Chieftain's Rebel Page 3

  “Bring the lad here to me,” her grandfather called out across the hall. Sprawled in a chair he looked at ease, yet Ainsel had noticed that his years now showed more than they ever had. He had shifted more and more of his responsibilities and daily tasks onto her brother’s shoulders—duties her father would have loved to take on, had he lived, duties Nils had envied more than he should have which, knowing him as she had, made his death a boon.

  She lifted Axel out of the sling, his swaddling cloth slipping down as she grasped him under the arms. “Ye might not be so keen to have him on yer knee when ye discover how wet he is,” she chuckled but passed him into Olaf’s outstretched hands, gnarled with age but still as strong as she remembered frae when he used to lift her o’er his head and throw her into the air.

  “Ach, what’s a little piss betwixt me and the lad here.” He gave her a big grin frae under his white moustaches and she shook her head. Olaf Olafsen had been much feared in the north, but ne’er by his family, and that would have changed if she had told him the truth about her marriage to Nils.

  Rubbing her hand down the arm that had taken Axel’s weight, she felt amazed that nae one had noticed it was free of the bruises she had always found some excuse for—an effort that was nae longer necessary.

  Olaf was twisting one of Axel’s curls round his little finger, with a small smile on his lips as he hummed under his breath, as if his mind were somewhere else. “I always thought Nils must have had a touch of Irish in him. The Celts are a wild lot.” Her grandfather raised his head, caught and held her gaze, his eyes wide, the same light blue as her own.

  He was a wise man, her grandfather. That didnae mean she should always confirm that her own thoughts flowed in the same direction as his. Ainsel was saved by Axel from giving voice to the message she read in his eyes when her son did as she had warned, wetting down her grandfather’s leather trous. Lifting the lad frae Olaf’s knee she turned her face, hiding her smile.

  “Didnae I tell ye?” he growled, then grinned taking the sting out of it. “Aye, he’ll bear watching this one to make sure he doesnae make the same mistakes as his father.”

  Her smile disappeared, segued into a rueful grimace. Truth be told she wasnae actually bothered by what Olaf thought of her late husband. Come what may, she knew her grandfather would never harm her. Others, however, might not be so kind.

  With Axel cleaned, fed and happed up in his sling again, Ainsel walked across the settlement to her small broch at the far side. What had been a tight squeeze for her and Nils was plenty big enough for her and Axel. The broch was sheltered by an ancient hawthorn, and she had been glad of the privacy when Nils began to take his temper out on her.

  The weight of the bairn in the sling bumped against her hip as she walked, rocking Axel to sleep. She was smiling down on his contented face, his full lips forming a milky pout, when her friend and cousin on her mother’s side interrupted her contemplation.

  Gilda wrapped an arm round Ainsel’s shoulder and peeked over its curve into the sling. “Will ye look at that? Not a care in the world. And why should he have any when he’s carried everywhere?” She giggled, poking a fingertip at Axel’s mouth then letting out a wee shriek as his tongue appeared and licked her finger. “Would ye look at that? Easy seen he’s a lad the way he uses his tongue.”

  “Don’t be like that. Aye he’s a lad, but bairns are always looking to be fed.”

  Gilda squeezed her shoulder and chuckled. Ainsel could confirm that a smile was ne’er far frae her cousin’s lips. “Yer saying that it’s instinctive, are ye? Why am I not surprised?”

  Unlike Ainsel, Gilda had ne’er considered settling for one man; she was having o’er much amusement, and after her own marriage, Ainsel couldnae say she blamed her. Would that she had been as reluctant to give any man, power o’er her life.

  Digging her free elbow against Gilda’s ribs, she shrugged her off. “Axel is getting heavy enough to carry without your weight as well,” she groaned twisting to one side.

  “Hah. At least I’ve been working, helping to drag all yon trees down to the bonfire. Now that’s tiring,” she pouted, her shoulders drooping as if she truly had been doing heavy work.

