“He’ll be all right, Gilda, I promise ye.” Ainsel looked up at him as if begging for support.
“The lad was cauld as an iceberg when they found him. When we left they were warming him up again and seeing to the wound in his ribs.”
That set the lassie off again—hysterical. “I saw him get wounded. We were fighting side-by-side, doin’ well. Then this big lout frae the Orkney boat cut him and pulled him o’er the bow. I tried catch him, but it wasnae to be.” Gilda was crying again but the water pouring frae her eyes didnae halt her tale as she sobbed. “Fire was swallowing up the other boat, and after Calder hit the water the mast came down on him. I didnae see him resurface. I was certain he was dead.”
Gilda turned toward Ainsel now. “With Calder gone I had naught to live for, whereas Ainsel—“
The raven let out a screech, cutting Gilda off and startling the two men, making it worthwhile.
Rory saw a look pass betwixt the women that puzzled him, then she was speaking again. “Ainsel had Axel and a bairn needs its mother. That’s why I did what I did, claimed to be Ainsel so she and the bairn…”
If Rory let them go on talking the tide would turn against them. They needed to move soon back to the boat or the power of their initial approach would diminish. As it was, he could hear the quarrel stutter to a halt and swiftly said, “Come now lassies, let’s be off afore they realise we’ve gone.”
Too late. MacLoughlin stepped down among them. “I’m still missing a wife,” he muttered as Rory stepped in his way.
Gripping the hilt of his sword, he suggested, “Mayhap that’s a subject ye should bring up with yer guid friend, Thorsen.” Rory shot an intimidating glance at the other man, aware he would be the one to yield first. A man whau had very little always felt as if he had the most to lose, so Rory continued, “After all, Nils Larsen came frae Orkney. Ainsel is already a widow, it would be a pity were it to happen twice in the same year.”
He hadnae expected Ghillie to speak up, yet he did. Stepping closer, he let the raven perch on his arm while he stroked its head. “The results might not be what ye both wished for. I dinnae necessarily see either of ye dead just yet, if ye tread carefully. That said, I do see others as leaders in yer place.”
MacLoughlin grimaced like a cornered squirrel, all red hair and protruding front teeth. “I could cut ye down where ye stand.”
Ghillie started to laugh. “Ye remind me of stories my father told me about my grandfather Erik the Bear. He was an expert at bluster. It didnae keep him alive. Rory’s father and his uncle, the McArthur, both had a hand in the Bear’s death. Isnae it strange how some things run in families? And in case ye have not counted there are more than a guid handful of us here, four against yer one.”
There was a smile on Ghillie’s face as he paused and looked past Rory, toward the shore, and finished by asking MacLoughlin’s pardon. “I’m afraid I miscounted; the rest of us have just arrived.”
Rory swung around on his heel, though his hand remained fisted on the hilt of his sword in case Ghillie was up to mischief. When he discovered his cousin spoke true, he too began to smile. “MacLoughlin and Thorsen, let me introduce others of my family and friends.”
He hadnae expected his father to be pleased, but the frown on his face was made worse by the way his scar cut across his face, through his eyebrow from brow to cheek. Rory ignored it, for he usually ne’er noticed. “Father, this is MacLoughlin frae Ireland, the one whau abducted Olaf’s wife when ye were at Caithness all yon years ago. Now he’s intent on stealing Olaf’s granddaughter.” Rory’s lip curled. “Given his age, I call that ambitious.”
Gavyn scowled at the Irishman, exactly as Rory had hoped. As a weapon his father’s scar had its uses. “The other is Thorsen, Jarl of Orkney.”
Gavyn was also capable of turning the other cheek. “I’m sorry for the trespass. Word reached us of the attack on Caithness. Olaf is a cousin of the Comlyns.” He nodded at his companions one after the other, “Nhaimeth Comlyn, Ghillie’s father, Rob McArthur, my nephew, and Jamie Ruthven all trained by the McArthur of Cragenlaw. Ye will have heard of him as a guid friend of King Alexander and with them, Dhugal Robertson of Sgian, whau saved Alexander’s life.”
