Chieftain's Rebel Page 7

  However, giving up wasnae in his nature, his father had taught him that.

  The breeze off the water caressed Rory’s skin, licking the sweat off him, though what was left behind began to feel like a dry crust, cracking with every movement he made as he unbuckled his belt, swinging it frae his fingers as his plaid unwound and dropped onto the sand. Pressing the silver buckle against his palm he wound the length of leather around metal and skin then peeled it off and laid it atop his plaid.

  Rory looked to his left. Calder returned the look and gave Rory a nod then, naked as the day they were born, they raced side by side into the waves.

  Axel slept against her breast, contented with a belly full of milk. Ainsel rocked him gently as she walked carefully through the sharp-leafed sand-grass that had taken o’er the far corner of the bow-shaped beach, the end opposite where the dragon boats rode at anchor, moving gently on the waves as the tide went out. Betwixt them sat the bonfire. It wouldnae be lit until tomorrow evening yet, strangely, the sharp scent of wood-smoke already teased her nostrils.

  More often than not in years gone past, she had been one of the participants putting their hearts and backs into building the solstice bonfire. The only time she had struggled was the year after the fever. The illness had robbed her of both mother and father, gone before she found the strength to recover. Her parents hadnae been the only folk to die, a fair few members of the settlement had succumbed, most of them auld. She had taken a while to reconcile herself to their passing, but there were times when she still asked, why them—or selfishly, why me, as if she was the only one whau had lost. Her father had been Olaf’s only remaining son, and Finn had needed to step up to fill his shoes.

  That year, when everything changed, the person she had missed most was her mother. She had lost the one person she could tell aught to without any judgement. During the following years she began to realise that she had been searching for someone whau understood her, could tell aught to, and not be judged—happier, like the years she and her friends had spent growing up, discovering how to be women.

  Then Nils had come to the Ness.

  She had thought him so handsome, but his fair good looks had hidden a black heart. Love had made her blind.

  Her arms tightened around Axel as he moved restlessly in his sleep. He was so like his father; she wondered that Rory couldnae see that their eyes were the same shade of deep blue, the same shape—a fact she hadnae known until she saw Rory in daylight. Blindness would seem to be one of her failings. How could it be aught else when she had first met Rory in the dark?

  She had heard tell blind folk could learn to see with their fingertips. That’s how she had learned to know Rory, by touch. Put her in a dark broch with him and she would recognise him by his scent alone. She had ne’er forgotten the musky scent of his skin, the powerful maleness of it that had made her yearn to get close to him—and she had.

  Betwixt Nils and Rory there had been nae comparison.

  When Nils took her—slapped her—his smell had become sharp, acrid like wood ash blowing on the wind, making her nose curl in distaste. Her night with Rory had taught her that pain didnae have to be—had showed her the difference betwixt a slap and a caress.

  Ainsel ached to experience such splendid, caring loving again. She ran her palm around the curve of Axel’s soft scalp, she loved him so much that her heart crumpled beneath the heaviness of her breasts whenever she thought of the bad turn she had served her bairn. Aye, for sure Nils had lied, hadnae revealed the wicked truth buried in his heart. Her sin was one of omission. She could ne’er tell Axel his real father’s name. Ne’er be honest and confess that man the whole settlement believed to be his father wasnae.

  By now, every man, woman and child in the settlement reviled her late husband, blamed him for bringing the wrath of the Irish down upon them. The guilt was hers, but as long as they lived in Caithness, Axel would carry the stigma of Nils’s self-seeking venture and self-aggrandisement—all this because she didnae have the courage to claim Rory as his father.

  He had turned on her the way his folks frae Orkney had turned on their settlement. It was worth repeating that she was glad he was dead.

  In his absence, she had begun to wonder why he had picked her. He hadnae loved her. Gradually she came to the conclusion it was ambition that had driven him and, as she fitted the pieces together, it occurred to her that it was her family ties that made her valuable. She was an Olafsen. How long would it have been after his triumphant return that her brother Finn had an accident or her grandfather’s age made him susceptible to illness—or poison.

