“Except that does no’ address Dinsmore’s claim says that Aithinne married Gilchrest―” Phelan was like a dog with a bone and not about to let go easily.
“The Lady Aithinne,” Damian corrected.
Phelan looked confused. “Beg pardon?”
“As you should. She is Lady Aithinne. More than once you have referred to her in the familiar. I have not granted leave for this.” Damian reached over and picked up her hand, and toyed with her fingers in a clear move of possession.
Phelan began, a sly look darkening his eyes, “As you wish. Dinsmore sent word that the Lady Aithinne had married Lyonglen―”
“I am Lyonglen.” Damian looked up at the servant setting down the goblet and pouring wine. “Shall you join us? ’Tis good French wine and not the dregs from last summer.”
♦◊♦
Aithinne stormed back and forth across the solar, so upset she could barely think. She felt she might start shaking and never stop. Pausing before fireside, she contemplated how she could have muddled up her life any worse. St. Giles was Gilchrest’s grandson, she carried his babe, and if he found out about her tricks and deceits then he would loath her as he did Moffet’s mother. Now, the arrogant man almost taunted Phelan to go to Edward with his suspicions.
“I am Lyonglen,” she said in a high, nasally voice, mocking Damian. Tossing another brick of peat into the hearth, added, “Aye, he is Lyonglen. Stupid, stupid, stupid man.”
“All men be that way, lass.”
Aithinne jumped, clutching the amulet hanging between her breasts, trying to still her heart. “Oona, one day you will appear out of thin air like that and scare me to death. I sent for you ages ago.”
She smiled knowingly, coming to place her hand on Aithinne’s chest just to feel the thudding of her heart. “You are in a bother.”
“A bother? You do like to state the obvious in mild tones.” Aithinne flung her hands in the air, helpless to see a way out of her situation. “That man be Gilchrest’s grandson. He loves with Tamlyn―”
“Does he? He was not in her bed last night, now was he, lass?” Oona pointed out shrewdly.
Aithinne closed her eyes, fighting against the tears. “Oh, aye, he will take me. In the shadows he can pretend he is with Tamlyn. He shan’t see seven bloody freckles on my nose to remind him.”
Oona reached up and pushed the hair away from the side of her face. “Only you worry about those bloody dots. They have faded―”
“Faded? He tapped each and every one today. He sees them. Bloody things may as well be warts.” Despair was near overwhelming. “I am taller, not as curvy and I have this horrid shade of red to my hair.”
“Och, lass, your emotions run high because of the babe. The first weeks always are full of tears. Everything seems so out of control. Ride this out, sweet child. All changes will smooth out in the coming weeks. Then, you will wonder why you were so distressed about freckles.”
Aithinne stared at her teacher, her friend, a woman who was like a mother to her and burst into tears.
“Och, dear lass.” Oona wrapped her arms around her and rocked her, clucking her tongue. “Cry―it helps relieve the inner turmoils. Then, dry your eyes and face life. Things never be as bad as we think.”
“No, they are worse. Oona…I fear the spells and the potions are not holding his memories at bay.”
She felt the frail woman suck in a breath. “As to that…”
Aithinne’s head snapped up. “What?”
“My craft was strong lass, the drugs worked…”
“But what? Do no’ toy with me. I need to ken.”
“Spells and drugs will only work to a point. There was no worry as long as he did not return to Lyonglen, did not see you again. He mayhap wouldst recall shards of a dream, not knowing precisely what was real and what was conjured within a drunken mind.” Oona pulled her kerchief from her sleeve, and dabbed at Aithinne’s eyes.
“Only, he has returned.” Aithinne exhaled her fear. “How much will he remember in time?”
“’Tis hard to say.”
“Do not yank my tether, old woman.”
“I try not to evade your questions. I simply do not ken. He will have strong images of you, your scent, your taste. His body will ken yours. Pieces will come back to him, confuse him. Things will happen, and suddenly pieces will be there, sharp for him. He was only in the tower room, so the rest of the fortress will not be in his memory to bubble up. But being in your bed, you, mayhap the time he wrestled with the lads and Einar...” She shrugged. “Aye, some of it may return. It will be like a man taken by the drink. Some things might return clear. Others will come to mind as little more than a sense of something familiar.”
