“You will no’ die, Damian St. Giles. Your body rages with a fever because it fights the poison, the festering. If you were dying that battle would cease and you wouldst become cool. Your body struggles because it wars to live. And so you shall.” She took the cloth off his forehead, wetted it, and then swabbed his face and chest.
Oona came in carrying her herb box, and behind her was Moffet with a bucket of steaming hot water. “I ground enough herbs for more poultices, to hold us through the night. I told Einar as he goes to fetch Malcolm, to pass by way of Kinloch and seek more herbs from Lady Raven. My supplies wane.” She poured a mound of dark green moss and powder into the center of the large cloth, folded it and then dipped it into the hot water.
When the old woman placed it on his wound, Damian jerked up in the bed, hissing in agony. The wound was inflamed, festered. Applying heat only made the pain throb a hundred-fold. “God’s teeth, I think you seek to hurry my demise along,” he growled. “And do not dare cackle at me, crone.”
“If you have the strength to fuss, Lord RavenHawke, then you have the will to survive,” Oona pointed out, as she pressed the hot pad harder against his wound. “Here, lass. Keep the pressure on, whilst I make another. Let us keep switching them, see the poultices as hot as he can stand to draw poison from his flesh.”
Aithinne applied pressure to the compress. Nibbling on the corner of her lower lip, she watched as perspiration broke out on his forehead. “Deward, heat some bed bricks and place them all around him. He needs must sweat to burn out the festering.”
“God’s breath, woman, I am half-cooked as is.” Damian tried to sit up, but using her other hand, Aithinne push his back to the bed’s plane.
“Half-measures never see the deed done.” As soon as she uttered the words, her eyes flew wide, and she wished she could call them back.
Damian watched the woman he loved so much. Words he had never spoken to her.
“I sent for Sir Priest―”
“If you want extreme unction, then you shall go to your Devil. I shall no’ permit Malcolm to speak them over you. So there, Sir Nodcock! Die, and you die unshriven.”
Damian laughed, but that made his shoulder hurt worse, so his smile faded. “Aye, I think it best he speaks words. I may have the pagan raisings of my màthair woven into my beliefs, but I am a Christian knight. But there is another purpose in calling for Malcolm. The child.”
He saw the light of understanding flash in her hazel depths. In all her worry, she had forgotten about the son she carried. Her free hand slipped to her belly, her eyes finally shedding the tears she had been so valiantly holding back.
“Aye, the babe. We need to speak words of marriage, so our son will have my name.” He wanted to laugh, but held back thinking he was not sure he could stand the throbbing. “Anyone ever warn you about being careful for what you wish?”
Aithinne cautiously studied his face. Holding her breath.
Oona chuckled and she lifted Aithinne’s hand and switched the poultice. “With some regularity, my lord.”
“Once you thought to marry my grandfather to save Lyonglen, to protect its people. Well, the gods are laughing this night. You hurriedly sent for the priest, to speak words of marriage for you to wed the baron of Lyonglen. Malcolm failed to come in time, eh? Let us hope I have more staying strength than my grandsire.”
“Och, hush your gub. Who says I would wish to wed such an arrogant man? I am thinking of marrying Dinsmore Campbell as soon as we plant you in the ground. He shall make a grand father for my son.”
Damian knew what she was doing, but he could not stop the reaction. His hands grabbed her upper arms and desperately tried to raise up. Molten agony poured through his body to do so, but he wanted to look her in the eyes, nose-to-nose. “Witch,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Aye, ’tis what I be.”
“One with freckles,” he added the jibe, knowing it would get her anger on the rise.
“Oooooo…Sir Nodcock!” She glared at him, then burst out crying again.
He smiled crookedly. “Crying female, bah. Your nose gets red when you cry, Aithinne. You freckles stand out more.”
“You arrogant shoat. I could hate you—”
“Och, you lie, lass. Can I ever get you to tell me the truth?” He fell back on the pillows his breathing labored. The whole room swam around him, so he closed his eyes. “Aithinne…”
“Yes?” She choked out, leaning down burying her face against his chest.
“I remember.”
She slowly sat back, the poignant eyes warily watching his. “Remember what, my lord?”
“Everything.”
The long lashes batted innocently. “Everything what, my lord?”
“Do not play coy, lass. I recall it all. You had those three mooncalf brothers feed me something this crone conjured up―” He grimaced as Oona slapped a new poultice to his shoulder. “Then, you shackled me to your bed.”
“I ken not what you mean,” came the little liar’s reply. Her face appeared hurt, so innocent.
The brothers against the wall shifted uncomfortably, Deward and Lewis looking to Hugh for a sign. “Sister,” he said, “we go to the Great Hall. Surely, ’tis time for supper.”
“Run, you cowards.” He laughed to their departing backs. He waited until the door closed. “That is why you insisted I took your virginity when I questioned you―”
“Poor man, the fever consumes his mind,” she said to Oona.
“Ever my little liar, eh? Aithinne, you really should cease telling falsehoods. You are simply no good at it.” He reached up and caught her chin between his curled finger and thumb, forcing her to meet his stare. “No more lies betwixt us. They are not needed. You took me, used me to get with child, did you not, hoping to convince Edward you carried the heir to Lyonglen?”
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Finally, she nodded, her lip trembling. “I know you shall hate me for it. But if you will just live you can hate me all you want.”
“Why would I hate you for it?”
“Because of—” Aithinne caught herself before she spoke truths between them. Her eyes shifted to Moffet, poking the fire, recalling Damian did not wish his son to know the circumstances of his birth.
