“And where he goes so do you? Ah well, you’re an unusual pair but it seems to work.”
“We’ve gone through a lot together; however, we’re more, we’re a trio.” He laughed at that. “Our Jamie hates to be left out.”
Thinking the little man had finished, Gavyn was about to turn away when he saw Nhaimeth’s face grow serious, showing signs of his age for once, for he had at least four or five years more than Rob. “Naebody at Dun Bhuird kens about me, my true heritage. The other lads will say naught. I hope I can trust ye to keep my secret.”
“I will,” he promised, and Gavyn was a man of his word, which he sometimes thought was a pity. News that Nhaimeth was the true Comlyn heir would soon have distracted attention away from his and Kathryn’s reunion. Now all he had to rely on to do the same was the rich cargo in the wagons, each of which took four oxen to pull. It was a prize that had been hard won by him and his mercenaries while fighting in France. Now the gold and silver was hid in strong, ironbound chests, out of sight.
But then mayhap the dogs would capture their curiosity. Between each wagon, huntsmen from France controlled the ugly French mastiffs as well as huge hounds, unlike any he had seen in Scotland, that would run down a scent until they could run no more. Hunting or fighting, Gavyn had swiftly envisioned a place for them at Bienn á Bhuird. The mastiffs were a fearsome sight, and the hounds’ baying was a sound to frighten the dead, or at least a man on the run. Both breeds would be a deterrent behind the wooden palisade until he had the masons build a curtain wall.
Suddenly the trees closed in. A small snake of cold ran down Gavyn’s spine. Dark and forbidding, the forest appeared bereft of animals or men, empty, safe. He’d learned not to put too much trust in appearances. It behoved every one of his men to be vigilant. With forests came cateran—men beyond the law. The loaded wagons were an irresistible temptation to men with naught but a shield and a sword to their name and with a fancy to line their pockets.
Sidling Cloud closer to the pony, Gavyn spoke quietly to Nhaimeth on a subject that had been troubling him since leaving Cragenlaw. “How are you feeling, wee man, now that we’re nearing the mountains around Bienn á Bhuird?”
“I’m fine about it.” Nhaimeth nodded, as if to add weight to his words. “I’m of the persuasion that thinking o’er much on what’s ahead of ye, can turn it into a mountain it might kill ye to climb instead of a field ye can plough through.”
Gavyn chuckled, as Rob butted in, “But Dun Bhuird is on a mountain.”
With a grin, Nhaimeth told him, “Trust you to pick holes in my assertion, lad.”
Few would have imagined the two as close friends, Nhaimeth being been born a dwarf with a hump on his back and Rob a fair way to becoming as large as his father.
Had Erik the Bear, always a hard man, lived, Gavyn—a landless lord—would never have dared cast his eyes at Kathryn, the daughter of a man callous enough to cast Nhaimeth away at birth. Although now, to all appearances, the Bear had been more wise than cruel, and everyone party to the secret agreed that for Nhaimeth to try claiming what was his by right of succession could be the death of him.
Rob didn’t have enough years under his belt to know when to leave well alone. “I can’t help but think that if I were in your shoes right now, I’d feel sick to my stomach.”
“Nae lad, you wouldn’t.” Nhaimeth shook his head and set the one bell left on the hat Astrid had made for him a-jingling. “I resigned myself to this being the only life I’m fit for on the day my half-sister, Astrid, made me her Fool.”
“Rob”—the name was a rebuke on Gavyn’s lips—“all Nhaimeth needs to know is that he may feel safe at Dun Bhuird as long as I’m alive.”
Gavyn never let the thought cross his mind that he might still be alive yet not laird of Dun Bhuird. Digging his spurs into Cloud’s flank he advanced up the line of mercenaries to re-join the mounted troops heading the column. The sun’s rays dappled the track as it opened wider. The path brightened as they reached the edge of the forest, the big grey breaking forth into the light splashing off Gavyn’s mail. Dark brown earth lifted with every thump of Cloud’s hooves, filling the air with the stench of things long dead. The column, too, gained speed, as if the stream of men, all of them, were being sucked into the sunlight, seeking relief from the green darkness.
