Chieftain By Command Page 27
Brodwyn noticed neither of them afforded Harald as much as a glance, not even when two of the Jarl’s men picked him up between them and carried him off while the Jarl himself went o’er to speak with the Farquhar men. After what had happened this night, she could no longer think of Rob as a lad.
His arms full of Lhilidh, Olaf said, “She reminds me of Geala. Her mother was a beauty when she was young. Erik thought so as well. Her first son was the Bear’s.”
“And his second was Nhaimeth,” said Rob.
Brodwyn’s eyes went wide.
“Now that was something I didnae ken, but I’d like to claim this one as mine,” Olaf said in a voice that brooked no argument. “And I’d like to bury Lhilidh here before we sail. I might not have done anything for her while she lived, but in death she will have all the honours due a Jarl’s daughter.”
He pointed at the little silver hammer glued to her skin by the flames. “This was Geala’s, I gave it to her before I left Dun Bhuird.”
Farquhar nodded. “Though I’m sure Rob would like her laid to rest at Dun Bhuird, it will take us two days to return home. Better that she rest here without suffering all the handling the journey will take.”
“And what of this woman?” the Jarl enquired.
Brodwyn suddenly became aware he was staring in her direction, and her heart sank, knowing she could expect little mercy.
Before Gavyn could answer, Kathryn and Nhaimeth arrived at his side.
Nhaimeth, who could have ruined any claim Harald had of becoming Chieftain of the Comlyn clan. Brodwyn wondered what his story was and how it had been kept secret all these years.
Taking Kathryn into his arms, Farquhar held her close and, unhooking the end of his plaid that he had tucked under his belt, he wiped the smudges of smoke frae her face. “Ye might not agree with what I’m going to say, my love, but it has to be done. Olaf, take her to Ireland with you, mayhap you can exchange her for your wife or sell her as a slave—as long as she is out of Scotland. I believe many men would be grateful for her skills.” He looked directly at Jamie, who could not but blush.
Seeing that, Brodwyn felt certain he would be no help to her. It didn’t avert the need to hold out her hand and call his name. “Jamie…”
He turned his back on her and walked away.
The Jarl’s smile showed no mercy. “Take her aboard my ship,” he told the men standing behind the lieutenant. “We’ll sail as soon as I have buried my daughter.”
His orders were confirmation that she would never win with that man, cousin or no’. She straightened her shoulders and walked between two Norsemen towards the shore. What Farquhar had said about her skills was true, and when she reached Ireland, she would use them to her advantage.
Brodwyn walked off with a backward glance, well aware there was no longer anything waiting for her in the place she would always call home.
The ravens left them as soon as they crossed the boundary into Comlyn territory amongst the Cairngorms. It was as if they were saying ‘yer safe now, we can leave.’
Kathryn certainly felt safer. That, however, was Gavyn’s doing.
To begin with, she had felt confused, dazed, and blamed it on the smoke in her lungs that continued to make her feel breathless. She worried that it might have hurt the bairn, however the wee thing’s movements were unceasing, as if it danced a fling happily around her womb, as if it had suspected how close to death they had been and had made a decision to celebrate their survival.
Gavyn had refused to be separated from her, and she rode in front of him, his arms around her and his hands on the reins, taking it easily, refusing to rush, as well as using the time to talk. “Do you really believe that Lhilidh was his daughter?”
“He believed it. That’s what is important. It might be true. She wore a little carved pendant in the shape of a hammer—a sign of the auld gods. Olaf said he had given it to her mother. Seems, he and Geala were lovers during the appropriate period—enough to convince him.”
She snuggled her head under Gavyn’s chin. He hadn’t shaved for a while, yet it suited him. He’d always appeared manly but now, just to look at him made her hot and want to squirm in her place on the horse’s shoulder, especially when his hand and fingertips swept across her belly, feeling the bairn kick. Occasionally his hand would slip between her kirtle and shift, to dip lower, to tease her until she wished they were home. The truth was, she would be able to find nae release for the now, since they were surrounded by Gavyn’s mercenaries.
And then there were young Rob and Nhaimeth.
Rob McArthur had shocked her. Och aye, the truth was, he was big for his fourteen years, but the incident had changed him. He wore a sombre air now, and not just frae losing Lhilidh, losing the lassie he loved—which had come as a surprise to Kathryn.
She hadn’t been part of the circle when Harald died, hadn’t seen the act that had killed him, but Rob had. He had picked up his uncle’s sword and run Harald through without a second thought—until now that is.
The lad would get over it, Gavyn said. They always did, but the first killing made the most impression, took the most from you. Better that it was over and done with before he faced another man in battle with a sword or axe in his hand.
Late in the afternoon on the second day Dun Bhuird came into view.
Gavyn drew his mount to a halt as they circled the foot of the mountain and looked up at the Great Hall. She had never seen anything more beautiful in all her days. Some might think the hall was dull, grey and ugly, but not her, not Kathryn Comlyn.
Circling her waist with his arms, he drew her back against his chest and nuzzled the back of her neck. Even through their clothing she could feel the thud of both their heartbeats. “Home,” he murmured against her skin. “You know what that means?”
“Aye, I do.” She couldn’t stop herself smiling, and her answer came out tangled in a light-hearted giggle. “Bed,” she told him.
“That’s right,” he said taking a light nip of her ear. “And not afore bluidy time.”
Epilogue
Kathryn was sitting on a stool, brushing her hair, when Gavyn entered their bedchamber. Six years married and four of them together, yet he never tired of watching her draw the brush through the long strands of her hair—hair as bright a rose gold as when he had first cast his eyes over her on the day she stood with him in front of the priest, a patient man who’d practically had to drag the vows out of her mouth.
