The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

  Rhiann nodded. ‘Did you ever think of me?’ She despised herself for asking, hated the girlish sound of the words.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘And now that I see you once more, I don’t know why I did not ride back to you with my arms full of marriage gifts!’ He drew her hand to his mouth. ‘But alas,’ his eyes were on hers, ‘you are married already. And you will not be here long.’

  She understood the question in his eyes, though she did not know the answer. Her body was responding to his touch with the same hunger as before, for that door could not be shut so quickly. But her heart was heavy. What had she expected? That love would strike her down like a bolt from the sky?

  When they returned to the dun, preparations were underway for the longest day feast. Drust handed Rhiann down from the chariot in the yard before the stables. As he busied himself unhitching his team, Caitlin whispered, ‘An old friend of yours he may be, but I do not like this prince.’

  Before Rhiann could answer, Drust was before them. Caitlin thanked him stiffly and left, her head high.

  When they were alone, Drust bowed over Rhiann’s hand to say farewell, turning her palm up to brush it with his lips. ‘Tonight, many will be honouring the gods in the fields.’ He looked from under his lashes, the promise in his eyes. ‘Perhaps we will have our time again then, Rhiann.’

  From the walls above, Conaire and Eremon watched the little party come through the gates and dismount. When Eremon glanced at his brother’s face, it was shadowed with the same feeling that tore at his own heart.

  ‘He rode out with Caitlin,’ Conaire muttered.

  ‘He rode out with Rhiann,’ Eremon said.

  ‘He’s nothing but a strutting cock. Caitlin would not be fooled by him.’

  Eremon wished that he could say the same about Rhiann, but so far, that had not been the case. He knew fear and desperation could make someone act out of character. But why would Rhiann be afraid or desperate?

  It was as he was halfway down the stairs that he caught sight of Gelert leaving the dun through the northern gate, in the company of a messenger that had arrived on horseback a short time before. Eremon watched the white-robed figure for a moment, his senses suddenly alerted.

  ‘Hurry up!’ Conaire called impatiently. ‘I’m going to Caitlin right now, and I’m going to find out every word the cock said.’

  Eremon glanced at the druid’s back again. Should he follow him? Then he jumped the last few steps with irritation. First Rhiann, and now Gelert! Did he have nothing better to do than skulk around after mysterious priests?

  ‘On second thoughts,’ Conaire amended, seeing Rori and Angus coming their way with their hunting spears. ‘Let’s forget about women and chase some boar instead. We have many hours of light left, after all.’

  Eremon’s shoulders relaxed. ‘That’s a fine idea, brother! The further I am from here, the better.’

  Rhiann hardly knew how Drust managed to draw her away from the fires that night. But after the burning of the sacred sun herbs, and the crowd’s wild, joyful scattering of the ashes on the fields, as her voice grew hoarse from chanting and her feet sore from dancing, the saor and mead entwined into a warm haze that took over her senses.

  And as the people danced between the barley rows, suddenly Drust was there behind her, his arms twirling her away from the path. Laughing, she stumbled against him, and abruptly all grew dark and quiet, as the dancers and musicians with their torches carried on without them.

  It was not much then to sit on his cloak and catch her breath, not much to stretch out under the purple sky to look for the first scattered stars, his arm beneath her …

  … and when his lips first found hers, and she tasted his tongue, sweet with mead, she tensed only a moment before being swept away by the rising column of heat in her body.

  Now, a stray flare of firelight carved shadows over his face, and her fingers traced over the fine cheekbones, as she breathed deeply of the mingled scents of warm earth, the crushed herbs on her hands, and his sweat.

  She buried her fingers in his hair, as she had longed to do, and it flowed between them like wild honey, and as she did, his fingers covered one breast, stroking her through the fine linen, and then eased down over her hip. She closed her eyes, torn at once with fear and longing.

  But he still knew exactly how to touch her, and the languorous stroking of her legs merged somehow with the saor, sending her deeper into the daze that had engulfed her all those years ago. Suddenly she realized his hand had eased up under her shift, and was burning a trail across her naked skin.

