Chieftain By Command Read online

  “Aye, that’s as may be, but truth to tell, I wasn’t actually sure at first.” He murmured turning the notion around in his mind, “However, time will tell.”

  He had spent a month avoiding becoming as comfortable with his wife during the day as he felt in the night. For today at least, Harald had forced the situation on him. Frustrating though it might be, there was little else he could do but get to know his wife, since sitting still was far more comfortable than lying on his wound.

  “Am I allowed to say that I was impressed by your skills. I knew you tended to the sick each day, but not how effective your ointments could be. A person with your abilities would have been a godsend on the battlefield. A lot of men have died from smaller wounds than the one I received today. I sincerely thank you, wife.” He reached out, his fingers tangling in her hair, and let a long gold strand run between his hard fingertips. She liked to leave it loose at night, partly because the pins she used to hold her braid tight against her scalp made her head ache and partly because her husband enjoyed playing with the long swathes of golden silk as he made love to her. Tonight it appeared he would have to go unsatisfied.

  Kathryn hummed softly under her breath afore saying, “There is too much superstition clinging to the healing arts. Some so-called healers would rather put a patty of dung on a wound than a herbal decoction. And if a healer is too successful, there are always those among them who would name her witch. It leaves little ambition to travel far from one’s stillroom. I have the clan to care for. That’s enough.”

  “Anyone who dares mention the word witch within my hearing will feel the sharp edge of my sword.”

  She quirked her eyebrows at him, fine arches of gold glistening in the firelight. It seemed their previous conversation had left Kathryn confident enough to tease him again for she murmured, “Just like Harald did today?”

  “I was distracted, by you. I should ban you from the practice ground from tomorrow on.”

  “Uh-uh, no more fighting for you, at least not for a few days yet, for though the wound’s closed, it needs time to heal.”

  “I can supervise without lifting a sword.” He held up a hand to block out her protest. “I’ll be careful. Every clansman needs to know how to do more than wave a spear or a sword—that they should be pointed only at someone if you mean to kill. Just waving weapons won’t deter an enemy intent on taking the Dun. We need all the men to have some training.”

  “How many mercenaries did you lose?”

  “Approximately half. All left with a purse full of silver.” He groaned lightly but not in pain. “It’s to be hoped they haven’t lost it all by now. One of my lieutenants will become captain and form a new fighting force with those who’ve remained. They will have to meld in with your folk.”

  “Speaking of that,” without rising, Kathryn scooted closer to lean against his knee. “There was something new happened at the gathering this morn. A man stood afore me today. He has a croft and a wee bit of land, and his complaint was that a mercenary had stolen his woman by flashing his silver at her.”

  He grinned. “Only his silver? That canny be right. None of my men who stayed behind have received their shares yet, for the simple reason that it might cause trouble.”

  “Mayhap you should warn them, warn your men that Grogan might stir up trouble.”

  “That won’t stop them. These men are mercenaries, used to taking what they want.” He thought Kathryn would hate him for bringing his men here if she knew what they were capable of when the blood lust was upon them and a city was being sacked. It was a way of life for these men, one he hoped they could change. He had high hopes for the ones who had decided to stay. As he had, they claimed they had had enough of war and wanted to settle down. And mayhap they did, though until a month ago, none of them had known what awaited them at the Dun Bhuird, the way he had. None of them had known a woman who visited them in their dreams with promises of love, the way he had been blessed.

  “Which lass is it? Is she married to Grogan?”

  Kathryn shook her head. “I don’t know but I can find out. He says they’re not married, nor hand-fasted, for I did ask. I also told him that as he hadn’t been bothered to make her feel secure then he had no sort of claim on her, that she could choose whom she wanted.” She was silent for a moment, before saying, “Mayhap it’s best we wait. Should either of them take the quarrel any farther then we can step in, hear them out and sit in judgement upon it … you and me together. Does that sit all right with you?”

