Chieftain's Rebel

by Frances Housden

  Rory shook his head and managed to scrape up a smile. “I heard ye. I should think the whole settlement did, so if that was a secret ye were telling me, I think yer too late.”

  Secrets. They all had them. Calder had held his close. When they left Dun Bhuird Rory had still been brooding, all his thought taken up with himself—what he wanted—going in circles with nae notion how to find the lass whau had him so stirred he didnae know himself any longer.

  “It makes nae difference to me,” Calder told him. A smile split his friend’s face. “I wager you would feel the same if the lass whau had been filling yer head for a twelve-month admitted she was as mad for ye, as ye were for her. I feel I could leap mountains, what do ye think of that?”

  At last, something to amuse him, not because Calder was acting moon-touched. Nae, it was the realisation that his own secret was still that—secret. “Now that’s something I would like to see, Calder. Don’t forget to warn me afore ye leap since I wouldnae want to miss something so amazing I would want to tell my grandbairns about if I ever have any.”

  “And why wouldnae ye?” Calder clapped Rory on the shoulder. “Yer father will settle for naught less than a fine handful of wee lads to carry on the line.”

  Listening to the truth of the matter was enough to tug his mouth down at the corners—disgruntled as humour fled. “And what if I want the same—want what yer shouting to the skies that ye have found, instead of a cold-blooded arrangement betwixt two strangers.”

  “Ha,” Calder’s head reared back. “It’s a strange notion to have ye envious of me. My only suggestion is to get off yer arse and start looking. She’s nae likely to walk right up and put her arms round ye. Nae that’s the man’s task. We are the hunters. Look at me, follow my example if ye need help, or else naught will change.” Calder thumped his chest with a fist to empathise his words. “This friend will be by yer shoulder, same as always.”

  Rory knew Calder didnae lie. They had been friends since they were naught but lads. A distant cousin, Kathryn and Gavyn had taken Calder in after a fever had taken his father and o’er the years they had become as much like twins as his Cragenlaw cousins. Yet, when on the same night they had both found a lass to stir nae just their loins but their hearts, each had kept it to himself, secret.

  Ghillie spent the morning listening to Olaf. They sat on a bench outside the longhouse, looking out o’er the Ness. The Jarl had tales in abundance—though in truth it was the history of his family that drew Ghillie in.

  The McArthur had made sure that the seneschal taught Ghillie to read, write and count his numbers, making him luckier than most lads. Aye, he had learned skills usually reserved for priests. However, his efforts werenae intended to prepare him for the Kirk. Nae, this notion that his family had come up with was meant to arm him with enough education to secure his future, driven by the fear that Ghillie might ne’er grow any taller than his parents, Nhaimeth and Rowena—both dwarfs.

  Fortunately, he had outgrown both of them years past and might have abandoned his studies long syne if he had wanted. It made nae difference; whether frae habit or simple pleasure, he still attended his lessons each morning of the days he spent at Cragenlaw, making certain to turn up at the seneschal’s door eager to learn more.

  That’s why he memorised every word Olaf spoke, ready to write down the stories of his family—their history—to make sure it was ne’er forgotten.

  After listening to the conclusion of a myth the auld man was relating about Thorfinn the mighty, Ghillie glanced at Olaf and caught the Jarl’s eye as he finished off the tankard of ale needed to quench his thirst after all his talking.

  Tilting his head, Ghillie asked, “Did our ancestors ne’er think on building walls or a palisade to protect the settlement? It looks strange to me, after living at Cragenlaw and Dun Bhuird, not to see high walls surrounding the settlement.“

  “Nae doubt we seem unprepared, but our skills lie in building boats not walls. Most of our enemies come down the Ness, and we have the land at our backs. That’s nae saying we cannae stand our ground on the land,” he laughed, shaking his gnarled stick.

  A moment later, his expression changed, grew hard, his auld eyes narrowed, pierced Ghillie to the bone as if trying to read his mind, which was Ghillie’s job and the auld Jarl knew it, “We all know the Irish will soon be upon us, and though we don’t look prepared, there are men on the hills and others sleeping on the boats ready to raise the sails at the first sighting of raiders.”