A mere length from him, Gavyn’s lieutenants stepped out of the darkness, steeds abreast in a broad slash of chain mail off which the sun’s rays glanced brightly, hurting his eyes. He almost blamed the hauberks for the bright flash of light in the distance. And he might have, had another not burst to life high atop the mountain.
Riding up behind him, he heard Rob yell, “Look up yonder. Can you see on the rim? Someone has lit beacons.” Gavyn raised his eyes to the norwest and counted at least five smudges of flame and smoke. They hadn’t been lit in welcome.
Knowing that by the time she joined Magnus outside he would be wearing mail and helm, Kathryn determined she could do no less as she sped toward the Chieftain’s chamber. The door’s hinges caught on her hair as she flew past. Mayhap she would give the helm the by. She wanted nothing to restrict her aim.
Looking about her, she called out for Brodwyn. Her cousin could help Lhilidh to fasten her into her the mail shirt her father had had fashioned for Alexander. She might be family, but like Kathryn, Brodwyn had to be good for something other than a talent for nagging long and loud to get her own way.
So much for plans. Brodwyn, it seemed, was playing least in sight. It would just be like her to have found a corner to hide in. So Lhilidh would have to wait on Kathryn alone when she arrived, helping her with the laces and belts as fast as her young fingers could work. Lhilidh might be young, yet the lass knew how to put duty before any fears that troubled her thoughts.
The ram’s horn boomed through the air outside, its echo swelling into the high hall loud enough to shake its old walls, and that too was a reminder of Farquhar’s concerns about their defences. It took a strong man with lungs like an ox to blow a blast strong enough to echo around the mountains that held the green glen in their embrace.
Before the horn stopped echoing, Lhilidh was in the chieftain’s chamber, but her cousin was still nowhere to be seen. “Lhilidh, did you send someone to fetch Geala inside the palisade?”
“Aye, as soon as the horn blew. I sent two the young lads to carry her inside the walls.”
“Not up to the hall?”
“Nae, I thought she might be too heavy for them to carry up this far in a rush. They will nae want to miss out on the excitement.”
The young lass had a lot more sense in her head than was in her cousin’s whole body. “Did you see Brodwyn when you were in the hall?”
“Not a skerrick of her since we left her in your chamber.”
“That long?” Kathryn sighed, disappointed but not surprised. “Well, we have no time to wait for her, you’ll have to fetch me yon mail shirt, and be careful, it’s heavy.” In truth the tunic had been made for her brother Alexander. Very fine it was too, as had befitted the young prince of the Comlyns. Before he could wear it, though, her brother had died, been murdered defending a friend. No’ such a bad way to go, honourably. A hero, the Raven had told her the first time they had met, though she wasn’t certain what a man who had made his name as a mercenary knew of heroes.
A man named the Raven—a cunning, thieving bird if she ever she’d seen one. She would watch them fly out frae the cliffs and wonder what trophy they’d return with. It had hurt that he had ended up with Dun Bhuird and all it entailed, including her, then left it all behind without knowing the jewel he held.
Without knowing her.
For that first year, she had hated him with a vengeance, hated him enough to wish he might never return.
She was wiser now.
Lhilidh watched her with a round-eyed stare. A smile hovered about her lips. “I never thought to see you wear it, ma lady, it’s ugly but I won’t care about that if it protects ye from harm.” Ex
citement flickered across her expression, and suddenly Kathryn’s eighteen years felt like a century.
“I doubt it will ward off much but arrows,” she assented as she unfastened the girdle at her waist and let it fall. Dipping her chin she lifted her arms, swiftly twisting her long gold braid around her head with trembling fingers—not so much frightened as nervous she would let herself down. “We have to move quickly. Once I’m out of all my garments, you’ll need to bind all this hair out of my way.”
No sooner said than done. Lhilidh was as fast as she was pretty. Kathryn was aware of the lustful glances cast the lass’s way and had felt a need to protect her, more so now that the lass was almost family. She didn’t want to lose her to some man who would turn her into a slave and make sure he got her with child once a year. But how did you tell a fourteen-year-old that there was more to life, more of the world to see when she had never been brave enough to discover it for herself.
