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 everything 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.
Ghillie might be younger and shorter than she, yet he was better prepared than either of the Olafsen brother and sister. The difference training with Ghillie made was that he gave voice to the different sword strokes, telling as well as showing her the fastest way to kill yer opponent.
By the time Rory put himself forward to teach her, Ainsel felt she had learned a thing or two or three and smiled smugly inside her head, determined not to be easily beaten for, barring an accident, there was nae chance she could kill or maim the likes of Rory. Then again, she knew she would have to work her hardest not to be the one likely to be killed.
Rory’s voice sounded gruff as if slightly winded frae his earlier efforts. The way his chest rose and fell distracted her thoughts as he asked, “Do you want to take a wee rest afore we get started?”
Her self-annoyance at letting his latent sexuality stir up feelings designed for mating, not fighting, made her sound sharper than she meant. “The enemy will not be inclined to let us stop for a rest to get our wind back.” She brought her shield up in front of her body until only her eyes would be seen by her foe, then adjusted her grip on her sword’s hilt.
Looking into eyes the image of her son’s, she called out, “Have at me, Farquharson,” then laughed. “Do I get points for being able to pronounce yer name?”
The smile he flashed in her direction created as much devastation in her breast as a bolt of lightning appearing out of a blue sky. One of his dark eyebrows lifted higher than the other as he acknowledged the hit, his gaze seeming to penetrate the shield she held. “Practise first, lass; the points we can discuss later.
And so they began, their movements fitting together as they twisted and turned, winding around each other as if it were a dance of love instead of death, accompanied by the whistle of steel cutting the air and the sound of swords banging against shields to mark the rhythm. That was until the moment they came together, cross-guards locked, shields squashed tight. His breath sounded as throat-roughened as her own, as air exploded frae her lungs. She could smell his male sweat, taste the breath that left his mouth and danced o’er top her shield, tempting her as the moments passed and neither of them moved. Finally, Rory gasped, “Do ye give in?”
Ainsel matched him stare for stare, lured deeper into the dark-blue depth of his eyes as if bespelled as the reply forced past lips she felt the need to lick. “Give in to what?”
His nostrils flared as she finally gave answer and licked her dry lips. “So we’re calling it a draw?”
Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered that he couldnae feel it reverberate through her shield and onto his. She sucked in a breath and swallowed the taste she hadnae forgotten, not in a twelve-month. “Win, draw or loss, mayhap we can settle it later once we have counted up the points.”
Ainsel watched the way his mouth moved, the soft fullness that she remembered playing with her lips and tongue. Immediately she was as wet betwixt her upper thighs as her throat was dry and tight, husky. “Grand. I’m fairly equable to that notion, but later, when I’ve tended to my bairn. He comes first in my life.”
“Yet yer still determined to take up yer sword and fight?”
The afternoon sun cast a reddish glare behind Rory’s head as if single-minded in its attempts to hold her in her opponents shadow where she could see every handsome particle of him, blinded by his presence instead of the sun’s. “What kind of mother would I be if I didnae stand up for and do my best to protect my family.”
Just when she believed she had forgotten about Nils, Rory questioned her motives. “Is that what yer late husband taught ye?”
Ainsel stepped back, dragging his cross-guard with her, but unable to untangle the two, as if this was fate emphasising that because of Axel, she could nae more easily untangle her life frae Rory’s as she could move away without pulling him with her. Jaw clenched tight she looked straight into his eyes, hers like ice in the pretence that he would ne’er get the better of her. “What I learned frae my late husband was how to duck,” she said, sliding her sword up and away frae his, thinking to let him make what he liked of that.
Taking a step to one side, she caught sight of Finn approaching. His hair was wringing wet with sweat, as was Rory’s, and his face red frae exertion, which her opponent’s wasnae. “I can think of better places to have a conversation,” her brother chivvied as he reached them. “Who won?”
Rory’s lips lifted at one corner, a wry smile as he turned to Finn, giving her the opportunity to put a wee bit of distance betwixt them. “That’s exactly what we were trying to decide.”
Her distance gradually increased, as did her pace backward while Rory called after her, with a wolf-like show of teeth that made a mockery of his next statement, “We’ve decided to settle it tonight after this e’en’s meal.”
