'I have no warriors. The Norse killed all my people.'
'I have twenty-two,' Douglas said, 'all of them Borderers from the southern marches. I have hard-riding men of Liddesdale, Teviotdale, Annandale and the Ettrick Forest … those of us that survived.'
'You are all a-horse,' Melcorka observed.
'We are horsemen,' Douglas said. 'We had to fight on foot in Lodainn.' He shrugged, 'you saw the results.'
'I saw you fight,' Melcorka said.
Douglas gave a strangely boyish grin. 'I had to borrow my grandfather's weapons. The day before we marched to join the army some reivers stole all my gear.' His laugh was welcome in that place of gloom. 'I have work to do after we defeat the Norse.'
'Do you think we can defeat them?' Melcorka asked. 'Not many dare to think that.'
Douglas eyed her. 'What is there that a bold man cannot dare?'
Melcorka already liked this man. 'So there is hope,' she said.
Douglas grinned. 'There is more than hope,' he said. 'There is the certainty of victory. All we have to do is work out the details.'
Chapter Nine
'We are discussing our next move,' Melcorka explained as they entered the castle. 'I proposed asking the Lord of the Isles and the Picts of Fidach for help.'
'They would be good allies and ill enemies,' Douglas said. He glanced back at his men. 'I have twenty two riders here and I can raise more along the southern frontier. Without our swords to stop them, the Saxons will raid more but we can deal with them once we have defeated the Norse.'
'You used an old sword at the battle,' Melcorka said.
'My grandfather's sword,' Douglas told her. 'And his father's before him.'
'You used it well.'
'Until it broke,' Douglas said. His smile lightened his eyes.
With Douglas backing her, Melcorka found it easier to stir up support for her ideas. Baetan agreed, reluctantly, that the Picts were worth asking, 'although they won't help us,' he added.
'If they don't help,' Douglas pointed out, 'they will be surrounded by Norse on land and sea. Do you think the Norse will leave them in peace? Think of the loot they will garner in Am Broch – that's the royal dun of Fidach; and think of all these nubile Pictish women!'
Bradan shook his head. 'I can't see the Norse leaving them alone.'
'Nor can I,' Douglas said, 'now all we have to do is persuade the Picts of that.'
'It will be a brave man who ventures there,' Baetan reminded.
'I will go,' Bradan volunteered. 'Drest of Fidach knows me.'
'I will go to the Isles,' Baetan decided. 'I know Donald.' He glanced at Melcorka. 'Although I don't hold out much hope of his help.'
'I will raise the riding families of the Border,' Douglas said, 'or what is left of them after the battle of the Lodainn Plain.' He held Melcorka's gaze. 'Next time we fight, I wish to be mounted. We are horse- soldiers, not infantrymen.'
'We will all gather what forces we can and meet somewhere convenient for all.' Melcorka said. 'I suggest we gather where the Norse are weakest so we have time for our armies to merge.'
Baetan grunted. 'Our men will probably fight each other. I can't see the riders of the southern marches fighting alongside the Picts of Fidach.'
'Either they fight side by side or they are defeated piecemeal by the Norse,' Bradan said. 'They will have to learn.'
'You have decided where we all go,' Baetan said to Melcorka, 'and while we are doing the work, what will you be doing? Playing with your wool basket?'
'I will accompany Bradan to Fidach,' Melcorka decided. 'I have no knowledge of the southern marches and I know that Donald of the Isles was no friend of my mother. It would not be politic for me to go there, I think.'
'So we part before we have properly met,' Douglas said.
'No, by God!' the Constable roared. 'Nobody enters my castle without my permission or leaves without my hospitality! We have a tradition of a parting feast and that is what we will have tonight.'
'I've never been to a feast,' Melcorka said.
The Constable's laugh boomed around the castle. 'Never? Then by God, Melcorka, tomorrow you will have memories that will last you forever!' He clapped his hands together. 'Raid the storehouses! Bring out the tables. I want food and drink for all. I want dancing, music and laughter. We will show the Norse that they may defeat our armies but they will never conquer our spirit!'