“These should hold it fine, ma lady.” Lhilidh murmured, laying out some fine bone pins before her fingers moved nimbly to loosen the lace at the neck of Kathryn’s kirtle.
The fine worsted slid off Kathryn’s shoulders. Swiftly, she opened her arms to capture the widened opening between both shoulders and elbows, before it revealed her breasts. Even covered by her shift, their pale fullness embarrassed her.
Her maid seemed not to notice. The first task accomplished, Lhilidh dragged both tunic and kirtle up and over Kathryn’s head.
The fine linen smelled of her rush to get ready, her excitement at the unknown ahead. Gavyn Farquhar. What if she never saw him again? She bit her lip to halt the tremble before it happened. How a man she didn’t want, had never wanted, could cause such a eruption of emotions she had no understanding of. He’d left her. Abandoned her without a moment’s hesitation. She should be happy.
Why wasn’t she?
Lhilidh stood before, her weighed down by the chain mail. It clinked as if dropped to the floor, a swift rebuke that brought her back to the present. She knew what she had in mind ran contrary to her father’s wishes for her, for any lass.
But if not her, who would save them? Not her absent husband, for sure.
Dun Bhuird and her clan needed a leader, and she was all they had to depend on.
Wearing a sheepskin tunic and breeches would make her sweat apace, but it mattered little. She was reminded once again that there was no one but Lhilidh to mind how she smelled, and if she survived long enough to pull the protective garments off, then Lhilidh would surely fill a tub with hot water where she could soak her dirt and sweat away.
But first—Kathryn drew her shoulders back and lifted her chin—she had to do her duty by the clan and her father, both.
The mail felt heavy on her shoulders, as did her responsibilities; however, it was only to be expected. What lay ahead was more terrible than just an hour or two spent doling out justice. And, no matter that Magnus had instructed her in the basics of swordsmanship with Alexander’s sword, she would never have the strength, the muscles in her arms, that Alexander had sported at age twelve. But she had always been the superior archer. Her breath left her lungs in a shuddering sigh at the thought.
She tore it out of her mind.
This is what was required if she wanted to earn the clan’s respect.
The fine strands of her hair tugged as Lhilidh twisted her braid round her scalp then slid the bone pins through the strands to hold it under the cap she would wear. Alexander’s helm was too large, and a cap was better than having the silver helm wobbling every time she turned her head.
Heart bumping inside her chest, Kathryn hung a quiver of arrows over one shoulder and took up the unstrung bow. With a glance toward the door to her chamber, she took a deep breath, smoothed a hand over her hip and went into the hall.
When she had gazed out over the glen this morning, it hadn’t been with the expectation of seeing marauders invading it that afternoon. With any luck, they would be naught but cateran. She’d never heard of any who were organised or didn’t cringe at the sight of true-blooded warriors wielding spear and axe, as her housecarls could. Dun Bhuird’s place, built on the high platform, made it easy to defend. How else had it survived all the enemies Erik the Bear managed to make? So far she’d thought she had none.
Aye, Kathryn Comlyn might be a woman, but she had to prove she was a warrior at heart.
Chapter 3
“Whist!” Brodwyn kept her voice low, untrusting of everything, including the leather curtain muffling their voices. Why else had she dragged Harald behind the curtain into this dark dusty corner that hid worn stairs winding down from the far end of the hall?
“Kathryn’s calling for you,” Harald warned, his voice coloured with that tinge of whininess it took on when he thought he wasn’t going to get his way.
“And we both know why,” she whispered, stretching up to reach his ear, “but I’m not her maid, no matter what Miss High-and-Mighty thinks. Kathryn’s all excited, but you and I, we’re not worried over a few cateran who have no chance of scaling the palisade. All you have to do is shove yon fancy helm on your head and stand by Kathryn’s side, like a braw, brave knight.”
Brodwyn felt him draw in a sharp breath, felt the rough edges of his chain mail scrape the tops of her breasts and knew her job wasn’t done as he let out a low groan, “I’d rather fuck than fight.”
