When they were clear of the village, Royden nodded to the three men and they spread out, though kept a perimeter around her and Royden. A hasty pace was set and no words were exchanged between them as they rode.
When Oria spied the Learmonth keep in the distance, she and her mare did what they usually did, they raced toward home, leaving her husband in her wake. She loved the sensation of flying across the land, the chilled air stinging her cheeks, turning them red, and her hair blowing wildly around her head. It was exhilarating, though the feeling had been quick to die off once she arrived at the keep, her home that had never been a home to her. The ride—at least for a short time—had allowed her to feel completely free.
Oria slowed as she approached the village and her husband drew up beside her and stopped, bringing her to a halt.
“I’ve warned you about taking flight like that,” he ordered harshly.
“It was something I always did when approaching home, a habit of sorts,” she explained.
“It’s not your home anymore,” he said, his tongue remaining harsh.
“It was a harmless habit.”
“That you need no more,” Royden snapped.
Not used to a commanding husband, she said, “Your tongue need not be so sharp with me.”
“And you need to know your place.”
“And where would that be?”
“Wherever I command it to be,” he warned and his deep scowl threatened.
Oria drew back as if avoiding a hand to her face, not that he had raised his hand. She shook her head. “What has suddenly put you in such an ugly mood?”
“YOU!” he said and rode off.
She shook her head again. She had hoped for a far better day than this was proving to be and followed after Royden.
Oria took note of the way John, Angus, and Stuart spread out through the small village once they entered it. It came to her then that they were here to find out whatever they could. They would talk and share an ale or two or more and learn things. It had been wise of Royden to bring them.
Royden paid little heed to the village. He climbed the hill to the keep. It wasn’t a steep hill, but one could feel the pull in one’s legs when walking up it. He remembered visiting here with his da. Once up the hill, one could see a distance in all directions. From the narrow windows high up in the keep, the view was endless. There was no way anyone could approach this place without being seen.
“Burnell had to have seen the mercenaries approach. He would have had enough time to send for help.” He turned to Oria. “You must have realized that after a while.”
She walked to stand beside him, not an ache in her legs, having grown accustomed to the climb. “I did and I asked him about it. He told me he’d been expecting friends and with only a small group approaching, he thought it them. Once distracted by the strangers that arrived, others followed behind them.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I wasn’t sure. I asked myself if it was a lie, why would he lie? I didn’t like the answer. It meant Burnell was expecting the mercenaries.”
“He hired them,” Royden said with an anger he found hard to contain.
“I don’t believe so. The warriors never harmed him, but they didn’t pay him much heed either.”
“And if he had been the one paying them, then they would have treated him much differently,” Royden said, his conclusion leaving him frustrated.
“That was my thought, so I couldn’t be sure of anything. Except that Burnell and Thurbane were the only clan chieftains who didn’t attend our wedding. That thought refused to leave me.”
Royden turned and looked down on the village. “The village has prospered.”
“It has,” Oria agreed. “It wasn’t looted like the other keeps, and warriors made repairs while here and kept the storage sheds full of food and the fields tilled and planted.”
“It’s been kept in fine shape, perhaps it was the bargain Burnell struck with the leader of the mercenaries for use of his land.”
Oria didn’t like to think that she had been married to a man who had betrayed the other clans, but Burnell had escaped the turmoil and suffering the others had gone through.
Royden followed Oria into the keep. The fireplace, small for a Great Hall, was sufficient for the size. There was barely room for two tables and the dais held a table fit for only two people. It was clean and a pleasant scent filled the air.
Oria turned and smiled at the old woman, standing not much over five feet, her gray hair braided neatly, who entered the room, and she went over to her. “I’m not my lady anymore, Detta. I have come to make certain I have collected everything of mine before the new Lord Learmonth arrives.” She turned and looked to her husband. “This is my husband now, Chieftain Royden of the Clan MacKinnon.”
“Sir,” Detta said with a bob of her head. “Can I get you anything.”
“Your hospitality is appreciated but we won’t be long,” Royden said.
“If there is anything I can do, please let me know,” Detta said and bobbed her head again.
“I’ll come find you before we leave,” Oria said and the old woman left the room.
The stairs were narrow and with the width of Royden’s shoulders he had to turn on an angle to climb them to the second floor. Burnell would have had no problem climbing these since he’d been tall and slim.
They made their way to the second floor and entered the master bedchamber. It wasn’t large, a bed and a chest or two and a small table with a chair tucked neatly beneath it. The small fireplace heated the room as sufficiently as the one in the Great Hall for its size.
“I don’t think there’s anything here that would tell us much, but since Burnell didn’t have a solar, his bedchamber would be the closest thing to one,” Oria said and went to the chair at the table scooping up something draped over the chair. “My shawl. I had forgotten I left it here.”