“Oona, that young man, the squire to the Dragon, he be RavenHawke’s son. The mother played him false, got with his babe, hoping to barter the child for a better way of life. He stings with her betrayal. Do you no’ see, my deceit be little different―”
“Which deceit is that, Princess? You have too many ’tis hard to tally, I fear.”
Aithinne whipped around to see St. Giles standing in the doorway, his expression aloof, accusing.
Chapter Fifteen
I think my lady's loved a little long
And now she goes with child, with child
Yes, and now she goes with child.
— Ballad of Tamlin
On the following morn, the sun rose over the hills that ringed Glen Shane, painting the sky with a hundred shades of pinks and purples. Aithinne was tired. She had been in the saddle for what seemed half her lifetime; she was stiff, hungry and feared her stomach would roll in the next breath. It took all her will power to fight the urge. So whilst the dawnspring was breathtakingly beautiful, she really could not appreciate the majestic beauty.
She glared at the back of Damian St. Giles, riding beside his cousin at the head of the small column of cavalry, and in her current perverse mood, she wished for a stone. Not a big one, mind, just one of size to clot him between the shoulders to get his attention. Resentment still clouded her mind. Summarily ordering her to ready herself to journey to Glenrogha, the arrogant man assumed she would rush to do his bidding without one word of protest.
Oh, she understood the urgency for Julian’s desire to speed home to his waiting lady wife. He missed Tamlyn. What Aithinne failed to see was the need for her to accompany these men of Challon. Worse, they were none too free with explanations. When she protested the command, Challon said he was returning to Glenrogha and wanted Damian and her to come with him. He was not leaving them at Lyonglen. End of discussion. He would grant leave for their return, once Damian’s forces from Parvon were fetched.
He did not like that Lyonglen was the center of a hot power struggle amongst Clan Bruce and two of the most powerful Highland clans―Comyn and Campbell. Something about Phelan’s visit had set Challon on edge. As a result, he insisted that Damian and she would be better protected from within his base of power at Glen Shane. Her wishes or thoughts on the problem had little consideration, and it left her furious. Accustoming herself to the highhanded command of RavenHawke was hard enough to do. Now she had Challon giving orders as overlord.
Also upsetting, she would face her cousin Tamlyn again. She had always loved Tamlyn. As children they had been as close as sisters, often pretending to be twins, as Rowanne and Raven were. Now that closeness would be tested, as she would be forced to observe Damian watching Tamlyn, and know what his true feelings for her were.
Of course, she had not put up too much of a fuss about packing for Glenrogha. Coward that she was, she had jumped at the excuse to leave Damian’s presence to do so. He was in a determined mood, wanting to know to what deceit she’d spoken of to Oona. Hence, when Lord Challon entered and announced he was returning to Glen Shane come first light and wouldst see RavenHawke and Aithinne return with him, she almost felt like kissing her cousin-by-marriage for the timely rescue.
Other than helping her to her seat upon the mouse-colored palfrey,
Damian had not uttered one word to her since they set out―both vexing and a relief, if she were to admit the truth. Her stomach fluttered again, warning of the morning sickness. At this point, she wasn’t too concerned about hiding it. Oona assured her men were never bright in seeing signs that a woman was with child. Pleading the long ride would be cover enough for any physical distress.
As they rode across the deadzone, Aithinne spotted evidence of construction for a new curtain wall and a dry ditch moat. As they approached, the portcullis raised and a drawbridge was lowered. The first stamp of Challon’s possession, Aithinne noted. Before the gate had been simple. Already Glenrogha was bearing the mark of its Norman lord.
As the riders poured into the ballium proper, Tamlyn came flying out of the lord’s tower, her skirts held high so she could run. Pulling up, her eyes took in Aithinne, but then quickly shifted to the handsome man dismounting his black destrier. There was wariness in her expression, as if she were excited to see Challon, but unsure if she should openly demonstrate this before all his men.
Challon dismounted and passed the reins off to Moffet, then turned to see Tamlyn awaiting his notice. He showed little change, so it was odd to judge what reaction he had toward his new wife.
