Battle Eagle

by Jayne Castel

  “Belt up, Canaul,” Wid growled, yanking the arrow out of the soft wood. “When was the last time one of your arrows found its mark?”

  That was a fine stag he just missed, Donnel thought bitterly. It could have fed us for a moon.

  He rode at the back of the group although Reothadh chafed at the bit.

  Wid vaulted onto his pony’s back and they were off again, moving through the trees. The Wolf party had stayed with Donnel and Eithni for three days now, and every day the warriors had ridden out on a hunt. Although they had not had much luck, they had managed to bring down a boar the day before. Two of Wid’s men had stayed with Eithni today, helping her to gut, skin, and hang the carcass.

  Donnel had enjoyed the men’s company. Wid’s boyish exuberance reminded him of Tarl, although as chieftain of The Wolf, the young man could be serious at times, and at those moments he reminded Donnel of Galan. The reminders were painful. Until his banishment Donnel had taken the bond with his brothers for granted. The three of them had always been close growing up, and although their father had tried to pit them against each other at times—to make men out of them he had said—he had never succeeded in creating bad blood between them.

  It was Donnel who had done that. Wid brought back to him all the things he missed: the banter with Tarl, the easy companionship with Galan. Without them he felt strangely incomplete.

  As they traveled deeper into the woods, Wid reined his pony back so that he and Donnel rode side-by-side. “No thirst for the hunt today?” The Wolf chieftain asked. “It’s not like you to hang back?”

  Donnel’s mouth curved into a sardonic smile. “I’ve done nothing but hunt for the last moon and a half. Today I’d rather watch others do it.”

  Wid shrugged, smiling back. “I can see how you’d feel that way.”

  Donnel watched him a moment, studying the younger man before speaking once more. “Have you seen my brothers of late?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but his chest constricted as he spoke. He had put off asking this but could no longer wait.

  Wid nodded, his face turning solemn. “I was in Dun Ringill a few days ago. Your brothers are both well … but …” Wid paused here, as if uncertain he should continue.

  “But what?” Donnel asked, his voice harsher than he had intended. If anything was amiss in Dun Ringill he would know of it.

  Wid’s moss-colored gaze met his. “The mood in the broch is somber,” he replied quietly. “Tarl’s humor is foul, and Galan speaks to no one. They all feel your absence.”

  “It was Galan who sent me away,” Donnel ground out. “There’s no use him feeling sore over it now.”

  Wid nodded, making it clear he was not going to argue with Donnel about the subject. “Aye, but words spoken in the heat of anger are usually the ones that torture us afterward.”

  Silence stretched between them. The other riders drew ahead, leaving Wid and Donnel alone.

  “So he didn’t send you to check up on me then?” Donnel said finally.

  Wid laughed. “His pride wouldn’t let him. He’d geld me if he knew I was here.”

  “But you came anyway?”

  Wid huffed. “To see if Eithni was well … Tea begged me to. Galan has no idea.”

  Donnel went still. This was the moment he had been hoping for. He met Wid’s eye once more. “Take her away, Wid. This is no place for Eithni, and her healing skills will be missed in Dun Ringill.”

  Wid’s face grew serious. “I’ve already asked her to travel back with me, but she refuses.”

  Donnel tensed. “She did? When was this?”

  “Last night.”

  “Take her back with you anyway … it’s for her own good.”

  Wid shook his head. “I’ll not take the lass anywhere, if she doesn’t agree to go.”

  A beat of silence stretched out between them before Donnel spoke again. “I don’t want her here.”

  Wid shrugged. “Then you tell her that yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Pride

  WID AND HIS men left at dawn the following day.

  Donnel and Eithni were awake to see them off, both wrapped in the fur cloaks The Wolf warriors had brought them. The ponies stamped and jangled their bits in the early dawn, keen to be away.

  Eithni drew her cloak close; there was a definite nip in the air this morning. She stepped forward to say goodbye to her cousin as he finished tying the last of the packs to his saddle.

