The Chieftain's Curse Page 9

  “I’m doing the horse no harm, it’s not a killing matter,” came the swift defensive denial, but the lad remained astride Diabhal’s broad bare back, his preparation for a rebuff obvious in the tightening of his legs around the stallion’s girth.

  “The question is whether Diabhal will do you harm. He’s a warhorse, not to be trifled with on a young lad’s whim.” Euan stretched out and let his destrier snuffle his palm, then scratched high on its nose between its long lashed eyes.

  He stretched out a hand. “Come down now.”

  The lad looked down on him and stayed where he was.

  Euan’s brows formed a line above the bridge of his nose as he turned to Nhaimeth. “He may be bigger than you, but yours was the responsibility to warn him that his actions aren’t wise. Diabhal is a killer.”

  As soon as the lad saw the blame shift to Nhaimeth’s narrow shoulders, he slid easily from the warhorse, stopping to clap his palm against the strong hide. Still defiant, he shrugged. “He’s no at fault, and I’m not scared. The horse likes me.”

  “And, who would you be, young fellow me lad, and how would you know if the warhorse likes you?” Euan questioned, without showing his satisfaction that the lad refused to let Nhaimeth take the blame.

  The lad ducked under Diabhal’s neck and lifted his chin, saying, “I’m Rob. I groom Diabhal and make sure he stays in fine fettle for when you need him.”

  “Aye, Laird.” Nhaimeth put emphasis on his title, a warning. “This is Rob of Roslyn. Morag’s brother,” the Fool added, a knowing look in his protuberant blue eyes as he stared back in Euan’s direction.

  The lad, Rob, stepped forward away from the stallion, it tossed his head back, as if sensitive to the change in the air. Nostrils aquiver, Rob faced him. “My M-Morag told me about you, what you asked of her. If it was a whore you wanted, that’s not her. Perhaps, you’ve chosen the wrong woman.”

  He was either brave or foolhardy, this lad who stood no higher than his shoulder. “Your sister agreed. I used no force, that’s not my way.”

  Euan saw the jaw work, but the lad didn’t back away. If anything, he grew closer with the tilt of his chin pointing up at him, eyes sparking a challenge few had the nerve to issue. It actually made Euan think of himself at that age, though he’d been son to the Laird of Cragenlaw, not a groom. The lad didn’t even look away when Nhaimeth pulled on his arm, trying to catch his attention with a warning “hssst” through his teeth.

  Rob paid him no heed. The lad’s hackles were up, and Euan found he didn’t think less of him for it. “I give you fair heed. If you hurt Morag you’ll answer to me.”

  Struck by the contrast, Euan couldn’t help but grin. Comlyn, a powerful chieftain was willing to barter a second daughter’s life to keep his back safe. Whilst Rob, unarmed, dared take on the laird of the castle that gave him refuge to protect his sister.

  “I’ll make sure to keep up my sword practice then—”

  Red faced, Rob broke in, “Aye, you might well laugh, but I’m not unfamiliar with the ways of swordsmanship.”

  “I’m warned then, though I’ve no intention of hurting Morag. She must have told you I didn’t bring pressure to bear on her. I’ve never raped a woman in my life and I will not now. My hand on it, lad.” He reached out. The lad’s grip was firm, unyielding. Euan was struck by a pang of remorse that the son he had buried this day would never stand in front of another, claiming his manhood without fear, even when the odds were against him.

  “I accept your word,” Rob said, tightening his grip, “but you must understand: I’m all she has left.”

  “I bear you no ill will for that.” Euan released Rob’s hand, saying, “I can see you have a strong heart, Rob of Roslyn. You’re a staunch lad. How many years do you have?”

  “Fourteen years.” He glanced sideways at Nhaimeth, as if he didn’t believe the turn his challenge had taken.

  “Don’t worry; I don’t blame you for standing up for what you believe is right. My constable would welcome someone of your stature to train as a housecarl.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stick with the horses. They don’t put on any side. I know where I am with them.”

  Euan’s chortle morphed into a belly laugh. “I hope you never find otherwise.” He turned to Nhaimeth, chuckling. “Come Nhaimeth, I have work for you.”