  “Forgive me, grandfather,” he said, showing respect for his relative-ancestor’s age. “I didnae doubt ye for a moment.”

  “As I don’t doubt ye, lad. Tell me, Ghillie, do ye see me still standing when it’s all o’er, or shall I sail for Walhalla in a dragon boat?”

  Ghillie frowned as he decided what to tell Olaf. “The gift the gods gave me is not of seeing the future, it’s a feeling, a knowing. All I can say is that there will trouble, confusion and change but, sitting beside ye, I cannae feel the heat of flames consuming yer flesh or yer spirit because of the Irish. I’ve felt the strength in ye frae when I first met ye—afore even. While we journeyed closer to Caithness I could sense it in ye. That strength doesnae reside in muscle alone, it’s in yer head and in yer heart. That is yer gift frae the gods and it’s what has kept Caithness safe even afore ye became Jarl.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. It’s easy seen that ye are much wiser than yer years and I would ask a favour of ye. If yer still here—and I cannae see ye not being man enough to stay while danger threatens—I would like ye to stay close and give me the benefit of yer gift, yer knowing.”

  Ghillie held out his hand to the Jarl, and even that felt a step forward, as if he had become a man as he felt Olaf’s strong grip surround his fingers. “I will be nearby and do what I can to turn the tide against the Irish as well as yon Norsemen whau would side with them against their own kind.” He smiled as he felt more than just the calluses on the Jarl’s palm. “And I doubt that Rory and Carl will leave me behind. Two better fighters ye’ll ne’er meet.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, but if they stay and aught happens to them, it will be Gavyn Farquhar I’ll have to answer to and nae doubt cousin Kathryn will hand him the sword.”

  “Aye she’s nae a meek wee wife. Ye must have heard how she once shot an arrow at Gavyn.” The thought made him grin. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it, and a better person for tending to wounds I’ve yet to meet.”

  Aye, there might be troubles ahead of all of them, but there was more that nae one was aware of. As he told Olaf, it was naught but a feeling, a sense that life was about to become very interesting. Then he looked up and knew why.

  “Ghillie, have ye met my granddaughter and her wee lad, Axel.”

  He had told the Jarl he hadnae been given the gift of sight, yet standing afore him he saw the future. The lass, the Jarl’s granddaughter, was beautiful, fair of face and spirit, if the smile she gave him was to be believed. However, it was the bairn she carried in a sling that confirmed why they had needed to journey to Caithness. He had realised earlier that Rory felt driven to return here. The lass was explanation enough; it would seem Calder wasnae the only one to find love at the last Gathering.

  Just as he thought Rory’s motive for coming to Caithness was easily explained, Olaf’s next comment put a twist in their sails. “Ainsel is a widow. Her husband ne’er lived to see their bairn born,” he said, throwing a quick hard glance at his granddaughter as if waiting for Ainsel’s reaction. And when her expression gave naught away he carried on, grumbling, “Though there’s few at the Ness would care since he’s the one whau caused trouble with the Irish—paid for it with his life—it’s not enough. They say he abducted the chieftain’s wife.” With a shrug he looked up frae under his brows at his granddaughter. “Although what he needed with another woman when he already had a guid one of his own at home I have nae notion. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was probably ransom he was after. Our Norse brothers
are not ready to be so forgiving.”

  Trust the gods to find a way to reprimand him for being too smug. It would seem there was naught about this visit that was going to be easy. Complicated—aye that was the only certainty. The only other conviction thrumming through his mind made it all more complicated. Rory wasnae aware that the bairn—Axel—was his. Nae one did except Ainsel and he could tell frae the nervous glances she flicked his way frae under her long brown eyelashes that she dreaded anyone discovering the truth.

  It would seem that tales of his mother’s gifts had gone ahead of him and Ainsel was frightened he would reveal her secret. All of which put him in a quandary.

  Had the gods intended to use him to disclose a truth that Rory should be able to see for himself? The bairn, as his mother would say, looked as like Rory as his spit. Or had they something bigger, more important than a bairn.

  Frae all he had learned about the Christians, like as not they wouldnae tend to contest the import of a bairn’s untimely birth.