  “It does that; I’m sure you have the right of it. And if that doesn’t work, I can knock the men’s heads together and send the lass away, as I would have done in the first place.” He laughed when he saw her expression change to one of shock and disgust. “Now who doesn’t know when she’s being teased. I’ll tell you what I will do. I will keep all the men, yours and mine, twice as busy as they were before, and by nightfall they will all be too tired to think on tupping lasses.”

  Kathryn giggled, a small girlish sound he’d never heard her make before. She stood up resting a hand on his knee to assist her. “Long days and hard work have never slowed ye down at night.”

  He covered her hand with his and drew them both higher till hers rested on the inside of his thigh. “Not all men are like me,” he grinned slyly, “with a witch for a wife. For surely you have enchanted me, lass, since I can’t get enough of you.”

  Her hand rubbed the tensing skin that covered his thigh, then laughed once again—this time a rich, full-bodied sound that came from low down in her belly, as if she wanted him as much as he wanted her. “We can’t, Gavyn, not without hurting you. Too much movement will set the wound bleeding again and, as I’ve told you before, I’ve no wish to train another husband.

  He pulled her hand higher up the inside of his thigh until there could be no mistaking the heat that burned beneath the breacan-an-feile. “There are other ways, lass. Unfasten my belt and let me train you in them.

  Naked, Kathryn sprawled across Gavyn’s knee, her head on his shoulder away from his wounded ribs. She felt incapable of moving, and why would she when the fingers of his left hand drew circles on her breast and teased her nipple until it puckered up hard and red like an almost ripe bramble—the kind of fruit Gavyn delighted in eating. His right hand rested on the curls hiding her sex, fingers playing with her fair curls, colouring she believed came to her from ancient times when a Norsewoman had married a Comlyn male and changed the look of the family forever.

  This was all so different from the marriage she had expected. Aye, he was a hard man, one who took no excuses for a job poorly done. But that was not the man he became once he crossed the threshold into their bedchamber.

  It was unthinkable, tragic, but she almost wished he would get hurt more often so she could care for him. She could only be happy that her marriage hadn’t ended up the way Brodwyn had forecast, with a man who thought of naught but his own pleasure.

  No sooner thought than… “Open for me, lass,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me thank you for being an obedient wife.” She gasped, drew in a rush of air in an attempt to set him straight, when she realised he was teasing her again.

  Letting her leg hang down the outside of his, she was struck by a notion of how she would feel should Lhilidh walk in on them in such a lascivious position. Then she remembered instructing her never to enter their apartments without knocking when Gavyn was inside.

  “What we spoke of earlier, about the both groups of men clashing, mayhap using someone we care for—the lads, Lhilidh. I worry about Lhilidh if some man should hurt her. For all that Lhilidh’s mother was never without a man in her bed, the lass is a naïve wee thing, and I don’t want her to come to any harm.”

  His fingertip dipped through her curls and circled. She tensed with anticipation, waiting for him to touch the place where both his hands and his mouth could drive her wild.

  Meanwhile, Gavyn nipped her ear lobe. His breath was hot and damp in her ear as he whispered, “You a
re right to worry. I have seen how she turns the men’s heads as she passes by.”

  Kathryn shuddered, almost missing his promise as delight became more important than anything else at that moment.

  “If it pleases you, lass, I’ll assign Nhaimeth to have a care for her, and where he goes, so do Rob and Jamie. They won’t let any harm come to her.”

  If her mind hadn’t been overtaken by her husband’s wicked touch, she might have been inclined to say that mayhap it was Rob and Jamie that Nhaimeth should be keeping an eye on. However, it was too late. In less than a month, he had transformed her from a virgin into a woman who craved his touch, his possession, and who could barely think when she was in his arms. If she had been able to think she might have pondered the fact that she hadn’t had her courses since Gavyn returned to Dun Bhuird.

  Chapter 13

  Somehow they had all ended up in the stables, all three—Rob and Jamie and Nhaimeth. Lhilidh had trailed along as well, but to Nhaimeth’s mind, she hardly counted as one whole person, being such a wee slip of a thing. Supper was long past, and neither Farquhar nor his lady had attended. Lhilidh reckoned she wouldn’t be needed till morning.