  As they walked away, Euan was drawn to look over his shoulder. He hadn’t met many lads Rob’s age with the nous to stand up for their family, and it gave Euan an idea, one, that might just solve his problem.

  Rob was scratching the stallion’s nose. “Keep an eye on Diabhal, lad, turn your back on him and he’ll have a piece out of your arse as soon as look.”

  Euan slowed his pace so the little man could keep up with him. They were entering the inner bailey before Nhaimeth asked, “Well, McArthur, what task d’ye have in mind for me?”

  “One you will find simple. I want you to put your pallet across the doorway of the solar, as usual, I don’t want that to change, and no one will think it strange that you’re there.”

  “I can do that, McArthur, but why?”

  “Now that Astrid’s dead, Comlyn wants me to marry Kathryn.” In the moments of amusement back there in the stables, he had forgotten what day this was, forgotten what he still had to face.

  “God’s blood, the man has no heart. I aye said so.”

  “That you did, and now I believe you.” Euan stopped in the middle of the inner bailey and looked around him as though seeing Cragenlaw for the first time. What did others see when they visited the keep? Did they notice the beauty, the majesty of the castle that had replaced the long houses and palisades built by the Picts, before the Norsemen destroyed them all?

  The cliffs hadn’t protected the last occupiers, not against fire. It had been all but abandoned when his McArthur ancestors arrived at the Law. Graeme’s antecedents had been among them too, perhaps closer in blood to the Chieftain than Graeme was to Euan now, but one day it might have to be enough.

  And now, he wondered what Comlyn saw when he looked at Cragenlaw? Ach, he already knew the answer.

  He turned his attention back to Nhaimeth, certain there was more to the Fool’s hatred of Erik the Bear, but content to let him keep his secret. “In all honesty, I found Kathryn outside my apartments. I’ve no wish to find her in my bed when I go to it, with Comlyn waiting to burst in on us,” he concluded, and caught a grim-faced Nhaimeth’s nod of understanding. Astrid had loved the little man, though he’d had little notion what she’d found lovable, but he was could tell it wasn’t pity she had felt for the Fool.

  “And what of Morag, McArthur, what if Comlyn should find Morag in yer bed?” The fool sounded anxious. Was it possible he had transferred his loyalty to Morag already?

  As Astrid’s husband had?

  Not his heart, though. Euan huffed a sharp burst of air out through his nose. He’d found someone he wanted under him, wanted joined to him, writhing with pleasure. How long had it been since he had spilled his seed without feeling guilt.

  Too long.

  “I expect you to keep an eye on Morag. Cause a rumpus if anyone tries to cross the threshold. I’ll set guards at the foot of the stairs without being obvious. As for me, Graeme and I need to talk. I’ll stay at his apartments tonight.”

  He refrained from mentioning how much he wanted to be with Morag, ride her and himself into oblivion and fall asleep, breathing her in, her scent filling his head. That was something he didn’t want even her to know.

  The truth of it was, he had responsibilities—to his land, to his clan—and tonight he would set a plan in motion to make sure they would always be safe from the likes of Erik the Bear.

  Chapter 9

  Sunset, flaming gold turning red, as if the sky burned, slanted through both narrow openings in the tower wall.

  And still, Morag was here alone.

  Her skin dragged tight over her bones, restricting her movements, hot and prickling as if she had walked thro
ugh a bed of nettles. Euan’s leman, the choice had caught her by surprise, yet she had felt anything but reluctant. No, reluctance wasn’t at the root of her problems. Before today, it had been years since her body took another into it. She’d worried that she had forgotten how.

  But when Euan came to her this afternoon…

  Without thought or reason, her hands curled into fists as she crossed her arms over her breasts to hold back the feelings surging through her like a torrent that she knew was fear.

  Not for herself and, for once, not for Rob.

  She had taken the first big step onto a strange road and didn’t know where it would lead, where it would end. For an instant she’d had a thought that this need Euan had for her—for a bedmate—could be put to her advantage. Then Euan had put his hands on her and her body responded as if the intervening years had never been—a fact that piled every tiny broken shard of the advantage she had foreseen back onto Euan’s wide shoulders.

