Conscious of his father close by, it was all he could do to not to let loose the next wounding question on his lips. Looking down the Great Hall, he could see his father standing beside the auld Jarl on his own, his expression weary, nae doubt because he recognised the waste of a guid man. The sight of his father put paid to the outburst nestling on his tongue, waiting. Rightly or wrongly, he always felt Gavyn kept an eye on him, watching to see whether he lived up to his high standards. Rory loved his father, but being the heir added a fair amount of pressure to their relationship that his younger brothers didnae suffer frae—the need to be as guid a man as his father.
He turned in the direction of the big doors and caught the tail end of a lightning flash that lit up the square, the thunder that followed crashing down on the rooftops of the settlement. Decision forced upon him, Rory strode through to the kitchen and out the door without looking back or caring what anyone thought of him, especially his father.
The next bolt of lightning flung him through Ainsel’s door and lit up her form as if she were a marble statue his father had spoken of seeing in one of the castles they had sacked in France. It would appear she had removed her leathers and had begun to cleanse her body—an act which explained the linen that alone stood betwixt him and all that creamy skin.
Water dripped frae his hair and he shook his head like one of his father’s big hounds until the water went flying around the room. The next nuisance he shed was his sword.
The glance Ainsel cast o’er him said she wasnae surprised to see him. In fact, far frae being startled, she stepped towards him and, lifting one corner of the linen she had wrapped about her, wiped the water frae his face. She licked her lips. “It’s a wild night,” she murmured, her breath caressing his mouth but a skerrick of the taste he remembered.
He reached for her, muttering, “Aye and about to get wilder.”
Her palm pressed against his shoulder, pushed. “First we must talk—”
Rory caught her to him, cupped her breast, felt her nipple harden against his palm as he told her, “Lass, we have done naught but talk since the MacLoughlin made guid on his threat.” With nae thought for the raindrops that that beaded on his plaid, he splayed his long fingers across one of her buttocks. A neat wee handful, he had all but forgotten the way that firm, round muscle gave as he lifted her into position with her thigh on his hip and her heel tucked in tight behind him.
With nary a thought in his mind but being inside her, he toppled them both down onto the bed. She landed on her back, arms flung wide, as if in surrender; at least that’s how it felt as he saw the way her fingers fell open in a gentle curve against the linen that nae longer separated them.
For some reason, his hand was shaking as he traced the curve of her cheek, and his heart swelled as he stared down at her precious face. He had ne’er seen aught so beautiful as this lass, and he’d be condemned to hell if he had to return to Dun Bhuird without her.
“I want ye Ainsel. I spent each moment of the voyage home remembering how guid it felt to be inside ye. Here’s the thing, I’m done with remembering. I want the real Ainsel, not the memory.” He gave one brow an inquiring lift. “What do ye say, lass?”
“I say what are ye waiting for? I much prefer the real man,” she assured him pulling his mouth down to hers, and he let her. His mother didnae raise a fool.
Ah, the taste, the thrill as his blood raced, pounded. Ainsel was the kind of lass he needed: for him she was his shield-maiden, his equal on the battlefield and in his bed. He pulled her in tight, but she was naked and his hips still swaddled in his worsted plaid with his prick pushing to find its way out of the folds.
He settled its problem with a lift of his hips as he dragged his plaid higher, baring his prick to her soft folds as it sought its way home and he thrust, taking them both there.
The sigh leaving Ainsel’s lips at his first thrust felt torn frae her soul. She had waited a year for him. When he took her under the pines by the river this time, the wait had seemed like a lifetime, and when they had that talk it might be the last. What better reason for lifting her hips to meet him and revelling in all he had to give.
Every groan that left his mouth into her ear made her heart sing in reply, Aye she loved him, heart and soul. Ne’er mind Uisge beatha; his kisses, the taste of him, were the water of life to her. He loved, of that she was certain, but how much? Enough to forgive her?
That she doubted.