  Ainsel flicked a glance in the direction of the beach. She saw a big man—Gilda’s current favourite, she suspected—naebody she knew, but then Nils had made sure she stayed close to home. He was looking after a pair of oxen, using the beasts to drag the dead trees onto the beach as fuel for the bonfire. The pile towered higher than was normal, spread in a larger circle, as if this was the settlement’s way of thumbing its nose at the rumours that an attack threatened, or simply refused to believe it would happen during the solstice. Her grandfather, however, would ne’er be so naïve. She knew he would have watchmen high on the cliffs above the inlet where the sea and Ness met—the only way ships could reach the settlement.

  She knew for a fact that her cousin wasnae nearly as guileless as she made out. For the last year, she had been like a butterfly, unable to settle. With a shake of her head she inquired, “I’m happy to see yer enjoying yer work. What’s his name?”

  The lift of Gilda’s brows was all the answer she was going to get. She loved her cousin almost as much as she did Axel—certainly more than any man she had met. Gilda was like a sister, the way their mothers had been. Her cousin fidgeted on the spot, her eyes flashing. “Can ye believe it’s a year since last solstice, the best one ever? I cannae wait.”

  “There’s a solstice bonfire every year. What was so different about the last one?” Ainsel questioned, since this was the first time Gilda had hinted that something special had happened, though mayhap she shouldnae be surprised, for hadnae she kept her own secret locked in her breast—deep inside where it couldnae hurt her or her bairn?

  “Ye wouldnae remember, Ainsel, since ye werenae at the bonfire last year—” Gilda broke off, leaving Ainsel knowing she had begun to remember how oft Nils would go away on his own, most of the time leaving Ainsel at home nursing her bruises. Out of all the folk in Caithness, her cousin had been the only person she hadnae been able to disguise Nils’ rough usage frae, nor hide the darker side of her marriage. Aye, Gilda was the only one she had been able to trust her secret with—her cousin being well aware that any betrayal would likely make Nils hurt Ainsel more than he already had.

  “Tell me about him? Whau was he?”

  “His name was Calder, one of the Scots who came to visit with yer grandfather. He was wonderful, but he left the next day. All year I’ve been hoping he’ll come back to this year’s solstice. Foolish ye might say, aye, but I cannae help myself.” Gilda wrapped her arms about her middle as if lost in memory. “I ne’er felt that way afore,” she finished on a laugh, a trifle embarrassed, dipping her chin as if to hide the depth of her emotion. “Ye might wonder about all the others, but ye cannae blame me trying to find that feeling with somebody else. I never did. Not like Calder, none of them like Calder.”

  Her outburst silenced Ainsel. For once she had nae notion what to say—what words would comfort Gilda, but her cousin simply touched the back of her hand to Ainsel’s arm. “I have to go. Let us meet tomorrow. We can take Axel for a walk up the hill to watch for Irish raiders,” she jested, and walked off, leaving Ainsel relieved the Scot’s name hadnae been Rory.

  She continued to walk toward the little broch she called home, her steps slow, reluctant, wishing she was as easily distracted as her cousin.

  Watching her bairn sleep, she wished it were as easy to forget about the rumours, to push the threat of the Irish to the back of her mind, that she could put as much effort into pushing yon fears frae her thoughts as she had into forgetting Rory. But back then her life had depended upon pretending they had ne’er met. Around her, life in the settlement might go on as if the notion of danger was naught but a whisper thought up by some auld biddy seeking attention. She knew better.

  Ainsel sighed, almost regretting she wasnae that naïve, but she better than most had known the awful deeds Ni
ls was capable of enacting. If aught happened to her grandfather because of Nils’s wickedness, would the blame spill o’er onto her and the bairn that the gods had kindly made sure Nils never lived to see?

  Chapter 3

  Unless Rory’s mind was playing him tricks, naught in the Caithness settlement had changed in the twelve-month since he last visited. It probably looked different on horseback, since the last time they had approached on foot; yet compared to Dun Bhuird where his father always had some new improvement under way, the longhouse, the ring of stone and the thatched brochs surrounding it all appeared the same—locked in time.

  Or was that just wishful thinking, hoping that when the solstice arrived he would find the lass he had been dreaming of every night for a year waiting for him? Therein lay the problem: he knew how it felt to hold her, the softness of her skin beneath his palms and the silkiness of her hair tangled around his fingers, but should he walk into her once they reached the settlement, how would he recognise a lass he had ne’er seen?

