“Anyone who had lost three wives has plenty reason to believe them; but here comes Gavyn. Morag might be yer mother, but she’s his sister, so let’s not mention curses for now.”
“I’m agreeable,” Rob told them, “but now that I’m aulder, I’ve begun to wonder if my father and Morag might wed when she’s past childbearing age. What do you think?”
In the moments before Farquhar returned, Nhaimeth discovered something new about his best friend. Rob’s question was better not answered, since his father marrying Morag when she was too auld to get with child was naught more than wishful thinking.
Chapter 23
Over the heads of the crowd, most of whom were far shorter than he was, Gavyn watched Kathryn and Lhilidh wend their way out of the bailey until they vanished from his view. Even then, he kept his gaze on the exact spot. It didn’t matter that he knew that they wouldn’t come back; part of him was ever hopeful he would see her face for another few moments.
He shrugged, hoping it would rid him of the unaccustomed sensation in his chest. This was hardly the place to realise that Kathryn had changed him. ‘A miracle’, the men who knew him were liable to jest with a sly laugh, thinking to see the Raven with his wings clipped by a lass. In his heart he was aware that he had lost none of the steel that he had kept clamped to his spine since the day he woke up not knowing so much as his own name. Necessity had made him grow a steel cage round his heart to match the unbreakable rod keeping his back strong and his head on straight. Survival.
And now… Aye, Kathryn could have him on his knees.
Yet any man who dared a venture thinking that they recognised his emotions as a sign of weakness would soon learn their mistake.
He had Bienne á Bhuird, the Dun, and Kathryn, and he would hold them all.
Magnus was nowhere to be seen, but a fair group still lingered around the young sprigs that had followed him to Dun Bhuird. Sweat gleamed on their shoulders and chests, proof of the muckle amount of exertion that had gone into their contest. Looking at them now, it was easier to recognise his nephew Rob and Jamie Ruthven as the lads eager for the experience that journeying with his mercenaries would bring them.
Watching them now, arms slung around each other’s shoulders—friends again—Gavyn thanked his maker for that. Dissention in the ranks, whether two or two hundred, could work its bad humours through the troop like a canker that couldn’t be cut out.
Nhaimeth stood with his back to Gavyn, putting on a performance the way he once did when his job was to entertain and amuse, but as they’d all discovered, there was a lot more to the wee man than foolery. Gavyn had the advantage of knowing that if Fate hadn’t been blowing smoke and mist up her sleeve, hiding Nhaimeth’s true worth, he would be chieftain—Laird of the Comlyns—and Gavyn might still be wondering who he was and where he had come from.
Giving Nhaimeth a playful slap above the wee hump that made life even harder for a dwarf who barely reached his elbow, Gavyn said, “By the looks of you three, the revelry has still a ways to go. Did the crowd decide on a winner?”
Rob and Jamie stared at each other and smiled, without the least hint of the enmity that Gavyn as well as Nhaimeth suspected had begun to creep into a friendship nobody would have wagered could be broken.
It was Nhaimeth who answered. The swift rise and fall of the others’ chests most likely prohibited much in the way of speech. In fact, Gavyn wondered that they could still stand. “The vote was split—half each—what more could we ask for?”
“As long as you’re all happy, you’ll hear no argument frae me. The clansfolk appeared to enjoy it, but mayhap you’ll be invited back next year to repeat the feat, as I have no intention of volunteering.” Gavyn laughed as a ridiculous thought struck him. “Can you imagine Magnus and me dancing over crossed swords?” He looked down at the blades lying on the dirt of the bailey. “Yon are rare-looking blades, where did you find them?”
Rob’s eyes narrowed and a wee flash of apprehension lit the eyes that were so like his father’s. Gavyn had long been aware that his nephew hadn’t inherited the Farquhar colouring that defined both him and his sister, Morag. “Magnus lent them to us.” He bent low to lift his pair out of the dirt while Jamie followed suit. “He brought them out frae one of the caves and didn’t seem to think there was much to them.”
Holding out one hand, Gavyn felt the weight of the sword slap into his palm. Instinctively, his finger wrapped around the hilt and tested its balance. “A very handsome weapon—slightly auld fashioned, but well balanced.”