Royden turned away, the shawl a reminder that she had shared this room with Burnell. He tried to avoid looking at the bed, but his eyes seemed to have a will of their own. The blankets were neatly folded back, the pillows plumped, and he tried not to think of Oria sleeping there in Burnell’s arms night after night. Unfortunately, his mind thought differently and he couldn’t get the image of Burnell driving his manhood into her again and again and again. Though how a man his age and of frail health was capable of it puzzled him. Another thought invaded his mind that flared his anger. Had Burnell made Oria ride him?
Royden wanted to punch something or someone. He held onto his temper, barely, and ordered. “Let’s go.”
Oria gave one last look around the room and offered a silent prayer. Rest in Peace, Burnell.
Royden followed her out the door and when she went up the stairs instead of down, he asked, “Where do you go?”
“My bedchamber,” she said and continued up the stairs.
A sense of relief stabbed at his gut that she hadn’t slept every night in Burnell’s bed. He followed her into her room, bending his head the doorway too low for him, and stopped just inside. It was so small there was no place for him to go. There was barely room for the narrow bed. A chair sat beside the bed and the fireplace wasn’t big enough to hold any sizeable log which meant the fire had to constantly be replenished. And the tapestry that covered the lone, narrow window did little good from stopping the cold from getting in. How many cold, winter nights had the fire gone out while she slept, leaving her to wake icy and shivering? She had not had it easy living here and that got him wondering what else she had endured during his absence.
“It’s small but it was sufficient for me,” she said, knowing what he was thinking just by the questionable look in his dark eyes. “When it got too cold I stayed in the Great Hall for the night.”
The image of her cuddled by the fire by herself tore at his heart.
“Why not seek the warmth of your husband’s bed?” he asked, not that he wanted to think of her doing so but at least she’d have been kept warm.
>
“Burnell often didn’t feel well and I didn’t want to disturb him,” she said and lifted the chair.
“What are you doing?” Royden asked and took the chair from her.
“Place it by the window. I want to show you something,” she said.
When he saw that she intended to climb up on it, her head just reaching the bottom of the window, he coiled his arm around her waist and lifted her to stand on the chair.
“Look,” she said, pushing the tapestry aside.
The bottom of the window reached his chin so he was able to easily see out it. He was amazed at the distance one could see, since no woods blocked the landscape.
“I woke one night, shivering, and was going to add logs to the fire but first hurried to see if it was snowing. Depending on which way the wind blows, the snow sometimes fell past the tapestry into my room. Instead of heating a room I wouldn’t be able to stay in, I looked out the window to determine if I should seek the warmth of the Great Hall. A light snow was falling, but it was what I saw in the distance that turned me cold. A troop—a large troop—approached the keep, torches flickering and bouncing as they drew closer. At first I thought it might be an attack, but I realized they rode at a tempered pace, not at all in a hurry.”
“Tell me you remained safe in your room,” he said, worried for her safety even though the incident was in the past.
Her hand went to her scar. “I wasn’t about to leave myself vulnerable. I was already dressed, it being far too cold to sleep in only my nightdress, but I waited since it would take time for the group to reach the keep. When I thought the time right, I took careful and silent steps down the stairs only to find that a warrior was stationed at the bottom. I kept myself hidden and tried to listen to see what I could hear, but there was too much talk to distinguish any particular voice.”
While he wished she hadn’t taken such a dangerous chance, and relieved she hadn’t been harmed, he was glad that she had. It had provided more information, more pieces to the puzzle.
“So Burnell met with this troop secretly,” Royden said.
“That was the strange part,” she said and held out her hand for Royden to help her off the chair. Instead he slipped his arm around her waist once more and lifted her off the chair. A ripple of pleasure trickled through her and she was reminded again how much she missed his touch. “I stopped at Burnell’s room thinking if he had yet to join the group I could find out who it was that arrived so mysteriously in the night. I found him sound asleep in bed and the next morning there was no sign that the group had ever been here.”
“That is strange,” he agreed. “Could Burnell have simply supplied the mercenaries a central gathering place to operate from in return for leaving him unscathed? Or had he surrendered to them to begin with since his clan had little chance against them? Whatever the reason, we now know that Learmonth most probably was the place it all began.”
Their return ride home was far different and far more pleasurable than the ride there. This time she and Royden talked.
“Did Burnell ever speak with you about any worry for the future of the Clan Learmonth once he was gone?” Royden asked, his eyes on his wife while also paying heed to everything around him. It was a skill he had learned quickly, surprise attacks all too common while with the mercenaries.
“One night when the howling wind seemed to penetrate the stone walls, he mentioned to me that even if this keep fell, the Clan Learmonth would never fall. That a Learmonth had been on this land long before a keep had ever been built and a Learmonth would remain here forever.”
“It seems that he didn’t worry if you didn’t bear him an heir, so he had to have known there was someone who would lead the clan and carry on the name.”
“It is an old name here in these parts,” Oria said. “I remember my da talking about how his da was in a battle that ended with Learmonth land being divided among other clans.”
“I would think that that might have something to do with this, but it was a good many years ago, and lands are lost and gained, through marriage and battles. It’s just the way of things. Why now at such an advanced age would he decide to seek revenge? It would seem more likely that he was trying to protect what he had by bargaining with the mercenaries and keeping his small clan safe.”
