“We might have had a length going spare after the bullock carts were unloaded. Ye can start there. We had better get the body down. Flora will be wanting it buried, and I suppose she might as well have some of his share, he had no other family.”
Gavyn stood back, hands on hips and waited while Magnus called up the housecarls and went over to untie the rope. No fool, Magnus had brought a deer hide to wrap the body in. “Nae need to upset the horse,” he said as he lowered Finlay’s body on to the hide.
He nodded towards the mastiffs whose handlers were hard pressed to keep the ugly black beasts back. Blood was blood, be it man or boar. “Do ye think they might pick up a scent?”
“It’s dubious, though not unheard of. First we have to remove Finlay, for there is little use of them following a corpse.” As usual, Magnus’s tone of voice stayed level, unemotional—the way he had spoken when he collected the Bear’s body from Cragenlaw to take it home to Dun Bhuird. Gavyn wondered if anything ever excited the constable or if he trudged through life on a flat plain, never seeing the heights.
Gavyn wanted more than that, yet he had the sinking feeling he might have tossed away everything he’d aspired to … Kathryn.
With the body strapped atop the spare horse, they made their way home with the sun setting behind Dun Bhuird, throwing a blood red light over all of them, as if God knew something they didn’t.
Mayhap it was the body, or the scent of death, but the horses were nervy, gybing at the least rustle of the leaves; and their anxiety appeared to spread to the six of them conveying the body back to the hall.
“Will we take it straight to Flora’s?” Gavyn asked Magnus, who cast one of his unemotional glances over him.
“Nae, I want to have a look at it in the daylight afore then. And when Flora’s recovered frae the shock, real or pretence, there’s a couple of bits and pieces I found I want to ask her about.”
“Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll come with you. If I’d thought of it sooner, I’d have warned everyone to keep quiet about it, but now any chance of surprise is lost. Watching some folks’ reaction might have proved illuminating. Tell me, Magnus, do you believe we’re looking for more than one person? For myself, I’d have said it wasn’t a conspiracy, but now I’m not so certain.”
“Och, well,” he said, turning in the saddle, “mayhap the dogs can tell us something.”
The housecarls went ahead into the tunnel where the body would be held in another of the caves. There was no place in the hall for Finlay’s carcass. What used to be a man had been reduced to a lump of meat—a bad omen they couldn’t ignore. By Gavyn’s estimation, whoever had done this foul deed placed no value on human life. Though it was an age where death wasn’t an unfamiliar happenstance, Grogan’s murder had shocked all who had seen him. This heinous act, though it felt like a different story … his feelings were that because of the quarrel, the two had to be connected.
The sight o’ Finlay’s body hanging frae that tree had been equally horrendous, yet secretive, a like a boast only the perpetrator would hear.
Magnus voiced his opinion as he trailed after the housecarls. “Whatever we discover, there has to be an end to this. I’m determined on that.”
A sentiment Gavyn echoed as he rode into the stables on the heels of Rob and Jamie. Both of them had been remarkably quiet on the way home. No doubt they had a lot to think on—as he had himself. Not so much Finlay’s death but everything that had gone before.
Had his own arrogance landed them all in this situation?
Would everything have turned out differently had he stayed in Dun Bhuird instead of chasing rewards of gold and silver and tempting death to come for him and his mercenaries on the battlefield of Vexin? Was it his need to evolve Dun Bhuird into a mightier stronghold than the Normans had stolen from him at Wolfsdale that had drawn the hatred of a madman?
It felt as if his resolve had placed the men who had put their trust in him into a dangerous situation more evil than that they met when they followed him into battle.
Chapter 20
For the next few nights after their swim in the lochan, Gavyn shared his bed with Kathryn but not his body.
So she pretended sleep when he came to bed, and each morning anxiously waited for him to leave, desperate that he not be there when the inevitable bout of nausea overtook her. And worse, now she had to put up with other moments of inconvenience during the day, instances when Kathryn felt it essential to look for a place of privacy—somewhere she could deal with the sickness when the need came upon her. It worked to her advantage that Gavyn had insisted Lhilidh stay with her. The problem now was that Nhaimeth had begun spending an increasing amount of time in her company—a fact proven by his presence in her stillroom.