  Ainsel pressed Axel tight, as if aught could happen if she dared let him go, but he didnae like it and yelled. She held him away from her until she could see his face and chuckled at his expression. How wonderful to be free, released frae the worry of what might happen if she roared out loud and released all the pent up emotions tangling her insides until they hurt.

  She lifted him frae the sling and made faces at him, raising him o’er her head and burling him round so he could feel the air brushing past his plump cheeks, distracting the bairn frae whatever it was irritated him. As she swung him down, cradling him in her arms he gave her a smile—Rory’s smile. Was she the only one—besides young Ghillie—whau recognised this resemblance?

  The sand squeaked under her toes as they dug into the fine particles fringing the bay. In the distance, the bonfire sat defiant in the centre of the half-moon shaped curve, as if cocking-a-snook at the Irish: come and be damned if ye dare.

  Two men wending their way down to the water caught her eye. In fact, she could hardly drag her attention away from them. Rory and Calder: the Scots were easily distinguishable since they wore the traditional kilted plaids. There was a certain unashamed ease to the way they stripped off, belts unbuckled, plaids tumbling to the sand revealing superbly muscled frames, bodies gleaming in the sunshine—a view open to any whau cared to look.

  And Ainsel cared.

  A sharp tremor of delight shook through her limbs as she watched Rory pound o’er the sands with Calder at his side. His legs were long, his chest broad, split by a line of dark hair that spread into a nest of black curls in his groin. Sheltered amongst the curls his male sex flailed as he ran. Even frae where she stood, his prick seemed considerable, though shrunk in size frae the one she remembered wrapping her fingers around last solstice. Her palm tingled frae the memory. Her heart beat faster with need and want.

  Her heart ached frae knowing the anticipation was for naught.

  The water was so cauld it sucked the breath from his lungs and turned them to ice. If it hadnae been that, it would have been the moment he caught sight of Ainsel watching him that squeezed his chest empty of air. Even so, his body’s reaction took him by surprise. The muscles in his groin clenched and he knew if not for the cauld water shrinking his obvious maleness, chances were his prick would have been pointing straight at her, the way some diviners found water with a twig. A sudden boastfulness changed the image to branch, and he was laughing to himself when Calder put an end to Rory’s internal pondering by placing two hands on his shoulders, dipping him under. Then, preventing seawater replacing the air that filled his lungs became a sight more important.

  Mayhap it was just as well…

  Ainsel wasnae the one he had come to Caithness looking to find. Her bairn was bonnie, but it wasnae his, so he pushed her out of his mind while he and Calder capered like porpoises, went diving through waves that were almost translucent. Waves where fish could be seen swimming through troughs of shimmering blue-green.

  “Rory!” His cousin Ghillie’s shout interrupted the horseplay.

  Tossing his head back, Rory flicked the wet hair frae his eyes, grinning at his young cousin Ghillie and, standing beside him, Finn. “Come on in, lads, the water’s cauld but wet and wonderful when ye have been working as hard as we were.”

  Finn roared with laughter. “If ye were thinking to insult us ye will have to work harder. I was there
at the beginning of the bonfire and nae doubt I’ll there at the end. I’ve something of more import in mind—something that will take the strength of yer back and deftness of yer hands. I’m certain yer imagining we’ve thought of naught but the solstice, but it would take a loon not to take the threat that the Irish present seriously.” He paused a moment to look at Ghillie. “Our mutual cousin here has been boasting of the skills ye both have aplenty, and I’m not thinking of lassies. We Norsemen have always had confidence in the way we wield both sword and shield, but I’m of the opinion it wouldnae do any harm to learn aught different that ye could show us. We’ve nae bailey or training ground but I’m sure a nice wee stretch of turf or sand will be just as suitable. So what say ye? Are ye with us?”

  Rory glanced at Calder whau nodded and shoved his hair away frae his eyes, smirking at Ghillie. “Did the lad not explain that Rory and I never back away frae a fight?”

