Chapter 6
The sun glanced off the pale-gold beach, making Rory squint as he stared into the distant north, out past the Ness, as if expecting the Irish ships to cut through the waves toward the settlement. In truth, he made use of the sun’s hard strike to disguise his frown, hide the heaviness pulling his brows o’er his eyes as he listened to Calder’s news, “God’s teeth, what’s wrong with me? I must have been moon-shot, waiting a whole year to come back for her—she loves me, Rory. Did ye hear that? Gilda loves me!”
Rory shook his head and managed to scrape up a smile. “I heard ye. I should think the whole settlement did, so if that was a secret ye were telling me, I think yer too late.”
Secrets. They all had them. Calder had held his close. When they left Dun Bhuird Rory had still been brooding, all his thought taken up with himself—what he wanted—going in circles with nae notion how to find the lass whau had him so stirred he didnae know himself any longer.
“It makes nae difference to me,” Calder told him. A smile split his friend’s face. “I wager you would feel the same if the lass whau had been filling yer head for a twelve-month admitted she was as mad for ye, as ye were for her. I feel I could leap mountains, what do ye think of that?”
At last, something to amuse him, not because Calder was acting moon-touched. Nae, it was the realisation that his own secret was still that—secret. “Now that’s something I would like to see, Calder. Don’t forget to warn me afore ye leap since I wouldnae want to miss something so amazing I would want to tell my grandbairns about if I ever have any.”
“And why wouldnae ye?” Calder clapped Rory on the shoulder. “Yer father will settle for naught less than a fine handful of wee lads to carry on the line.”
Listening to the truth of the matter was enough to tug his mouth down at the corners—disgruntled as humour fled. “And what if I want the same—want what yer shouting to the skies that ye have found, instead of a cold-blooded arrangement betwixt two strangers.”
“Ha,” Calder’s head reared back. “It’s a strange notion to have ye envious of me. My only suggestion is to get off yer arse and start looking. She’s nae likely to walk right up and put her arms round ye. Nae that’s the man’s task. We are the hunters. Look at me, follow my example if ye need help, or else naught will change.” Calder thumped his chest with a fist to empathise his words. “This friend will be by yer shoulder, same as always.”
Rory knew Calder didnae lie. They had been friends since they were naught but lads. A distant cousin, Kathryn and Gavyn had taken Calder in after a fever had taken his father and o’er the years they had become as much like twins as his Cragenlaw cousins. Yet, when on the same night they had both found a lass to stir nae just their loins but their hearts, each had kept it to himself, secret.
Ghillie spent the morning listening to Olaf. They sat on a bench outside the longhouse, looking out o’er the Ness. The Jarl had tales in abundance—though in truth it was the history of his family that drew Ghillie in.
The McArthur had made sure that the seneschal taught Ghillie to read, write and count his numbers, making him luckier than most lads. Aye, he had learned skills usually reserved for priests. However, his efforts werenae intended to prepare him for the Kirk. Nae, this notion that his family had come up with was meant to arm him with enough education to secure his future, driven by the fear that Ghillie might ne’er grow any taller than his parents, Nhaimeth and Rowena—both dwarfs.
Fortunately, he had outgrown both of them years past and might have abandoned his studies long syne if he had wanted. It made nae difference; whether frae habit or simple pleasure, he still attended his lessons each morning of the days he spent at Cragenlaw, making certain to turn up at the seneschal’s door eager to learn more.
That’s why he memorised every word Olaf spoke, ready to write down the stories of his family—their history—to make sure it was ne’er forgotten.
After listening to the conclusion of a myth the auld man was relating about Thorfinn the mighty, Ghillie glanced at Olaf and caught the Jarl’s eye as he finished off the tankard of ale needed to quench his thirst after all his talking.
Tilting his head, Ghillie asked, “Did our ancestors ne’er think on building walls or a palisade to protect the settlement? It looks strange to me, after living at Cragenlaw and Dun Bhuird, not to see high walls surrounding the settlement.“
“Nae doubt we seem unprepared, but our skills lie in building boats not walls. Most of our enemies come down the Ness, and we have the land at our backs. That’s nae saying we cannae stand our ground on the land,” he laughed, shaking his gnarled stick.
