Chieftain By Command Page 21

  The piper was tuning up again and the lads took a wee break to rearrange the swords and make sure they were still laid in a cross on the ground afore them. Nhaimeth looked back up over his shoulder and smirked as he saw Lhilidh and Kathryn looking down on both lads frae the lip of the ridge.

  And why shouldn’t he smile?

  Why shouldn’t Lhilidh have her moment?

  She deserved to have a small, secret belief that that the lads were duelling over her. It was little enough to ask for a lass who had come frae naught. And life being what it was, Lhilidh would more than likely end up back where she had begun.

  Chapter 22

  “The Dun is buzzing like a hive of bees.” Kathryn smiled down at Lhilidh. The day of the celebration had arrived, and the shorter wee lass was practically skipping along beside her, so full of excitement she was brimming with it as they left the chieftain’s apartments.

  “Aye,” agreed Lhilidh, “Do ye ever remember such a stir? Better than yer wedding it is. That’s if ye dinnae mind me mentioning that fact.”

  “A lot has changed since then, Lhilidh. More than two years ago, you were hardly more than a bairn.” An answer that evolved into the thought, and I was acting like one.

  Kathryn knew without having to qualify her conclusion that she had matured more in the months since Gavyn returned than in the two years before.

  “Well I’m hardly a bairn anymore,” her wee maid mentioned, drawing herself up to her full height and sticking her small, immature chest out to fill out her kirtle. “And I for one intend to enjoy myself…” she broke off to grin frae ear to ear “…especially the bit where Rob and Jamie dae the dance over crossed swords. Now that will be something new, and not just for me; the whole clan will be hooching in time with the piper and clapping hands tae see what happens.”

  “So which of the lads do you fancy? Rob or Jamie?” Some might think it was none of Kathryn’s business yet, to her, Lhilidh wasn’t any ordinary maid. She felt like a wee sister and yon feelings came with a big dollop of responsibility—a lot more than was required of her for the task of being the Lady of Dun Bhuird.

  “Och, that’s easy. It has tae be Rob. Jamie is nae as easy tae ken. It’s as if he’s hiding a secret. Rob is more open, cheery. He’s such a braw lad. I want him tae win the duel. What dae ye think?” she asked as they reached the large double doors, thrown open because of all the foot traffic passing in and out.

  Afore Kathryn could answer, they were jostled frae behind and Lhilidh swung round like a wee linty to give them the rough edge of her tongue. “Have care for yer Lady and the future of the clan she’s carryin’ in her belly.”

  Kathryn felt her cheeks darken with embarrassment, as she looked around for the housecarls who normally guarded the door and kept an eye on her when she was outside. But there was no sign of them.

  “Hush, Lhilidh,” she whispered, ashamed to recognise that the maid sounded prouder of the bairn than she did herself. “Don’t take on so. It’s not as if there is anything to see, and I hate the thought of everyone giving my belly measuring glances to see how fat I’m getting.”

  “Dinnae feel discomfited. Most folk are right happy to ken yer carrying the heir. The only one that didnae act over the moon is yer cousin Brodwyn. I saw her face when she heard. She’s jealous of ye. Her eyes went all green and screwed-up like. If I were the Lady here, I would send her back to the place she came frae, and yon Harald with her. There’s naught about either of them that would be missed.”

  Lhilidh was wiser than she appeared, braver or mayhap had less empathy for Brodwyn than she had discovered in the last few months. There had been a time when she might have been Brodwyn, the youngest daughter hanging around the Dun like an afterthought … and now? Now she had everything she could want.

  A man to share her life with, a man to love.

  Aye, she had come to the realisation that she loved Gavyn but wasn’t certain that he could ever love her. Ach, he acted as if he cared—‘acted’ being the important word. She didn’t have the experience to tell whether his tenderness was for her or for the bairn she carried and pride in himself for having planted it in her.

  Turning to Lhilidh, she gave her the advice she needed to take for herself. “Let’s not think on that now. Tonight is all about enjoyment, and the clansfolk have had little enough of that for a while. Too busy worrying about running into a murderer round every corner.”