  Chapter 7

  The lad they called Ghillie knew…

  Not that he said aught; he didnae need to. Ainsel felt his knowledge shimmering off him the way sunlight did off water. She felt it in the way the hairs on her arms rose—prickled—frae the expression in his eyes as they skimmed over her. Felt the noise of certainty ring loudly frae her heart pounding in her ears as his gaze fixed upon Axel and made her want to wrap the sling tightly around the bairn so he could disappear frae sight.

  Ach aye, one glance and she was certain the young wizard had read her mind and had found her out in the lie, but would he give her away to Rory Farquharson?

  Her grandfather was still speaking, but she had lost sight of the point, until Olaf mentioned, “Ye might have heard me speak of Ghillie’s father, Nhaimeth Comlyn, another cousin—distant—and Ghillie even more so. Aye he’s a big lad and a sight to behold with both his father and mother being what folk call dwarfs. Not that Nhaimeth’s size e’er held him back. He’s a bonnie fighter frae what I’ve heard.”

  Searching her brain for aught sensible to say, she came out with, “So yer friends with Calder and, what do ye call him, Rory?”

  “That would be correct. Rory and I are cousins, his mother being my father’s sister. We’re a close family the Comlyns, Farquhars and the McArthurs.”

  It struck her that was the first real information she had on Rory other than that he was a wonderful lover—not that she had aught to compare with, Nils had ne’er cared for anyone’s pleasure but his own.

  Thinking of families, she pulled Axel closer, ran her hand o’er his dark curls. “Whau can ye trust if not family?” She repeated another lie since she had ne’er been able to trust Nils, and there were many lasses—wives—in the settlement well aware of the truth. Thankfully, for her sake, or more likely her grandfather’s, they had kept that truth to themselves.

  Olaf roared with laughter then shook his head and dug an elbow into Ghillie’s ribs. “Forgive her lad, the story of Harald and Brodwyn has disappeared frae most folks memories long ago.”

  “Except those whau were involved. Kathryn was carrying Rory when she was abducted, but the world turns and times change. Brodwyn escaped frae the Irish and returned to Dun Bhuird. She died a few years later frae wounds made by Rob’s wife’s father, Baron La Mont, a Norman whau, strangely enough, was my grandfather and father of Brodwyn’s daughter, Merida.” He shrugged off the complications as if they were of nae moment, then carried on to say, “One day I must write a history of our families.”

  “Ah, but few of us will be able to read it.”

  “Then I must make certain it lasts until some time in the future when more than priests and seneschals learn to read and write,” he said it as if he could see a world when that might come to pass. Then, hardly taking time for another breath, Ghillie went on, “And speaking of family, I’d better catch up with Rory and Calder. I’ve been lolling around all morning and had best discover what they are up to.”

  Ainsel liked the way, he included both her and Olaf in the half bow he made afore walking in the direction of the water, expecting to find Rory on the beach.

  Her skin crawled with the prickle of nerves. Would he tell Rory?

  Mayhap she should burn sage and other protective herbs in a small sacrifice to the gods in the hope they would stay Ghillie’s hand, or lips. She watched the lad walk away and turned to her grandfather. “Why is it when ye used to tell me tales of the past ye ne’er spoke of the wicked Harald, nor a lass named Brodwyn?”

  “Yon were hardly times that I care to remember. When Harald and Brodwyn arrived at Caithness settlement we were just getting o’er yer grandmother’s abduction. Ye heard of that, did ye not?“

  Nodding, Ainsel waited for him to continue. It was true her own mother had spoken of Ainsel’s grandmother’s abduction by the Irish—the reason Ainsel had been deprived of knowing her, though they said she looked like the woman her grandfather must have loved for he had ne’er thought to replace her.

  “I remember I tore a strip off Harald for expecting me go along with his high-handed schemes when I was in the middle of my own crisis. His idea had been to force Gavyn Farquhar to give up the Dun Bhuird chieftainship in his favour. He brought with him Kathryn and her maid, Lhilidh, tied them up and shut them a broch. When I didnae give into him, didnae agree to stand with him against Rory’s father, he took a burning brand frae the fire and tossed it onto the thatched roof. Gavyn arrived in time to drag Kathryn out, but Lhilidh didnae survive. It wasnae till later that I discovered Lhilidh was my own daughter by a woman I met when visiting Erik the Bear at Dun Bhuird—a bonnie wee thing she was…”

  Frae the look her grandfather gave her it was obvious her surprise showed on her face, but nae wonder. Hadnae he just finished telling her how much her grandmother had meant to him?