All that was forgotten, drifted away frae all knowledge as he pressed up, taking weight on his arms afore dipping his head to her breasts. Aaah, the sweet pain…
Her milk had dried up with nae bairn to suckle on her, and his mouth and tongue hurt her, yet—she couldnae lie—both hurt and thrilled with a sensation that stabbed through her to touch her womb. Ainsel tightened her legs around his waist as her hips buckled, stirred by an elation she ne’er wanted to end.
But it did end, in screams and then tears, sobs of joy while her heart broke and his seed spilled inside her. Life giving seed that had once made a bairn, made Axel.
A thought to pin her hopes on, what if…?
Rory licked the tears frae her cheeks, her eyelashes, gathering Ainsel close on the back of another squeeze of her womb that tickled his prick with interest he couldnae resist. He sank farther into her heat and wet, her body’s welcome that he greeted with a groan. He would ne’er get enough of Ainsel, of loving her, of delighting in her response to his prick’s invasion of her body, since so far it had been a battle—a two-sided one—each seeking to win and only able to do so if they won together, him and his shield-maiden.
Let the battle recommence, he thought as, prick hard as steel he thrust into her and drove the dreamy glaze frae Ainsel’s eyes and made them pay attention. Her ankles locked behind the dip in his waist and her nails dug into his shoulders in time with the moans she made with each thrust of his hips—moans of intense pleasure that only made him go about his task with even greater fervour. If there were some way to make these feelings last for e’er he would take it. The best he could do would be to marry her and keep her by his side for the rest of his days.
That felt like one of his better plans.
Yet even that was forgotten as her heated depths clasped around his prick, sending flutters along its length that made him lose control, lose his mind and let his seed spill where it would.
Lightning flashed, lit up the broch as his throat tensed, caught in a rictus he had to force his yells past, his whole body jerking with each spurt of seed as thunder drowned out both their voices and nature left them both blind and dumb, exhausted.
Rory dragged in breath after breath afore he could gather enough energy to roll to the side, lifting his weight off Ainsel, then impulse sent him leaning back o’er her to deliver a swift hard kiss on her mouth. “Thank ye, my love, for ye are my love.”
He had ne’er said those words to another lass and had hoped for a more enthusiastic response to his confession than the rub of her knuckles down his face, ruffling the growth of unshaven bristles back and forth.
“Ye realise there’s naught to hinder us anymore. Our journey at least taught us the truth of that. Ye thought ye were a widow, then discovered ye were ne’er wed. Nils might think he can claim the bairn he gave ye, but Finn will put paid to that as soon as he finds Nils,” he began to reassure her, but the rest he might have said was lost as the door flew open in a sound storm of wind and rain revealing an armed man—Norse without a doubt.
Rory rolled off the bed and found his fist clenched round the hilt of his sword afore Ainsel had the chance to rewrap the linen cloth around herself. Jaw slack with shock, she stood staring at the stranger, if that’s whau he was.
Rain-darkened flaxen locks as long as his beard hung about his shoulders, slowly dripping down his shirt since, now that he was in the broch he didnae move a muscle, simply stared about the dimly lit spaces of the curved room. Lips stretched in what purported to be a smile but looked more like a grimace, he said, �
��Home at last, and we have a visitor.”
“This isnae yer home. Dead men have nae home, nae rights,” she spat the denial at him and confirmed the stranger’s identity.
Instinct said attack, but the inside of the broch didnae leave Rory much room to manoeuvre, and Ainsel was all but naked with nae protection yet she refused to back down and he watched Nils’s eyes widen in surprise as she snarled at him. “Ye killed my grandfather, and for that ye have to pay.”
“He was auld, time he was dead. The settlement needs new blood.”
“Aye, yer blood, spilled all o’er the ground while ye bleed to death,” she sneered with a curl of her lip. “I’d be pleased to see to that myself.”
He appeared to have forgotten Rory’s existence as he concentrated his venom on Ainsel. “Found yer courage at last, have ye?,” he taunted, “But then ye dinnae have to worry about yer grandfather now he’s ready for Walhalla. Olaf was well aware ye were my wife, my property … and my son.”