“Whist, now. Someone will hear you,” shushed Brodwyn, stretching up on the tips of her toes. Her cousin’s breath stirred the red curls beneath her veil, escaping where the leather circlet slid up her forehead. He was so much taller than her, broad of shoulder and slim of hip, a lad whose thighs bulged with muscle, handsome. His voice rumbled on above her head with suggestions of what he could do to her, and she to him.
Christ’s blood, she blasphemed silently, for she could truthfully say the same of his brain, more muscle between his ears than nous; however, he suited her purpose.
Why else had she cozened Kathryn into letting him return to Dun Bhuird after Erik the Bear had banished him to the northwest, to Caithness and the Orkneys.
The three of them were related. Cousins by the grace of God and grandsires who were brothers. Kathryn Comlyn had more Scots blood than Norse and none of the close connections to the high Jarls of the northwest settlements that Harald and Brodwyn shared. Harald claimed family ties to Thorfinn the Mighty. He certainly had the brawn Thorfinn had been famous for, but Brodwyn knew fine she had the brains as well as the ambition. All it took to make sure Harald followed her promptings were the varied salacious types of gratification she used to bind him to her.
At the moment she pressed against him in the dark, covered opening atop the steps wending downwards to one of the cellars. Brodwyn, wise enough to know their voices could carry out into the emptying hall, whispered, “You ken there’s naught I’d like better, but first you must fight. Put on a good show of manliness, and afterwards I’ll gratify you in all the ways you desire.”
She peeped through a small gap in the curtain, her gaze slanting towards the master chamber, knowing Kathryn would be behind the door preparing to become a hero to her clansmen—aye, either that or a bluidy fool.
The latter would serve Brodwyn best and give Harald a chance to step up as a hero. There was nae doubt he knew how to put all yon fine muscles to good use in a fight, but the sword he’d rather wield jutted proudly from his groin. That was her hold over him. She had learned a while ago that no matter how strong and braw or tall they stood, she had a mouth that could bring a warrior to his knees.
A spear of annoyance guided her hand. She slipped it betwixt the padded tunic that lined his chain mail to a split made for sitting astride a horse. As she clutched his sack through the plaid circling his hips, his balls tightened against her palm. Under the rough worsted plaid, his cock poked at her forearm. She tightened her grip on his balls, squeezing hard. “This is but wee peck of encouragement to hurry ye on yer way.”
“Odin’s blood, Brodwyn, I want more.” H
e pushed down on her scalp with a huge hand, making his needs understood.
Brodwyn quickly dropped to her knees. “Keep watch on Kathryn’s door,” she said, freeing him from his plaid. Fingers shaping his length with its thick rounded head, she bent to her task and lathed the tip with her wet tongue, tasting the first drop of his juices. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy pleasuring him, but she didn’t let herself get caught up in more than that moment, which she always reminded herself was but a means to an end.
Leaning back, fitting her lips around him, she looked up at his face. His eyes were closed. She smartly released him, showing her displeasure, snarling at him like an auld dog deprived of a bone. “Keep your eyes on Kathryn’s door.”
His eyelids popped wide open, his lashes dark against the red-blond of his brows. “Dinnae stop!”
“Do as you’re bid then.”
She replaced her lips and began to suck, pumping the balls filling his sack in time with her mouth. Soon, he became greedy, gripping her head with both hands, thrusting his hips close to her face.
Time to bring this persuasion to an end.
Enough was enough. With a vicious squeeze, she pushed her middle finger into the place behind his sack that she knew would release his juices. Harald moaned and shuddered as she sucked him dry. Finished, she rose to her feet, licking her lips.
And smiled.
Let him think she’d enjoyed their latest encounter. He had no notion of her plans to control him, to lead him onto the paths of power and riches for them both. Fate had robbed their mutual forefather of the position he had deserved. It would take a woman’s hand—hers—to redress the error.
For now, Harald needed to stand shoulder to shoulder with Kathryn, in the place where her husband should be, proof of his devotion. He needed to let the clansfolk see him standing by her and gain their trust and admiration. And one day, not so far away, she and Harald would be standing together, side by side, in the place that was rightly theirs.
Chieftain By Command Page 3