She turned on her heel, showing him her back, his words echoing in her mind—a warning or a pledge?
Calder stared at Rory, bemused by his friend’s show of caution. Of course her brother was standing next to him and, bonnie fighter or not, the lass had a bairn to tend to. He supposed it wouldnae do for Rory to insult their host by being obvious about tupping his granddaughter.
He looked frae Rory to Finn and, though he could see he didnae have their full attention, he mentioned, “I’m thinking another swim wouldnae go amiss, how about joining me?”
Rory curled his nose but shook his head, “I’m of a mind to settle for the water butt and some rain water. I’ve enough salt and sweat coating my skin.”
Finn offered him another refusal, “I should attend my grandfather, and I’m sure he would like to hear what Rory has to say about our fighters. I felt they acquitted themselves well, but I’d rather he didnae accuse me of bias.”
“What do ye think, Calder, should I mind his back?”
Calder rolled his eyes at his friend. It was occasions like this he was happy not to be the son of a chieftain with its restrictions and obligations. He only had to think on the trouble Rory was likely to be in for going against his father’s wishes—rebelling—whereas being a mere Comlyn relative he could please himself.
He waved them away. “Off ye go and dinnae try to pretend ye would refuse. I know ye better than that. I’ll see ye after my lonely swim, just save some supper for me.” It wasnae until he turned round that he saw Gilda. His heart hammered against his breastbone at the sight of her, and visions of how they had fitted together the night afore filled his head.
He held out his hand, and when she gripped it he pulled her close, her soft murmur, “I’ll make sure yer not lonely,” did naught to quiet the drumming of his heart.
He dipped his head suddenly aware the stench of sweat coming frae him was none too pleasant. “Can ye swim? I willnae be very grand company until I wash away this sweat.”
Calder was taken aback when she sidled closer and rubbed the front of her linen kirtle against his chest. “What makes ye think I’d dislike the hot scent of yer skin. Cannae ye feel my breasts swell against ye and my nipples harden? I want ye, Calder. Naught can e’er change that.”
He wanted her too, was hot for her. More than hot … if only he could find the words. He was simply aware that when he looked at her a warm thrill spread through him. It began low down in his gut and tingled all the way out to the tips of his fingers and toes—a feeling he didnae want to lose. Without hesitation, he cupped her face in his palms. Held it there in hands that moments afore had held a sword while he stared deep into her eyes. Then gently he lowered his mouth until their lips met.
Aye, he wanted Gilda but he wanted more, wanted longer than a week, he wanted forever. That’s what had drawn him back here, but would he be able to convince—nae persuade—her she wanted the same? When he lifted his head, he still didnae speak, couldnae find the words, and he was relieved when Gilda did. “Have ye ever been on a dragon boat?”
Not quite what he had been hoping to hear, but he had always been flexible, “Nae, we dinnae have much need for them in the Highlands.”
“I was thinking of last time ye were at Caithness, but ne’er mind that. My aulder brother is on watch on one of the boats, not the dragon-boat closest to us but the next, the second in line. I asked if we could take his place while he had a meal—I told him I wanted to take you aboard—and he didnae mind.”
Calder couldnae help but laugh, she looked so earnest. “He’s not worried we’ll sail away with it when his back’s turned?” She huffed down her nose and punched him in the shoulder. “All right, I was only teasing. Ye ken I’ll go anyplace ye want, even on a dragon-boat. Do we have to swim?”
“Nae, there’s a wee boat ye will have to paddle though.” She smirked o’er her shoulder as she walked toward the water’s edge where the boats floated, tugging him by the hand after her.
God’s teeth, he was glad he came to Caithness to find this woman, and when he returned to Dun Bhuird it was his earnest intention to take her with him. She hadnae mentioned mother or father. Was there anyone he would have to ask afore he took her to wife?
The thought leapt into his mind without volition, shook and surprised him, made him pause in in motion as well as mind, pulling on her fingers until she stopped and turned. She said naught, nae more was needed than the quirk of fair brows the shape of angels wings above eyes as blue as the sky and as deep and unending. He wanted to tell her, but it was too soon. The time would come but it wasnae tonight, so he settled for asking, “And what will we do when we get out there?”
Her smile would have been enough but so far Gilda had yet to hold aught back and made certain, saying, “What e’er we want.”