  Kathryn looked over the lip of the ridge. Bonfires were burning in the Bailey, and the earliest fires had someone tending the red coals as they turned the spits. The scent of cooking meat floated up to her, and she reached in her pouch for a crumb or two of dry bread to stave off any unwelcome pangs of sickness. “Come on,” she told the lass, “Nhaimeth will be looking for you. If I were you I’d stay with him if you want to get in on all the entertainment. You can leave me by Gavyn, then go and find the wee man.”

  “I’ll dae that, nae bother.” She pulled her plaid closer and looked up at the night sky where the smoke drifted across, drawing a veil across the stars. “There is a wee nip in the air. I’ll miss Nhaimeth when he goes back tae Cragenlaw, but winter will be here before we know it and the lads willnae stay here.”

  A thread of sadness tangled through Lhilidh’s words as they strode side by side down the wee brae leading to the Bailey, and that made Kathryn ask, “Will you miss Rob as well?”

  “Aye, that I will, but happen I’m not daft enough to believe he’ll miss me for very long once he gets back to Cragenlaw.”

  Kathryn nodded, her eyes already on Gavyn where he stood by Magnus, both of them next to one of the fires lit to warm the night air. She would be happy to see Lhilidh snatch a little happiness while she could, refusing to feel despondent at how practical the lass was forcing herself to be. She acted years beyond her age, but then that had been her fate for years as daughter of a woman like Geala.

  Aye, Kathryn was certain life at Dun Bhuird would soon change for the better, but only for some.

  The stable loft felt like the quietest place in the Dun, separate frae the crowds that milled round the fires. Most of them more interested in filling their bellies and getting drunk than in keeping warm. As for Brodwyn, the soft, fresh straw in the loft felt like a different world where only she and Jamie existed.

  She lay on her side, stroking him, feeling his rod grow under her fingers. The scent of their previous exertions hung in air warmed by the horses in the stalls below them, and breathing it in made her excited again, want him again.

  ‘Ye should go now. I want ye but I dinnae want to sap yer strength for the duel. I can already hear the pipers tuning up,” she murmured, then pushed away frae him to study his features, to memorise them. She licked her lips, ran her tongue around them until they were moist then looked down at his iron-hard length in her hand. His recovery speed was naught less than miraculous.

  “No!” he growled, his denial slicing the silence with its vehemence.

  “I’ll make it easy for you, dae all the work,” she said, cursing inwardly that it sounded as if she were pleading with him. That wasn’t her; she never pleaded, she demanded.

  “I don’t want ye to do all the work. I want to ride you, to fuck you until you scream for release, to hell with the duel. If there is one to be fought it’s here between you and me.” It was then she realised the lad she had first seduced was nae more. He was a man now and, God love him, it was she had made him.

  She was trembling as she rolled onto her back in the straw and spread her legs. Opening her arms for him, she said, “Dae with me what ye will, for I’m yer slave tae command.”

  Brodwyn smiled as he thrust inside her and pounded into her as hard and as fast as he was able. She would remember this night—not for the celebrations taking place outside. Nae, she would keep in her memory the knot of wood in the silvery grey planks that made up the ceiling and the way it seemed to move in time with the spikes of pleasure Jamie engendered in her womb.

  There was something to b
e said for youthful energy, and surely even Harald, if he ever found her out, wouldnae begrudge her indulging herself one last time with the only man that made the experience feel like love.

  A climactic sensation made her want to laugh with happiness, as she fell apart one last time in Jamie’s arms.

  Not satisfied with a lone piper, Gavyn discovered, Nhaimeth had exerted all his powers of persuasion and ended up with three. The tuning up of their instrument had always seemed like moments of excruciating pain to Gavyn. Yet tonight he perceived the sound added a certain majesty to the worn plaids that the pipers had kilted round their hips, the way the kilts swung as nimble fingers flew up and down the chanters and their feet tapped to the rhythm. Overhead, the strips of wool holding the drones in place might be frayed, yet the ragged ends floated gaily in the draughts of hot air swirling around the bonfires. As with everyone near the fires, yellow and red reflections flickered across the pipers’ serious features and glinted off the light of pride in their eyes.

  Neither he nor Kathryn had envisioned what the news of a future heir—future chieftain—would mean to the clan.

