Chapter 7
The lad they called Ghillie knew…
Not that he said aught; he didnae need to. Ainsel felt his knowledge shimmering off him the way sunlight did off water. She felt it in the way the hairs on her arms rose—prickled—frae the expression in his eyes as they skimmed over her. Felt the noise of certainty ring loudly frae her heart pounding in her ears as his gaze fixed upon Axel and made her want to wrap the sling tightly around the bairn so he could disappear frae sight.
Ach aye, one glance and she was certain the young wizard had read her mind and had found her out in the lie, but would he give her away to Rory Farquharson?
Her grandfather was still speaking, but she had lost sight of the point, until Olaf mentioned, “Ye might have heard me speak of Ghillie’s father, Nhaimeth Comlyn, another cousin—distant—and Ghillie even more so. Aye he’s a big lad and a sight to behold with both his father and mother being what folk call dwarfs. Not that Nhaimeth’s size e’er held him back. He’s a bonnie fighter frae what I’ve heard.”
Searching her brain for aught sensible to say, she came out with, “So yer friends with Calder and, what do ye call him, Rory?”
“That would be correct. Rory and I are cousins, his mother being my father’s sister. We’re a close family the Comlyns, Farquhars and the McArthurs.”
It struck her that was the first real information she had on Rory other than that he was a wonderful lover—not that she had aught to compare with, Nils had ne’er cared for anyone’s pleasure but his own.
Thinking of families, she pulled Axel closer, ran her hand o’er his dark curls. “Whau can ye trust if not family?” She repeated another lie since she had ne’er been able to trust Nils, and there were many lasses—wives—in the settlement well aware of the truth. Thankfully, for her sake, or more likely her grandfather’s, they had kept that truth to themselves.
Olaf roared with laughter then shook his head and dug an elbow into Ghillie’s ribs. “Forgive her lad, the story of Harald and Brodwyn has disappeared frae most folks memories long ago.”
“Except those whau were involved. Kathryn was carrying Rory when she was abducted, but the world turns and times change. Brodwyn escaped frae the Irish and returned to Dun Bhuird. She died a few years later frae wounds made by Rob’s wife’s father, Baron La Mont, a Norman whau, strangely enough, was my grandfather and father of Brodwyn’s daughter, Merida.” He shrugged off the complications as if they were of nae moment, then carried on to say, “One day I must write a history of our families.”
“Ah, but few of us will be able to read it.”
“Then I must make certain it lasts until some time in the future when more than priests and seneschals learn to read and write,” he said it as if he could see a world when that might come to pass. Then, hardly taking time for another breath, Ghillie went on, “And speaking of family, I’d better catch up with Rory and Calder. I’ve been lolling around all morning and had best discover what they are up to.”
Ainsel liked the way, he included both her and Olaf in the half bow he made afore walking in the direction of the water, expecting to find Rory on the beach.
Her skin crawled with the prickle of nerves. Would he tell Rory?
Mayhap she should burn sage and other protective herbs in a small sacrifice to the gods in the hope they would stay Ghillie’s hand, or lips. She watched the lad walk away and turned to her grandfather. “Why is it when ye used to tell me tales of the past ye ne’er spoke of the wicked Harald, nor a lass named Brodwyn?”
“Yon were hardly times that I care to remember. When Harald and Brodwyn arrived at Caithness settlement we were just getting o’er yer grandmother’s abduction. Ye heard of that, did ye not?“
Nodding, Ainsel waited for him to continue. It was true her own mother had spoken of Ainsel’s grandmother’s abduction by the Irish—the reason Ainsel had been deprived of knowing her, though they said she looked like the woman her grandfather must have loved for he had ne’er thought to replace her.
“I remember I tore a strip off Harald for expecting me go along with his high-handed schemes when I was in the middle of my own crisis. His idea had been to force Gavyn Farquhar to give up the Dun Bhuird chieftainship in his favour. He brought with him Kathryn and her maid, Lhilidh, tied them up and shut them a broch. When I didnae give into him, didnae agree to stand with him against Rory’s father, he took a burning brand frae the fire and tossed it onto the thatched roof. Gavyn arrived in time to drag Kathryn out, but Lhilidh didnae survive. It wasnae till later that I discovered Lhilidh was my own daughter by a woman I met when visiting Erik the Bear at Dun Bhuird—a bonnie wee thing she was…”
Frae the look her grandfather gave her it was obvious her surprise showed on her face, but nae wonder. Hadnae he just finished telling her how much her grandmother had meant to him?