Retainers and servants seemed to appear from every nook and corner so that the grim grey castle was transformed from a place of war and grief to a place of laughter and entertainment. The Constable had long tables laid out in the great hall and the courtyard outside, with torches giving sputtering light as the day dimmed and stars emerged in a sky of velvet black.
'Come, Melcorka,' the Constable put an arm like the bough of an oak-tree around her shoulder. 'You must sit at my table.'
Twenty four hours previously, Melcorka had entered a chamber full of despair, but that night music and song rang around with the Constable ensuring everybody took part. There were two harpers on a raised dais during a meal of five courses, from barley-broth soup to salmon, venison and beef with a variety of vegetables that Melcorka had never experienced before, followed by delicious apples and pears, strawberries and raspberries fresh and smothered in cream from a score of cows.
'I have never seen so much food in one place,' Melcorka said. 'How do you keep the fruit fresh?'
'Ice is the answer,' the Constable said. 'We have deep cellars filled with winter ice.' He laughed. 'Enjoy it Melcorka, for you may never see so much again if the Norse retain control. It will be starvation for all except the lords and masters of creation: the men of the Dragon ships and their women.'
Melcorka bit into a crisp apple. 'I would like to hold a feast like this someday.' She looked around her at the crowded tables. 'I've never thought like that before.'
As half a dozen servants busied themselves in clearing away the tables, three bagpipers began strutting around, with a couple of drummers and a brace of harpers. Melcorka had never seen anything like it before and watched entranced as men and women paired off and danced around the room. The lilt and swing of the music lifted her spirits so she smiled with the others and even joined in some of the singing, although she did not know the words.
'Here; try this,' the Constable handed over a silver-mounted horn. 'You'll like it.'
Melcorka lifted the horn. 'It's mead,' she took a tentative sip. 'Good mead.'
'Heather mead,' the Constable's grin made him look years younger. 'Our bees have the run of the hills here.' He held up his own horn. 'Alba gu brath.'
'Alba gu brath!' Melcorka echoed, 'Alba forever!'
They smiled to each other and the Constable ambled away, pouring mead into empty horns or heather ale into ready tankards, laughing at a score of jokes, dancing with laughing women, kissing willing lips, playing the genial host.
'As if he had never thrown a prisoner over the walls or killed a man in combat in his life,' Douglas appeared at Melcorka's side. 'There'll be sore heads tomorrow.' His smile lit up his hazel eyes.
'Mine among them,' Melcorka drained her horn and looked for a refill.
'Shall we dance?' Douglas asked.
'I don't know how.' Melcorka admitted.
'I'll teach you,' Douglas took hold of her arm. 'Up you come.'
'But …' Melcorka looked around for support. Bradan stood against the wall, leaning on his staff. He raised a hand in acknowledgement, gave a small smile and turned away. Everybody else in the room and in the courtyard outside was dancing or singing, drinking their fill and laughing the night away. Reality could wait; hide the terror behind the mead-created laughter and dance rather than run.
'Like this …' Douglas put his right hand in hers and wrapped his left arm around her waist. 'Get rid of the sword,' he said. 'You can't dance with a sword on your back, or …' he slipped the dirk from its sheath, 'a knife at your waist.' He handed both to a servant. 'Take care of these,' he said. 'If they go missi
ng, so will your ears, and the head in between them.'
'I'll take care of them,' the man promised.
Melcorka laughed, swallowed half a horn of heather ale and slipped her arm around the back of Douglas. 'You are very muscular,' she rubbed her hand up and down, feeling his strength. She explored further. 'Even that part of you. You must do a lot of riding.'
'Oh I do a great deal of riding.' He pushed against her hand. 'In the marches, we spend most of our life in the saddle. It hardens that part of us.'
'I like it,' Melcorka patted his bottom.
'So do I,' Douglas voice was soft and deep.
The music changed, becoming wilder as the night progressed. Men and women whooped and screeched as they danced, hands aloft, feet thumping on the stone flags as torchlight sent their shadows bouncing across the walls. At one time Melcorka found herself part of a group of ten people dancing in an extended row that stretched right across the room, and then everybody was on their feet outside in a huge linked snake that coiled around the courtyard. The tempo changed as fingers of grey heralded dawn; some people slept in odd corners while still the drink came and music softened the mood. Quiet slow dances saw couples ease into secluded chambers for moments of intimacy; Melcorka realised her popularity as every male within the walls of Castle Gloom sought her company and she exchanged kisses and touches with men she had never seen before.
