Chieftain By Command Read online

  “That’s settled then. You and Jamie take the kitchens, Rob and I will search the hall. I have a feeling in my water this situation is becoming urgent.” That said, Gavyn and Rob loped up the slope to the hall while the other two got set to invade the kitchens.

  Most nights, darkness cloaked the ridge. Not tonight. Light frae the fires and torches in the bailey lapped at the rim, spilling over enough light to see by. Just after Kathryn and Lhilidh left for their apartments, long green bands of light waved in the northern sky—mares’ tails he was used to call them. At the time it had felt like an omen, a signal that his feelings for Kathryn were right and true—not that he had needed confirmation to be certain of his own heart.

  Now as he walked with Rob to the hall’s entrance, he felt another signal, the kind known to save a life. As the skin at the back of his neck tensed and the hairs on it stood up, as if the raven’s feathers formed a ruff, he stretched an arm wide like a black wing stretched in front of the lad, bringing him to a halt.

  For the first time since he came to Dun Bhuird, no housecarls stood next to the giant carved pillars either side of the huge doors.

  Eyes narrowed due to more than the dim light, he spoke to Rob, “Can you think of any reason for the housecarls to leave their posts?”

  He could tell from the way Rob’s skin clung tightly to the high cheekbones, so like his father’s, that his wariness had found a mirror in the lad’s features.

  Keeping his voice low with a rough edge to it Rob said, “I don’t like this. The hall is unlit. Should we call for the others?”

  “Not yet, we’ll caw canny. In France they have a saying about flying where angels fear to go. We will be ravens, unseen in the darkness, able to enter, to see without being discovered.”

  Still as stones in a circle, they stood flattened against the doors either side of the entrance, letting their eyes adjust. A flat whisper reached him, skimming across the empty space betwixt them, “All I can see is the Bear’s shield above your chair. There’s a torch still burning back there, but nobody looks to be moving.”

  Gavyn sniffed, his nose curled, offended. “Can you smell that? Focus on the centre of the hall where the fire pit is dug into the floor. There is someone there, I’m certain of it. You creep round that side and I’ll take this one. He flicked his fingers signalling Rob to start.

  It felt strange, the hall being this empty, this silent. No maids chattering or men moaning over the work expected of them. The lack of sound fell into his ears like lead, as if he had become deaf. The farther he moved into the hall, the clearer the figure at the centre became, tall yet with shoulders hunched over, unmoving, still as death.

  As death…

  Keeping his outline lowered, he crept closer.

  Naught moved.

  Naught spoke.

  A light draught frae the door swirled, washed the smell toward him. It filled his head until, like Kathryn, he wanted to vomit.

  Kathryn!

  God’s blood, he had been so caught up with finding Magnus, discovering the name of the Dragon Slayer—the murderer—his bête noir…

  Where was his wife?

  The man—the dead body above the fire pit—twisted among the chains holding it upright. His gut clenched. Every particle of humanity inside him wanted to rage and shout, to roar Kathryn’s name. Dredging up every single mite of self-control, he snarled. “There’s nobody here, Rob.” Nobody alive. “Find a torch and bring it to me. I can light it in the fire pit.”

  And light it he did, lit the torch to face the horror hanging in chains frae the roof beams. His heart twisted in his chest. Aye, he was sorry to lose a good friend, but he knew worse was to come. “We have to find Kathryn … and Lhilidh; she was with her.”

  Rob’s face turned as ashen as the wood in the pit. “Lhilidh? Do you think who did this has the lasses?”

  “What better way to hurt me? It has to be Harald,” Gavyn slurred the name over his lips in a sneer. “Self-styled Dragon Slayer. However this Raven will peck out yon false dragon’s eyeballs afore this is done.” He bent a knee to pick up an embroidered linen kerchief that looked like the herb-scented one Kathryn carried in the pocket of her kirtle to guard against feeling sick all the time.

  His chest heaving, he lifted the linen to his nose, his lungs drowned in the fearful sorrow of feeling certain that Harald had stolen his wife. “I’ll search the chieftain’s apartments, but I doubt if they’ll be there. Rob, you run and fetch the others frae the kitchens, and Abelard too, if he’s there. Someone needs must tend to Magnus. Not us, though. Abelard will have to cope with this dastardly murder until I find Kathryn.”

