Chieftain's Rebel

by Frances Housden

“A little o’er three months, but he’s big for his age,” she responded, pleased the attention had turned towards her son and let her relax for a wee while.

  Calder laughed at that, taking in the ring of folk—mostly women—edging closer, scared to miss out on a skerrick of gossip. “I daresay there will be a guid few around his age.” He chuckled as he spoke. “That’s going by the carousing I saw happen last solstice.” Ainsel watched him put his arm round Gilda, as if he realised he might have insulted her, saying, “Other folk, not us. We’re different.”

  Gilda shook her head and nudged him in the ribs. “Hush now. I dare say all the lads say that, but not Ainsel. My cousin is a widow. Her man ne’er lived long enough to see his son born.”

  Calder frowned. “I regret if I’ve caused ye pain…”

  “It’s of nae matter, I have my son and I’m happy about that. Besides, we have my grandfather and brother to look out for us, should the need arise. And here here’s my grandfather now…” She paused as Olaf halted at Calder’s elbow.

  “Ainsel, here are some cousins ye have yet to meet. This is young man is Ghillie Comlyn. His father Nhaimeth was here years past, just after yer grandmother was abducted.” He shook his head and, even after all this time, Ainsel watched a teardrop gather at the corner of his eye. “And this tall lad with him is Rory Farquharson, son of Gavyn Farquhar, a cousin an’ all, but on his mother Kathryn Comlyn’s side. I have guid reason to be grateful to his family. Even if she died but moments afore I found her, they brought my daughter Lhilidh home to Caithness where she belonged.”

  Olaf halted briefly, his eyes on Axel and a wide grin splitting his face. “This lass is Ainsel and the bairn on her shoulder is my first grandson, Axel,” he said proudly. “Now, if only her brother Finn was as caring of an auld man’s dreams for the future…”

  She forgot how to breath, to think. Did he recognise her? She dipped her chin towards Alex and strangled the word, “Welcome”, hardly recognised it for her own voice then, the gods forgive her, she pinched Axel and when he yelled she muttered, “to Caithness…” and let it be drowned by Axel’s indignant cries.

  “I was here last year,” he attempted, “but I didnae meet ye.”

  Ainsel shook her head, short swift movements as jerky as her breathing, then she gathered Axel close, hiding his face, his eyes, then, smiling apologetically, turned away. “I must see to the bairn.”

  She found it hard not to run—found it hard not to stay and let her eyes feast on him. Gods defend her, he was so much better than she had imagined. Her breaths became loud, sobbing as she looked at Alex and cursed herself for the false heritage she had laid on his head. Forever he would be known as the lad whaus father had brought the ire of the Irish down on Caithness. The family of everyone killed or harmed in the attack would always look sideways at him, wondering if he would grow up as wild and black-hearted as Nils.

  The fault was hers—a wee snatch at happiness, pleasure—now she must pay.

  And Axel must pay.

  She was a bad mother.

  Compared to the responses of most of the other women crowding around him, Rory felt as if after one brief glance, Olaf’s granddaughter had found him wanting. Aye, mayhap she’d given him a wee smile in compensation while she rejected him—rejected him: Rory Farquharson.

  Ach aye, it had been a wee bit of a smile that felt as rare as a Scottish summer without rain. He looked at Calder and the lass, Gilda, at the way her face beamed with pleasure and at her gestures as she walked by Calder’s side, unable to take her eyes off his face. It made him swallow back a sigh that had all the makings of a groan.

  Was it vain of him to believe he was thought comely—handsome even—when so many lasses had told him the same? Mayhap the lass just didnae like Scots, or had her husband been killed by one of his nationality? Aye, it was a puzzle.

  One he determined to solve.

  “Ye havenae picked the best time to visit the Ness with the Irish once again desperate to teach us a lesson,” Olaf rumbled in the deep voice Rory remembered, “but ne’er mind; ye must all bide in the longhouse. Truth to tell, an extra sword will nae go amiss should ye still be here when the villains arrive.”

  “I hope we are,” said Calder.

  “We will be,” said Ghillie, and that worried Rory. He gave his wee cousin a pointed stare, suddenly keenly curious about Ghillie’s motive for pushing them to make the journey.