  Turning on her heel, she was confronted by the bed—such a huge space compared to the small pallet she had become used to passing the hours of darkness upon, listening to Rob breathing. Oh, to be that young and sleep like a log. Even exhausted by their travels, she had found it hard to fall into a deep slumber. Alert to the slightest noise, mice and rats had been the bane of her life. No wonder, then, that Euan hadn’t recognised her. It wasn’t only the difference in age; the hard journey had fined her down, disguising any resemblance to the lass in the cave.

  She reached out and touched the thick fur that disguised the rough filling in the mattress. Her fingers tangling in strands, she remembered its comfort under her. The memory of Euan’s weight pushing her into the fur could no longer be put aside. Her breathing quickened, sounding loud as twilight fell about her.

  She shivered; her blood cooling as outside in the solar, the curtain swung back. The breath in her throat locked then huffed out in a long sigh of relief. It was Nhaimeth.

  “The McArthur won’t be joining you tonight. He’s asked me to lay my pallet across the solar door, so you have nae need to be afeared. None will disturb you.”

  “I thank you, Nhaimeth.” She turned her head away to where the last threads of pink clung to the sky. “Is he getting drunk in the great hall with the Comlyn and his entourage?”

  “No lass, he is dossing down with Graeme McArthur. He’s the constable, a distant cousin.” His eyes crinkled in amusement, large mouth tilting as if on a thought. “Kathryn Comlyn won’t be after chasing the two of them, nae matter what her father has in mind.”

  Morag let out a gasp, “Her father? What happened?”

  “Erik the Bear has it in mind to marry her to the McArthur, who would just as soon not bother.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked up at Morag from about waist level, his usual vantage point. “Kathryn isn’t a patch on her sister. The younger lass is self-centred,” he gave a smirk, “thinks the sun shines out of her arse, that one.”

  “Hush, Nhaimeth that’s no way to speak. She’s young yet.”

  He shook his head. “No, her character is set. Astrid was a saint, but yon one takes after her father, and he is one with an eye to the main chance.”

  Nhaimeth gave a little “ho-ho” and clicked his heels, playing the Fool for the first time since she found him crying his heart out by the solar door. Over the jingling bells, he chuckled, “It will be hard to find another youngster as full of spirit as Rob. You wouldn’t catch Kathryn sporting her colours against Comlyn. Not the way Rob did with the McArthur, even though the McArthur chased her away from the solar.”

  “Rob met the McArthur?” Her mind whirled, she didn’t care about Kathryn. But Euan meeting Rob—this was unlooked for. She had hoped that when the day came, she would be there, directing the conversation away from dangerous areas. “What happened? What did Rob do?”

  The Fool stuck his little chest out and mimicked a capercailie, strutting, feathers fluffed. “Told, the McArthur if he hurt you, he would answer to him.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat and she found it difficult to ask, “And Rob is still standing?”

  “Aye, the McArthur didn’t take it amiss. I’m told he was just such a one, as a lad.” Nhaimeth laughed. “Perhaps, he saw something of himself in Rob when he offered to have him train as one of his housecarls.”

  Morag’s breath caught in a gasp.

  The Fool nodded, misinterpreting the sound of her quick drawn breath. “Aye, it was guid o’ him, but Rob said no. He wants to stay in the stables.”

  She began to breathe easier. “And that was all that happened?”

  “Aye, he didn’t even blink an eye about Rob sitting on his best warhorse, just said to be careful it didn’t bite his arse. Then the McArthur went off to speak to Graeme McArthur—there’s something in the wind there. Anyhow, he told me to guard the door to the solar. Perhaps, he didn’t want Kathryn to discover you sleeping in his bed and go running to Comlyn with the tale.”

  “Perhaps. Thank you, Nhaimeth. I’ll sleep better for knowing you’re there. Goodnight.” Morag gave him a minute to leave the room. She had a lot to ponder.

  Without taking off more than her kirtle, or lighting the torch, she climbed onto the bed. Why waste time lighting a taper from the brass lantern that burned low on the stone shelf across the room when she intended sleeping. And tonight she would sleep, for a change.

