.
They froze, then. Aigneis looked at him, and her eyes crinkled at the corners in a wide grin. She nodded. It said, plainly, let's get him.
Brian nodded back. He inclined his head to the left. She nodded too, and moved to the right; an agreement to surround him. Strange, that they could already communicate so well silently. It was seamless, as if they carried out raids together every day.
She rode right, he left. They glided through the trees. Five minutes later she glanced up, and he nodded from across the gap in the trees.
She rode forward as he did. They saw their quarry see her first, and panic. Then he saw him. Brian was fast, and hit down with the flat of his sword, hard. The man dropped. Not dead; unconscious.
They dismounted, then, and lifted the unconscious man. They tied his hands behind him and threw him over a saddle, then riding back to their own land.
***
“And who do you work for?” Aigneis' voice was arch. It was late, but her voice was not tired. It was alive. She could keep this up for hours it seemed. She was sitting before a fire. In it, her dagger heated. The flames danced along the blade, and she watched them.
Brian was opposite her, on the other side of the fire. He stood a little way off with the horses, in easy reach of her should the prisoner try and make a run into the woods.
The man was stonily silent. Perhaps he did not think she that she would use the blade. Brian knew better.
“I asked you a question.” Her voice was low now and Brian could hear the threat in it, low and menacing. She waited a moment. “Very well.” She lifted the dagger from the fire. It was red-tipped. She moved around the fire and to the side. The red-hot blade was suddenly at his hand. He gulped and clawed backwards, crablike. She gripped his hand, held it on the ground.
“...I...”
“That's better.” Her voice was satisfied. Brian felt the voice vibrate through him, even as he shook his head in raw surprise. This was a sid
e of her that even he had never met before, nor imagined.
He was silent again and she moved the blade, still glowing, to the man's open hand. He screamed. She lifted it.
“I...I work for Harry McGuire. I...was...his squire. Now I am...an ensign in his household guard.”
“Good.” Her lips moved, a savage smile. “Then you know about the events of the September Raid?”
“I...I...”
She moved the knife to his hand again. He backed away from her.
“No!” His voice was urgent.
“Tell me.”
And he did. All of it. How he was told to wait for her father's party. The Laird of McGuire was with them that morning, but did not take part. It was done on his orders, though, and was all his idea. They were to wait on the border of the land for her father's party, returning from a raid on land further down the boundary.
They were to dress in red, the color of the Learys. They were to attack and to kill as many men as possible, leaving only one alive to tell the tale of murder.
At the end of it, she sat back.
Brian was across the circle, still with the horses. His eyes met hers. Hers were deep and knowing, and carried so many things. Confirmation, peace. He nodded.
“Your hand will be tended at the kitchen.” Aigneis said it, level. She held no anger towards him. Revulsion, perhaps. The whole story repelled her. But anger? No. That was dead now. Out of her life.
In that moment she became resolved to set things right. As they should be. She released him. He stood, glanced at Brian, stumbled back and ran. Aigneis stood. Every part of her ached with weariness.
Brian went to join her. She leaned against her horse, and put her hand on his shoulder. She was weary. He bent forward, and kissed her. It held so many things, that kiss: desire, caring, a closeness beyond all of that.
“We should get back.” Her voice was low.
“Yes.” he agreed.
They mounted, exhausted, and began the long, slow ride back to the fortress. They rode close together, and when they arrived, they stabled the horses and went together to her room.