Rory’s father looked around all these men—family and lifelong friends whau had faced enemies greater than a jumped up Irish chieftain, one whau had cozened an impoverished Jarl into aiding him attack an auld friend, all because he obviously wasnae man enough to keep his wife happy.
The fight had completely deserted Thorsen, and MacLoughlin seemed somewhat diminished in the presence of a true chieftain and leader of men. “What do ye say, Father? Is this a guid time to return to Caithness?”
Gavyn sent an unnecessarily grim nod in his direction and Rory knew talk of his rebellion was merely postponed. “Aye, let’s be off, men. There’s naught for us here.”
So that was Rory’s father. Ainsel couldnae prevent herself staring open-mouthed. She’d thought Rory took up a lot of space in the world. Put him beside his father and that space doubled. It was nae wonder Thorsen was shaking in his boots. Even MacLoughlin appeared aware he had more than met his match, and whau wouldnae be nervous when ye looked at the men Gavyn Farquhar had brought with him? The newcomers made a formidable force.
To Ainsel’s mind, Rory’s scheme would have worked, just as his plan for the dragon-boats had successfully put paid to Thorsen’s contribution to MacLoughlin’s o’er-blown ambitions.
Gilda was still hanging onto her arm, fingers curled around her armguard as if scared to let go. That wasnae what dragged a sigh frae Ainsel’s darkest depths. It was the knowing that all Rory’s efforts hadnae changed aught. She still couldnae leave Caithness to live with him at Dun Bhuird. Her shame, and finally fear, had penned her into a place she was unable to move past. Worst of all was being aware that all of the hurdles blocking her way were of her own making.
She heard Rory ask, “What do ye say, Father, is this a guid time to return to Caithness?”
With a nod, Farquhar put an end to the strife Nils had landed her in—her and Gilda both. “Aye, let’s be off, men,” he said easily, full of confidence. “There’s naught for us here.”
She hugged Gilda then pulled her friend with her as she made to accompany Rory and the men whau thought enough of him to leave their homes, determined to make certain nae ill befell him. This time her sighs didnae signal frustration at her foolishness, simply relief and, surprisingly, a tinge of the kind of contentedness she had ne’er experienced, not since she fell for Nils’s silver tongue and into a dark pit of his making. She couldnae remember the first time he had threatened her grandfather’s life, for it hadnae been the last. It shamed her now to realise how she had let it tie her hands
Ainsel was leaning close to Gilda, whispering, “If there was ever a better way to prove that ye love me…” she shook her head and squeezed Gilda’s arm. “Ye have always been a mite impulsive, and I love ye for it but, Thor’s hammer, I’m glad it’s all o’er.” A sigh she had feared to release afore left her lips. “Just think, it willnae be long till ye see Calder again.”
That was when the Orkney woman attacked her.
“It’s all yer blame that Nils is dead,” she shouted. Ainsel released Gilda’s arm and turned, using her shield to fend the stranger off. “Thought ye had a braw man, did ye? Well, ye were mistaken,” she yelled, dodging round the shield and reaching for Ainsel’s face, fingers curved like claws. “He ne’er was husband to ye, couldnae be.”
Ghillie’s raven flew at the madwoman’s head. That was the moment Ainsel saw the dagger coming at her in the woman’s other hand and did what came naturally to her. The toes of her boots scraped a crescent in the dirt as she spun, using the shield as she had been taught, the way she had practiced less than a se’night ago with Rory.
How everything had changed! As she finished the instinctive movement, the woman’s back touched the ground, one of Ainsel’s boots holding her down, the other on the wrist of the hand
clasping the dagger, while Ainsel’s sword pointed at her throat—done swiftly the way she ought to have done to Nils.
Not even that shut the Orkney woman’s mouth. She screamed abuse at Ainsel, flailing under the weight of Ainsel’s boot on her chest as she sought purchase, fingers scrabbling in the dirt. “He was ne’er yer husband, he was mine. I’m his widow, and ye are naught but the slut he thought to get rich frae.”
For a few moments, Ainsel had almost felt sorry for her, another poor soul whau had fallen into Nils’ toils. By the looks, she was a guid few years aulder than Ainsel, her clothes far frae new, but Ainsel’s sympathy dissolved into thin air as she recognised the dagger lying by her attacker’s hand. Nils had taken it with him, had it at his belt the day he left. “Gilda, pull her to her feet.”