“Have ye told Farquhar yet about the bairn?” asked Nhaimeth. The wee man was naught but straightforward, uncompromising.
She let out a sigh that felt like an admission and told him, “No, I’m not certain this is the right time. He has far too much on his mind.” And whatever that might be, he hadn’t chosen to share with her. He had mentioned naught about finding Finlay’s body or any of the circumstances surrounding the discovery. Since that day, their marriage had returned to the same state it had been in when he first retuned frae France, with the exception that he no longer wanted her during the night—a fact that struck at her heart like an iron fist.
She despised that this harm was of her own doing.
She hated knowing that she had inherited her father’s fiery temper yet had won none of the respect he had engendered. She was merely a daughter.
“A woman’s lot…” Astrid had said when she left for Cragenlaw. Yet Kathryn had sensed she was secretly excited. The curse hadn’t fazed her; she had been confident of succeeding where others had failed, and the McArthur was as handsome a man as either of them had seen, with a strong, silent bearing that drew women to him. Little did they realise that his taciturn demeanour hid a secret resignation to fate, to the curse. Was it any wonder he had welcomed his bastard son, Rob, with open arms, or that he refused to endanger Morag by taking her to wife?
Lhilidh nudged Nhaimeth out of the way. “I’m here to look after her. The Laird wanted that, even if it’s not for the reasons he thought,” she confided.
Kathryn dared not smile, she loved Lhilidh like a sister, and it was obvious Nhaimeth did, too, but the lass was a little naïve. Kathryn’s concerns were for the bairn she carried, Gavyn’s for her life. How much easier to kill a woman—his wife—an easier target than the Laird who, Nhaimeth had decided, was the person they truly wanted to hurt.
“Enough of that,” she announced. What else is going on at Dun Bhuird? I feel excluded, but what can I do? Every time I go out into the hall or the Bailey, I discover an urgent need to be sick.”
Lhilidh giggled, “Aye, Nhaimeth, why dinnae ye let us in on all the gossip?” Naïve she might be, but the young lass was in the habit of keeping Kathryn up to date with the blether amongst the maids. In auld days, cooking was done on the open fire in middle of the great hall. The new kitchens, built to one side, had come through Kathyn’s mother’s instigation, and her father, a man who loved his food, had found no objection in the results. The food was prepared on the side of the hall opposite the stillroom, and most of the day, the kitchens were the busiest place in Dun Bhuird.
From his expression, Kathryn could see Nhaimeth’s mind running through the bits of news he felt suitable for the ears of a pair of lasses. “Och, Rob and Jamie had a wee bit of a tiff, and the consensus is that Jamie haunting the stables has a lot more to do with a lass than his horse, but he’s no’ telling.” He grinned up at them, looking completely comfortable, though he was a good head and shoulders shorter. “So, I was thinking, Lhilidh, that you might keep yer ears open in the kitchens. It’s seldom anything gets past the maids.”
“I’ll ask around. Young lasses always have an eye out for the lads.” She bit her lip, curiosity beaming from her eyes. “Och, Kathryn, I wonder
which one is his sweetheart? I suppose he’s of an age to be feeling his oats.”
Kathryn looked at Nhaimeth, both of them hearing Geala speaking through her daughter.
Would that become a reality for her if the bairn she carried was a daughter?
Somehow she thought she would like that.
With autumn drawing closer, Brodwyn felt safer skipping through the Bailey to the stables. She had always been secretive, yet lately keeping her affairs private had become more imperative. Though she admitted to herself there was some standing in attracting a handsome lad like Jamie—a certain repute that made her feel she wouldn’t mind other lassies being aware of her conquest—Harald was a different story, a dangerous one, considering the black mood that had been riding him of late.
Surprise ripped an unfamiliar girlish squeal out of her as large hands drew her back against a strong manly chest. Jamie, she melted against him.