  “Aye, ye may well look,” Olaf’s chin jutted, “I’m a man and was younger back then, unused to going without. We cannae all be like ye and Nils.”

  Where had her grandfather got the impression Nils was like one of yon Christian saints when in truth Loki the trickster must have been his guide? She dipped her chin and stared at Axel’s bonnie head. At least she had done that for her son, deprived him of a father who was a monster.

  “I cast nae blame on ye, Grandfather. I suppose that, though I didnae know my grandmother, it was her that my thoughts naturally turned to. I cannae imagine how it felt for ye to discover ye’d had a daughter and she was gone to Walhalla afore ye had a chance to know her.”

  His smile was wry as he said, “Can ye understand now why I seldom talk of yon days?”

  “I do, and I regret that ye thought I wouldnae.” Ainsel stepped closer and rubbed the knuckles of her grandfather’s hand where it rested atop his stick. It was then Axel began to grumble, making Olaf crook a finger under the bairn’s chin, tickling the bad humour away. She was surprised when the tip of his finger found its way under the silver chain he had worn since he was born.

  Olaf lifted the chain clear of the bairn’s wrappings, revealing the tiny silver Thor’s hammer her grandfather had given him at birth. “This is bonnie, but ne’er imagine it has any other power. The gods look down on us frae on high, but all they give us is free will; good or evil, it’s our choice. This little hammer and chain belonged to Lhilidh. I gave it to her mother afore I left Dun Bhuird, unaware she was carrying my bairn. It belonged to my mother, and its nae coincidence that her name was Lhilidh as well. The only power I give the hammer was that it was always given with love. What more does a bairn need to keep him strong,” he said as Axel gave him a gummy smile.

  She laughed as Axel turned his mouth into her breast and nuzzled, searching for her nipple. “Love he has in abundance, but as ye can see he’s not content with that alone. He wants food and clean swaddling cloths—a problem I can solve.”

  “I can but agree. For a bairn, a mother is the font of all that’s good: love, food and comfort. As for the skills he’ll need when he is aulde
r, rely on Finn and me to provide all the help a father would have given him.”

  Ainsel dreaded to think what skills Nils might have thought essential for a growing lad. She had a sudden longing for her mother, a woman she could turn to for advice without feeling ashamed she hadnae done more to protect herself. Even her one instant of rebellion had been to spite Nils, not to stand up for herself against his cruel treatment.

  As she made her farewells to her grandfather she thanked the gods for taking Nils. Better than her brother being forced to kill him. Better for all of them.

  The excitement in the air was contagious. Both Rory and Calder felt it as they climbed up the tangle of logs and driftwood to help drag more fuel for the bonfire closer to the summit of the pile. Around them, sweating bodies gleamed in the sunshine as the men bent and pulled, heaved branches onto their shoulders, all done with a laugh and a smile as if they didnae have spies on the heights or crews aboard the dragon boats floating on the lowering tide with their eyes on the horizon for the Irish marauders.

  Done at last, they scrambled down, staggering until the only way for Rory to stay on his feet was to throw an arm around Calder’s shoulder. “I think our best plan should be to run down the beach and jump into the sea afore we go back to the longhouse in search of food. What say you, Calder?”

  “I say let’s do that. Let’s do it now while we can still stand. It wouldnae do to end up crawling there like bairns while all these Norsemen can see. We have our nation’s pride to uphold.” That said, they set off across the sand, shoulder to shoulder as they always had since Calder moved into Dun Bhuird. He had come frae a Comlyn longhouse set on the westerly side of the mountains that made up Bienne á Bhuird, come to be fostered by Gavyn. As Rory’s mind became clearer, he began to wonder how long their friendship would go on as it had in the past—now that Calder had found a lassie to love. And what kind of a friend would he be to resent him for finding what he himself had come in search of and had yet to find.