  Ach. Well, come to that, Calder had always been keen, and as for himself, somehow the pain in his gut had eased, stopped making him feel so driven the moment they headed north. Ghillie, though, didnae make sense. He had ne’er visited the Ness afore. As for Calder, to Rory’s way of thinking, it would have taken a catastrophe to prevent his friend frae visiting the lass.

  Look at him now, his arm slowly slipping lower, slithering her past her waist and o’er her hip until his palm sneakily sought out the curve of her behind and gave it a squeeze.

  The biggest problem left to solve was why Ghillie had been so eager to join them. For the first time he had an inkling that mayhap he had been o’er quick to dismiss what others of his family saw in his cousin.

  As for Ghillie’s mother, Rowena, well hers had been a different tale—more believable—a story more easy to swallow, for hadnae she been raised by gypsies? To him it made nae odds that in truth she was sister to Melinda, Rob’s wife. Rowena was a dwarf as was Nhaimeth, and surely God gave such as they another gift as compensation. It seemed only just, but what did he know?

  He had well and truly rebelled this time, turned his back on his father and all the responsibilities Gavyn wanted to burden his heir with. And young Ghillie had encouraged him, acting as if he knew something of what would happen, held some secret hidden frae Rory.

  He supposed it was the sight of Calder, face wreathed in smiles and his arm around the lassie whau had brought him back to Caithness that made him wonder why he was in the Ness with nae notion at all if the lass he remembered even existed.

  Following Olaf, they led their mounts to the stables. Only a fool didnae look after his horse. In dangerous times, a well trained mount could be the difference betwixt life and death. It was all very well to saunter through the mountains as they had last year, travelling with nary a care in the world except a chance to escape frae the rules and restrictions of Dun Bhuird.

  This visit was different.

  Aye, he had rebelled against his father’s constraints, yet he realised that whether he found the lass frae his dreams or not, he was definitely ready for a fight.

  Chapter 4

  It was late into the afternoon, almost evening. Ainsel had fed and washed Axel. Now he was sleepy. It was her intention to have a bite to eat, and then, if her brain would stop whirling, she hoped to roll into her bed and ignore the sounds frae outside. It wasnae to be…

  “Ainsel!” she heard her brother Finn calling out, then his head appeared as the door was pushed open. “There ye are. Grandfather sent me to fetch ye.”

  “Fetch me where?”

  With a grin he told her, “Our elder is feeling convivial and wants the family about him while he hosts the supper meal. That includes me and my sister Ainsel, plus his favourite grandson, wee Axel. While there’s naught but three of us, to stay away frae the table might be seen as an insult to our guests.

  Her heart sank but, undeterred she put a finger to her lips, “Whist, if ye manage to waken Axel, then ye will be sorry. That bairn has such a bellow on him.”

  “I doubt it will bother me or grandfather.” Finn’s eyebrows lifted meaningfully, her brother was always full of cheeky humour but seldom wounding with it. “He only needs to make an appearance and then grandfather will order one of his women to look after him.”

  “One of his bed-warmers? At his age I cannae see him needing them for aught else,” she sniped, annoyed that she’d not only have to set eyes on Rory when she had planned to ignore him, she would also have to make conversation. She had nae other choice when the Olafsen family seem
ed to shrink year by year.

  “Ha!, Don’t ye believe it. Grandfather has always been virile, and I cannae see a limp holding him back. It’s war to blame for the reduced numbers of the Olafsen family, not his sexual prowess. In fact, I keep hoping he will produce a few more sons with his so called bed-warmers and take the pressure off me … and ye should feel the same. If aught should happen to me that puts the onus on Axel to become Jarl, and though I wish it could be other, a bairn as head of Caithness can only lead to bloodletting.”

  Keeping her head bent to hide how much that thought distressed her, she reluctantly lifted Axel from his crib. He felt so warm, smelled of clean wholesome bairn and looked so bonnie she couldnae resist nuzzling his sweet neck. Drawing in a deep breath she turned to her brother and held Axel out to Finn. “Take him a moment until I find a clean sling to carry him in. Wait until it’s yer turn. Bairns are a lot of work. Ye cannae leave the house without lots of preparation, and he’s getting so heavy, it breaks my arms to carry him without the sling.”

  He laughed at her but took Axel into his arms. “Seems to me yer o’er feeding him, fattening him up like a wee goose.”