  Ghillie matched him smirk for delighted smirk as he lifted his hand in the air and his raven arrived, landing on his shoulder. The lad might be the smaller of their wee band of rebellious spirits, yet he had forced the issue, making sure they all rode the distance betwixt Dun Bhuird and Caithness against Gavyn Farquhar’s wishes. Yet the lad had a presence—a strength of mind few could match. “I’ve nae doubt that Ghillie did inform Finn that Calder and I are a sight to behold, whether on training ground or battlefield, but did he also tell ye that he has been training with the Comlyn and McArthur fighters frae the day he could hold a sword. I’m under nae misapprehension that the notion came frae him. But I warn ye…” he said, striding out of the sea, both his and Calder’s dripping wet bodies gleaming as they reached the sand and Calder finished the warning.

  “Aught ye ever heard about Ghillie’s gift, is absolutely true. He has the knack of figuring out what ye mean to do next, and I cannae remember him e’er coming out a fight with more than a wee scratch.”

  “That I must see,” said Finn, a wide grin showing strong, square teeth. Not what Rory would call horse-like but well able to give a nasty bite. “Ah, here’s my sister,” he said, his smile becoming a touch apologetic instead of fierce. “Ye would hardly believe that once Ainsel was our finest shield maiden, fast on her feet. However—without discounting Axel—marriage took the best of her.”

  Rory watched the corner of Ainsel’s mouth droop, and her eyes narrow as it dawned on him they were the colour of the pale waves they had been diving under. When she opened her mouth it was to give her brother a touch of his own frankness, “It’s nice to know, Finn, that ye still have a way with an insult.”

  “Nae harm meant, Ainsel, but ye have to admit I spoke the truth.”

  “I could still show ye a few tricks,” she tossed the challenge at him and Finn merely grinned. Rory had a sister of his own and knew how it went.

  Finn proved him wrong. “The very thing, now that the bonfire’s all but ready for tomorrow night: Rory, Calder and Ghillie were about to demonstrate how fighters gain their skills in a Scottish training field. Ye must join us, sister.”

  Ainsel’s sneer was a thing to behold. “And what of Axel? I suppose I’ll use him as a shield.”

  Everything in the brother and sister’s stance told him this was a long running quarrel. “Nae, but yer shield still hangs in grandfather’s hall, and I’m sure there’s women enough would love to get their hands on that wee bundle of smiles. They’re always cooing at him like turtle doves. Ye wouldnae even have to bother about feeding him. Frae what I’ve seen there’s mother’s milk aplenty at the hall.”

  His sister pulled the bairn closer as he taunted her, “I’ve nae doubt it’s not a good as yours, but it wouldnae do him any harm. He’s a fat wee thing.”

  “He’s solid, big-boned.”

  “Fine attributes, if he were a man…” Finn drawled the words out and Rory could tell he’d love to say more but the way his gaze flicked toward the rest of them, he knew their presence held him back. “Our mother had nae worries o’er passing us into the hands of a wet-nurse when she wanted to go off and fight alongside our father.”

  Ainsel’s mouth opened but naught came out. Instead her gaze fastened on Rory in a way that made him feel she had crawled under his skin beside him and it was all he could do to fasten his silver buckle atop the plaid circling his waist. When she finally spoke, he knew her challenge was for him alone. “Very well, let’s see what these Scots can show us that we have yet to learn.” The words slipped frae her lips in way that promised she had little expectation of being taught much—frae him in particular.

  For some reason the insult cut at him sharper than any of the many thrown his way afore. He didnae reply, unless the curl of his lips could be considered one. In his own way he looked forward to watching her on the training ground—shield maiden, hah. His cousin, Maggie McArthur had been a lass such as that, always after using a sword. Now she was a wife and about to become a mother and quite content with her lot, as he supposed Ainsel had been until her husband drowned at sea. Though that notion didnae sit as well with him as it should.

  What was it about Ainsel Olafsen that kept tugging him away frae his search for the lass he’d had under him last solstice?

  Chapter 8

  With a spike of shivers teasing her spine Ainsel let her eyelids drift shut for barely a moment—not nearly long enough to forget how many years had gone by since this was part of her daily routine.

  Rolling her shoulder, she flexed the fingers she had curled around the hilt of her sword as she swung it. The shield on her other arm still fitted like it was part of her, the way it always had done, which was encouraging, since most everything else had changed—after Nils.