  “I’m so glad you visited us, Wid,” she said softly. “When you see Tea again, tell her I am well … tell her not to worry.”

  The Wolf chieftain turned to her, his green eyes shadowing. “You can tell her yourself,” he replied. “Come with us.”

  She shook her head, not wanting to have the same argument with him as two days earlier. “I’m staying here. Tell Tea it’s my choice.”

  He nodded, although she could see from the flexing of his jaw that he wanted to say more.

  Wordlessly, Wid stepped close to Eithni and wrapped her in a fierce hug. “Go well, cousin,” he murmured into her hair.

  “And you.” Eithni stepped back, her eyes misting.

  Wid moved across to Donnel then, and the two men faced each other for a heartbeat before embracing like brothers. When Wid stepped back, his youthful face was more serious than Eithni had ever seen it.

  “I shall say this only once, Donnel, for I know you don’t want to hear it. Pride has killed many a man … has turned the days of his life to dust and ruined any chance of happiness. I see that might happen to you. You have the chance to put things right … only you’ll have to humble yourself to do it.”

  Wid broke off here, yet Donnel did not answer. To Eithni his face looked carved from granite in the grey morning light. She was pleased her cousin had spoken although she could see his advice had fallen upon deaf ears. She had already encountered Donnel’s stubbornness.

  “Your fate is in your hands,” Wid said after a long pause. “Don’t wait till it’s too late.”

  After Wid and his men had departed, the last of the ponies’ long tails disappearing into the trees, Donnel turned to Eithni. Feeling his gaze boring into her, Eithni tore her attention from the west and met his eye. She knew from the tenseness of his jaw and the hardness of his eyes that he was angry.

  “Wid said you refused to go with him. Is that true?”

  “Aye,” Eithni replied, holding his gaze. “It was my choice to make … wasn’t it?”

  She watched him clench his jaw. “Winter is coming. Despite the supplies that Wid has left us, despite that I spend every day out hunting and you spend every waking moment storing food, it won’t be enough. You know that. You can’t stay here with me.”

  Eithni folded her arms over her breasts, drawing herself up to face him squarely. “It has to be enough,” she countered. “There are only two of us to feed. I’ll not leave you here on your own.”

  His mouth twisted. “I’m not a bairn. I can take care of myself. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

  Irritation flared within Eithni. “I’m tougher than I look, and I’ll not abandon you. Wid respected my decision. Why can’t you?”

  He glared at her, clearly infuriated by her defiance. Yet Eithni held firm. She would not be sent away.

  Donnel stepped back from her. “Very well,” he replied, his voice hard and cold. “Be it on your head then.”

  Eithni watched him stalk off, his back stiff with anger, before her gaze shifted west to where her kin had ridden away. It had been difficult to say goodbye to Wid and the other Wolf warriors, but her place was here.

  Donnel would just have to accept that.

  Eithni knew the moment she opened the door to the store hut that something was wrong. The sweet smell of rotting meat wafted out, hitting her in the face.

  Eithni drew back, her bile rising at the stench. “Gods … no!”

  “What is it?”

  Donnel asked from behind her. He was crouched next to the fire pit, attempting to light t
he damp wood. It had rained overnight; the deluge had leaked through the turf roof of the hut in places. A heavy cloak of drizzle hung over the wooded valley this morning, bringing with it a damp cold that made Eithni’s limbs ache.

  Eithni turned, her body tensing as she met his gaze. “The meat has gone off.”

  “What?” He rose to his feet, his expression thunderous. “All of it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Together they hauled out the haunches of venison and boar that hung inside the store house and inspected them in the watery morning light.

  It was not good. Over half the meat they had stored was rotting; some of it crawling with maggots.

  Eithni looked down at a haunch of venison that was writhing with the little white worms. She swallowed, forcing down a wave of nausea. “How has this happened?”