With a flash of frustration, Tamlyn composed her beautiful face into one of a lady proper and greeted him. “Well-come, Lord Challon. I hope your business was settled to your liking and the ride was not too tiring.”
For several breaths the arrogant man just stared at Tamlyn, then he burst out laughing. “The mantle of proper lady does not rest well on my faidhaich.”
“Oh, Challon, hush.” Tamlyn practically jumped into the arms of her husband.
Aithinne’s heart warmed as her cousin chided this fierce warlord, and at Challon calling Tamlyn his wildcat. As she watched the two, she remembered what Moffet said about how Tamlyn handled Challon. It was very clear to all that Challon and Tamlyn were deeply in love.
Aithinne’s heart squeezed at the beauty of their feelings, and felt envy that Tamlyn should be blessed by the pure love of her Dragon. Lastly, she tasted resentment that it was not enough Tamlyn had Challon’s love, but she had captured Damian’s heart, as well. It was not fair. Most women would kill to have what Tamlyn now shared with Challon. Were the Auld Ones not content enough with their magical union that they had to fix Damian’s feelings on her cousin, as well? It hurt. Pain lanced through her, but she did her best to mask the reaction under the pretense of being exhausted.
Challon hugged Tamlyn tightly. “I take it my wife missed me.”
Aithinne was surprised when Tamlyn bit his neck lightly. “Had you taken me with you, then you would not have missed me.”
“Tamlyn, I explained why I did not want you to accompany me.”
Putting her arms around his neck, she pulled up to his mouth. “Challon, hush and kiss me.”
His fingers rubbed the growth of beard. “Mayhap I should bathe and shave first.”
“Challon…” she growled a warning.
He leaned back so he could study her face, the laughter in his eyes turning serious. “I missed you, wife.”
Then, he kissed her. Oh did he kiss her! Aithinne so enjoyed their love. What she would not give to have Damian look at her in the same fashion.
Pagan, Challon’s horse, nickered as if laughing at them, and pushed at Challon’s shoulder. Julian broke the embrace and looked around at the midnight steed. “I think he wants his feed and is tired of waiting.”
Aithinne’s attention was pulled away from the loving couple, when her arm was touched. She glanced down to see Damian, coming around to help her dismount. Only, his eyes strayed to Tamlyn still in Julian’s embrace. His pale gray-green eyes watched them with a hunger that made her want to kick him. Instead of holding back, she did just that―nudged him with the toe of her boot, a light jab in the ribs to draw his attention back to her.
Blushing at her behavior, Tamlyn came over as Damian lifted Aithinne from the saddle. “Aithinne, well-come. How fare you? We missed you at Beltaine.”
As Damian set Aithinne on her feet, she jerked her elbow from his grasp. Angry with him, she flashed him a look that wouldst wither even the strongest of men. Ignoring the vexing man, she embraced her cousin.
“Well wishes on your marriage, Tamlyn. I apologize for not being there.” She smiled at Challon, then lifted her brow. “So, he went through the rites of the Sword and The Ring? Mayhap this Norman has value. Am I to stay in the same room? I tire from the ride and need to lie down.” What she needed was to get away from Lord Arrogant before she broke down and cried or puked. Mayhap both.
“St. Giles be staying in that room. You may use my old room,” Tamlyn answered with a warm smile, uneasily glancing from her to her husband’s kinsman.
Aithinne glared daggers at St. Giles. “Why does that not surprise me? He be so adept at usurping what be no’ his.” Tilting her nose in the air, she passed him and strode into the lord’s tower with all the poise she could muster.
If she hoped to escape him, her wish went begging. He came up the steps two at a time and hurried to catch up with her halfway down the hall. She tried to pretend she did not hear him coming up fast behind her, but as she neared the stairs, he caught her arm.
“Aithinne, you appear pale. Fare you well?”
Aithinne frowned, then rolled her eyes. “Lord Arrogant the observant. Please let me go. I am weary from the long ride and my stomach complains. I must have eaten something that did not agree with me.”
His hand raised to stroke his thumb along her jaw. “Are you upset about something? You seem angry, distressed.”