  Her eyes flew open, her breath catching.

  ‘Hush,’ he murmured. ‘My beautiful Rhiann. My precious one.’

  The words flowed into her thirsty heart, as he drew her shift higher, exposing her belly and the lower curve of her breasts. Shy, burying her head in the angle of his neck, she was suddenly glad that she had filled out, that she had a roundness to her now.

  His breath sharpened, and she could feel the thud of his heart against her skin. ‘My most beautiful design …’

  He eased his arm from under her, and suddenly his lips were tracing fire over her belly, following the blue designs he had painted there with his own hand. His mouth moved higher, higher … over her ribs, leaving butterfly kisses in its wake, until he reached her breasts.

  Her breath came short and fast.

  And an image flashed into her mind; a man’s hand, black-haired, on the whiteness of her breast …

  She pushed the image away, concentrated on Drust … Drust’s mouth, Drust’s fine, smooth hands. Drust! His mouth enclosed her, and she buried her hands in that honey hair and drew him closer. It would be all right!

  He kissed his way up her body again until he reached her neck, and then his weight came down on her. ‘Rhiann,’ he groaned.

  A man’s weight, crushing her, the cold tip of the knife at her throat …

  She made herself unfreeze, with sheer will, forced the blood back into her skin. He did not notice, as, murmuring all the time, he began showering her breasts and belly with kisses once more.

  She bit her lip. It is Drust!

  But then she felt him fumbling with his trousers, felt him move up the length of her, felt the thing that was somehow soft and hard at the same time pressing into her thigh, the sword that would be sheathed in her body.

  A man’s weight, crushing her …

  ‘Rhiann!’ Drust groaned again. ‘I need you!’

  The cold tip of the knife at her throat …

  ‘No!’ The cry burst from her, shocking them both, and she was pushing her hands against his chest. ‘I can’t …’

  He looked down at her, blinking as if waking. ‘What?’

  She pushed harder. ‘I can’t do this … I am sorry.’

  He rolled off her, breathing hard. ‘What do you mean, you can’t!’

  ‘Don’t ask me!’ She pulled her shift down, flushed with mortification.

  ‘Lady.’ He leaned forward to kiss her. ‘Don’t play shy with me. I thought you were all grown up.’

  She wriggled away from his lips. ‘I mean no!’

  He froze and pulled back, and this time his eyes were burning with anger. ‘Of all the … you promised!’

  ‘I promised nothing!’

  With a quick, impatient movement, he pulled up his trousers as he got to his haunches, the barley heads scratching against his shoulders.

  Rhiann sat up, pulling her cloak around her. ‘Drust, I am sorry.’ She touched his arm. ‘It is just – quick – for me. It has been a long time.’

  His muscles were tense under her fingers. ‘You are a beautiful woman. You cannot play with my feelings.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’

  He let out a shuddering breath, his face turned away. ‘My control is not great, so do not tempt me any more than you already have. Go.’

  Her face aflame, Rhiann left him.

  A warm breeze blew along the furrows, lifting her hair, and the soft cries of
man and woman all around taunted her. She put her head down and made for the shadows by the river, where she could nurse her shame in peace.

  Chapter 50

  Eremon’s frustration about the Caledonii deliberations was eating at him unbearably the next day. And to make matters far worse, Rhiann had disappeared during the dancing at the feast, and then came to bed late, smelling of ash and earth and river mud.

  Gods!

  There was nothing for it but to hunt once more, driving his men further and harder until they were all sweat-soaked and exhausted. A clear shot through a buck’s eye did little to lighten his mood, neither did Conaire breaking open a flask of Epidii ale to toast the kill. As the afternoon faded, Eremon’s temper darkened with the sky.

  When they returned to the dun, Eremon managed to gain a brief audience with the King in his hall, as his nobles left.

  ‘Nothing has been decided,’ Calgacus told him, laying aside his ceremonial sword.