  “Nae, don’t say that. Better he should have a bit of fat on him o’er summer to keep him warm in winter. Whau knows, if the Irish do attack we might be lucky to have a roof o’er our heads when the cauld winds bite,” she snarled at Finn and quickly regretted it as Axel whimpered.

  “Hush now,” her brother murmured, whether for her or Axel she wasnae sure. “Ye havenae been like yerself since Nils was killed—snapping at folk for the slightest wee sign of affront.”

  Wrapping a strip of fine woollen cloth around herself to form a sling, she looked her brother in the eye. Finn knew her better than anyone, but she had ne’er told him how Nils had mistreated her. Finn would have murdered him, but that wasnae why she had kept her husband’s cruel treatment to herself.

  Apart frae other considerations, she had been ashamed. Aghast that she, granddaughter to the Jarl, whau had grown up feeling special and expected something wonderful frae her marriage, had become cowed, fearful of the man who should have cared for her.

  She and Finn were so alike, both fair with light-blue eyes circled with pale brown lashes. The Olafsen family were tall and handsome, came frae guid bloodlines. Folk had always looked up to them, yet she felt she had let them down by marrying Nils, so she had held her secret sorrow tight and told nae one. “Ye do remember that Nils must take the blame for bringing the Irish’ wrath down on our heads? It’s not something to be proud of. Both Olaf and yerself act as if naught is wrong, but if some lassie loses her father or a wife her man, whau will they take their ire out on, tell me that if ye will, brother?”

  His eyes narrowed and without words she knew he was annoyed that she thought he wouldnae stand up for her and Axel, but for a man who had a way with the lassies, he didnae really understand them.

  After sliding Axel into the sling while she held it open wide to accommodate the bairn’s size, he took one of her wrists betwixt his long fingers and looked at her bared arms. “When Nils was alive I ne’er saw yer skin grow gold in the sunshine as it did when we were bairns. I might seem a bit slow at times, but I didnae see as much of ye once ye married Nils, he seemed to keep ye close and I felt he was jealous of the guid times we had growing up. It wasnae till he died that I noticed ye nae longer wore sleeves all the time—even in summer. Now I realise what ye were hiding. Bruises. Am I right?”

  It appeared she had underestimated Finn. “Why did ye wait till now to mention it?”

  “Ye ne’er gave me an opportunity, nor seemed willing to confess that Nils wasnae the guid match we had all thought. Ne’er feel scared to tell me ye need help, d’ye hear?”

  She nodded and he pulled her close, planting a quick kiss on her brow with Axel betwixt them, and went on to prove what she had been fearful of when Nils began hurting her. “If Nils wasnae already dead I would murder him.” Then, nudging her forward said, “We must go, Olaf will be wondering what is keeping us,” he said with a wee smirk that she realised was to break the tension. “And should he find out, it would be me he would murder. Ye always were his favourite.”

  Favourite?

  With her arms holding Axel close to her heart, she left the dimness of the broch with Finn behind her, and stepped into the still brightness of one of the north’s long summer’s e’en, leading to the solstice. It was nae distance from there to the longhouse—long enough, though, to wonder how much that would change if her grandfather knew the truth—not only about Nils, but the secret nae one but her knew.

  Ghillie was enjoying himself. He had thought he might the day he had informed Rory that he must go to Caithness, though in truth he couldnae have told him why. Sometimes the gift was as much a curse as a blessing.

  It wasnae as if he hadnae travelled much afore. He’d left Cragenlaw and gone often and often with both his mother and father to Dun Bhuird. Although he hadnae mentioned these plans to either of his parents, he and Calder had secretly made preparations for the trip. Calder had been unaware that unlike they two, Rory would need persuading to leave against his father’s wishes.

  Aware that sometimes he took advantage of Rowena’s reputation, Ghillie seldom felt a twinge of doubt that he was doing the right thing. He couldnae say the same this time.

  Like his father in the past, he had seen the Green Lady at Cragenlaw and knew she had plans for him but not always what they were. All he could do was trust that everything would work out well in the end. And at least now he had an inkling of why he’d practically had to force Rory to disobey his father.