Rory was there afore Gilda. “I’ll do it, be more than happy to since ye just made my father smile,” he said. Gripping the woman around her shoulders, he pulled her upright.
Ainsel returned her sword to its scabbard then bent to pick up the dagger, turning it in her fingers, testing its weight and examining the carving on its hilt. “Where did ye get this?”
“Nils gave it to me for protection.” A sly smile slanted across her lips. “He told me if his plan didnae work out, I might need it to protect myself. He ne’er said it might be frae his slut.”
“Yer saying he came here afore he left for Ireland?”
“Aye. He said he had missed me. He was but a lad when we wed, and me already a widow, but when the silver my first husband left me ran out, he decided to go to Caithness in search of more. It was a pity yer grandfather hadnae been more generous to ye. Otherwise he wouldnae have had to abduct MacLoughlin’s wife. He meant to hold her for ransom.”
Ainsel looked about her. Everyone was listening as she heard the last few years of her life reduced to a few sentences, yet somehow she nae longer cared. She felt more free than she had since she met Nils. Though it didnae excuse her deception of Rory, she did feel that the discussion she needed to have with him must happen once they returned to Caithness and Axel.
Rory’s father took it upon himself to have the last word. He strode forward and, although MacLoughlin was a step higher, he faced him eye to eye. “MacLoughlin,” he said in a gruff tone that made Ainsel wonder how Rory had had the courage to defy him—defy his father to come back for her. She hoped in time he would decide she was worth it.
The Irishman shifted nervously on the step, waiting for Farquhar to continue. Indeed he was a sorry sight, his grizzled hair and beard blowing about his face in the breeze that had risen off the land—the rising wind that would take them back to Caithness.
Turning his head, Rory’s father looked first at the woman Rory had under control, then back toward MacLoughlin. “I thought I might leave ye to the condemnation of yer men, but I’ve decided on a better punishment. Since it was Nils Larsen whau stole yer wife and lost her at sea, then ye shall have his real wife in place of her—to my mind a much more fitting solution. I have but one suggestion for ye: Dinnae let this one near yer weapons.”
The four of them would sail home in the dragon-boat she, Rory and Ghillie had arrived in, as would the Scots whau had followed them to Orkney. On the way back to their vessels, Ghillie’s father stayed at his side, talking, talking, talking. Nhaimeth Comlyn was the first dwarf she had laid eyes on, and she admired how his group of friends didnae treat him differently frae any of the others.
She felt heart-sore, knowing that Rory would likely turn away frae her once he was told the truth. However, after a word with the younger men, he came back to her and Gilda with some news of his own. “My mother rode up to Caithness with the others. She is tending to Calder, which we can count as fortunate as she is a skilled healer. By the time we get back to Caithness, Gilda, I’ve nae doubt he’ll be on the shore waiting to lift ye frae the boat.”
His mother: the words echoed in Ainsel’s brain.
If Gavyn Farquhar was his father, what kind of a woman was strong enough to make her life with him? Ainsel might nae longer feel herself totally to blame, but she couldnae lie, she was terribly worried about the future.
Chapter 25
As a mother living in the aftermath of a battle, Kathryn was well aware she shouldnae be enjoying herself. The trouble was, she just couldnae help the feelings that surged into her heart when she took Axel’s plump little body in her arms. She didnae care what Olaf and Finn thought; this bairn was her grandson. What she didnae understand was how Rory hadnae recognised that and told Calder.
Calder would be up and about soon. Too soon. If she hadnae been regularly feeding him an infusion she had made frae some of the soothing herbs she always carried when she travelled, the lad might be dead by now. He had been sleeping a lot, but that could only help with his healing.
Meanwhile she had taken o’er caring for Axel, except for the times when the wet nurse put him to the breasts. She had laughed the first time she watched them. He was a greedy wee lad, not easily satisfied, as if he knew he would need much nourishment to grow into a big lad like his father, big like Rory, big like her younger sons, since her sons took after Gavyn.
