Chapter 29
Half-blinded by the flash, Ainsel rushed to kneel down beside Rory, to be deafened by the thunder rolling even as the men fell to the ground. She hadnae objected to him inserting his bulk betwixt her and Nils. Aye, she had put up a guid show of giving Nils as guid as he gave, but his intrusion into the broch had been one of yon times when, for a woman, being as near to naught naked wasnae an advantage.
She had grabbed an auld kirtle as well as the leather short-coat she had worn earlier afore slipping her sword frae its scabbard. If she had put more thought and less haste into joining the stoush, she might not have distracted Rory. It hadnae dawned on her that her reflection in the water would catch Rory’s attention, but she had seen the moment’s hesitation, the glance out the corner of his eye afore he slipped. Ainsel would have flung herself in front of that sword rather than watch him die for her sake.
The fight had been settled without her help. Rory had been flung back, sword arm hitting high on his chest, a bruising knock made more brutal by the weight of the weapon his fingers refused to release. Now she pressed her hand against Rory’s chest searching for a heartbeat, hoping against hope that Nils was the only one the lightning had killed.
Not that she could see Nils yet. The flash had left her with yellow ghosts in her vision, but she certainly hadnae lost her sense of smell.
“Ainsel.” His voice, husky, was hard to hear so she leaned closer, “I know yer strong, but I’m sorry, lass, I couldnae let him hurt ye again.”
‘There’s naught to be sorry for, Rory.” She rubbed her palm o’er the bristles on his face that had begun to soften, as if to reassure him the were both still alive and told him. “He willnae hurt anyone anymore. I’ve got my wish. He’s dead.”
Taking in a noisy breath of the damp night air, Rory pushed up onto his hunkers, then stood, pulling her up with him they stood together, swords sitting loosely at their sides as they let reality sink in.
“It’s better this way. Nae one can blame his death on ye.”
He found the energy to grin at her, a quick show of teeth, and said, “Me?” He shrugged. “Let them impugn me. I care not. My shoulders are big enough to bear censure.”
She looked up at him, hoping her smile didnae waver since her jaw felt tight, as if a sword hilt was pressed up under her skin, making what was in her heart difficult to voice. “Nae one could have done more for me. I mean that with everything that’s in me,” she said, glancing down to avoid his eyes. Everything was so complicated. She glanced up frae under her eyelashes and, to break the tension, and with a wry twist to her lips said, “Even the mud betwixt my toes.”
“God’s teeth, Ainsel, get inside out of the rain and find yer boots while I fetch a torch and make certain Nils is dead.”
“I cannae see how it could be otherwise. He’s dead exactly as he deserved and nae one, neither you nor me need feel guilty about his end, which must have been quicker than a sword slicing through his gut.” She muttered through clenched teeth, “It was more mercy than he was about to offer to Rory Farquharson.”
Then with a squeeze of his shoulder, she went back inside the broch to find the abandoned strip of linen to make sure that when she put her boots on the feet inside them would be clean.
In the end, Rory didnae need a torch to make certain of Nils’s death. Flashes of lightning continued to circle the Ness as if dancing in a wicked celebration—the opposite of the green lights floating in the northern night sky that his mother always said looked like angels.
Nils’s eyes were open as if the huge flash had happened more swiftly than he could screw up his eyes against the pain. Rory swithered o’er pressing his fingertips across Nils’s eyelids in an attempt to hide that horrified stare from Ainsel, or to let her remember her son’s father as he was, a traitorous coward whau had turned on her and her family.
Decision made, Rory bent and pulled Olaf’s gold ring off Nils’s finger and left him to watch the penance for his misdeeds played out in the night sky.
When Ainsel reappeared, he had naught to say but, “We should go the longhouse and tell Finn to call off the search for Nils. He needs some guid news to start the new day.”
The sky was paler now as they set off, the lightning beginning to fade in competition with the rising sun, as if the storm had done its duty by killing Nils. Ainsel barely spared a glance for the man whau had altered the balance of power amongst the Norse. It would be a while afore any of them forgot the treachery of so-called friends and, both locked in their own thoughts, the pair walked slowly away frae the past. Eventually, Rory turned to the lass by his side. It felt strange, even to himself, that he had come to love her so swiftly in the absence of the lass he had come to Caithness to find.
He reached out and took Ainsel’s hand, tangling his long fingers betwixt her much smaller ones. “At least now ye know that Nils—be he yer husband or not—can nae longer lay claim to Axel. That must take a lot of cares off yer mind.”
Ainsel tilted her head as if studying his face in the grey dawn light. “If I’m honest with ye, Nils has ne’er had the slightest claim on my son, on Axel. Nils had naught to do with my son’s entry into this harsh world.”
Her news was followed by a rushing noise in Rory’s ears that set him questioning whether he was hearing correctly, even though he knew he had. That’s what had caused his confusion, made him question whether he had yet another man to get rid of to keep Ainsel as his own. “Then if Nils isnae the father, whau is?”
“Have ye ne’er actually taken a guid look at Axel? Taken a look at yer son?”
The rushing noise growing in his ear faded, became molten lead dripping into his gut as his heart squeezed tight. “How could Axel be mine?”
“Do ye remember that story ye told me about last year’s solstice, the bonfire and why that night brought ye back to Caithness, of the lass whau seduced ye amongst the heather and made love with ye in the dark, only to slip away at the first sign of dawn?”
“You?”
“Aye.”
There was a monster named anger rousing in the depths of Rory’s soul. A monster that gripped Ainsel by the shoulders and roared, “And if Nils hadnae died, were ye ever going to tell me?”
Flames rose in her eyes, flames that said ‘roast in hell’ as she slammed him in the gut with a tightly curled fist. “Unhand me, and ne’er touch me in anger again.”
For once in his life, he didnae know what to say. He dropped his hands to his sides, cursing inwardly the mistake—transgression—he had just made. It didnae cool his anger, but Jesus on the cross, he didnae want anyone—Ainsel—to compare him to Nils Larsen.
He ne’er said another word and neither did Ainsel. They simply turned in the direction of the longhouse and resumed walking.