The lad was nae bigger than Harald, yet he had turned the tables on her after she seduced him. With Jamie, she felt different, fragile, a lass a lad would lay down his life for.
“Every day is like a lifetime until you come to me,” he muttered. His hot breath came fast, impatient in her ear, while his large palms covered her breasts. She felt their centres peak, as hard as the rod under his plaid that pressed against the cleft in her buttocks. She turned in his arms, moaning, uncaring who heard, caught up in need, caught in the whirlpool of want, ready to drown in the pleasure she knew he would bring her with the fast pounding of his hips against her pelvis.
“Jamie,” she groaned, her hand circling his hard length, her thumb pressing against the pulse beating under its broad tip, “take me someplace where I can make use of this without interruption.”
“The stables are pretty full, but I’ve made a place for us. Faraday won’t mind.” He grinned, his strong square teeth flashing white in the darkness as they brushed past the gelding he loved almost as much as her. She was certain he loved her; he called her his woman, and what she gave him no one else could.
God’s blood, she could almost imagine loving him herself; however, he would never fit in with her plans. He had too much honour, too much goodness in him, to fall in with her schemes. Aye, Harald would be best for that, and she had already wagered everything she had, everything she was, to bring him round her thumb; though, admittedly, she been forced onto her knees to do it. In the not too distant future, she would have all she wanted—all Kathryn had, barring her husband—for Gavyn would be dead.
Jamie slipped his hands under her kirtle and lifted her up onto a manger piled high with hay. It prickled against her skin, but compared to the way Harald took his pleasure of her, this simply added to her excitement.
The stall smelled of the horse nudging Jamie’s shoulder, but she hardly noticed, for it was only the gelding. Jamie spread her legs and braced himself, the tip of his rod against her weeping woman’s flesh while he used his thumb on her. Afore she lost her senses, she murmured, “Tell me about that body ye found.”
Gavyn knew Kathryn was avoiding him, but under the circumstances he wasn’t put out. There were things to discuss, and her presence at the high board for the evening meal would be more hindrance than help—a distraction he didn’t need, not while a killer might be hiding in their midst.
“What have you to report, Magnus?” he inquired from the man at his elbow.
“I could wish it was more but, aye, the rope ye brought back on the wagons appears identical. The only real wear on it is frae Finlay’s weight swinging. However, proving it is like identifying one particular grey hair in my beard frae another. There are folk in and out of the tunnel and caves all the time. And, aye, we have guards on the silver, but they are interested only in that.’
Gavyn acknowledged this with a nod. “I thought as much, but personally, I am an optimist and hate being defeated in any endeavour. The only way I have got to where I am now is by refusing to give up.”
As he listened to himself speak, Gavyn was pierced by the thought that he had just made a liar of himself. Hadn’t he almost given up on Kathryn over the last few days—after that moment by the lochan, the moment when she lapsed back into the bitter lass she had been on the day they married?
A shrew he had thought long forgotten, but it seemed that nature would out.
“Ach, I gave you the bad news first off, but there was something else I found under the tree where Finlay was hanging. First I had to be sure it didnae belong to Finlay. Flora says she never saw him use a bone-handled knife. There’s another discovery that disnae fit either. When I cleaned away the blood; I found runes set into the blade in gold. A fact that makes it appear unlikely any would have acquired the knife in France. I thought I would have Abelard copy the runes onto a piece of parchment for me, then I can ask around the hall to see if anyone kens what it means.”
He gave a hearty laugh and nudged Gavyn with his elbow, ignoring the fact that he held a pot of ale. It spilled onto the board, but Magnus ignored the puddle, intent on telling Gavyn, “Ye ken, Laird, when I first broke my thigh bone I thought that was it for me. Was sure that my life would nae longer be fit for man nor beast, but Kathryn refused to hear of it. She took over a lot of my duties until I was fit again and was never afeard to ask advice. I just wanted to say that ye’ve got a guid yin there.” He stopped and supped a mouthful of ale to wet his throat.