A moment later, his expression changed, grew hard, his auld eyes narrowed, pierced Ghillie to the bone as if trying to read his mind, which was Ghillie’s job and the auld Jarl knew it, “We all know the Irish will soon be upon us, and though we don’t look prepared, there are men on the hills and others sleeping on the boats ready to raise the sails at the first sighting of raiders.”
“Forgive me, grandfather,” he said, showing respect for his relative-ancestor’s age. “I didnae doubt ye for a moment.”
“As I don’t doubt ye, lad. Tell me, Ghillie, do ye see me still standing when it’s all o’er, or shall I sail for Walhalla in a dragon boat?”
Ghillie frowned as he decided what to tell Olaf. “The gift the gods gave me is not of seeing the future, it’s a feeling, a knowing. All I can say is that there will trouble, confusion and change but, sitting beside ye, I cannae feel the heat of flames consuming yer flesh or yer spirit because of the Irish. I’ve felt the strength in ye frae when I first met ye—afore even. While we journeyed closer to Caithness I could sense it in ye. That strength doesnae reside in muscle alone, it’s in yer head and in yer heart. That is yer gift frae the gods and it’s what has kept Caithness safe even afore ye became Jarl.”
“I’m glad to hear it. It’s easy seen that ye are much wiser than yer years and I would ask a favour of ye. If yer still here—and I cannae see ye not being man enough to stay while danger threatens—I would like ye to stay close and give me the benefit of yer gift, yer knowing.”
Ghillie held out his hand to the Jarl, and even that felt a step forward, as if he had become a man as he felt Olaf’s strong grip surround his fingers. “I will be nearby and do what I can to turn the tide against the Irish as well as yon Norsemen whau would side with them against their own kind.” He smiled as he felt more than just the calluses on the Jarl’s palm. “And I doubt that Rory and Carl will leave me behind. Two better fighters ye’ll ne’er meet.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but if they stay and aught happens to them, it will be Gavyn Farquhar I’ll have to answer to and nae doubt cousin Kathryn will hand him the sword.”
“Aye she’s nae a meek wee wife. Ye must have heard how she once shot an arrow at Gavyn.” The thought made him grin. “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it, and a better person for tending to wounds I’ve yet to meet.”
Aye, there might be troubles ahead of all of them, but there was more that nae one was aware of. As he told Olaf, it was naught but a feeling, a sense that life was about to become very interesting. Then he looked up and knew why.
“Ghillie, have ye met my granddaughter and her wee lad, Axel.”
He had told the Jarl he hadnae been given the gift of sight, yet standing afore him he saw the future. The lass, the Jarl’s granddaughter, was beautiful, fair of face and spirit, if the smile she gave him was to be believed. However, it was the bairn she carried in a sling that confirmed why they had needed to journey to Caithness. He had realised earlier that Rory felt driven to return here. The lass was explanation enough; it would seem Calder wasnae the only one to find love at the last Gathering.
Just as he thought Rory’s motive for coming to Caithness was easily explained, Olaf’s next comment put a twist in their sails. “Ainsel is a widow. Her husband ne’er lived to see their bairn born,” he said, throwing a quick hard glance at his granddaughter as if waiting for Ainsel’s reaction. And when her expression gave naught away he carried on, grumbling, “Though there’s few at the Ness would care since he’s the one whau caused trouble with the Irish—paid for it with his life—it’s not enough. They say he abducted the chieftain’s wife.” With a shrug he looked up frae under his brows at his granddaughter. “Although what he needed with another woman when he already had a guid one of his own at home I have nae notion. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt and say it was probably ransom he was after. Our Norse brothers are not ready to be so forgiving.”
Trust the gods to find a way to reprimand him for being too smug. It would seem there was naught about this visit that was going to be easy. Complicated—aye that was the only certainty. The only other conviction thrumming through his mind made it all more complicated. Rory wasnae aware that the bairn—Axel—was his. Nae one did except Ainsel and he could tell frae the nervous glances she flicked his way frae under her long brown eyelashes that she dreaded anyone discovering the truth.
It would seem that tales of his mother’s gifts had gone ahead of him and Ainsel was frightened he would reveal her secret. All of which put him in a quandary.
Had the gods intended to use him to disclose a truth that Rory should be able to see for himself? The bairn, as his mother would say, looked as like Rory as his spit. Or had they something bigger, more important than a bairn.
Frae all he had learned about the Christians, like as not they wouldnae tend to contest the import of a bairn’s untimely birth.