  It gave Nhaimeth a warm feeling to note that Kathryn was getting on fine with Farquhar. For some peculiar reason—though he was unlikely to claim the relationship to her face—after all was said and done, she was still his sister. To his way of thinking, blood ties carried some responsibility, and he didn’t blame Kathryn for their father anymore than he blamed Lhilidh for her mother.

  It was still daylight, but nights in the north were either over too soon or never ending and he had long ago decided that the long summer ones were to make up for the short half-dark days of midwinter when the sun barely appeared. Tonight the sky was like the inside of a blue ball stretching frae mountain to mountain. If they were blessed by the auld Norse gods, then one of those nights, the lights might dance in the sky, for that was a sight to behold.

  Not, however, if they were stuck in the stables. After all these years, he still didnae ken what it was with Jamie and horses. “How much longer, Jamie? It’s very malodourous in here for a wee lass. Horse piss is bad enough but, well, the least said about the rest…”

  “It is just that his fetlock is hot to the touch. It hasn’t been right since we rode through the Forest of Marr. I have to look after him, for I’ll never find his equal.”

  “You say that about all your horses,” added Rob.

  Jamie laughed out loud and the chestnut gelding shifted at the noise, pushing Lhilidh aside. “Well if that’s the way of it, what I say about them must be true, for you wouldn’t brand me a liar.” His grin widened. “At least not to my face.”

  He hunkered down beside the gelding, rubbing its fetlock with some brew he had persuaded Kathryn to make for his horse, mumbling from under the curve of the bay’s belly, “Why don’t you lads walk Lhilidh back to the hall. After this afternoon’s contretemps there might be some entertainment.”

  Nhaimeth stared at Jamie and shook his head, not in reply but in dismay. “Ever since you went to court, you’ve been trying to impress us with the French words you picked up there.”

  Jamie hesitated for a moment from the task of pouring some of the horse liniment onto a cloth. The only thing in the brew’s favour was the way the stench overrode the prevailing smell of horse that Jamie had become immune to.

  “Come away, Lhilidh.” Nhaimeth gasped on a mouthful of fumes, indicting the direction to her with a jerk of his head.

  “Aye, and I’ll go with you,” Rob told them all with a wrinkle of his nose. “Standing around, watching Jamie fussing over Faraday is not very entertaining.’

  Jamie just glowered. Nhaimeth was wise enough to know it was Rob the look was meant for, as Jamie realised he had just given Rob a chance to accompany Lhilidh back to the hall without him.

  “I’ll follow as soon as I’m finished here. I won’t be long.” Jamie’s abrupt reminder sounded more like a warning, but Nhaimeth and Rob were used to his foolish, lovelorn ways—foolish since there was no way in the world Jamie’s father would countenance such a match.

  Most of Jamie’s zeal, though, could be laid at the door of competing with Rob.

  Aye, Nhaimeth thought, there was nae need for the McArthur to worry about these two. Just listening to them he could tell they were both still bairns.

  Following on the two young ones’ heels as they walked toward the brae leading back to the hall, Nhaimeth could hear Lhilidh telling Rob, “I hope there isn’t a scrap tonight. All right for you and Jamie, but it makes me nervous. I’ve never afore seen as much blood as yon that came out of the Laird. I thought I might swoon clean away until Kathryn said to me, ‘Lhilidh, you are made of hardier stuff than that’, so I just took a deep breath and did what she asked.”

  Brodwyn got most pleasure listening to other folks’ conversations when they had no notion she was there. Tonight in the stables, she had smiled to herself at the ridiculous rivalry between Jamie and Rob, and all over a wee bit mouse of a lassie. Rob she didn’t much care about, but Jamie, he was the aulder, a good strapping lad ready for some horseplay, she’d be bound. And not the horse whose rump he was running his hand over. Now if he’d stroke her arse that way, she could guarantee he would get a much better result.