  “Damp has gotten into the store,” Donnel replied, his voice flat and bleak. “We mustn’t have sealed it properly.”

  Eithni did not look his way as they carried away the ruined meat and rehung that which could be salvaged. She knew what he was going to say.

  Ever since Wid’s departure over ten days earlier, relations between her and Donnel had been awkward. They spent most days apart, and whereas in the past she had looked forward to their mornings and evenings together, there was a growing tension between them.

  After disposing of the rotting meat, they sat down next to the fire. Neither of them had much appetite after their discovery, so they merely broke their fasts with some weak broth. Eithni perched on a damp rock, her fur mantle around her shoulders, her fingers curled around the earthen cup she had made.

  For the first time since coming to this valley, despair welled up within her. She actually felt like weeping over the ruined food, yet she did not. The tears would be weapons Donnel could use against her. She had to remain strong, stoic.

  “Eithni,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “Look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she complied. He was watching her, those storm-grey eyes troubled. “You know what this means?”

  Eithni clenched her jaw, stubbornness rising within her. “You’re wrong. There’s still enough for the winter if we’re careful. It’s still another moon till Gateway.”

  She watched him sigh and rake a hand through his hair—it was a gesture she had come to know well. It warned her his patience was thinning.

  “Come winter, food will be very scarce,” he replied. “The deer will move to lower ground, and there will be little for you to forage in the forest. We risk starvation. Wid won’t be at hand with supplies of oatcakes and boiled eggs to fill our bellies. He risked much coming here … if Galan ever found out it could jeopardize their relationship.”

  She stared at him, hating him for his logic. She wanted to argue with him, deny his words, yet she knew in her heart he was right.

  “What will we do?” she asked finally. “We can’t go back to Dun Ringill.”

  “I can’t … but you can.”

  She shook her head, stubbornness rising once more. “No. I won’t leave you.”

  Donnel watched her steadily. “We’re not traveling down this road again. This isn’t about what either of us want … it’s about survival. I’ll not keep us out here in the wild without food.”

  Eithni heaved in a deep breath. “I can see that … but Dun Ringill isn’t an option. Maybe we can go to Dun Ardtreck. Wid would happily take us in for the winter if we asked.”

  His features tensed and a muscle bunched in his jaw. “Doing that could easily sour relations between The Eagle and The Wolf,” he pointed out. “I’ve already caused a rift with The Boar … I’ll not worsen the situation further.”

  “We don’t have to make a decision right away,” Eithni replied. “The cold won’t settle in properly until after Gateway. Let’s see if we can replenish our stores before then.”

  He gave her a rueful look. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

  She shook her head. Their gazes held, and she smiled. “A healer never does.”

  Donnel walked through the dense stand of spruce, a bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows on his back. The sun warmed him, but the muscles in his shoulders and neck were tense.

  He was in a bleak mood. After discovering half their meat store had gone off that morning, the day had not improved. He had been out hunting all afternoon, and the light was now starting to fade. He had not managed to catch anything; it was as if the forest creatures sensed his mood from afar and fled before he reached them.

  Donnel paused, glancing around. This is hopeless.

  Of course, it did not help that he was distracted. He kept thinking about their ruined food stores and the fact that he would soon need to make a decision about what to do over the winter.

  Donnel exhaled loudly and glanced up at the darkening sky.

  The way things were going, there was no way he and Eithni could remain in this valley over the winter. Snow often lay deep and heavy for many moons. He would not be able to hunt regularly, and Eithni would not be able to forage for food under a thick crust of snow. That was why their stores were so important.

  Donnel turned on his heel and headed for home. His belly rumbled, and he wondered what Eithni was preparing for supper. It took him a while to reach their hut, for his hunting trips now took him far afield. As such, the light had almost faded when he caught the scent of woodsmoke and the aroma of roasting meat.

  Donnel found himself smiling. Roast grouse.