“Aye, ye may well look,” Olaf’s chin jutted, “I’m a man and was younger back then, unused to going without. We cannae all be like ye and Nils.”
Where had her grandfather got the impression Nils was like one of yon Christian saints when in truth Loki the trickster must have been his guide? She dipped her chin and stared at Axel’s bonnie head. At least she had done that for her son, deprived him of a father who was a monster.
“I cast nae blame on ye, Grandfather. I suppose that, though I didnae know my grandmother, it was her that my thoughts naturally turned to. I cannae imagine how it felt for ye to discover ye’d had a daughter and she was gone to Walhalla afore ye had a chance to know her.”
His smile was wry as he said, “Can ye understand now why I seldom talk of yon days?”
“I do, and I regret that ye thought I wouldnae.” Ainsel stepped closer and rubbed the knuckles of her grandfather’s hand where it rested atop his stick. It was then Axel began to grumble, making Olaf crook a finger under the bairn’s chin, tickling the bad humour away. She was surprised when the tip of his finger found its way under the silver chain he had worn since he was born.
Olaf lifted the chain clear of the bairn’s wrappings, revealing the tiny silver Thor’s hammer her grandfather had given him at birth. “This is bonnie, but ne’er imagine it has any other power. The gods look down on us frae on high, but all they give us is free will; good or evil, it’s our choice. This little hammer and chain belonged to Lhilidh. I gave it to her mother afore I left Dun Bhuird, unaware she was carrying my bairn. It belonged to my mother, and its nae coincidence that her name was Lhilidh as well. The only power I give the hammer was that it was always given with love. What more does a bairn need to keep him strong,” he said as Axel gave him a gummy smile.
She laughed as Axel turned his mouth into her breast and nuzzled, searching for her nipple. “Love he has in abundance, but as ye can see he’s not content with that alone. He wants food and clean swaddling cloths—a problem I can solve.”
“I can but agree. For a bairn, a mother is the font of all that’s good: love, food and comfort. As for the skills he’ll need when he is aulder, rely on Finn and me to provide all the help a father would have given him.”
Ainsel dreaded to think what skills Nils might have thought essential for a growing lad. She had a sudden longing for her mother, a woman she could turn to for advice without feeling ashamed she hadnae done more to protect herself. Even her one instant of rebellion had been to spite Nils, not to stand up for herself against his cruel treatment.
As she made her farewells to her grandfather she thanked the gods for taking Nils. Better than her brother being forced to kill him. Better for all of them.
The excitement in the air was contagious. Both Rory and Calder felt it as they climbed up the tangle of logs and driftwood to help drag more fuel for the bonfire closer to the summit of the pile. Around them, sweating bodies gleamed in the sunshine as the men bent and pulled, heaved branches onto their shoulders, all done with a laugh and a smile as if they didnae have spies on the heights or crews aboard the dragon boats floating on the lowering tide with their eyes on the horizon for the Irish marauders.
Done at last, they scrambled down, staggering until the only way for Rory to stay on his feet was to throw an arm around Calder’s shoulder. “I think our best plan should be to run down the beach and jump into the sea afore we go back to the longhouse in search of food. What say you, Calder?”
“I say let’s do that. Let’s do it now while we can still stand. It wouldnae do to end up crawling there like bairns while all these Norsemen can see. We have our nation’s pride to uphold.” That said, they set off across the sand, shoulder to shoulder as they always had since Calder moved into Dun Bhuird. He had come frae a Comlyn longhouse set on the westerly side of the mountains that made up Bienne á Bhuird, come to be fostered by Gavyn. As Rory’s mind became clearer, he began to wonder how long their friendship would go on as it had in the past—now that Calder had found a lassie to love. And what kind of a friend would he be to resent him for finding what he himself had come in search of and had yet to find.
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?