Gavyn wouldn’t have changed a thing.
Aye they’d had their trials and tribulations, but they had worked through them together and gained a fresh perspective on life, marriage and love.
As he moved to stand behind her, she looked up over her shoulder, a message in her blue eyes that made his cock harden. “Aha, Gavyn Farquhar, I knew I wouldn’t be in here alone for very long.”
He trailed the back of his knuckles down her hair, enjoying the feel of silk on his skin. “I saw the wet-nurse taking young Lhilidh for a walk around the battlements, and I thought…”
“You didn’t think, you knew that, like the last few times you joined me here in the afternoon, she wouldn’t be back in a hurry, since Lhilidh enjoys looking out over Bienne á Bhuird and would rather watch the men in the bailey or working in the fields than go to sleep.”
He recognised a wealth of meaning in Kathryn’s smile as he took her hand and tugged her up to stand close to him. Running his hands up her he slipped them into the wide sleeves of her kirtle and let his thumbs trace the curved fullness of her breasts. A sigh trembled on her lips as she leaned into him and sniffed at his neck two or three times before arching her back to stare deeply into his eyes. “You smell of fresh frosty air—autumn. It suits you. Though, pardon me for asking, I have to enquire, didn’t Robert go with you when you left the hall?”
“He did, but he’s under the impression that our constable can teach him more about sword fighting than I can. He has a wooden sword in his fist, and Connell under his thumb.” Satisfying
Kathryn’s curiosity didn’t get in the way of him reaching his goal. He had grown skilled at loosening her laces while, as the Lady of Dun Bhuird, her mind was on other things that she had to let go of before she felt safe to take her own pleasure.
He pushed her kirtle off her shoulders and down her arms till it sat in layers between them and her breasts, and rigid nipples were visible through the fine, pale blue silk that echoed the shade of her deeper aquamarine kirtle she knew matched her eyes, and he admired her in. “Have you noticed how precocious Robert is? He can already make himself understood in French. I caught him conversing with the masons about how they pick which stone to use next.”
He bent to kiss lips that never failed to tempt him, and when he drew back she smiled, saying, “He’s very like his father. He can talk to anyone and make them feel comfortable.”
Gavyn lifted her, carried her to the bed with one of her arms hooked behind his neck. “He’s going to make a grand chieftain one day.”
“Aye,” she agreed, “but not too soon.”
Kathryn had the rights of it. Gavyn was happy to bide at Dun Bhuird for the rest of his life. Wolfsdale hardly crossed his mind these days. Any retribution for its loss was best left to a future generation, or Rob’s mayhap, since he had more memories of the place than did Gavyn.
The thought didn’t linger. He had better things to do. “Not for a long, long time. You and I will be old and grey…
“And still doing this,” he finished, slipping off her shift and kirtle until, naked, he spread her on the bed before him like a feast before a starving man. A moment later, he had unfastened the big silver buckle on his belt and dropped his carefully pleated plaid to the floor. His shirt followed it down to the rushes, but he paid it no heed, his full attention focussed on his wife—her slender feet, long white thighs, the gold curls hiding the entrance to paradise. On hands and knees, Gavyn crawled up the bed, kissing, sampling, tasting as he went.
Level with his shoulder, Kathryn’s fingers curled into the fur bed-rug and her hips wriggled in response to his touch. “I’m so pleased Olaf gifted us this fox fur rug.” She wriggled again, and he caught her scent, ducked his head and drew it deeply into his lungs. As if it entered his blood stream, his heart began to pound in his temples.
She felt breathless, her body restless beneath his, “You do realise,” she gasped, “that the last time we were so carried away, we ended up having Lhilidh.”
Kathryn watched his eyes darken and their lids narrow as if in pain. She touched her thumbs to the side of his head, soothing, while her hips squirmed against his, revelling in the notion that she could make this big man tremble in her arms. She pursed her lips and kissed the tense cord between his neck and shoulder where his pulse hammered and the feel of it encouraged her heartbeats to follow suit.
His head dipped and her mouth lifted in search of his, in search of his kiss. When their mouths came together it was in a mixture of teeth and tongue and lips. Hot skin slid against damp silk in a turbulent jangle of hearts and minds.
She spread her legs wide, eager. “Come to me, my love. Take me to that place that only we know,” she moaned, grasping the thickness of his long hard shaft to rub the smooth head with the honey weeping from her womb. “Take me now, Gavyn. Fill me up with ye.”
His heart slammed against his breastbone. Kathryn was so wet, so ready for him; he shuddered as he took his weight onto his elbows and with nae more ado thrust inside her.
As always, there was that moment when he wondered how he had come to be so fortunate. Gavyn—the Raven—a scarred man, who once never had a notion of being part of a family.
A raven, searching the world for a home.
And he had found a home. Found it in Kathryn’s arms and the hugs and kisses frae his son and daughter. What else could a man want?
More, he thought, as the moment was over and he began to thrust and enjoy the feast laid before him, his beautiful wife, his Kathryn.
His hips flexed and she rose to meet him as they played passion’s songs to the rhythm of love and felt her silken sheath begin to pulse around him. He wanted to draw the pleasure out, make it last as long as he could, but as always she drew him with her, the way he had wanted to on the day they were wed—the last time he had been able to resist her allure.
“Gavyn!” she screamed his name. “Gavyn, I love you,” she cried as he let go and spilled his seed into her womb, into the place where their bairns grew.
“Kathryn,” he roared, “my Kathryn…” and let love take him home.
— The End —
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ISBN: 9780857991850
Title: Chieftan by Command
Copyright © 2014 by Frances Housden
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