He should have known Nhaimeth would know the story. “They came down through our great-grandmother,” he said, and Gavyn took the word our to mean him and Kathryn. “She was a Norsewoman, stolen then married into the family a fair few generations ago. I’m told she was beautiful and our ancestor wanted her. He was so filled with lust, the notion that her father was the fiercest Jarl in all of Caithness was lost on him. It was either wed his daughter or die.”
Gavyn was certain that as a young lad, Nhaimeth had made up for his abandonment by learning all he could of his family’s history. “I have seen blades like these before. Malcolm Canmore has displayed on his walls some of these swords crafted in the Rhineland, the most famous of them fashioned by Ulfbhert.”
“Is that so? Harald will be pleased to hear that. He has a sword as good the king’s. His blade is by Ulfbhert, it came down to him through his grandfather, an uncle to the Bear. Funny to think both Harald and I are descended frae the same warrior Jarl. ‘The Dragon Slayer’ they called him.”
“God’s blood!” the curse left Gavyn’s lips as sharp and lethal as the dagger Magnus had showed him he’d found on the ground beneath Findlay’s dangling body. Just that morning the constable had been confident that, having found the translation to the rune, they were well on the way to discovering the murderer. Magnus’ face had been set in determined lines—an expression his face had worn all too often since they cut Findlay down frae that tree. However, his eyes had burned more fervently when he revealed the rune’s translation. “Why didn’t you tell Magnus this?”
Nhaimeth’s head jinked back on his shoulders, his chin lying in folds as he stared at him in surprise. “I didnae ken Magnus was interested in our family history.”
“You mean, he didn’t ask you about the gold runes on a dagger he found?” Gavyn hauled in a breath to steady himself. If he couldn’t trust these lads who were as close to family as any he’d met since regaining his memory, then who could he trust? “Magnus believes the dagger belonged to the man who killed both Finlay and Grogan… But Harald, I never thought he had the gumption.”
Rob swiped the end of his plaid across his face. The action merely soaked up the sweat. It didn’t hide the sneer on his lips. “Harald is the type who prefers to attack frae behind in the dark—a cowardly move.”
“Aye,” butted in Nhaimeth. “Cowardly he may be, yet who’s to say it isnae his work? It was only chance and a handy shovel you found in the stables that prevented him killing the McArthur.”
“I’ve never liked the look of Harald. He has too much influence over Brodwyn.” They all turned to Jamie—Gavyn open-mouthed, and almost but not quite astounded as the lad growled, “Aye Brodwyn. What is it to you?”
The firelight glanced off the whites of Rob’s wide eyes. “So it wasn’t the gelding who kept ye in the stables?”
“It was nobody’s concern but ours.”
Nhaimeth shook his head, his gaze catching Gavyn’s as he murmured, “Ye cannae put an auld head on young shoulders; only time and experience can dae that, so dinnae blame the lad.”
What the wee man said made sense, yet Gavyn wondered what else his lust for Kathryn had blinded him to.
Look at himself. Of course, he could never regret his feelings for his wife. How could he? She was his life’s blood.
“I’m sure your father will want to make it his concern, but by your actions, it appears you already believe you’re auld enough to fuck a woman, just too
young to want your friends to know. Or was it Brodwyn’s notion that you keep the matter secret, furtive?”
“I think she was scared, but I was willing to do anything she asked.”
“Do you love her?” Even as he asked, Gavyn wasn’t sure he wanted to know; however, selfish-like he saw a way to save his Kathryn frae a woman who was like a weight around her neck—had been dragging her down since the Bear’s death. Aye, and do it without Kathryn having to feel guilty.
Reluctant, Jamie demanded, “How do you decide something like that in an instant?”
Gavyn had no reply. It had taken him a lot longer—months—to make up his mind, yet now he had nary a doubt that he loved his wife, had loved her before he found out about the bairn. His … her … birth would be but a seal on what they had betwixt them, but even without that physical evidence of his love for Kathryn, it would always exist, always be a part of him.