  He wanted to dive headlong into a search for her, but his training as a leader had been hard won, and not by acting without forethought, planning.

  Rob turned as if to do as he was asked, then stopped to take another look at the constable, eyes goggling at the way Magnus’ skin had blackened above the smouldering coals, showing red where blisters had split revealing flesh and blood. “Do you think the lasses saw this?”

  “I do. I think this is the work of a lunatic—a name I think applies well to Harald. Who else, but a lunatic would try to kill your father out in the open bailey of his own castle. Frae what Nhaimeth told us, I now have a notion of the reasons behind the murders. I’m of the opinion that the killings of Grogan, then Findlay were done in order to cause dissension betwixt my mercenaries and the clansmen. However, he tried to be over-clever and that was the downfall of his scheme. Now, he’s after securing my attention, and I swear to God he’ll rue the day he sought to come under the raven’s eye.”

  Gavyn snatched the torch burning at the end of the hall and rushed to his apartments. They were empty, but he had expected no less.

  Guilt burned in his belly. Pride had brought this down on his head. He had gotten his wife with child and wanted the whole of Dun Bhuird to know what a man they had in their Chieftain.

  Pride.

  An heir. What did that mean to a soul so filled with envy he would slaughter innocent folk to strike back? Aye and the silver sitting under the mountain—a boy’s boast meant for the clan’s ear. See what I can do. See how I will tend to my clan.

  Fool.

  All the treasures he had carted over the sea frae France, naught but temptation of the highest degree, even among family. He and Kathryn should have learned frae history. Family … learned frae yon killing cousins, Duncan and Macbeth and Canmore—a disease he needs must cut out of the Comlyn clan.

  It was the smell that brought Kathryn to her sense. Her first waking thought was of Gavyn. Then the mixture of horse and sour male sweat revealed that it wasn’t he who held her.

  A horse was moving under her and a man’s bulky arm crushed her ribs. Panic took control as she discovered she couldn’t see. She struggled, twisting, pushing away from beneath the weight of the arm pressing her closer to the man scent that wasn’t …. “Gavyn!” she shouted her husband’s name.

  “She’s coming around.” The voice had a rough burr but wasn’t familiar.

  “Hostage.” She whispered the word under her breath. Why? Then she realised—the ransom would be Gavyn’s silver.

  “Control the wench. Yer big enough and ugly enough.” Even if she hadn’t recognised the voice, the sneer would be unmistakeable.

  Harald. He had always envied them—first her father then on down through her family frae Astrid until her. He’d pretended to love Astrid, but Kathryn was wise enough to realise her sister would simply have been a means to his ambitious ends.

  She had been an idiot and felt sorry for him, knowing his final chance to become chieftain had been snatched from his grasp when Malcolm Canmore decided to marry her off to some stranger. At that stage, God help her, Harald would have been preferable to the king’s man frae the south and, truth be told, when Brodwyn pleaded for her to rescind her father’s orders, she had given in and let Harald return. More fool her.

  Now look what she had received for her trouble. Who woul
d have thought walking through her own hall with Lhilidh by her side would lead to this?

  Where was Lhilidh?

  She shouted her name, “Lhilidh!” and in return got a hard cuff round the ear that sent her back to that dark place she had gone in the hall, sinking down with the memory of Magnus hooked up among the chains the way they had found him.

  “God have mercy on his soul,” Abelard mourned, a hand clenched around the cross he always wore, as if he were more man of God than man of accounts who kept Dun Bhuird in all the supplies necessary for a great hall and its clanfolk to survive in good times or in bad.

  Meanwhile, Nhaimeth stood listening beside the seneschal, careful not to reveal the dire vengeful thoughts circling his brain—yet who would wonder at it if he did? Apart frae Rob, all he had left were one sister by blood and another, Lhilidh, sister of the heart.

  Midwife aside, he had been the first to see Lhilidh after her birth. She had been a sweet-natured bairn, and age hadn’t changed that.

  He could see Rob was fretting to be off and doing by the way his fingers flexed into fists, as if he would hit the first one to say him nae. “If we don’t get away, they’ll be so far ahead we’ll never catch them.”

  Farquhar appeared to summon all his experience as a leader as he told them, “It’s no use rushing around like headless chickens. Nhaimeth, this dragon slayer ancestor—where did he make his home?”