  Despite everything—despite the worries that would not let his mind rest—there was something about his life here in this forgotten valley with Eithni that he loved. It was easy to believe the rest of the world did not exist.

  Things had not been easy, and Donnel was sure he had not been pleasant company at times. Yet he had come to enjoy the simplicity, the routine, of their days. He liked waking in the morning to the musical sound of Eithni’s humming outdoors, as she roused the fire pit and went about her first chores of the day. He enjoyed sitting by the fire inside the hut in the evenings, watching her sew and mend clothing while he whittled utensils out of wood. Living with Eithni was like living with a warm summer’s breeze. Her presence in his life brought sunlight into what would have otherwise have been very bleak days indeed.

  He returned to the hut to find Eithni sitting on a rock near the fire, drying her hair. She had clearly just finished bathing in the stream, and as he approached, Donnel found himself imagining her standing knee-deep in the clear water, the last of the evening’s sun kissing her naked skin as she bathed. He imagined her nipples, pebble-hard in the cold air; and the nest of hair between her thighs. Would it be walnut brown like that on her head?

  His body’s response was swift and violent.

  Gods … what’s wrong with me?

  He unslung his quiver and held it in front of him so that Eithni would not see the sudden bulge in his breeches. He had to stop these thoughts. His body did not seem to know the difference between what was real and what was not. One of these days he was going to embarrass himself.

  “Evening.” Donnel sat down on a rock opposite, making sure to keep the quiver of arrows on his lap.

  Eithni favored him with a warm smile and flicked her wet hair back off her shoulders. “Welcome home … how was your afternoon?”

  “Long. Nothing … again.”

  Her smile faded. However, she did not reply, and Donnel was grateful. There was no point going over what they had already discussed at length this morning. They would have to make a decision about what to do over the coming winter—but it would not be tonight.

  To warm the mood, he forced a smile, his gaze going to the small bird that roasted over the coals. “You caught a grouse … well done.”

  Her smile returned, and pride lit in those warm hazel eyes. “Aye … I finally learned how to use that sling-shot you made me.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Night Demons

  THE NIGHTMARE STARTED as they often did—with Forcus’s v
oice.

  Nearly two years on, the sound of his voice terrified Eithni still. She hated the commanding, brutal edge to it. Then came the hot blast of his breath in her ear as he took her—hurting her with each savage thrust—his hands rough and brutal. Then the pain that knifed through her and made her want to claw her way out of her own skin. It had hurt her terribly the first time, for she had been a maid, and he had not been gentle, but the pain was worse afterward. Far worse. He had taken pleasure from that too, his gaze devouring the agony that twisted her face.

  Don't touch me! Leave me be!

  “Eithni!”

  The voice—a different voice—came from far away, seeming to reach her through a tunnel.

  “Eithni!”

  The voice was louder this time, puncturing the shroud of darkness and fear that held Eithni fast. She clawed her way out of sleep into wakefulness. A man's hands held her shoulders, and panic crashed over her in a great wave.

  “No!” she shrieked. “Get off me!”

  “Eithni … it’s me … Donnel.”

  The darkness drew back. Suddenly Eithni realized that the hands gripping her by the shoulders now were not rough; this man’s fingernails did not dig into her flesh. Instead his hands merely held her firm, protecting her.

  Eithni’s eyes flickered open, and her gaze met Donnel’s.

  The fire pit inside their hut had burned low and was on the verge of going out. However, the last coals still emitted a red glow, illuminating Donnel’s worried face.

  Eithni stared up at him, her heart galloping in her chest.

  “M'eudail,” he said softly. “Are you well?”

  My darling.

  Eithni swallowed, her gaze holding his. “It was a bad dream,” she gasped. “The worst in a long while.”

  “You dreamed of him again?” Donnel asked, his brow furrowing.

  Eithni nodded and inhaled deeply, her pulse steadying as the last remnants of the dream drew back. Having Donnel here, hearing his voice and feeling the firm reassurance of his touch, made her feel much better.