Nhaimeth relieved him of the necessity to reply. “This is all well and guid, but we were talking about Magnus and the knife.”
“Aye, we’ve become distracted,” Gavyn fisted his hands on his hips. “Truth to tell, I couldn’t give a damn about Brodwyn except in how this business relates to Harald. I need to find Magnus. You lads can continue celebrating, but I must needs find the constable, and together we have to search for Harald to discover if he has an explanation for the dagger we found.”
“I’ll help,” said Nhaimeth, and was soon followed by both Rob and Jamie.
Gavyn led the way and, anxious as he was to discover the constable of Bienne á Bhuird, he realised that afore tonight he’d given little thought to the responsibilities required by a man to make sure that his sons and daughters grew up to become guid folk.
If naught else came frae the lads’ visit, he had learned to look at the future in a different light. The main difference now was that he knew exactly who wanted to walk into that future with him.
Lhilidh chattered all the way, and Kathryn let the wee bits of gossip float past her. It did help to take her mind off her queasy stomach. She didn’t see why anyone would throw meat onto the fire when there were dogs aplenty who would have appreciated the wee bit extra.
“This has been the best night of my life,” Lhilidh said as she skipped in front of Kathryn, her hands daintily lifting her kirtle above her ankles so she wouldn’t trip on the hem, which dipped walking uphill. She burbled on, “A special celebration. I was thinking it showed how much the Laird appreciates his bonnie wife. Magnus an’ all, for I ken he had a deal to dae with the effort of putting all this on, like a ceilidh, only better.”
Kathryn agreed, saying, “I know. Every time I saw him, he was issuing orders, whether it was to the maids or the brewers. He worked hard to make it successful, and I was looking for Magnus earlier to thank him, but couldn’t see hide nor hair of him. You know he’s been working with the Laird on all the troubles we’ve had.” She didn’t say murders, for that would cast a bit of a blight on that evening’s proceedings.
The higher they climbed, the fresher and cooler the air felt, since the breeze from the mountain carried the smoke away from them. They stopped to breath it in, both aware that because of the mountains, winter could be upon them without warning. On the highest mountain peaks, the snow had never melted their white caps. Above them, the sky was clear and, almost in unison, they tilted their heads back to search out the North Star. Its presence hanging in the sky was a reminder of who and what they were—Scots, Comlyns, with a history in this land—if not as auld as the hills then at least aulder than the great hall built by their ancestors.
“Look there,” cried Lhilidh, pointing farther north than the brightest star in the heavens.
“My goodness,” Kathryn sighed, “I love watching the lights dance o’er the hall.” She swirled around and looked back whence they had come. Below the rim, the breeze held the smoke at a level above the reveller’s heads, making it hard to recognise anybody in particular. “I wonder if Gavyn can see this. I hardly think he would see any such wonders in France. Not far enough north to be so blessed.”
“It reminds me of the edge of a green kilt, as if God wears his folded the way our men dae.” She glanced at Kathryn, the smile on her face beatific, glorious, as if the young lass was an angel herself. All she lacked was the wings. “What dae you think, Kathryn? Is this God’s work?”
“Who could argue with you? No human hand could paint the heavens with such splendour. It has to be a miracle.” Raising her eyes again, Kathryn stared, her palm resting on her stomach as if she could convey her wonder to the bairn inside her. Suddenly, a burst of red flared, so bright her eyes struggled to see through the dark it left with its disappearance.
Lhilidh reached out and took her hand, “I feel so privileged at this moment, I could die happy with nae regrets.”
Something in her tone sent a shiver up Kathryn’s spine. “Well, I for one would have regrets, so put such an awful thing out of your head. I need you, Lhilidh, and when the bairn arrives we’ll both need you.”
“Och, dinnae worry, I’ve nae intention of going anywhere. I was just caught up in all the grandeur. It made me feel wee and insignifican—as if my life didnae amount tae much.”
Rubbing Lhilidh’s hand betwixt her palms, as if that would disperse the anxiety that had began to expand in her chest, she said, “What nonsense. You’re an important part of the household. Ask anybody.”
Mayhap it was being with child made her emotions tumble inside her at the slightest hint of her life not continuing along the path fate had set her feet on when she married Gavyn.