A lot of her days were spent sitting with Olaf, Axel on her knee, talking of times past, of his wife and his his son, both gone now. As he spoke, she noticed how easily he tired, which prompted her to offer to make him a potion, but he dismissed the notion with a waved of his hand. “I’m fine, Kathryn. All I need to make me feel better is to see our young folk come through that door. When I look at them, I feel content, knowing the future is in safe hands. Your Rory has a guid head on him. I asked him for a plan and I got one. I’ll tell ye for naught, he saved us. I know that I’ll need another boat for my journey to Walhalla, but if this week has taught me one lesson it’s that the gods willnae mind whether my dragon-boat is painted with gold or pitch. Unlike yer Christian god, for us Norse, I’m certain it’s our deeds will count the most.”
It had been four days now since Gavyn had gone chasing after Rory. Surely they would all be back soon—together again. Every time she heard a shout go up, she hurried out of the dim interior of the Great Hall, hoping it would be Gavyn returning. She could sense that Olaf was becoming anxious. His hand would worry the handle of his stick. The flesh covering his knuckles had grown so thin the bones looked as if they might pierce through the skin. Besides that, his clothes hung frae his shoulders as if naebody was inside them. All of that made her as anxious as he was to see them all arrive home safe.
Much as Finn might like to be with his grandfather, there was so much to be done: bodies of their enemies burned on the beach while one of the aulder boats was being made ready to take the Caithness men on their final journey.
The Great Hall was quiet after everyone had broken their fast and left. With the numbers of Caithness men reduced by death in the battle, they were short of the men whau had gone on the dragon-boats accompanying Gavyn and Rory. That’s why the shouts reaching her frae the Great Hall as she pushed through the leather curtain gave her pause, made her feet freeze to the floor.
Olaf was standing, hand halfway down the length of his stick shaking it head high at a very fair man that she couldnae remember seeing afore. His hair tangled about his face and neck, and his clothes were dirty, as if he had been travelling, sleeping rough. When the stranger’s hand went to the hilt of the sword at his waist, Kathryn stepped back through the curtain, felt the leather edges scuff her boots as it closed behind her. “Whist,” she hissed at the lassies laughing o’er pots they were stirring, steam rising around their heads. “One of ye go find Finn. Hurry! Someone is threatening the auld Jarl.”
Kathryn’s heart pounded. She hadnae been so wrought up since the last time she had been in Caithness and her own life had been at stake. Today it might be Olaf’s life hanging in the balance. Gavyn had saved her frae the flames; she could do naught less than try to save Olaf.
Why did her heart sink as she watched the stranger’s silhouette framed in the doorway as he ste
pped outside the longhouse? Olaf was nae longer standing, his stick was abandoned on the floor. Mouth open on a silent scream only she could hear, Kathryn rushed through the Hall. She found the auld Jarl sprawled on his back, half on, half off his big carved chair, one leg splayed wide, the other twisted beneath the chair. As soon as she reached him, Kathryn bent at the waist and slipped her hands under his arms, doing what she could to lever him upright.
Though Olaf was naught but skin and bones, getting him into his chair was more difficult than she had imagined. Eventually she sat him upright in his chair, his face blanched as white as his hair and his breathing shallow. She had ne’er thought of him as really auld afore, but in the harsh midday sun piercing the gap in the open door, his true age was obvious. They said that spirits haunted some halls, the pale essence of someone frae another age, and by the looks of him Olaf’s spirit was about to join them. She saw nae blood staining his fine cream worsted robe, and that made her worried. She could heal a wound, but a heart worn out frae beating far too long belonged in the lap of the gods and fell outside her purview.
Kneeling beside his chair as she gently rubbed his bloodless hands, Kathryn noticed that his big gold ring, studded with a dark green, engraved bloodstone had gone missing frae his finger. Mayhap the heavy gold circle had fallen off, because his fingers were that thin. However the scratch and bruise on his ring finger said otherwise.
The blue tinge to Olaf’s lips worried her enough to hope that it appeared much worse in contrast to the pure white of his moustaches. She stroked her hand o’er his face, brushing away the locks of his hair, all a-tumble frae his unexpected fall. Continuing to stroke his time-worn face, she thought of how much he reminded her of Magnus. Aye, he looked like the auld constable of Dun Bhuird—the one whau had given his life for her sake all yon years past.
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