“Master Ajani has found her.”
Gudit inhaled sharply and felt the tears well in her eyes. Finally, the missing piece.
***
Chapter 12 – Brood of Vipers
Collace Village Inn, Perthshire
Three monks sat quietly in the Collace Village Inn. They paid good coin for a table in the back room, away from rowdy punters. Each arrived separately and alone. Keeping their hooded robes on to conceal their faces. They spoke in hushed tones and in Latin.
From a distance, they looked like humble men of the monastic order, seeking a quiet place to break their journey.
Little did the patrons know the men were anything but monks. In fact, one was Macbeth, the King of Scotland, the other, Laird Malise Maclean from the Hebrides and the third was Dalziel Robertson, a part Scottish, Northumbrian Lord.
Dalziel said, “There were two men sent to kill Orla. One was Vidar, the other a Samuel from Northumbria. He called me the Wolf as if he kenned who I was.”
“Where is he now?” Macbeth asked.
“A place he can never return from.”
“Good. One less loose tongue in the world. Do you ken who sent him?” Macbeth asked.
“Aye, the Earl of Shetland.”
Macbeth was contemplative for a while then said, “Tell me of this attack outside of Scone.”
Dalziel replied, “I interrogated one survivor, and he said, ‘One-hand’ sent them.”
“Damn, that man is everywhere, he is becoming a real menace, especially in the Hebrides,” Malise said.
“What do you mean?” Macbeth asked Malise.
“He’s sided with raiders and leads many of the attacks. He says it’s for the King of Alba.”
Macbeth looked at both men before cursing, “Damn these Norsemen! They are the bane of my existence.”
“What do you mean?” Dalziel asked.
Macbeth slumped into his chair. “There’s something you both should ken.”
Dalziel stiffened. Malise sat up straighter.
“One-hand is my man, and he is here in Dunsinane.” Macbeth said.
“He’s here?” Malise said in shock.
Dalziel stood abruptly then sat down again realizing he needed to keep up their ruse. Instead, he clenched his fists. “What do you mean?”
“Calm. Let me explain.”
Dalziel nodded.
“His name is ‘Moddan.’ He is my assassin in Caithness and the Orkneys. He kens who you are Dalziel and tis likely this Samuel got wind of your identity through him.”
“With respect, your majesty. Why did you send your man to kill Orla?” Dalziel clenched his jaw.
Macbeth said, “That is precisely my point. I didn’t send him to kill anyone. I didn’t even ken he’s raiding the Hebrides in my name.”—Macbeth tapped his index finger on the tabletop to emphasize his point—“His job was to watch and gather information, that is all. Which means I can no longer trust him, but I cannot extract him without alerting suspicion about other matters.”
“Fuck!” Dalziel whispered.
Malise cursed at the same time.
“Aye, ye understand now. Ye have brought the Jarl’s daughter to a brood of vipers,” Macbeth said.
***
Protectors
Since arriving at Court, Brodie stayed close to Orla, rarely letting her out of his sight unless she was with the Queen or in the company of his retainers.
His obsession with his wife had increased, given the dangers she faced and the fear he had of losing her. He could see the strain and stress beginning to show on her face, and he wanted to ease some of her worry. He remained alert so she would not have to. Brodie cared nothing for his own comfort, he thought only of hers.
Macbeth had yet to receive word from Jarl Thorfinn, and until he was located and notified of Orla’s existence, her life was in danger.
Dalziel also kept a close eye on Orla, and he did so not only for her sake but for Brodie’s sake. It was plain to see how much Brodie loved his wife, so Dalziel used all his skills at court to shield them both from Moddan, divulging no sensitive information.
Moddan was being elusive and rarely showed his face at gatherings.
What troubled Dalziel the most, was an unshakable conviction that things were about to get worse.
***
Moddan
Moddan lay back in his four-poster bed, ranting aloud, voicing his innermost secrets to his bedchamber.
“I am an Earl who should be King! It grates my soul that I have spent years being an informant for Macbeth, wiling the hours away in Caithness. I have a campaign in Northumbria, building the right connections and pillaging the Hebrides for wealth to finance my mercenaries. All the pieces were carefully in place until Thorfinn’s by blow became an issue. Do you ken it has taken me years to drive a wedge between the Earls of Orkney and the blasted Jarl? And that halfwit Rognvald speaks to me like a child. If he had left well enough alone, everyone would have remained oblivious to her actual identity! Now tis only a matter of time before they realize I killed Thorfinn’s lover and lost my bloody hand in the process!”
In frustration, Moddan focused back on the two naked maids, taking turns servicing his hard shaft with their mouths. Meanwhile, a third woman fed him her breasts to bite and suck at will. This was the one thing he found appealing about Court life. Whores were plentiful for a man with his dark proclivities and as far as Moddan was concerned, all women were whores whether high born or lowly servant. They were there solely for his pleasure.
Feeling himself close to coming, he reached down with his stumped hand and signaled to the maids to stop. With his other hand, he pointed at the woman he wanted to ride him. She immediately complied, straddling his hips and sinking down upon his rigid shaft, riding him as if her life depended on it.