  Calder had nae such hindrance. His friend had yammered on and on, talking about a bonnie lass called Gilda frae start to finish of their journey. Rory now knew how she looked, what she had said to Calder. A quick glance to his left took in his friend and his cousin. Nae doubt Calder was still telling Ghillie about the lass.

  Smiling, Rory let his gaze slide over the shore and the dragon boats pulled up on the sands of the low tide. The settlement gleaming gold in the sunshine could have been set inside a globule of amber, more beautiful for being unchanged. Rory doubted the same could be said about Gilda—or even the lass he had spent the night with amongst the heather—but Calder at least had a chance of recognising her and wasnae in danger getting his face slapped for sniffing at some lass’s neck if she appeared to be the right build or height.

  The raven flew up frae Ghillie’s shoulder, breaking Rory’s concentration. The bird flew high then dipped towards the settlement and circled o’er the ring of stones, making Ghillie squeal in the saddle, “Do ye see that? My father told me the story of the stones—” he broke off, swallowed hard. “That’s where Lhilidh died. When he talks about her it was as if his heart broke, but when I asked him if he’d loved her, he said, ‘Aye like a sister’, then I discovered his heart broke for Rob. He was the one who had loved Lhilidh.”

  His cousin didnae need to say more. Everyone knew that Nhaimeth and Rob were closer than brothers, friends frae the day they met—a day Gavyn always said had changed the history of both their clans.

  Rory took up the tale, “I never really noticed the last time we were up here, but I was told the Norsemen ne’er go into the circle. That’s what kept my mother safe after Gavyn dragged her out of a burning broch. Rob carried Lhilidh out with the roof collapsing around them.” His jaw clenched as he thought how fickle fate could be. He wondered what they would think if he mentioned that he’d been there, carried inside his mother’s womb. Wondered about their expressions if he said that there were times when he felt as if he remembered, felt as if the horrific scene had been imprinted on his mind like a racial memory.

  His friends were staring at him, as if expecting something more. Rory supposed he had finished what he had been saying a wee bit abruptly, so as a way to disguise how his thoughts had gone awandering, he deliberately patted one of the capercaillie hanging frae his saddlebow. “Best be on our way if we want to see these birds cooked for supper.”

  Calder led the way, riding in front of Ghillie, with Rory bringing up the rear—a fact he was glad of when two Norsemen armed with spears and sword stepped out of the trees blocking their path. “Halt, Irish,” shouted one, taking a leap at Calder’s bridle, dragging his gelding’s head down. Naturally the beast wasnae best pleased. It tossed back its head and reared, trumpeting loud enough to give their other assailant pause and make him back away.

  “Enough!” bellowed Rory, sword drawn and pointing at the throat of the one who unsuccessfully believed he could return to his hiding place in the trees. Closer now, he could see the warrior was naught but a lad. “We are Scots, not Irish and kin of Olaf Olafsen. I take it he’s still alive?”

  The lad gulped, his helm slipping forward as it caught on a branch. “Aye, the Jarl is as well and fierce as he ever was.”

  “In that case, run and tell him Rory Farquharson and two of the Comlyn clan have come to bring in the solstice with him as we did last year.”

  The lad said naught, focusing his gaze on his companion and Rory soon realised why. “Calder, put that lad down; ye might break him.” He chuckled, and when the lad’s feet hit the ground. he spoke to him, “I commend yer courage tackling someone twice yer size, and I’ll tell Olaf so, but let me ask, are ye really expecting the Irish to attack?”

  Slightly less frightened now that Calder had released him, the lad was quick to reply, “Aye, we were on watch for either them or Norsemen frae Orkney whau have taken their side.”

  It would seem his father was correct, but Rory saw that as a reason to stay and help rather than turn away. A big grin on his face he turned to Calder and Ghillie. “It would appear we’ve arrived in time for not only the solstice but a fight as well.” He pulled on the reigns and pointed his big stallion’s nose in the direction of the settlement saying, “Come on, lads. Ye can thank me later.”

