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 night 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?”
“A little o’er three months, but he’s big for his age,” she responded, pleased the attention had turned towards her son and let her relax for a wee while.
Calder laughed at that, taking in the ring of folk—mostly women—edging closer, scared to miss out on a skerrick of gossip. “I daresay there will be a guid few around his age.” He chuckled as he spoke. “That’s going by the carousing I saw happen last solstice.” Ainsel watched him put his arm round Gilda, as if he realised he might have insulted her, saying, “Other folk, not us. We’re different.”
Gilda shook her head and nudged him in the ribs. “Hush now. I dare say all the lads say that, but not Ainsel. My cousin is a widow. Her man ne’er lived long enough to see his son born.”
Calder frowned. “I regret if I’ve caused ye pain…”
“It’s of nae matter, I have my son and I’m happy about that. Besides, we have my grandfather and brother to look out for us, should the need arise. And here here’s my grandfather now…” She paused as Olaf halted at Calder’s elbow.
“Ainsel, here are some cousins ye have yet to meet. This is young man is Ghillie Comlyn. His father Nhaimeth was here years past, just after yer grandmother was abducted.” He shook his head and, even after all this time, Ainsel watched a teardrop gather at the corner of his eye. “And this tall lad with him is Rory Farquharson, son of Gavyn Farquhar, a cousin an’ all, but on his mother Kathryn Comlyn’s side. I have guid reason to be grateful to his family. Even if she died but moments afore I found her, they brought my daughter Lhilidh home to Caithness where she belonged.”
Olaf halted briefly, his eyes on Axel and a wide grin splitting his face. “This lass is Ainsel and the bairn on her shoulder is my first grandson, Axel,” he said proudly. “Now, if only her brother Finn was as caring of an auld man’s dreams for the future…”
She forgot how to breath, to think. Did he recognise her? She dipped her chin towards Alex and strangled the word, “Welcome”, hardly recognised it for her own voice then, the gods forgive her, she pinched Axel and when he yelled she muttered, “to Caithness…” and let it be drowned by Axel’s indignant cries.
“I was here last year,” he attempted, “but I didnae meet ye.”
Ainsel shook her head, short swift movements as jerky as her breathing, then she gathered Axel close, hiding his face, his eyes, then, smiling apologetically, turned away. “I must see to the bairn.”
She found it hard not to run—found it hard not to stay and let her eyes feast on him. Gods defend her, he was so much better than she had imagined. Her breaths became loud, sobbing as she looked at Alex and cursed herself for the false heritage she had laid on his head. Forever he would be known as the lad whaus father had brought the ire of the Irish down on Caithness. The family of everyone killed or harmed in the attack would always look sideways at him, wondering if he would grow up as wild and black-hearted as Nils.
The fault was hers—a wee snatch at happiness, pleasure—now she must pay.
And Axel must pay.
She was a bad mother.
Compared to the responses of most of the other women crowding around him, Rory felt as if after one brief glance, Olaf’s granddaughter had found him wanting. Aye, mayhap she’d given him a wee smile in compensation while she rejected him—rejected him : Rory Farquharson.
Ach aye, it had been a wee bit of a smile that felt as rare as a Scottish summer without rain. He looked at Calder and the lass, Gilda, at the way her face beamed with pleasure and at her gestures as she walked by Calder’s side, unable to take her eyes off his face. It made him swallow back a sigh that had all the makings of a groan.
Was it vain of him to believe he was thought comely—handsome even—when so many lasses had told him the same? Mayhap the lass just didnae like Scots, or had her husband been killed by one of his nationality? Aye, it was a puzzle.
One he determined to solve.
“Ye havenae picked the best time to visit the Ness with the Irish once again desperate to teach us a lesson,” Olaf rumbled in the deep voice Rory remembered, “but ne’er mind; ye must all bide in the longhouse. Truth to tell, an extra sword will nae go amiss should ye still be here when the villains arrive.”
“I hope we are,” said Calder.
“We will be,” said Ghillie, and that worried Rory. He gave his wee cousin a pointed stare, suddenly keenly curious about Ghillie’s motive for pushing them to make the journey.
Ach. Well, come to that, Calder had always been keen, and as for himself, somehow the pain in his gut had eased, stopped making him feel so driven the moment they headed north. Ghillie, though, didnae make sense. He had ne’er visited the Ness afore. As for Calder, to Rory’s way of thinking, it would have taken a catastrophe to prevent his friend frae visiting the lass.
Look at him now, his arm slowly slipping lower, slithering her past her waist and o’er her hip until his palm sneakily sought out the curve of her behind and gave it a squeeze.
The biggest problem left to solve was why Ghillie had been so eager to join them. For the first time he had an inkling that mayhap he had been o’er quick to dismiss what others of his family saw in his cousin.
As for Ghillie’s mother, Rowena, well hers had been a different tale—more believable—a story more easy to swallow, for hadnae she been raised by gypsies? To him it made nae odds that in truth she was sister to Melinda, Rob’s wife. Rowena was a dwarf as was Nhaimeth, and surely God gave such as they another gift as compensation. It seemed only just, but what did he know?
He had well and truly rebelled this time, turned his back on his father and all the responsibilities Gavyn wanted to burden his heir with. And young Ghillie had encouraged him, acting as if he knew something of what would happen, held some secret hidden frae Rory.
He supposed it was the sight of Calder, face wreathed in smiles and his arm around the lassie whau had brought him back to Caithness that made him wonder why he was in the Ness with nae notion at all if the lass he remembered even existed.
Following Olaf, they led their mounts to the stables. Only a fool didnae look after his horse. In dangerous times, a well trained mount could be the difference betwixt life and death. It was all very well to saunter through the mountains as they had last year, travelling with nary a care in the world except a chance to escape frae the rules and restrictions of Dun Bhuird.
This visit was different.
Aye, he had rebelled against his father’s constraints, yet he realised that whether he found the lass frae his dreams or not, he was definitely ready for a fight.