  “It’s a fine stallion ye have there,” she said, coming up behind them. The lad jumped but the horse didn’t budge. Placid. That was good to know.

  “He’s not a stallion, he’s a gelding,” he informed her, but she could hear a wee quaver in his voice, as if she made him nervous, which was all to the good.

  She came and stood beside him, away from the end that kicked, and ran her hand under the horse’s middle down to where it had been cut “You mean they’ve taken away his manhood?” she asked rubbing her hand up and down its warm belly while taking note of Jamie’s eyes following her every move.

  His answer was a mere unsteady nod of his head, and when she turned into him, lifting her chin to face him, he attempted to move back a pace. However, she refused to let him, halting any chance of flight by clinging to the front of his handsome linen shirt. The Ruthven clan was rich and had land and silver coming out their ears, as the saying went.

  “That’s too bad,” she whispered, keeping her voice low and sultry, her warm breath brushing his lips. “All the same, I bet you more than make up for it,” she groaned, running her hand down the front his plaid. And there she found it—long, hard and unused, just waiting for some direction.

  The lad was speechless, his mouth hung open and sweat clung to his top lip as she rubbed the length of him up and down enclosed by his worsted plaid. “Do ye like that?” she murmured. What could the lad do but nod his head, while she reached on the tips of her toes and covered his open mouth with her own, pushing her tongue inside as his big hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her closer. She didn’t often kiss men, didn’t like the taste of Harald, but with this lad she made an exception. Rules were made to be broken and, och, but he was so eager.

  Brodwyn gripped his prick while she fenced with his tongue, but not too tight. He was young and strong and she didn’t want it to be over too fast. Tonight she would enjoy herself. She pulled her mouth away from his, pleased to hear him protest as he moved one hand down to palm her breast, but he quieted when she slid her hand under his kilted plaid and let him feel her warm skin on his swollen flesh. “Lead me to a pile of clean straw and I’ll show you what to do with this.”

  This time he made no protest about having to tend to his horse.

  There was a piper playing in the hall. They could all hear it as they climbed the final wee brae to the ridge. Voices were raised as well, and the noise of half-hearted drunken war-cries followed the notes. Nhaimeth cocked his hand to his ear and said, “Do ye hear that? They’re dancing inside.”

  “I never learned how, but that’ll be the Northumbrian in me coming out. I can’t remember what they played there—a harp or a whistle most like. Nothing that
stirs the blood like the pipes can.”

  “I never learned either,” Nhaimeth cast a grin at Lhilidh and twirled around afore making a wee bow, imitating Jamie. “I never had the legs for it.”

  “None of that, Nhaimeth. Your days of playing the Fool are o’er,” said Rob. Yet he couldn’t keep back the guffaw ticking his throat. “Not that your steps didn’t stir up a bit of laughter, as you knew they would.”

  Lhilidh chimed in with, “It was always one of yer best, Nhaimeth. I remember when I was a bairn, you always used to make Geala and me laugh. She liked to watch the men dance as well. She would have enjoyed all this in the days before she got sick.”

  Rob patted her thin shoulders with a big hand, long fingers. He had and a wide palm, yet he never cast up to Nhaimeth the dwarf’s not being able to get his fingers around some of the sword grips in the armoury at Cragenlaw. “You must miss your mother, Lhilidh. I can remember not being able to understand what had happened when my grandfather died. He was a great horseman, yet they said he was thrown and killed. We found out later it wasn’t true. Yon one you called an Arabian potentate took him hunting in the woods and killed him. After that, Morag and I had to leave Wolfsdale, our home.” His words held little happiness yet he grinned. “I found my father at the end of our travails, so it was all worthwhile. You’ll see Lhilidh, something good will happen for you. Just you wait and see.

  Rob had a way of easing folks’ sorrows, and he had done the same for Nhaimeth after Astrid died, though at the time neither of them had an inkling she had died giving birth to Rob’s wee brother, or half-brother—the same relationship that linked Nhaimeth and Kathryn, though she too was none the wiser.