“Not the same, lass. That was to gain coin. You were doing it to protect the people you love. Fighting in the only manner you knew how to control your life. It was meant to be, eh? I was coming to Lyonglen. I would have claimed you. Edward already told me to take you to lady wife or stick you in a nunnery. Somehow, I do not think you wouldst have allowed me to stick you in a convent. My guess, you would have drugged me, chained me to your bed and gotten you with child.”
She shrugged, offering him a trembling smile. “Sounds a reasonable assumption.”
“I love you, lass.”
Her face turned to stone. “You tell me, do no’ lie, Damian St. Giles. I tell you, do no’ lie to me either. I looked into your heart the first…night. I saw the truths within you.”
“Ah, that is why you believe―”
“I ken―”
“You twigged what I thought was the truth. I saw the face of my dreams when I came to Glenrogha. Challon told me I was mistaken. Said I needed to seek the answers elsewhere, that it was not Tamlyn’s face that had come to me in dreams. When I first came to Lyonglen and saw you, then I understood it had been you. All along.”
Her chin quivered, and she moistened her lips to speak. “How can you be sure?”
He reached up and tapped her nose seven times. “Because the woman in my dreams had seven bloody dots on her nose.”
“My freckles? Truly?”
Damian laughed, taking her hand. “Yes, truly.”
She beamed. “Well, that being the case, Sir Nodcock, stop this nonsense about dying. I refuse to have a corpse for a husband.”
“Yes, Aithinne.”
Epilogue
But to see her was to love her,
love but her, and love her forev
er.
Robert Burns
A lover’s eyes is the best looking glass.
— Maeve Montgomerie
“My lord...my princess.” Einar burst into the bedroom, out of breath and excited. “I just returned from Glenrogha. Lady Tamlyn has given birth to two babes―a girl they named Paganne and a son called Christian.”
“Thank you, Einar. Great tides, eh? Please go sup and rest after the journey,” Damian said. He crossed the room to sit on the bed by Aithinne, as the Norseman closed the door again.
She clutched the black-headed babe to her breast, the wee fist waving defiantly in the air. “Well, fie on her. Once again, the perfect Tamlyn has to prove she can do everything better than I can.”
Laughing out loud, Damian smiled at his wife and son. He leaned to the woman who was his reason for living and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “You want twins, my lady, then I shall have to work harder wielding my sword for England the next time.”
“Next time? You think I am going through this to-do again you are cork-brained, Sir Nodcock. If just one man ever gave birth and understood the pain, they wouldst be more careful about wielding their mighty swords.” Pulling up her knees, she rolled the precious little boy so he was inclined back against her thighs, letting her stare at the angelic face crowned with thick, black waves. “Well, Challon may have a son and a daughter, but neither can be as perfect as my Darian. You think Challon’s brother will like we named the babe after him?”
“I do...very much. He will be honored. Mayhap he will travel northward soon. The king has already sent Noel de Servian to claim the holding nearby. We can but hope he will let go of his leash on Redam and Darian, as well.” There was a knock on the door and when it opened Damian called, “Enter.”
Moffet peaked in. “Father?” The young lad looked hesitant to enter.
“Come, greet your new brother,” Damian smiled, proud of both his sons.
Moffet edged toward the bed. “He is so small.”
“Small? You give birth to this braw babe and then see if you want to call him small.” Aithinne smiled smugly. “I wager coin that neither of Tamlyn’s bairns be as big as our Darian.”
Damian chuckled. “Aye, he is taller and prettier.”
“Just like his father.” She smiled.
Moffet grinned. “I hate to tell you this, Father, but I do not think you are prettier than Lord Challon. My lord is the most handsome of all knights in Christendom.”
Aithinne chuckled when the baby grasped her finger with amazing strength. “And I bet you think the Lady Tamlyn the most beautiful of all ladies in Christendom.”
“Aye, she is very beautiful...but not as beautiful as you, Lady Aithinne. My father married the fairest lady I have ever laid eyes upon. I can only hope that someday I wed one half as beautiful as you.”
“Without the seven bloody freckles on her nose?” she added.
Moffet looked puzzled. “You have freckles, Lady Aithinne?”
“Och I love your firstborn son, Damian. Not only handsome, he be quiet clever.”
“I love both my sons―and my wife.” He kissed her on the forehead and then hugged his eldest son. “Moffet, if ever on a Beltaine night someone offers you a potion that grants all your deepest desires, do not hesitate to take it.”
And he appeared in her arms
Like to a naked man
She held him fast, let him not go.
— Ballad of Tamlin
A Restless Knight
Book 1 of the Dragons of Challon
Julian Challon and Tamlyn MacShane’s story
Ravenhawke
Book 2 of the Dragons of Challon
Damien St. Giles and Aithinne Ogilvie’s story
One Snowy Knight
Book 3 of the Dragons of Challon
Noel de Servian and Skene Ogilvie’s story
Redemption
Book 4 of the Dragons of Challon
Redam Maignart and Gillian Ogilvie’s story
Dragons of Challon novellas
The Selkie’s Daughter ~ Gambit, Check & Mate
Arrow to the Heart ~ Marriage Made in Hell
Other books by Deborah Macgillivray
Sisters of Colford Hall
Book 1 —The Invasion of Falgannon Isle
Book 2 — Riding the Thunder
Book 3 — A Wolf in Wolf’s Clothing
Book 4 — Some Things Never Change
Novellas and Short Stories
Bad To The Bone ~ A Cat In Jackboots
Bad Cat ~ Getting It In The End ~ Double, Double, Toil & Trouble
Chicken What Du Hell? ~ Blue Christmas Cat
All I Want For Christmas is a Hula Hoop…and A Mother
Detour To Love ~ Devil In Spurs ~ Very Special Man
Shoes, Shades and Faerydust
RavenHawke (Dragons of Challon Book 2) Page 32