  Kathryn was standing in front of him, and although the fire threw heat down the side of her nearest to the flames, yet now he could feel a wee nip in the breeze flowing down on them frae the top of Bienne á Bhuird. She leaned back against his chest as if to steal his warmth, and he sensed that no matter how high they piled the fires she would still feel chilled.

  Releasing the end of the plaid slanting over his shoulder, he wrapped it around both of them, pulling her closer. A smile tilting her lips, Kathryn looked up at him frae under her eyelashes as she tipped her head back into the hollow in his shoulder. Strange that in a few short months, he had learned to read her expression, to know what was on her mind, and at the moment, she was thinking on the way his cock had grown long and hard against the curve of her buttocks.

  He bent his head to speak close to her, to the hollow of her ear, “Feel that, do you? That’s need and want, and I can’t turn it off, and now you know your hold o’er me, my body, my mind.” He flexed his shoulders to ease the tension, aware what she might make out of his confession.

  An experienced warrior took care not to show any vulnerability, to give no hint of ways he might be taken down, but Kathryn wasn’t his enemy, she was his wife—though anybody that remembered his return to Dun Bhuird could have been forgiven for imagining otherwise after Kathryn shot that arrow at him.

  He could laugh about it now, yet when it happened, the blood had pounded in his ears and the tip of his tongue had ached where he had bitten it to prevent roaring at his beautiful young wife, whose first notion on seeing him had been to kill him. The week he had spent here before taking his mercenaries to France hadn’t been long enough to comprehend the way a place like Dun Bhuird—or should that be ownership of Dun Bhuird—could hook its claws into her soul and make any attempt to take it away seem life threatening.

  But that was the way of thoughts. How both new and auld could tangle in your mind as you relaxed, could let the devil bring notions to your attention that normally you wouldn’t have put side by side.

  In charge, Nhaimeth had seen that the sword patterns were crossed fairly. Rob and Jamie poised to dance a duel, the heirs to two clans—Young McArthur a smile on his lips like a taunt and Ruthven grim-faced and serious, as if the blades were shining in their hands instead of on the dirt at their feet.

  Nhaimeth had no notion what had changed betwixt them, for it was nothing obvious, though it showed more in Jamie than in Rob.

  For all that was going on around him, Gavyn couldn’t rid his imagination of the notion that the two murders were aimed at taunting him … the reason being that he was now Chieftain of Bienne á Bhuird, yet that didn’t make him a Comlyn.

  All it did was ascertain he was a chieftain only by the King’s command.

  Kathryn’s foot echoed the insistent beat of the music as the lads gave the duel all they had. Sweat ran down their chests from their necks and shoulders. Glowing in the firelight, Rob’s dark hair plastered to his scalp and Jamie’s straight brown locks flopped across his high forehead. They were built like men yet had none of the scars and nicks carved into the skin of seasoned warriors like himself—like a guid few of the men drinking ale and cheering on the lads as the rhythm grew faster and faster. He looked around the faces, mouths open, yelling, barracking, and he wondered which of them was the murderer.

  He looked around the crowd, seeking out Magnus’ weathered features among them. Before the celebration had reached the zenith of its mounds of food and barrels of ale, the constable had caught his arm as he walked past with Kathryn. “A minute of yer time,” he’d asked.

  “That’s all I can give ye,” he’d told him, keeping an eye on Kathryn’s hips as she sauntered over to talk to Abelard while he gave ear to what Magnus wanted to tell him.

  “I discovered a translation for the runes frae an auld man living in one of the crofts with his daughter. He tells me it says, ‘The Dragon Slayer’. Then he mumbled that there hadn’t been one of them around for many a year.”

  Gavyn remembered Magnus grinning when he watched his amazed expression. “Aye,” he finished, releasing the grip on Gavyn’s arm. “I haven’t finished with it yet; somebody else is bound to have heard of this Dragon Slayer, and as soon as I have the answer I’ll come and tell ye.”

  Now Gavyn wanted to leave the dancers behind and follow the constable and ask him who, apart frae his wife when they first married, had had that kind of reason to hate him.

  Behind them someone had thrown a meat bone on to the fire nearest them. Gavyn heard it sizzle and spit amongst the flames until the fat seared and the smell of food was lost in acrid smoke.