Rory moved to block Nils’ view of Ainsel. “There was a lass in Orkney whau might object to that. She believed that she had wed ye long afore ye came to Caithness. That wife was most cut up to discover ye had drowned stealing MacLoughlin’s wife. In fact, thinking herself a widow, she didnae seem to mind when we gave her to MacLoughlin in place of his own wife,” he lied, remembering the resistance she had shown, tooth and nail.
It felt guid to get a rise out the sleekit bastard whaus ambition had set the north afire and to create an opportunity to take Nils off guard as he stepped forward, sword at the ready, and forced Nils to step outside with Rory in his wake in a clash of steel as Nils raised his sword to fend him off. Rory was in his element out in the open with nae risk of trickery by his opponent and putting all he had been trained for to guid use.
Nils Larsen wasnae the most skilful fighter he had ever faced, but he was one whau had suddenly discovered the only way this fight would end was in death—mayhap his.
Rory was lighter on his feet as they danced back and forth, circled and twirled. They fought in the dark and the rain, the ground slick with the water that lay atop dirt baked hard frae the sunshine that had come with the solstice. Only in the moments when the lightning flashed and the thunder hammered down on them—a true weapon of Thor—was each able to catch a glimpse of the other, the enemy. The rest was instinct and training.
A shadow skimmed the air behind Rory in light seeping frae the broch—distracted him.
He twisted, ready to defend his back, and slipped in the wet. Down on one knee, plaid trailing in the water, he saw Nils lift his weapon skyward, fully prepared for a killing blow, and knew he had but moments to react. Elbow braced, sword head high to protect against the force about to rain down on him, digging the toes under him into the dirt for leverage ready to spring, Rory reached for his Sgian dhub with his free hand. Afore he could act, Nils’ sword swung in a great arc and would have killed him if the gods hadnae taken a hand. At least that’s how it appeared to Rory as he was flung backward by the blast of a lightning bolt leaping the length of Nils’s sword.
Ainsel would probably call his saviour Thor but, Norse or Celtic, Rory thanked the gods for their intervention in the affairs of men.
Chapter 29
Half-blinded by the flash, Ainsel rushed to kneel down beside Rory, to be deafened by the thunder rolling even as the men fell to the ground. She hadnae objected to him inserting his bulk betwixt her and Nils. Aye, she had put up a guid show of giving Nils as guid as he gave, but his intrusion into the broch had been one of yon times when, for a woman, being as near to naught naked wasnae an advantage.
She had grabbed an auld kirtle as well as the leather short-coat she had worn earlier afore slipping her sword frae its scabbard. If she had put more thought and less haste into joining the stoush, she might not have distracted Rory. It hadnae dawned on her that her reflection in the water would catch Rory’s attention, but she had seen the moment’s hesitation, the glance out the corner of his eye afore he slipped. Ainsel would have flung herself in front of that sword rather than watch him die for her sake.
The fight had been settled without her help. Rory had been flung back, sword arm hitting high on his chest, a bruising knock made more brutal by the weight of the weapon his fingers refused to release. Now she pressed her hand against Rory’s chest searching for a heartbeat, hoping against hope that Nils was the only one the lightning had killed.
Not that she could see Nils yet. The flash had left her with yellow ghosts in her vision, but she certainly hadnae lost her sense of smell.
“Ainsel.” His voice, husky, was hard to hear so she leaned closer, “I know yer strong, but I’m sorry, lass, I couldnae let him hurt ye again.”
‘There’s naught to be sorry for, Rory.” She rubbed her palm o’er the bristles on his face that had begun to soften, as if to reassure him the were both still alive and told him. “He willnae hurt anyone anymore. I’ve got my wish. He’s dead.”
Taking in a noisy breath of the damp night air, Rory pushed up onto his hunkers, then stood, pulling her up with him they stood together, swords sitting loosely at their sides as they let reality sink in.
“It’s better this way. Nae one can blame his death on ye.”
He found the energy to grin at her, a quick show of teeth, and said, “Me?” He shrugged. “Let them impugn me. I care not. My shoulders are big enough to bear censure.”