But he wasn’t done. “Aha, but I’m losing the thread. Much as it pains me to admit it, yon two murders have given me a new lease on life. I ken every inch of the Dun,” he shrugged and his smile turned sheepish. “That’s excluding the new curtain wall and gate houses, but nae doubt I’ll be able to say the same about them by the time yer mason’s have finished their work. Anyway, as I was telling ye, I’m confident of discovering who the murderer is. All it needs is a wee bit of persistence, and I’ve always been famous for that.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Magnus,” he assured him with a slap on the broad shoulder; that hadn’t changed in any particular, even though he limped since he had broken his thigh. Gavyn wished he could say the same about his life.
However, his problems with Kathryn could be remedied, and he would make a start on it that night. First he owed Magnus for his loyalty. “Do you have your Quaich about you?”
Magnus patted the pouch hanging frae his belt. “I do that. It’s right here,” he affirmed, bringing a wee shallow bowl carved frae horn with silver lugs at each side for handles. He ran his thumb over the carving and the flat, amber-coloured stone at the centre. “This belonged to my father. The stone’s called after the tableland above the mountain—a Cairngorm—that’s where they are found.”
“It’s a beauty. You must prize it,” Gavyn remarked.
“Aye, it never leaves my person.”
“I don’t blame ye, Magnus. That’s as much who you are as the shield behind my chair was the Bear. I’m of the opinion that all the work you have put into this puzzle, calls for a Quaich of uisge beatha—water of life.”
Magnus grinned widely, his weathered cheeks, brown as the pouch on his belt, crinkled around his mouth and nose—a complete contrast frae the first time they had met, the day he had come to collect the Bear’s body frae Cragenlaw. “Mayhap, more than just the one. Where’s yer Quaich, Farquhar?”
Gavyn matched him drink for drink.
When he joined Kathryn in the big bed later, he wouldn’t admit to being bosky, though feeling merry wasn’t out of the question. His plaid and shirt peeled off with little effort, which seemed to prove his contention, though he deigned not even attempt to snuff the candles. Fire was the greatest fear of those who lived in wooden buildings, be it hame or hall.
“Kathryn?” His brusque whisper was soaked up by the richly coloured tapestry hanging over the bed—another piece of his prize frae France. “Kathryn,” louder now as he rolled her over toward him and pushed her hair back from her face, noting she hadn’t squeezed its gold strands into a tight braid, but left it loose, the way he liked its si
lk-like lengths.
Her eyelids lay heavily over sleepy blue irises, she blinked at him and he wanted to dive into that blue and lose himself in their depths, and part of his dream self looked at his wife and said, “Will you forgive me, Kathryn?”
“What for?”
It wasn’t a question he was prepared to hear. Kathryn was supposed to know his failures better than he did himself, but his slightly befuddled brain was at that moment unable to pick them out. “I made you angry.”
“I see. In that case I will forgive you if you do the same for me.”
He was caught up in watching her lips as she spoke. The pink pillow of her bottom lip fascinated him. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away to ask, “Why?”
She strove push herself up higher in the bed. “I have my father’s quick temper. Sometimes I don’t really mean what I say, or I burst out with the first thing that comes into my head.”
“I forgive you then. Now take off your shift.”
Once again he was bathed in blue as her eyes snapped open in surprise. “You don’t want to talk a wee while longer before I remove my shift?”
“No, I want to make love to my wife,” he said helping to draw the concealing layer of linen over her head, with a promise: “Tomorrow…”
That done, he tilted her chin toward him, covered her mouth with his, and taking a moment, he nipped the soft pink pillow that her lower lip resembled between his teeth. “You taste so good.”
“I missed you,” she breathed into his mouth, and I don’t care that it took a flask of uisge beatha to bring you back to me.”
“I had a drink with Magnus. He’s a good man, reliable.”
“I think so, but tell me tomorrow. Your mouth has more important work to do, like kiss me.”
And he did. Kisses led to loving and loving led to sleeping in each other’s arms. He had done the right thing, and it had brought his wife back to him and, for the first time in a life spent judging the odds, suddenly that was all that mattered.
Chieftain By Command Page 19