When he had taken his fill, he pushed her off him and commanded the next one to ride and then the next.
As was his habit, he decided he would spend the next few hours pounding into them in every way a man could invade a female body. While he did, he continued to share all his dirty secrets aloud. This was how he sought his release from the burdens he carried for the King.
In the morning he would make sure his secrets died with the women. He had lost count of the number of whores he had killed since spying for the King.
Unbeknownst to Moddan, on this occasion there were two other people in the room, and they heard everything.
***
Where Angels Fear to Tread
Orla knew Brodie was keeping secrets from her. She had shown him the note from Malise about a person called ‘Moddan’ and nothing had come of it. She knew Brodie talked to Dalziel, but as yet neither one of them divulged any information to her.
She worried about her husband since her weird conversation with Dalziel about Brodie needing protection, and she also worried about the pressure Brodie was under to keep her safe.
Brodie tried to play it off in his charming way, but she sensed his tension and frustration. It was nuanced in subtle ways, such as the way he made love to her. He took her with urgency and intensity, as if he were savoring each moment in case it was their last.
Orla knew when she married Brodie, he had a strong sexual appetite but lately he was insatiable. Within minutes of completion and satiation he was ready for the next round, barely giving her time to recover before he was thrusting inside her again.
The only way to alleviate his anxiety was to eliminate the threat against her life.
As was her way, Orla took matters into her own hands. She needed to discover who this ‘One-hand’ Moddan person was and eliminate the threat once and for all.
After several discreet enquiries, with a maid and footman she had befriended, Orla found Moddan’s room. The footman had assumed she was arranging a secret assignation with him and told her of a secret passageway, women used that led to his chamber.
Orla slid her dagger inside her belt and slipped down the hallway when her retainers were not looking. S
he found the door secreted in a walled panel and slipped inside.
Moddan’s room was empty. Orla searched in drawers, looking around for anything which could be of interest. She was walking around the bed when she felt a loose floorboard under the rug. Orla remembered Amelia telling her that people often hid things inside floorboards.
Orla flipped back the rug and used her dagger to pry it open.
Sure enough, there were letters wedged between the boards. She opened the first one. It was from Northumbria and referred to a ‘White Bear’ and something about English ships. The rest of the letter was written in French, which she could not understand. She flipped through the others, skimming the contents and recognizing the names of some places.
Orla heard footsteps nearby. She quickly pocketed the bundle and shoved the floorboard back into its place, then flipped the rug back over it. She could not leave through the main door or passageway in case they came from there.
Orla was trying to find a hiding place when someone grabbed her from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth. She stifled a scream until she heard the voice.
“Stay still!” Dalziel said as he moved them both behind an enormous set of drapes.
What was he doing here?
Dalziel hissed in her ear, “You daft woman! Brodie is going to wring your neck.”
They both stilled when three women entered the room and began removing their clothing. Moments later a large baldheaded man appeared. His left hand was missing. Moddan.
He stripped off his clothes and joined the women on the bed. They drank some wine and began their sexual festivities.
It was not the orgy Moddan was engaging in that surprised Orla, but the secrets that spilled from his lips as he gorged himself on three women.
But when he talked of killing her mother, Orla saw red.
It took every ounce of strength Dalziel had to stop Orla from crossing the room and stabbing Moddan in the crotch.
***
An hour later, the four occupants lay passed out on the bed. Its surprised Orla, their lack of stamina given how energetic their beginning.
Dalziel stepped out from behind her and searched the room for something.
“Dalziel, what are you doing? They might wake up.” Orla whispered.
“No, I drugged the wine. They’ll be sleeping a while. I’m just sorry it didn’t work faster because I will never get the sight of his hairy bollocks out of my mind!” Dalziel grimaced.
Orla just stared at Dalziel, wondering who the hell this man was.
“Are you going to kill him?” she asked.
“No, I cannot… yet. There is much at stake.”
“But he killed my ma, we need to tell Macbeth.”
Dalziel stopped searching, turned to Orla and said, “I am sorry about your ma Orla, but I need you to trust me. I ken what to do.”
Orla saw the sincerity in his eyes and nodded. “What are we looking for?”
“We are not looking for anything. You are getting your person back to your husband. There’s a guardsman waiting to escort you outside.”
“But I can help,” Orla said as she watched Dalziel look under furniture.
Dalziel sighed. “I’m looking for letters.”
Orla reached into her pocket and pulled out the bundle. “Like these?”
Dalziel froze and stared at the parchments in her hand. “Please tell me you didn’t read any of them?”
Orla averted her eyes. “Um…”
“Fuck! No wonder Brodie is so high-strung lately. You are a menace.”
Dalziel grabbed Orla’s arm at the elbow and dragged her out of Moddan’s room.
***
“You did what?” Brodie roared.
He was wearing a hole in the rug with the amount of pacing he had been doing since Dalziel hauled Orla into their chambers and told Brodie where he found her.
“Well, you both willna tell me anything, so I needed to find out for myself.” Orla whined.
“If Moddan found you first, he would have killed you and we would not have found your body,” Dalziel said.
Orla looked contrite.
