Chapter 32
This was their third day on the road. Wet, miserable and cauld, Ainsel and Rory still rode at the tail of the line, though everyone had sped up, knowing journey’s end was in sight. It wasnae unusual to get a cauld blast of weather frae the north, and o’ernight snow had topped the Cairngorms. Not that he had minded, having persuaded Ainsel to share his plaid, and he had wrapped them both up in it to share their warmth in the shelter of a pine forest growing around the base of the mountains.
It had been torture to lie there with her back pressed against his chest, knowing it was only her heat she was prepared to share, not her body.
Today she had been quiet, as though they had talked themselves out the past two days and had naught left to say. Nae, that was wrong. He had a lot more to say, he simply didnae believe she was ready to hear the words. Some day soon he would speak them again, speak to her frae his heart the way he had when they returned to Caithness aboard the dragon-boat.
Rory pulled closer to Ainsel’s mount as they topped the last rise. There, halfway down the brae, was the castle his father had built at King Malcolm Canmore’s request to help protect the east coast and centre of Scotland frae the clans whau didnae see eye to eye with Queen Margaret’s Christian notions. They were both long gone, but Dun Bhuird stood strong and invincible at the base of Bienne á Bhuird. “There it is. Dun Bhuird. Home.”
She turned her head to look at him. “It’s so big. The place doesnae look very homelike to me. I liked living in my broch.”
“Yer seeing only the outside. Once we arrive, ye will see how confortable it is. Once, years ago, afore my parents were wed, it was a longhouse just like that at Caithness, but the longhouse and wooden palisades were too difficult to defend. That’s why Father went to France and fought as a mercenary, to earn the enough gold and silver to build this.” He saw her eyes widen and grinned, saying, “Dinnae ye worry. He didnae spent it all. Lucky for my cousin Rob McArthur, riding at the front beside him, for my father was able to pay his ransom to a Norman Baron of Wolfsdale. The only part of it my father grudged was giving some of his treasure to the man who ruled o’er Wolfsdale, since by rights the barony should have been his. Both my father and his sister Morag—the McArthur’s wife—were born there, as was Rob McArthur.”
Ainsel didnae say aught in reply, but when he lifted his gaze frae Dun Bhuird he saw how pale, almost green her face had become. “Are ye feeling all right lass?”
“Nae, I feel all the blood has left my head. It’s spinning, I feel ill.”
He reached out for her hand and when he grasped it her fingers were cauld as ice and her breathing shallow. She seemed to sway in the saddle, as if she could fall frae her horse. “Hold onto the pommel lass, dinnae swoon. I’ll dismount and get ye down.” Nae sooner said than done. Rory lifted her out of the saddle and, leaving the reins touching the trail so their mounts wouldnae stray, he held her with her head pressed against his shoulder.
A water bottle hung frae his saddle and, one-handed, he pulled out the stopper with his teeth, still holding her close, and as her breathing quieted he offered her a sip of water. “Here, Ainsel lass, have a drink, It will help ye feel better.”
She took one sip, then another, and after barely enough to wet her mouth, she sank against him, her shoulder resting on his chest, fingers curled in a half-open fist as she tilted her neck and told him a husky, “Thanks.”
“Nae need for thanks; that’s for strangers, not a man whau knows how it feels to hold ye in his arms and would do so much more for ye if only ye would let him.” He fell silent. They both did. Yet even as he indulged in the well remembered impression of her body against his, he made an effort not to remember. Instead he looked past her, down towards the head of the glen where Dun Bhuird sat, grey and threatening, and wondered if that was what had made her feel faint, threatened. She had come with them of her own free will—yet not. Her son, their son, was in Dun Bhuird. Half Norse, half Scot, and Rory’s mother had carried him off. Did Ainsel fear for his safety?
What if she believed Scots were an aggressive race, as they did of the Norse? Every Scot had heard how the Vikings had poured into Scotland and Ireland. They had fought them off as they now fought the English, and Scots had the name for diving into any guid fight that came their way. Aye, they had a fearsome reputation, yet they loved their bairns. Ye only had to go to a family gathering at Cragenlaw to see them all running wild around the Great Hall—indulged and then trained to become the kind of men whau would fight to keep Scotland free.
That’s what he had to teach Ainsel, show her how they lived and how they loved.