  Graeme’s apartments were above the barracks. He lived there alone and, to Euan’s mind, that was part of his constable’s ongoing problem.

  A small fire slowly died in the hearth and, on either side, Euan and Graeme relaxed on stools, toes pointing at the grey wood-ash, horns drained empty of wine at their sides. In the candlelight Euan watched sparks of excitement flash in Graeme’s eyes that contrasted with the questions he asked.

  “Have you thought this through, Euan? Not that I would gainsay you if this notion proves dear to your heart.” Graeme’s voice cracked, bemused laughter followed.

  Euan leaned forward, thighs braced on the wooden curve of the seat where metal studs held the woven leather strips in place. He felt them mark his skin at the back of his thighs. “How long have you known me, Graeme?”

  “Since the day you were born. I would have been about eight.”

  Euan grinned, “Not so auld then.”

  “It’s usual for younger men to succeed. I’m still older than you,” he replied, his mouth flattened. Concern bracketed the corners as if McArthur’s grief had affected his mind.

  “That’s why you need to marry once we build the new keep. If the curse can’t be broken, perhaps, you can have a son where I’ve failed.” Euan hit a fist against the palm of his other hand. “We must needs get this in place. Without a grandson to influence in his favour, I don’t trust Comlyn to hold his hand. It’s Cragenlaw he wants, and I’m wondering how long after a daughter of his gave me a son, would I have had an unfortunate accident?”

  “Aye,” Graeme’s expression grew fierce, “Comlyn’s mind works more like a fox’s than a bear’s. But even if I agree to this plan of yours and we build a keep on the borders for me to command, what young woman of child-bearing age would fancy a scar bitten face like mine?”

  “Who can say? At least the thought’s in your mind, where it wasn’t before, so that’s a start. Think on it, Graeme, a new keep, a young wife by your side.” Euan watched his constable’s eye grow distant and decided to leave him to his thoughts, otherwise they would stay up all night talking the plan to death.

  He had one more plan in mind, but it didn’t affect Graeme, and tomorrow would be time enough to set it in motion.

  Meanwhile, all his talk, convincing Graeme he should wed, had turned his thoughts in the direction of the woman waiting in his bed. By now she would be asleep, but the enthusiasm they had shared a few hours ago, made him certain Morag wouldn’t mind if he woke her from slumber. He left Graham’s apartment with images of a warm sleepy woman wrapped in his arms and with his cock rising in anticipation.

  Sick of chas
ing sleep through the hay, Rob abandoned the loft. He found the smell of horses acceptable, but heat rising from the closely packed horse flesh had sent him in search of fresh air.

  The sky, dark blue in the gloaming, was scattered with the biggest stars he had ever seen, hanging like lanterns in the heavens. During their long, winding journey to Cragenlaw, each night he’d lain on his back, searching the skies for angels. The ones Morag had told him could be seen dancing up there, but so far he’d been disappointed

  Sometimes he wondered if it was just Morag’s way of keeping him on track, like dangling a carrot in front of a donkey.

  It was lighter outside than in the stables, and his eyes soon adjusted. That’s how he noticed the McArthur leaving the guardhouse. The McArthur was a hard man to mistake. In all his life, Rob couldn’t remember seeing a man as big. But then he had but eleven years in his basket, no matter what others believed.

  He was old enough to realise that Morag was doing her best for them, but too young to work out how any man could take a leman the same day he buried a wife. No doubt one day it would all become clear, perhaps when he reached the magic fourteen years.

  Rob allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk as the McArthur drew level, thinking on how the huge chieftain had offered him a place with his housecarls. He hadn’t lied when he said he’d had some training with a sword. He just avoided saying it was wooden.

  The McArthur’s back was to him now, his long stride carrying him to the inner bailey. Rob half turned away, satisfied he might sleep now. Then, he caught a glint of metal, starlight upon steel, moving away from the wall, moving closer to the McArthur.

  Rob opened his mouth to yell then shut it with a snap. A sword cleared of its scabbard had the advantage of one in its sheath.

  Instinctively, he reached out round the side of the pillar flanking the archway and found the wooden shovel, propped there after he helped to bury the afterbirth.