  “That side of his family came frae the northwest, Caithness lands. As much as Harald and Brodwyn may call Kathryn cousin, they are both full cousins to the Jarl of Caithness and Orkney.”

  Of the mercenaries remaining with Gavyn at Dun Bhuird, he had one lieutenant at the Dun who had fought for him in France. A long, tall stripling when they first met at Cragenlaw, John Gibson had grown into his strong features and proved his worth over and over.

  Farquhar had sent word to him with the nearest manservant and chased off another one to seek out Harald and Brodwyn. While that was happening, he himself hurried off to the chieftain’s apartments. They’d all arrived back at roughly the same moment, this time having to fight their way through a crowd of stragglers frae the bailey, now that the celebration had faded away.

  John, rosy-cheeked frae the cold sting in the breeze that flowed down the mountain of a night-time, arrived swiftly, and gradually the noise in the hall increased, battering at Nhaimeth’s ears with the wailing and weeping of the female variety, underlaid by a rough-bed of male curses—oaths that covered more shock and emotions than a throng man dared admit—proof that the Clan looked up to Magnus, held him to be a fair man, generally well liked, trusted. The truth of the matter was that the Constable would be missed, unlike Harald or even Brodwyn who, according to the man Gavyn had set in search of them, were nowhere to be found—bare facts that spoke for themselves.

  The lieutenant, a precise man, always presented himself as if for a battle and wore the Farquhar’s raven with pride. He strode up to Farquhar saying, “I can round up the men, but as ye would expect, most have been celebrating.” He nodded in the direction of Magnus’ viciously slashed body. “Whoever planned this slaughter picked the perfect night with everybody distracted.”

  Behind Gibson, Gavyn caught a glimpse of Abelard and the lads’ arrival, the auld seneschal’s face as grey as his slain friend’s and no doubt as bad as Nhaimeth’s.

  Farquhar’s mouth flattened, as if to keep his anger far enough inside so it wouldn’t hurt those around him. “It’s more than just a murder. Yon bastards have stolen away with Lady Kathryn and her wee maid.”

  “I’ll sober the men up if I have to kick their arses and duck their heads into the water butts.” He turned to do just that, then paused. “What say you? A job for yon big dogs we brought hame frae France? About time they proved their worth.”

  “Aye see to it. Assemble all the men outside on the rim. I’ll join you in a few minutes.” As soon as Gibson wove a path through the crowd, Gavyn waved Abelard over. Gripping his hand in a hard grip, he said, “I know it’s asking a lot o’ you for, by rights, it should me tending to Magnus. It’s what he deserves; however, I can’t put off time and needs must leave this in your hands. I have to go in search of Kathryn and Lhilidh.”

  If such a thing were possible the auld man’s face grew whiter. “God’s blood. Who…?”

  “The Dragon Slayer.” Gavyn chewed up the words and spat them out. Harald had high ambitions, and no doubt this move was supposed to force his hand. What churned in Gavyn’s gut was the knowledge that he hadn’t acted to banish the blackguard the day he had cut him. Banish—hell, he should have killed him. Aye, it curdled his gut that his own inaction had given Harald the wrong notion of the new chieftain of Dun Bhuird.

  “The what?” He watched Abelard ponder the question, silently turning the name over in his mouth. “You mean the name on the knife Magnus wanted translating? Wasn’t that the name of some ancient hero?”

  “Nhaimeth will explain. He’s the lad who told me.” Trusting the wee man to carry out his wishes, he turned the other lads. “I need to make plans. Rob, you go and fetch something Kathryn will have worn, for the dogs to get her scent from. Jamie, you fetch horses for you, Rob and me so we can follow the dogs.”

  “I might be able to help with that.”

  Gavyn looked down in the direction of Nhaimeth’s voice. “Did you see them leave?”

  “Nae, but there’s only one place Harald can go for help—the only place with nae fear of any clan frae the Northeast Highlands. He’ll be on his way to Caithness where the Jarl is cousin to both him and Brodwyn. With him at their backs, that pair will have nae doubts about becoming the Chieftain and his Lady—”

  Jamie broke in on Nhaimeth’s explanation.”Brodwyn? Why would she go off with him? A fine lassie like Brodwyn would want nothing to do with a murderer,” he said forcefully, towering over the wee man.