  The noise preceded the outsiders—not the moans of fear that might signal an attack. Nae, what Ainsel heard as she carried Axel in his sling, was a buzz, growing higher the closer she got to it. Always curious, she had to wend her way on the dirt pathway around the scattering of broch into the square of cobblestones afore the longhouse, giving the wooden building an air of importance.

  Unlike Gilda, she’d had nae expectation that her cousin’s lover of last summer would return. Gilda, however, had proved her wrong. Even as Ainsel reached the centre of the settlement, her eyes lighted on Gilda’s hand stretched out to the tall, broad-shouldered man astride a large chestnut horse with a distinctive white blaze.

  Did knowing he owned such a grand horse make a difference to Gilda? Certainly the lad she’d said she couldnae forget had returned, but did yon indication that he was more than just a housecarl, at the Chieftain’s beck and call, make her hopes for a future life take flight? Last year the Scots had walked in on foot carrying their trappings in rough woven bags that any cateran might use to stash his grub. However, the mounts they rode today were glossy—well cared for—and spoke of wealth unlike the raggle-taggle ponies commonly ridden in Caithness. Aye, Ainsel saw their status rise higher in folks’ eyes and the excitement build.

  A hush came over the crowd as Gilda’s lover swiftly threw himself off his saddle and dragged her into his arms. It was the kiss that brought back a hum of interest to the growing throng of gawkers, feeling a sudden urgency for a better view of the man Gilda had lost her heart to for longer than any other lad Ainsel had heard her mention—a whole twelve-month.

  Why should Gilda be any different from her? She hadnae been able to forget the man who had held her so tenderly last solstice. Even after, while Nils had held her—hurt her—the stranger was the one she had thought of. He’d been so much more of a man than her husband ever had been, but whom could she tell? She had been keeping secrets about her marriage for so long.

  If anyone were to ask why she hadnae met the one called Rory afore the night of solstice? What could she tell them? That she had felt honour bound to obey her husband’s demand she stay away frae her grandfather’s visitors. She could see them put it down to a natural jealousy on Nils’s part. Who would believe the truth that she, Ainsel Olafsen, granddaughter of the Jarl had become nae more than a man’s possession, to do with as he wished.

  She remembered last solstice and her reason for taking off on her unruly adventure—the urgent need for defiance. And really, whau could blame her after observing Nils sneaking off to the Gathering with his arm round some lass, without even the courtesy of an excuse.

  Now though, she could willingly admit that in truth it had been a nigh
t of wonder. Nils had ne’er treated her half so well as a man she had met for the first time on that magic night. It had been a change to be made love to rather than brutalised and raped, as Nils was inclined to do should she show the least hint of reluctance.

  Was it so bad to feel glad that he wouldnae ever be coming home?

  She had reached the edge of those folk gathered about the newcomers when Gilda saw her. “Ainsel,” she called, beckoning with the hand that wasnae holding her lover’s, “come on o’er and meet Calder and his friends.”

  Hoisting Axel into a more comfortable position she moved closer just as her grandfather left the longhouse, his white hair and pale leather trous and jerkin standing out against the dark timbered walls. Olaf came towards the crowd, walking with the aid of a carved stick that she had known to serve him as a weapon as well, when he had naught else to hand. She thanked the gods that Calder couldnae be the one, for he had been with Gilda—that and the sight of the Scot’s dead-straight, honey-coloured locks long enough to brush his shoulders. She’d seen enough in the reflected firelight to know that the one she thought of as her Rory, wasnae fair-haired. While the gold torchlight had licked o’er the crown of his head, she had spied a hint of red amongst the dark waves that she had found pleasure in by running her fingers through.

  She ducked an abbreviated curtsy at Calder as Gilda introduced her. “This is my cousin, Ainsel and her wee lad, Axel.”

  “Gilda, ye didnae tell me what a handsome family ye came frae.” He reached into the sling where Axel was supported against her shoulder, and as the babe looked out at the world, the Scot chucked him under the chin. Deep blue eyes wide, Axel stared at the man, displaying a deal of interest for one so young. “And how auld is this wee laddie?”