  Looking around him in the Jarl’s Great Hall, Rory had a sudden memory that Dun Bhuird had once looked like this whilst he was still quite young—the same kind of smoky ceiling and dark, stained-with-age log walls, pitch-tipped torches and a few tallow candles the main source of light, apart frae the door that remained open. A fire dimly smouldered in a pit at the centre of the hall. They had done away with their fire pit at Dun Bhuird shortly afore he was born, mainly at his mother’s insistence. It had been a long time after that he heard the true story of the gruesome death of Magnus—one of Kathryn’s oldest friends—at the hands of her cousin Harald Comlyn.

  It was all part of what had brought her here—abducted by Harald and Brodwyn, Merida’s mother—a warning that ye couldnae always trust family. Howsoever, the thing that stuck at the front of his mind was that it had led them all here—past and future—to Caithness. Now, here for what could be called a third time, he wondered what it all meant. If he discounted Calder, Ghillie appeared to be the only one of the three with any inkling, but about what, his young cousin hadnae been very forthcoming.

  All he knew for certain was that the shivery feeling in his gut had everything to do with the lass he couldnae forget. His eyes skimmed the crowd filling the hall as they waited to be served. Was she out there, watching him, too scared to approach? He hoped her reluctance didnae make a mockery of what he had given up to get here—to find her.

  Before the night was o’er, he intended getting in Ghillie’s ear for everything he knew.

  Rory had barely committed to that option when Finn emerged through the smoky air, made thicker by the late evening sun pouring through the door. As Finn took a seat opposite him, he saw Ainsel, Finn’s sister, hesitating in the centre of the hall with the sun behind her creating a nimbus around her gold hair. He couldnae take his eyes off her—felt tingles of guilt creep through the hairs at the back of his neck as if it made him unfaithful—then Finn reached out a hand to her and pulled her down to sit beside him.

  He was aware she was a widow—Olaf had made that clear earlier—and frae the age of her bairn there was nae chance at all that she was the lass he still hoped to find. Why then did he feel a stirring in his groin as he watched her instead of the bairn she carried dampening the rush of blood low down in his belly? He was an arse. The womanly impression he received frae the way she held her son close to her breast seeme
d to heighten the feeling.

  As if she caught him staring at her and the bairn, she excused herself, “Nae need to be worried he’ll start wailing again. Axel is usually a guid bairn and, besides, he’s already been fed.”

  A vision of the bairn suckling at her breast should have been o’er domestic for a trained warrior. He had already discovered how fighting could make a man’s blood run hot, but tonight it felt otherwise. Under his plaid, thankfully well hidden by the board that his legs splayed beneath, his prick felt hard as a stone. “The bairn doesnae bother me,” he tried to make a jest of it, finishing with, “I’m told I was once one myself.”

  The curve of her lips was a touch timorous, but at least it was a smile in his direction. “It would be strange if ye had arrived in this world the size ye are.” She bit her lips afore continuing, “I wouldnae know whether to pity yer mother,” the words leapt frae her lips as if she had found her courage at last, “or congratulate her for surviving.”

  “Ye would have to meet my mother to discover she’s the last woman who’d welcome yer pity. Aye she is a survivor, a fighter. Anyone frae Dun Bhuird will tell ye that Kathryn Comlyn once greeted my father’s return by shooting an arrow at him as he reached the gates. It landed betwixt his destrier’s hooves. I would have loved to have been right there to see his face, but he nae doubt brought it on himself. Had he sent her some warning of his return? The trouble was, being a man, he had given her nae news that he was coming home and she’d been determined to defend Dun Bhuird—to show she could.”

  “That would be her Norse blood, I’m told she is kin of my grandfather—” she was saying when an aulder woman stopped behind her and interrupted with a hand on Ainsel’s shoulder.

  “Give the lad to me,” she said as Ainsel looked back and o’er her shoulder, “I’ll take him to the kitchen while ye have yer supper. He’s a braw bairn and ye ken how much I enjoy minding him.”

  “Thank ye, Jena.” Ainsel stood and for a moment Rory thought he might to leap to his feet to stop the weight of the bairn unbalancing her. Considering his awkward condition he was pleased when she managed to right herself. He’d have looked a boor to remain seated while the bairn fell. Released frae the woollen sling, Axel was passed frae Ainsel’s to Jena’s outstretched arms. Afore Jena caught hold of the lad, he woke and Rory’s ears waited to hear the sound of displeasure. Instead, eyes wide, he stared straight at Rory. Bent o’er Jena’s forearm, Axel’s arms stretched out as if begging Rory to pick him up.