'You are well liked, Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas,' a smiling woman told her.
'So it seems,' Melcorka agreed. 'I have never spoken to so many men before.'
'I am Anice,' the woman said, 'wife to the Constable.' She was short and plump and friendly, with bright blue eyes that took in everything.
'Good evening to you, Anice,' Melcorka tried to curtsey and dance simultaneously and succeeded only in tripping over her own feet, much to the amusement of Anice.
'It is good morning again,' Anice corrected as she helped Melcorka back upright. 'The second morning of the feast I think, or perhaps the third.'
'Has time passed so quickly?'
'It has,' Anice said, 'and that young man of the black hair is watching you again.'
Melcorka looked over her shoulder. 'Douglas the Black,' she said.
'As black a Douglas as ever was,' Anice agreed. 'You had better sleep with him and slake his desire, lest he goes to war unfulfilled.'
Melcorka opened her eyes in astonishment. 'I have never shared my bed with a man,' she said.
'No?' Anice stepped back and looked her up and down. 'And you such a shapely, well-formed creature too! What a waste that is. Best for you too, then, or you will be back at war without knowing what pleasure a man can bring.' She pushed Melcorka toward him. 'Off you go and enjoy yourself!'
Douglas was waiting, arms out and eyes lively despite the days and nights of drinking and dancing. He took her hand in his and they danced up the circular stairs to a dark room, waited until another giggling couple left and then flopped down on a mattress of soft heather, with the sun streaming through an arrow-slit window and the strains of the harper as an accompaniment.
'You fought well on the Plain of Lodainn,' Melcorka said.
'It was a bad day for Alba,' Douglas said lightly, 'but every day has its silver lining.' He smiled into her eyes. 'You saw me; did you like what you saw?'
'I liked it very much,' Melcorka felt the thumping of her heart. Her body also sent out other messages that both thrilled and scared her. 'I like you very much.'
His smile wrapped around her in shared joy. 'Look at this,' he said, and produced a battered, blood-stained square of fine linen. 'This is my trophy of that day in Lodainn.'
Melcorka gasped: 'that's the Blue Boar; the royal banner!'
'I know,' Douglas folded it away with a smile. 'It is beautiful, isn't it?' He smoothed a hard hand down her body, lingering in certain places. 'But compared to you, it is ugly as the devil's tail.'
'Oh … 'Melcorka felt his hands exploring her, closed her eyes and allowed these strange and wonderful new feelings to guide her. That was not difficult with Douglas to reassure and help her whenever she was unsure.
Afterward, as she lay naked at his side, Melcorka looked down at her own body in astonishment and at that of Douglas in awe.
'I had no idea it would be like that,' she said.
Douglas grinned over to her, extended a hand and caressed her. 'It changes every time,' he said. 'From visiting heaven to a rapid release of tension or to utter frustration when things do not happen as they should.' He smoothed her from neck to knees and all parts in between. 'You should have no difficulty in finding a partner whenever you seek one, with a body like yours.'
Melcorka said nothing as she walked her fingers toward him and over him. 'Show me again,' she invited, 'I see you are ready.' At that moment she did not want another partner. She wanted the Black Douglas for she knew she was in love. This man was to be her partner in life. She had found one part of her destiny. The other …?
'We have to get rid of the Norse,' she said, although for the first time since she had seen the Norse fleet off the coast of Alba, they were secondary to her life. All she wanted was this man, as often as she could and for as long as she could.
'We will do that,' Douglas promised, as he rolled her on top of him and smiled into her eyes. 'Just not quite at this moment,' he said as he entered her again. And Melcorka forgot all about Norsemen and Dragon ships and the war to remove them from Alba, as more personal and urgent matters required her full attention.
'Dear Melcorka,' Douglas's voice was soft in her ear, 'I think I am falling in love with you.'