Lhilidh’s fingers clung to hers. “I’ve upset ye, and I’m sorry for it, for I was so happy. I still am. After Geala died, I never thought I could feel as if I still had a family, but betwixt ye and Nhaimeth, I nae longer feel alone. We’d better get inside, though, or the Laird will think I can’t be trusted to dae as I’m asked. It feels so dark now I’ll have tae mind I dinnae trip over ma feet.”
Kathryn stopped a moment. Once again there were no housecarls to be seen guarding the large entrance. “Magnus must have given the sentries some time off for the festivities.”
“He must have been in a generous mood,” murmured Lhilidh turning her head as if the men might be hiding just out of sight. “I seldom remember seeing the entrance without them standing like an extra set o’ carved posts.”
Kathryn laughed out loud, “Aye, two more dragons. Let’s get inside.”
She’d expected the hall to be lighter, but all the torches except those burning behind her father’s shield had gone out.
Lhilidh was indignant, “Well I think some impudent de’ils have pinched the torches to take outside instead of lighting some of their own.”
“Never mind, Kathryn soothed Lhilidh, “we can wend our way back to the chieftain’s apartment easily by aiming for the Bear’s shield. It certainly looks fine and bright.”
They walked past the door, and Kathryn thanked God the darkness was not absolute.
“Can you smell that?” Lhilidh asked, tugging at her elbow. “I could almost swear somebody has brought some cooked boar into the hall. I hope it disnae make ye feel sick again.”
Wrinkling her nose, Kathryn swallowed hard. “It’s pretty strong. I’ll just have to hold my breath till I reach my room.” It was then that she saw the dull red glow of hot coals. “Someone has lit a fire in the pit to cook something.”
“Probably yon housecarls nae wanting to miss out on the feast.” Lhilidh took a few steps forward with Kathryn following at her back. “Pure greed if ye ask me. Will you look at the size of the carcass they’re trying to cook. Abelard will be after their hide in the morning when he finds out.”
Kathryn grasped the lass’s narrow shoulder frae behind, halting her charge toward the firepit. “If the housecarls are responsible they haven’t hung around to take the blame.”
The scene in front of her felt wrong—bad. The chains hanging frae beside the opening in the roof began to creak, and the boar�
��s carcass swung as if the heat frae the fire came in waves. Her hand tightened on Lhilidh’s shoulder. “Let’s go back outside. Something isn’t right.” She stopped short of mentioning the darkened hall and the fire lit where it hadn’t burned since last winter. Pulling Lhilidh closer, she focussed across the darkness as the carcass moved, evolved from a boar into a man—into Magnus.
The chain circled his shoulders, and his head fell forward onto his chest, his face a study in red frae the coals and their black shadows circling the hall like giant spider’s webs clinging to the body of their prey. Lhilidh’s shriek stuttered to a halt, her shoulder falling away as if melting under her palm as Kathryn opened her mouth to scream.
A scream her lips never gave birth to as a large hand covered her mouth. She twisted, but rough wool swamped her face, scouring her skin and filling her nose with the scent of sour male sweat—a smell compounded the somersaults her stomach began turning, but before she could lose the contents of her stomach, she swooned away and the darkness became complete.
Chapter 24
The four of them met back at the place Farquhar had designated. They had worked their way swiftly through the crowd, and Gavyn couldn’t help but feel amazed by the amount of ale his clansmen tipped down their throats when it was free. It made them talkative, but none had seen Magnus.
By now, every scrap of meat on the spit had been eaten and, without attention, the bonfire’s hot coals had cooled from red to grey-white. “Rob and I have scoured the other side of the bailey and found no sign of Magnus, nor anyone who remembers seeing him. What about you and Nhaimeth, Jamie?”
“No success. He might have gone back to the hall,” Ruthven suggested.
Nhaimeth added his thoughts to Jamie’s, “I wondered if he might have gone to the kitchens looking for Abelard. The seneschal usually goes back to the kitchens to check on the maids,” the wee man chortled. He also likes to make sure naught goes to waste.”
Chieftain By Command Page 22