Ainsel appeared to have settled comfortably against him, almost asleep, but with the cauld wind coming off the mountain, to stop moving could let ice into yer veins. “Come lass, we must start moving,” he whispered against her cheek. “I’ll lift ye up in my saddle. That way we can complete the rest of the journey together, in case ye feel faint again. Trust me, I willnae let ye fall. Soon we will be in the Great Hall, the fire will be roaring to ward of the cauld, and Axel will be waiting for ye. How would it look if ye were the last to arrive.”
Rory slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her up atop his mount. Swiftly throwing his leg o’er the saddle and fitting himself around her to keep her warm, he gathered up the reins of her horse as he rode by and set off down the brae at a guid clip to catch up with the others, as eager as Ainsel to get home and see their son.
Almost there, she thought as they rode up level with Calder and Gilda, whau raised her pale gold brows above eyes that twinkled in Ainsel’s direction, full of surprise. And nae wonder since when they left Caithness she could hardly bear to say Rory’s name.
Rory spoke for her, “Ainsel was feeling faint, so I thought she would be safer riding here where she wouldnae fall.” All he got for his effort was a roar of laughter frae Calder.
Once she might have joined in, but there were nae facts in the notion he had latched onto. Rory had been naught but a gentleman. She had ridden afore him, his thighs tight along hers and nae sign of the hard ridge against her behind that she would have expected. Mayhap she nae longer heated his blood, a shield-maiden unable to ride a horse for three days without collapsing. When Ainsel spoke it was to Gilda, “I’ve hardly eaten since Olaf died. It’s stupid. I knew he was auld, but I ne’er thought his day would arrive.”
The excuse had barely left her lips when the hooves of Rory’s horse clopped across cobblestones. “This is the lower bailey. We’ll leave the horses at the stables and walk up to the Keep. Do ye think ye can manage, or should I carry ye?”
She spoke quickly, lied about how she felt, “Nae, Rory, I’m feeling a lot better. I’ll walk there.” How would it look to Kathryn if the mother of her grandson was carried into the Great Hall, as if she were laying claim to Kathryn’s son? If the walk felt o’er long, it was because she couldnae stand being without her bairn any longer.
She let Rory put his arm around her. She could soon shift that once they reached the Great Hall. He spoke to her all the while, but she couldnae truly be said to take much in; there was so much to look at. She had ne’er seen so many differences frae the wee brochs surrounding three sides of the longhouse at Caithness. The place was so grand. She had ne’er imagined a castle, but this felt like more than that as Gavyn strode ahead with clansfolk ducking and diving to welcome him home with a tug on their bonnet or a bobbed curtsy frae the lasses. And the way the lasses eyes followed Rory with sly smiles, raising the hem of their kirtle as he passed showing a fine ankle, one would think he was a prince. More surprising was the flood of pipe music in a cheerful lilting tune frae the battlement as first Gavyn then Rory and the others climbed the shallow steps.
A tune that appeared to call out ‘welcome home’.
Set at the back of the inner bailey, as Rory called the second cobbled yard, the bulk of the castle and keep was built into the mountain, with huge metal-banded wooden doors, flung wide open to allow entry.
If, as she had imagined, the Great Hall had been on the lower floor, she soon discovered her mistake. Following the Comlyn Chieftain, they let Gavyn get ahead as they all trooped up stairs winding up to the next level, which was almost her undoing. She felt as if her life-spark suddenly dimmed as she looked at how far they had to climb. Her vision closed in as if looking through a tunnel with dark blurred edges. On the next step, her knees gave way. She clung to Rory, terrified she might topple down the wealth of granite stairs behind her—so far down.
“I’ve got ye, lass,” Rory murmured sweeping her up into his arms. “Yer exhausted,” he told her as they reached the top. “What ye need is food and sleep.”
She lifted her head frae his chest, hoping he wasnae going to have to carry her up the next lot of stairs rising frae the hall. It took but a glimpse of Axel lifted by Gavyn, out of the arms of a woman she presumed to be Rory’s mother. “And my bairn. First I need my bairn.”
“We both do,” he replied in a tone that said he wasnae going to take any nonsense frae her or his parents, and with that he strode up to Kathryn and Gavyn, Ainsel still in his arms and said, “I see ye have met our son. What do ye think of him?”
As if with one voice his parents responded, their feelings echoing through their words, “He’s a grand lad. I think the both of ye have done us proud.”