  “Ugh.” Kathryn’s hand covered her mouth. “Get me away from the smell. I think I’ll be sick. It’s awful.”

  “In truth, it’s hardly what any soul with a nose would call pleasant. However, it’s getting late. Why don’t I fetch Lhilidh to walk back to the hall with you?” He found himself shouting over the piping which had reached a crescendo, and suddenly Rob and Jamie were collapsing, falling over each other, laughing silently frae lack of breath. As he watched, Gavyn found a moment to silently congratulate Nhaimeth for his notion of pitting the lads against each other in a contest where neither of them got hurt. And when Nhaimeth left Lhilidh’s side to go over to the lads, Gavyn went up to the maid. “Kathryn’s not feeling great. Will you walk back to the hall with her?”

  “Och, aye. Nae bother. The best is over now anyhow. Nhaimeth named it a draw, but personally I think Rob won. I willnae tell Jamie that though,” she confided in him with a quiet laugh.

  Lhilidh was really a little dab of a thing, as were many children who grew up in the crofts scattered around the Dun. With a child of his own on the way, it made him wonder whether the chests filled with silver that he had brought back frae France could help counter that problem. It took wealth to buy good seed—to breed healthy stock to feed the clan and their bairns when the hunting was at its worst. Some might name it altruism, but he could easily qualify any notions that he had gone soft by the truth that strong sons made strong warriors.

  Tiny or not, he was happy to watch Lhilidh push a path through the revellers and, after laughing as she turned her head in the direction of Rob and Jamie, she began to walk at Kathryn’s side back to chieftain’s apartments where his wife could be comfortable.

  Loyalty like Lhilidh gave Kathryn couldn’t be bought, and being family didn’t guarantee the same devotion. He had only to look at Brodwyn as an example. That dour-faced lass just couldn’t get past the jealousy she felt toward her cousin. When everything else—the murders—were settled at the Dun, it would be up to him to settle that knotty matter.

  Nhaimeth was satisfied that he had helped put an end to the tension that had been developing between Rob and Jamie. For himself, he didn’t mind. Though he liked Jamie, his friendship had never meant as much to him as did Rob’s.

&nbs
p; Rob was the brother he liked to imagine Alexander might have become, if his life hadn’t been snuffed out while he was naught but a young lad. Aye, he imagined that could have happened, even though his young brother had never been aware he was a part of the family. Hardly a soul outside of his young friends was aware that in truth he was a Comlyn.

  “Dae ye remember the night that Graeme became betrothed to Jamie’s sister and he and Euan danced over the swords?” They both nodded and Nhaimeth went on, “I willnae say ye were as guid as them, but I was still proud of ye. Ye both helped make the celebration something to remember.” Smiling to himself, he winked at the lads. “Mayhap they will let ye come back and dance again after the bairn’s born.”

  You’re talking about us going home soon,” Rob muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to miss it here.”

  “Ha. going to miss Lhilidh you mean,” chipped in Jamie, which earned him a look frae Rob, for they both knew Jamie was up to something or someone but was being sly about it.

  However, all Nhaimeth’s efforts tonight would be for naught if he didn’t change the direction of their thoughts. “There’s already a nip in the air, and yer fathers will be wanting to see ye safe hame long afore yuletide.”

  “There is that,” said Jamie, his expression brightening. “And next spring he intends taking me to court again.”

  “I’m not interested in falderals, but if anybody can tell ye how to go on at court it is Farquhar. I think the King still has his eye on him,” Nhaimeth nudged the conversation towards politics. “I’m told he likes to keep his strongest chieftains on side, and who could blame him. By now he’ll have realised just how much silver Farquhar has under that mountain.”

  “That’s probably why he invites my father. Like Farquhar, Ruthven stands in the way of the Norsemen.” Jamie turned to Rob. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see the McArthur at court this spring, as well.”

  “He used to go, but Morag frets when he is gone, and she won’t accompany him to court because they are not married.” Both Nhaimeth and Jamie were aware of the circumstances that had made Euan McArthur refuse to marry the woman he loved, yet Rob found a need to explain, “They say the Queen is very religious, always at her prayers. Do religious folk believe in curses?”