Brodie just glared at her and shook his head. He turned to Dalziel and asked, “So what happens now?”
“I will inform Macbeth.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Brodie asked.
“We give Moddan enough rope.” Dalziel replied.
“For what?” Orla asked.
“To hang himself.”
***
The Mission
That evening, Dalziel told Macbeth everything he knew about Moddan. Leaving out Orla’s involvement.
Together they went over the letters and Macbeth swore when he realized the treacherous game Moddan was playing, especially with his Northumbrian contacts.
“I hear you have an estate in Northumbria?” Macbeth said.
“Aye, but I dinnae wish to become reacquainted with that side of my family,” Dalziel replied.
“What happened? Your English mother abandoned ye?” Macbeth joked.
“Something like that. I despise all things English.”
“Then you are exactly the man I need.”
“What do you mean?” Dalziel said suspiciously.
“Siward the Stout, Earl of Northumbria, is on the move. The man is an ambitious usurper, trading on a superstitious legend that he descended from a ‘white bear.’ His power grows daily, and he has allied with Malcolm, Duncan’s son.”
Dalziel knew the family history well. King Duncan mac Crìonain was Macbeth’s first cousin and predecessor. Macbeth killed Duncan in battle, and now Duncan’s son Malcolm III was hellbent on revenge.
“What do you want me to do?” Dalziel asked.
“I want you to take up the reigns to this English estate of yours because I need you to be my eyes and ears in Northumbria.”
Dalziel gritted his teeth. He would rather lie in a pit of pigs’ blood. “Aye. As you wish.”
“And one more thing,” Macbeth said.
“What is it?”
“Once ye’ve settled into the estate, I need ye to marry into the gentry. A quiet, biddable English woman will do. Someone who will help you look the part of a typical nobleman without being a distraction.”
“Damn it!” Dalziel cursed out loud. The last thing he wanted was to be leg shackled to a bloody upstart English female. Not to mention he had a jealous ex-mistress Lenora, who would not take kindly to news he was to marry. He had been avoiding Lenora for months, he was going to have to sort out that situation soon.
Dalziel wondered when his life had become so complicated.
His thoughts were interrupted when Macbeth said, “As for Moddan, he is now a dead man.”
***
Trouble in Paradise
After Dalziel left them, Brodie and Orla got ready for bed. It was the first night since their wedding where Brodie did not touch her. He slept on his side of the bed and with his back to her. He did not even speak to her or respond to her. It was like all the warmth had seeped out of their marriage.
Orla knew Brodie was angry and gave him space. She did not want to admit that she missed being tucked into his side.
Brodie was so mad at Orla’s defiance and reckless behavior; he could not bring himself to even talk or touch her in case he whipped her ass raw for scaring him so much.
Instead, he put some distance between them until he could get his riotous emotions under control. He admitted he missed tucking her into his side, but he conceded it was for the best. His mind made up; Brodie drifted off to sleep.
Orla felt bereft. She could not sleep knowing her husband was angry with her. Yet her pride prevented her from doing anything about it. She made a mental note that she needed to do better to appease his worry. She would apologize to him in the morning.
That moment never came, because when she woke up, Brodie was gone. He left two retainers guarding her door, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. It was the first time since their wedding that he
did not wake her to make love or just to share breakfast together.
Orla realized how much she had gotten used to their routines in such a short amount of time. And that worried her. What if he never forgave her? What if he started looking elsewhere for female company?
Orla admitted to herself for the first time she was terrified of losing Brodie. How pathetic that she was once again that vulnerable little orphan girl, desperate for the tiny scraps of attention Brodie would pay her.
Orla slapped her hand on her forehead and told herself ‘No!’ she would not mope around all day racked with insecurities. She needed to find something useful to occupy herself, and she knew exactly what it was.
Orla quickly washed and dressed, then headed to the Archery range.
***
Brodie left their bed chamber early that morning. He had slept terribly, not having Orla curled into his side, but his stubborn male pride would not give in. He got up, washed, dressed and left for the Training Grounds. He needed to spar with his men, hone their skills, or they would all grow soft around the middle like many of the male courtiers.
Sparring was also a good way to relieve the tension he had been feeling of the past fortnight.
And so, it was he and his men engaged in a rigorous training session, bare chested and glistening with perspiration, which attracted a bevy of female onlookers. Some of whom kept trying to gain his attention. There was a time he would have welcomed their advances. Not anymore. Instead, he remained focused on the task at hand.
When the men stopped for a break to quench their thirst, he heard a conversation between some male courtiers. They were commenting how impressed they were by the skills of a woman down at the archery field. In their description, he knew they were talking about his wife. One even commented that she would make a fine mistress, but he feared her list of admirers was growing larger by the minute.
Brodie stiffened at that last comment and without a word, he threw on his shirt and stormed across the castle grounds in search of the Archery range.
***
Mr Arrowsmith
Orla left her chambers and walked through the Castle grounds with retainers in tow. She had requested permission to practice at the archery range, which was a popular pastime with courtiers and ladies.
Handfasted to the Bear: Reformed Rogues Book 2 Page 11