  “I fear that it’s been a while…’

  She turned as Finn spoke and replied with a shrug, “It’s a truth I cannae deny, however I must admit it does feel good.”

  Truth, aye, though she hadnae realised it as such until the words came out of her mouth. She bit down hard on the side of her tongue, needing the pain to prevent blurting out the surge of anger overwhelming her. The realisation of what had happened to her wasnae new. It had been gradual, so gradual that it didnae sink in until the first time Nils hit her—shocked her—that she had the least inkling. Then shame took o’er—shame that she had been so foolish, had been taken in. Her position as the Jarl’s granddaughter had become as naught at the hands of a man she had thought loved her. Nae she hadnae wanted to share her shame with her family, her grandfather especially.

  She had kept quiet—been a good wife—and what had been her reward? Most would say she had her braw bairn, but Nils hadnae put Axel inside her; that was Rory’s doing, and he would ne’er know.

  She could taste blood in her mouth frae the pressure of her teeth and swallowed rather than spit it out and, in that instant, made her decision. If the Irish arrived, she would fight alongside Finn and Rory—that being the least she could do for her failure to speak out. Finn would have killed Nils long syne if she hadnae been so reticent—fearful—thus preventing her terrible husband bringing the wrath of the Irish down upon them.

  Aye, she told herself, she could go knowing if aught terrible should happen to her, Axel would be safe with her grandfather, for what more could a mother do for her bairn, than she had already done: made sure the blood of two warrior races ran through his veins.

  The weight of her sword now felt comfortable in her hand, as if the fingers she wrapped around the hilt remembered its heft without any assistance.

  Finn eyed her, one blond eyebrow lifted, though he scuffed the dirt with the toe of a worn boot as if patiently waiting for an answer to his unspoken question. After the damage she had done it, her tongue felt slightly thick in her mouth as she returned Finn’s look, asking, “Well, I’m ready. What’s keeping you?”

  A feeling of satisfaction coursed through Ghillie as he watched Ainsel and Finn approach the cleared area the men had decided on earlier. It wasnae that he had done aught to direct the course of events; that would have been against e
verything his mother had taught him. It was the knowing. Being able to watch circumstances unfold and gain momentum. Circumstances that were certain to shift their lives in a direction that would make all he felt at the back of his mind come true.

  Ghillie smiled to himself as he saw that Ainsel wore an assemblage of garment not so dissimilar to the leather trous and jerkin Maggie McArthur had affected afore she married Dhugal Robertson. Now there was a marriage that the auld gods had intended to happen, and had ended with Dhugal’s lands being returned to him frae King Alexander—not that he had ever actually left the property confiscated by King Edgar, but it had proved to Ghillie what a peck of determination could a achieve.

  It appeared to him that Scots had determination aplenty. Wasnae that why they were here in Caithness—Rory’s need to find the one woman whau could make his heart sing? Yet his cousin seemed blinded by what to him was as clear as the nose on his face—Ainsel’s bairn had all the features of the Farquharson lads and would grow to look exactly like Gavyn Farquhar, just as Rory had, minus his father’s scar. It made him wonder how long Ainsel thought she could keep the truth to herself. Of course he had nae notion regarding how or when their coupling had come about. That was for them to know and him to find out.

  Ach aye, it was going to be an interesting few days, quite apart frae the imminent arrival of the Irish.

  There were two fistfuls of warriors frae the settlement taking advantage of Rory and Calder’s experience, including Ainsel. At first she had become reacquainted with her forgotten skills against Finn. Obviously her brother had decided to go easy on her and buzzed around as irritating as a wee midgie that wouldnae be swatted. He skidded on the sandy soil as if it were a game they played instead of a necessity to come out the other end of a fight against the Irish without losing their lives. She had taken him to task for his poor efforts by calling up a few of the almost disremembered tricks her father had taught long ago, and soon she’d had Finn sweating. When Calder signalled her brother to join him, to discover how he stood against a warrior trained by some of Scotland’s best, he went on his way without a backward glance, leaving her to Ghillie’s tender mercies—nae sinecure as she fast discovered.