  ‘But lord, you are the King! You must see what I see!’

  Calgacus regarded him sombrely. ‘I am more convinced than my men, and less convinced than you. No!’ He held up his hand when Eremon opened his mouth. ‘I have heard your excellent arguments. But we are well defended, and further north than you. We feel secure – for the moment.’

  ‘Then why did you agree to meet with me?’

  ‘I wanted to see what kind of man you are. The situation may change, and if it does, then we have been able to take each other’s measure. We can move swiftly then.’

  ‘Not swiftly enough, I fear.’ Eremon tried to rein in his frustration.

  ‘Prince, I told you that I had to fight for my throne, but I not only faced rivals from my own tribe. When the old king died, our neighbours seized the moment and raided us from two directions. It took everything in me to restore order, and win our land and cattle back.’

  ‘Such a victory would have consolidated your position.’

  ‘True, but I have reigned for many more years now, and the stronger we get, the hungrier our neighbours become to gain our hard-won riches. Envy stalks my borders.’

  ‘What has this to do with the Romans?’

  ‘My nobles fear that an alliance could give the other tribes the advantage they have been waiting for. Alliances require trust between the parties, and that means letting down our defences.’

  ‘So your men think that – what do you think?’

  Calgacus stroked his chin. ‘My head tells me they are right. But my heart whispers that it would like to believe you, prince of Erin. That we could join together as something glorious and strong, strong enough to drive the Romans out of these islands altogether. Out of Alba, out of Britannia.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps these are just the fancies of an old man. Perhaps you tempt me with all your youth and boldness.’

  ‘Bold I may be, but I assure you that I am rational rather than impetuous. Just ask my brother.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is too soon to do as you ask.’

  Eremon’s head came up. ‘Meaning that in future, despite your reservations, you may well support me?’

  ‘If circumstances change, then I am open to it.’

  Calgacus’s words soothed him momentarily, but that night, in the King’s Hall, Eremon noted how the nobles avoided him, and the dark mood of the afternoon returned with greater force. As the hours wore on, he drank, and he sat alone, and he brooded.

  He was doing all this thinking and fighting for them, these tribes of Alba, and how did they repay him? His wife dallied with an idiot, his druid schemed, and these rich, well-fed men smirked at him and threw his help back in his face. He should just leave them all to the Romans and find support for his own cause in Erin elsewhere.

  He gulped the rest of his ale and wiped his mouth, then held the cup out to a passing serving girl for refilling. Just then there was a waft of honey scent before his face, and Rhiann sank down next to him on the bench. He shifted to make more room for her.

  ‘I heard from Conaire that the nobles are not very open to your suggestions.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘What we ask is unusual, Eremon. They need time to adjust to the idea.’ She brushed her hair back from her shoulders. It was long and loose tonight, except for one braid at each temple, finished with blue beads. It made her look very young and vulnerable.

  He took a deep draught of ale, and when he saw her frown, he took another. ‘I don’t think time will change anything,’ he muttered. ‘I have a druid that’s undermining me at every step, and a—’ He just stopped himself from saying, And a wife that flaunts herself with another man.

  Her gaze sharpened. ‘What of Gelert?’

  ‘Nothing … really. It’s just that he didn’t even attempt to gain the support of Calgacus’s druid.’

  ‘I hope you were not expecting much of him. He’s afraid of you, you must know that.’

  ‘Afraid of what? He looks after his realm and I mine.’

  ‘No, he wishes to control all realms. I think he hoped to control you, too, and because he cannot, that makes him angry. You’re getting too popular.’

  He squinted at her, for in the firelight she was already blurred around the edges. Here he was, all sweaty and greasy with meat, and she just looked fresh and pretty. ‘Thank you for telling me all this now. I could have left him behind.’

  Her mouth pursed. ‘I don’t think he would have listened, and besides, I’d rather have him here under our noses than getting up to Goddess knows what at Dunadd.’