“Oh, and why is that? I am commanded to leave my home, ride when I am unwell, and then―” She caught herself before the words tumbled out, railing at him for wasting his love on a woman he could never have, when another stood before him who loved him with her whole heart. She nearly choked on the tears welling within her throat. “Please release me lest you want me to blaw all over your boot.”
“You are unwell?”
She exhaled impatience. “Save me from men who finally see what be about to bite them.”
Jerking away from him she fled up the stairs and into the room, slamming the door in his face.
♦◊♦
Aithinne stood at the narrow window watching the men below in the lists fighting with swords. Challon practiced using the claymore against one of his squires―Gervase, she believed the man was called. The one that had come to Lyonglen. Tamlyn bustled about the room settling Aithinne’s belongings about the room. She smiled at her cousin.
“Tamlyn, you need not do all that. That is what servants are for.” She knew it was a waste of breath, for her cousin rarely asked others to do chores for her.
“I do not mind. I have a restlessness in me these days, a lot of extra vigor.” Tamlyn smiled, but then it faded as the amber eyes ran over Aithinne, taking stock. “You concern me, dear cousin. Are you not well?”
“Oh, Tamlyn, I am sinking in a quagmire.” Aithinne sniffed, then nibbled on a slice of dried apple, finding it settled her queasy stomach. “It might be worry…but I fear I am with child. All the signs are there. Oona says I am.”
“With child?” Tamlyn echoed her shock. Then she grinned and put a hand to her belly. “I might be, as well.”
This night is our Beltaine. Great magic rises. It touches your cousin Tamlyn at Glenrogha, and like the reflection of a mirror, it affects your life, as well.
“Beltaine?” Aithinne asked, hearing Oona’s words in her head.
Tamlyn nodded and hugged herself. “I took Challon to the orchard.”
Aithinne’s eyes went wide. “Beneath your tree?”
“Aye. The blossoms were so thick they blanketed the ground. On his black mantle on the white blooms―it was like a dream.”
“No wonder you glow with happiness.” Envy filled Aithinne.
“How far along do you think you are, Cousin?”
Aithinne bit the apple piece.
“The apples ease queasiness. It comes in the afternoon, too. I always heard it was morning sickness that was the sign. Only, Oonanne says sometimes it hits a woman in the afternoon, as well. Are you experiencing it yet?”
“Not yet, but Bessa said it could come soon. So who be the father and how long?”
“Beltaine,” she admitted in a sigh. Pushing the wooden shutter wider, she stared out at the men below.
Damian had been practicing with Moffet, showing his son the way of the sword. Finished, he pulled his sark over his head and went to the well. Drawing a bucket of water, he poured the whole thing over his head and then shook like a dog. When Moffet laughed, Damian pulled up another pail and then dumped it over the lad’s black head.
Their laughter brought a sad smile to Aithinne’s lips. Would Damian ever share such a moment with the child they created? She tried to cast her mind with The Kenning, to envision the future, only she could not tell where she would be a year from now.
“But you were not at the May Day ceremony―”
Aithinne laughed sardonically. “You might say I held my own ceremony.”
“I do no’ understand.” Tamlyn went back to unpacking Aithinne’s kirtles and hanging them in the wardrobe.
Abruptly, Aithinne broke down crying. Tamlyn rushed to her and held her, rocking her. “Oh, Tamlyn I have made a muddle of everything, and I do not know how to put things right.”
“Hush, sweet cousin, you shall sicken. Surely ’tis not as bad as you fear.”
“Och, ’tis likely worse.”
Challon opened the door, knocking as he pushed it wide. “Tamlyn, sorry, I fear you need come tend your silly husband.”
Tamlyn gasped as she saw blood dripped down his hand. “Challon, what have you done?”
“Hush, wife, it is only a small cut. I was not paying attention to what I did in the lists and Gervase sliced my wrist. ’Tis minor, just it bleeds like a stuck pig. I need you to wrap it for me.”
Tamlyn half nodded to Aithinne. “We shall talk more later. Sorry.”
“Go care for your husband, Tamlyn. My troubles will still be here.” Aithinne watched them walk away. “Still here and mounting, I fear.”
RavenHawke (Dragons of Challon Book 2) Page 19