  Instilling his voice with a calm he didn’t feel Gavyn said, “Nhaimeth can explain that as well.” If Jamie had become entangled with that lass, he probably felt he already knew all about women. Easy to see Jamie had taken the big leap into love. He was still of an age when lads thought with their cocks, and Gavyn didn’t have the time or the heart to compound his misapprehension by explaining the difference betwixt lust and love.

  Gavyn knew the difference, and if he lost Kathryn, he would be wishing he had never learned which was which.

  Chapter 25

  The last time Nhaimeth had felt like the centre of attention he had been wearing cap and bells and playing the Fool for Astrid at Cragenlaw. All that ended with the arrival of Morag.

  Strange how he always remembered the occasion as the arrival of Morag and not the death of Astrid—yet that was when his new life began, when it was easier to think of himself as a dwarf rather than a Fool.

  When he had been a Fool, he had haunted Dun Bhuird without anybody noticing his presence—and gained a lot of information he wasn’t entitled to … and some Astrid had given him for free.

  “I ken that by the time we get away, they’ll be at least three hours ahead of us, but they’ll be going around the foot of the mountains, and I ken a shortcut.” He looked at all their faces—Farquhar, Abelard, Rob and Jamie, the last still looking none too happy since he had heard the news about Brodwyn.

  He saw disbelief writ on their faces and could tell they thought he was building himself up, making his family knowledge into something big. “There is a way through the mountain, and nae, it’s not a myth. The way is secret, known only to the Comlyns.”

  Nhaimeth raised his eyebrows, waiting for the ultimate question. They didn’t say a word, but their eyes asked, and he told them, “Under the falls, there’s a tunnel, ancient, with a natural cavern. Astrid showed me. There’s a story the exit was hollowed out by the same folk who built the stone circles at the Orkneys. Folk of the auld religion.”

  Rob didnae actually say it was a load of drivel. Instead he commented, “Doesn’t sound as if it could be much of a secret. Lots of folk must
have been under there.”

  “It’s no’ easy to find, and it’s no’ at the bottom of the falls. It’s closer to the top and not that easy to reach. There are steps cut into the cliff behind the water. It’s not for the faint of heart,” he assured them, “but it can be done. The Bear has done it.”

  That last made all the difference. If the Bear with all his bulk could make it up there, so could they.

  “Show us the way,” Farquhar said.

  And Nhaimeth did.

  The next time Kathryn woke up, she could hear Lhilidh crying. Cold from lying on rough, damp grass, her eyes were blinded by the scratchy worsted plaid wrapped about her head.

  The weave was thick and dark but didn’t shut out noise, which meant she could hear every word Brodwyn spoke, and they weren’t kind. “Oh, whist your bawlin’ and greetin’, Lhilidh. Mop up yer tears and go to sleep. Ye’ll be needing all ye can get after yon Norsemen get a look at yer innocent wee face. After they’re through with ye, though, I very much doubt ye’ll be looking quite so bonnie.’

  “Be quiet, Brodwyn. If ye want her to stop crying, best no’ scare her.”

  The sound of an indrawn breath was audible even behind the plaid, then Brodwyn chuckled, saying, “Och, Harald, are ye feeling a bit grumpy after all the excitement of seeing to Magnus? Mayhap I can make ye feel a bit better. If anybody kens what ye like its me.”

  “For Christ sake, Brodwyn, stop treating me like a bairn, as if I need placating to do what ye want. Everything that was done was what I wanted. I needed no encouragement to kill Magnus. I slaughtered the other two as well. Now there’s something ye didnae ken.”

  “Ye what? But ye went to visit Olaf.”

  “Aye, and managed a wee bit of enjoyment on the way there, though I’ll admit the results were disappointing. I was hoping to set the clansmen and mercenaries at each other’s throats. Making myself indispensible to Kathryn was never going to work, truth to tell. I only went along with it because ye were so keen to have things go yer way.” Kathryn’s spine tingled as she heard Harald give a long, low dirty laugh. “Even going so far as to get down on yer knees afore me and letting me tickle ye with ma belt… Aye ye were desperate—and me, I just enjoyed myself and made sure everything went my way.”