She looked up at him, hoping her smile didnae waver since her jaw felt tight, as if a sword hilt was pressed up under her skin, making what was in her heart difficult to voice. “Nae one could have done more for me. I mean that with everything that’s in me,” she said, glancing down to avoid his eyes. Everything was so complicated. She glanced up frae under her eyelashes and, to break the tension, and with a wry twist to her lips said, “Even the mud betwixt my toes.”
“God’s teeth, Ainsel, get inside out of the rain and find yer boots while I fetch a torch and make certain Nils is dead.”
“I cannae see how it could be otherwise. He’s dead exactly as he deserved and nae one, neither you nor me need feel guilty about his end, which must have been quicker than a sword slicing through his gut.” She muttered through clenched teeth, “It was more mercy than he was about to offer to Rory Farquharson.”
Then with a squeeze of his shoulder, she went back inside the broch to find the abandoned strip of linen to make sure that when she put her boots on the feet inside them would be clean.
In the end, Rory didnae need a torch to make certain of Nils’s death. Flashes of lightning continued to circle the Ness as if dancing in a wicked celebration—the opposite of the green lights floating in the northern night sky that his mother always said looked like angels.
Nils’s eyes were open as if the huge flash had happened more swiftly than he could screw up his eyes against the pain. Rory swithered o’er pressing his fingertips across Nils’s eyelids in an attempt to hide that horrified stare from Ainsel, or to let her remember her son’s father as he was, a traitorous coward whau had turned on her and her family.
Decision made, Rory bent and pulled Olaf’s gold ring off Nils’s finger and left him to watch the penance for his misdeeds played out in the night sky.
When Ainsel reappeared, he had naught to say but, “We should go the longhouse and tell Finn to call off the search for Nils. He needs some guid news to start the new day.”
The sky was paler now as they set off, the lightning beginning to fade in competition with the rising sun, as if the storm had done its duty by killing Nils. Ainsel barely spared a glance for the man whau had altered the balance of power amongst the Norse. It would be a while afore any of them forgot the treachery of so-called friends and, both locked in their own thoughts, the pair walked slowly away frae the past. Eventually, Rory turned to the lass by his side. It felt strange, even to himself, that he had come to love her so swiftly in the absence of the lass he had come to Caithness to find.
He reached out and took Ainsel’s hand, ta
ngling his long fingers betwixt her much smaller ones. “At least now ye know that Nils—be he yer husband or not—can nae longer lay claim to Axel. That must take a lot of cares off yer mind.”
Ainsel tilted her head as if studying his face in the grey dawn light. “If I’m honest with ye, Nils has ne’er had the slightest claim on my son, on Axel. Nils had naught to do with my son’s entry into this harsh world.”
Her news was followed by a rushing noise in Rory’s ears that set him questioning whether he was hearing correctly, even though he knew he had. That’s what had caused his confusion, made him question whether he had yet another man to get rid of to keep Ainsel as his own. “Then if Nils isnae the father, whau is?”
“Have ye ne’er actually taken a guid look at Axel? Taken a look at yer son?”
The rushing noise growing in his ear faded, became molten lead dripping into his gut as his heart squeezed tight. “How could Axel be mine?”
“Do ye remember that story ye told me about last year’s solstice, the bonfire and why that night brought ye back to Caithness, of the lass whau seduced ye amongst the heather and made love with ye in the dark, only to slip away at the first sign of dawn?”
“You?”
“Aye.”
There was a monster named anger rousing in the depths of Rory’s soul. A monster that gripped Ainsel by the shoulders and roared, “And if Nils hadnae died, were ye ever going to tell me?”
Flames rose in her eyes, flames that said ‘roast in hell’ as she slammed him in the gut with a tightly curled fist. “Unhand me, and ne’er touch me in anger again.”
For once in his life, he didnae know what to say. He dropped his hands to his sides, cursing inwardly the mistake—transgression—he had just made. It didnae cool his anger, but Jesus on the cross, he didnae want anyone—Ainsel—to compare him to Nils Larsen.
Chieftain's Rebel Page 23