“That would mean that Burnell was nothing more than a minor piece to this puzzle,” Oria said.
“I wouldn’t say minor, more significant since his land provided a place to build up troops and launch their attacks. What puzzles me is why the attacks stopped after the Clan MacKinnon was attacked and nothing more happened for five years. Our area may be remote but news does travel. Why didn’t the King do anything? Surely he heard what happened. Yet nothing was done.”
Oria offered a sensible reason. “Raven and Purity couldn’t be found and forced to wed, leaving Purity’s da safe and your land unable to be rightfully claimed.”
“Unless the King stepped in and he didn’t. Why? And it still puzzles me why Burnell wed you when you could have been wed to another and your land and clan secured.” Royden turned wide eyes on her when a thought struck him. “Burnell wasn’t meant to wed you, was he?”
“I gave my word to my da and Burnell I would never tell anyone,” she said.
“You once trusted me, Oria, trust me now when I say I will never reveal what you tell me to anyone. Besides, your da and Burnell are gone, does it really matter any longer.”
“My word is my word, Royden. I dishonor myself if I betray my word.”
“I don’t think your da would mind you telling me.”
Oria recalled her da’s words as he lay dying. Royden needs to know. Had he meant that she should tell him if she ever got to see him again?
She followed her instincts. “I was taken home after the attack. Burnell was there with his healer and a cleric. My da told me I was to wed Burnell. It made no sense to me and I was in too much pain to object. I wed Burnell without question. Much later I discovered that my da and Burnell had made a pact that if you were killed in an attack or taken captive that Burnell would wed me to keep me from having to wed a stranger and my da from losing his land.”
Her da had taken no chances. He had made arrangements for Oria’s safety in case something happened to the man she was supposed to wed. Royden had never given thought to such a possibility. He had believed he’d be able to keep Oria safe when he should have considered what might happen to her if he’d been unable to. Royden was glad her da had been wiser than him.
Clouds followed them home and Royden went off to see that much needed work was getting done before the rain started once again.
She watched him stride off. She had enjoyed their time together, talking, trying to make sense of what happened, trying to piece the puzzle together. It reminded her of old times with him, not that it was exactly the same, but there had been something familiar they had shared, and to her that was a start. She had realized by his stance and the troubled look in his dark eyes that he hadn’t liked being in Burnell’s bedchamber. His eyes had taken on an angry glare when he looked upon the bed and she hadn’t had to guess what he’d been thinking.
Oria turned and climbed the keep steps. She had thought to tell him, but how did a married woman admit she had remained a virgin?
Chapter 8
Royden couldn’t sleep. His wife constantly haunted his thoughts. Their return ride from Learmonth had given him a glimpse into the past at a time he cherished, a time when their love was strong enough to conquer anything. That time, that love had been what kept him going when things had gotten unbearable. Oria had been his strength, his reason to survive, and return home. So why, now that he was here, Oria his wife, did he find things so different?
He threw the blanket off and swung his legs off the bed, sitting on the edge, his hand and stump pressed into the mattress on either side of him. He shook his head when he looked at the stump. Sometimes, crazy as it was, he thought he still felt he had his hand.
He stood and w
rapped his plaid around himself, a simple task that had taken time to learn once he’d been healed enough. He didn’t bother slipping on the leather cuff that covered his stump, no one would be about the keep this late. He rarely slept a full night. His thoughts either leaving him too restless to sleep or nightmares plagued and woke him abruptly. Either way, a good, sound sleep had long eluded him and he had learned to adapt.
He ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall as it may, then slipped on his boots. He’d go to his solar—his solar—was it truly his now? Was his da dead? Would he ever find out what happened to him? And what of Arran? Would he make it home? And what of Raven? He shook his head, his family constantly on his mind.
One thing at a time, he silently warned himself.
Quick steps had him down the stairs in no time and he was about to hurry through the Great Hall to his solar when he spotted her and stopped. He stared for a moment since at first glance he thought her lifeless propped against a section of the stone hearth, the fire’s light bathing her lovely face in a soft glow. Then he recalled Oria telling him that she would sometimes go to the hearth in the Great Hall to sleep when at Learmonth, it having been too cold in her small bedchamber. But her bedchamber here wasn’t cold, so what had brought her to sleep by the hearth?
Leaving her to remain there wasn’t even a thought. He went and crouched down in front of her. He would have wondered how she could sleep like that, sitting up, braced against stone, but he had been forced to sleep in ways and places he never thought possible. They both had learned to cope with what fate had dealt them.
One thing that hadn’t changed was her beauty. She would always be the most beautiful woman in the world to him. Even the scar couldn’t detract from her lovely features.
Stop staring and take her to bed.
His thoughts jolted him inwardly. Put her to bed, not take her to bed, he silently warned himself. He wasn’t ready for that yet, or so he told himself, and she had told him he wasn’t welcome there—yet.
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