Melcorka closed her eyes and allowed the waves of pleasure to ripple through her.
The sweet notes of a blackbird woke her and she lay in deep contentment. Knowing that her life had changed for ever, she stretched on her heather bed and opened her eyes. All around her lay men and women, some dressed, some half-dressed, many as naked as they had been born, in every position of sleep and wakening, while air seeped through the arrow-slit window to assuage the stale smell of people who had drunk too deeply and slept too long. Melcorka smiled, eased herself to a sitting position and groaned as her head and stomach complained about such unnecessary movement.
'Oh sweet God,' she returned to the heather, holding her head. 'What have you done to me?'
Unsure which was worse, the ache in her head or the uncomfortable movements of her stomach, Melcorka decided that the latter required her immediate consideration and lurched up to find a secluded spot to attend to its demands. She was not alone, she found, with half a dozen people, men and women, following the needs of nature as a consequence of days of feasting, dancing and drinking.
'Enjoy your first feast then?' the Constable was as hearty as ever as he stalked his domain. 'Anice told me you had other firsts apart from the feast!' His laugh cracked like the devil's hammers within Melcorka's thundering head. She winced.
'Yes, thank you, Constable.'
'Grand!' He nearly knocked her down as he slapped her on the back. 'Now you are fit to fight the Norse, eh? All set up and eager I'll wager.'
At that moment Melcorka did not feel fit to stand yet alone fight. 'Yes, Constable,' she said. 'Could you ask a servant to fetch my sword, please? I handed it over at the beginning of the dancing.'
'That is some weapon you have,' the Constable seemed to shout every word. 'Your colleague is examining it at present. He's in the courtyard I believe.'
'Douglas the black?' Melcorka smiled as the memories returned.
'No, the other one.'
'Bradan? I did not think that he was interested in swords.' Melcorka said.
'No, the survivor, Baetan.' The Constable moved on, whistling as he toured his castle.
The anxiety was deep and sudden as Melcorka hurried to the courtyard. Baetan was standing in the middle of an admiring circle of spectators, demonstrating various moves with Defender.
'Ah there you are, Melcorka,' he looked up as she stormed into the courtyard, wincing at the pai
n her own movements caused her. 'I was examining this fine sword of yours.'
'Yes, this fine sword of mine,' Melcorka tried to snatch Defender back.
Baetan sidestepped with ease. 'It is well balanced,' he moved away, evading each of Melcorka's attempts at retrieval. 'Without this sword you are only a girl, are you not? A girl of twenty who has no experience of fighting, yet alone leading, and yet you are trying to raise armies to fight the Norse.' He held Defender high as Melcorka vainly stretched for it.
'Give me my sword back,' Melcorka demanded.
'Oh you'll have to do better than that,' Baetan mocked. 'You sound like a child!' He adopted a high-pitched tone, 'give me my toy back, please Baetan. It's mine, not yours.'
One or two of the spectators laughed. Melcorka stepped back. She saw some of the Border riders come into the courtyard, stand at the back and watch. Hard-eyed, cynical faced men who spent their lives defending the southern frontier from Saxon raids, she was sure they would tell Douglas all that happened here, how she was made to look a fool by Baetan and was unable to retrieve her own sword.
Anice pushed her way to the front of the crowd, watching and saying nothing. Bradan was at the back, leaning against the wall with his stick at an angle in front of him. Melcorka could not meet his eye.
'Say please,' Baetan held Defender high. 'Say please Baetan, may I have my sword back.'
A youth in the crowd bellowed in laughter and others followed as Melcorka stepped back, unsure what to do. She knew that with Defender in her hand she could at least hold her own with Baetan, while without the sword she was only an awkward island girl who had never managed to lay a blade on him in a score of practise sessions. The burly warrior would dice her in seconds. She sighed and hung her head.
'You are right, Baetan,' she heard the defeat in her small voice. 'I am only a young and inexperienced girl.' She looked up to see the triumph in his face. 'I cannot get Defender from you. Please may I have it back?'
Bradan narrowed his eyes and tapped his staff on the ground, with the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the courtyard. The singing of a lone blackbird dominated the castle.
The Swordswoman Page 12