  She was right, but that just made him more annoyed. And why was it that the only conversations they ever had were all so rational. Look at Conaire and Caitlin over there, giggling like a couple of fools …

  ‘And where is the handsome Drust, then?’ he snapped.

  Rhiann’s cheeks flushed. ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘Trying.’

  ‘Well, at least he doesn’t bark at me like I’m some sort of—’

  ‘Wife?’ He raised his eyebrows.

  Rhiann’s flush deepened, and her eyes sparked. ‘You can talk!’ she whispered furiously. ‘Your conquests would fill the King’s Hall and more!’

  ‘I don’t remember taking a vow to be chaste all my life!’

  She looked as if he’d slapped her, which is what he wanted to do but … gods … he’d never hurt her … It was too late, she was on her feet, and there were tears in her eyes … tears!

  ‘Rhiann, wait!’

  But she was gone, and people were looking, and he couldn’t run after her. ‘Girl!’ When the servant came to him, he took the whole pitcher of ale from her.

  And gave her the cup in return.

  Outside, Rhiann’s feet pounded the pathway in time to the litany in her head. Of all the rude, belligerent, hypocritical … beasts!

  Of course, she should be back in the hall using her charm and position to sway the nobles, persuade them … but doing anything for the prince of Erin right now galled her.

  She realized that her feet had taken her to the door of Drust’s workshed, where faint lamplight edged out from under the cover. There she stopped, taking some deep breaths. Perhaps she should try to smooth things over with Drust, instead. Perhaps he would just smile again and be easy …

  Eremon’s last words still rang in her bruised heart. I did not take a vow to be chaste.

  No, he did not; she was the damaged one. Yet perhaps if Drust could be patient, he and she might try again. If he loved her just a little …

  She lifted the cover and slipped silently under it. Inside, workbenches were scattered with awls and chisels and half-finished carvings, and the tarred scent of wood shavings hung in the air. A seal-oil lamp was burning in the corner. She walked closer to the lamp, to a pile of fur-covered straw there.

  They did not even hear her.

  It was no surprise, really.

  Drust was groaning, his broad, smooth back thrusting forwards, and the girl, face hidden, wrapped her white legs around his waist.

  It was no s
urprise. None of it.

  Rhiann watched them blankly, until hysteria bubbled up from deep within her, and whistled out through her teeth. At the sound, Drust started and turned, and the girl’s wide eyes shone up underneath him. He did not leap to his feet, flustered. He did not look ashamed or abashed. If there was anything in his face, it was only the briefest touch of regret. And in his eyes, a shrug.

  Rhiann turned and left them. She could have bitten her tongue out – that, or lash herself with it until she bled. How foolish could any one woman be! And she, of all people! She, who had taken more care of her heart than all the careless Aiveens and Gardas put together, only to throw it at some feckless man, just because once, long ago, he made her feel like a woman. She buried her face in her hands.

  This time, a cold bed really was the only option. As she lay there in the lodge, she thought back to the memories of firelight on skin that she had held in her heart for so long. He could not take those from her; no one could. But what about the other dream of the sword-wielder? If her hopes of Drust had been dashed, did that mean that, all along, the dream had been no more than fancy?

  At some point in the night, Eremon finished the second jug of ale. He vaguely remembered challenging some braying young idiot to a duel, but when he stumbled outside, and the air hit him, everything went dark.

  The next thing he knew, a pair of thick, strong arms were around him. ‘I’ve got him,’ Conaire’s voice muttered from somewhere above.

  ‘What can I do?’ That was Caitlin, worried.

  ‘Nothing, I will look after him. Just you go back and make light of it to that young buck.’

  ‘I could carry his sword—’

  ‘No! Leave us alone!’

  There was a pause. ‘I was just trying to help.’ Now Caitlin sounded angry. ‘You don’t need to shout at me!’

  Conaire’s breath whooshed in Eremon’s ear.

  Like a horse, Eremon thought dreamily. It’s Dòrn, he wants his feed …