Chapter Eight
The rain moved off by noontime and the Gallowglass were still at work, so Katrin walked out to the field. The grass was high and very wet, but had been well tramped down in many places, so she did not bother sparing her skirts.
The men at work there had finally paused for a break. They stood in small groups talking and laughing. She heard at least three languages.
O’Hanlon stood on the far side of the field, which meant she had to wend her way, catching glances. She knew she was not beautiful, but men—especially men such as these, who took opportunities where they may—would look at anything in a skirt.
O’Hanlon turned those tawny eyes of his upon her well before she reached him. He was wet to the skin with rain and sweat, his half-loosed hair like a pelt down his back, mustaches drooping. He stood with one of his officers, but the man moved off as soon as Katrin walked up.
“Master O’Hanlon.”
“Mistress Katrin.” He gave her a slight bow and thrust the axe, which he gripped in one hand, through the loop in his belt. “Is somewhat amiss? I hope we have not been making too much clamor and disturbed your household.”
“Ye have, aye, but it is no’ that.”
He smiled.
“I ha’ come”—she sucked in a breath—“to ask ye for a favor.”
“Only name it.” His gaze moved over her with curiosity and something more. A very masculine sort of admiration. “I am at your every command.”
Och, and was that not a heady proposition?
“I should like the lend of one o’ your men.”
“One of my men?”
“Only when ye do no’ need him, of course.”
“Aye, but—” He looked honestly puzzled. His gaze moved to the keep and back again. “Have ye not plenty men of your own?”
“Aye, so. But I should no’ like my father to find out.”
“Mistress Katrin, ye have me curious.”
She sighed. “I am framing my request poorly. I should like help wi’ training at arms. Wi’out my father’s knowledge.”
He actually backed off a step. “It is an odd request.”
“Not so. I began training some time ago wi’ my brother. My father never approved. Since Geordie’s death, my training has fallen off. I merely wish to tak’ it up again.”
“I see,” O’Hanlon said, though clearly he did not.
“I can pay ye,” she said, “if I must.”
“’Tis not that. Only, I am hired by the chief. If he does not approve—”
“And”—she eyed him up and down deliberately—“are ye afraid o’ incurring another man’s displeasure? Now ye surprise me.”
That made him smile again. “Nay. Though when he holds the purse wi’ my pay—”
“I see. I misjudged ye.”
“Wait.” When she moved to turn away, he put out a hand. His fingers lightly grazed her arm before falling away. “I have not refused.”
“It sounded to me like ye had.” Her gaze once more met his.
“Might I ask, mistress, why ye wish to train at arms?”
“That I might become proficient.”
“And why d’ye wish to be proficient?”
“That I might then go to war.” She tipped up her chin. “In my brother’s place.”
This time it was he who performed an inspection of her, head to foot.
“Ye can see, Master O’Hanlon, I am no delicate flower. I am strong and determined, and I do no’ at all see why a man—why my brother—had to die in my place.” To her horror, her voice choked on tears. She had not meant for that to happen. He would not be convinced by her emotions.
“’Twas my understanding,” O’Hanlon said, “that I was to go to battle in your brother’s place.”
That struck her. Was it how Da looked at things? She stared.
“Mistress Katrin, have ye ever been in the midst o’ a battle?”
“Nay.”
“The clamor, the fury—the dying. I do not think ye would like that.”
“Does anyone? Do ye?”
He shrugged. “There are men who glory in their abilities.”
“But women should no’?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Fine, then.” Katrin grew angry now, and embarrassed. “I will ask someone else.”
“Mistress Katrin, I still have not refused.”
“Och, I think ye have.”
“There are practical considerations. There is nowhere here that lessons could be pursued privately, without your father knowing.”
“I thought the armory. At night.”
His lips twitched. “Because no one could hear swords beating against one another in the armory.”
“’Tis a bad plan. Ye ha’ made yer feelings clear.” Again she turned away.
“Why do ye not just ask your father for training?”
“I have done. He refuses.”
“He does not wish to see ye hurt.”
“I understand that. But if I had been there on the practice field with Geordie—” She caught herself.
The Gallowglass sighed.
“My quarters,” he said.
“Eh?”
“There is not a lot of room, but if I turn the cot against the wall and we bar the door, it may suffice. Any passersby may think I am working on me own.”
She stared at him. This time his tawny eyes were full of light. “You will train me? Yersel’?”
“Did I not say I was at your command?”
“Och, but—”
Katrin’s thoughts ran swiftly. What had she thought? She had imagined he might assign to her some underling. A junior member of the troop, perhaps. But these men were all hardened warriors.
To go alone to his hut—if she were seen, folk would think only one thing.
“Ye realize,” he went on, perhaps assuming her acquiescence, “we may have little time. As soon as your father’s laird calls, we will be away to the fight. I will be away.”
“Then we had best act quickly. Tonight?” It felt all at once as if she propositioned him—in a way, she had—and her cheeks burned. “I am sorry if this will cost yer sleep.”
He gave her another slight bow. “Mistress, some things are worth losin’ sleep.”
She walked away, again gathering stares, and heard him call his men back to work in a great voice.
Och, what had she done? He was like a bear, a big golden one. She had poked the bear. One never knew what a roused bear might do.
For the rest of that day, she lost herself in chores and duties, or tried to do. Da had sent his messenger off to Earl Randolph. He seemed to be on edge, even though getting any sort of reply could take days.
Once again, only O’Hanlon and his commanders would join them for supper.
The rest of the Gallowglass were content to prepare their own food at their makeshift camp.
But as Da told her, he had agreed to supply them while they were there.
So Katrin met with a member of the troop who acted as their steward.
His name was Daffid, and he was a Welshman, big and brown-haired, with broad hands and dark eyes. He sought her out just before supper and said in a musical voice, “Mistress, I hear ye have supplies for me.”
“Aye. Come, tell me what ye require.”
He accompanied her to consult with seneschal and then to the larder, still wet from his day’s work in the rain. His manner was polite and, for such a big man, gentle. When they finished their business, he stood for a moment outside the storage hut and gazed out to sea.
“’Tis a fine holding, this. It does, just, remind me of home.”
That surprised her. Did strapping warriors such as this get homesick? And whyever should she suppose not?
“From whence in Wales d’ye hail, Master Daffid?”
“A place called Angelsea. On the ocean, not unlike this. But you do understand, much more humble. ’Twas a humble life, ours. I could not feed myself. ’Tis why I took up the sword.”
“I see. How long since ye went home?”
“Ah—ages now.” He pursed his lips. “My mother will be dead. My brothers will have split up our small plot o’ land.” He let his gaze rove over the sea again, and Katrin felt his longing.
Aye, men such as this grew homesick.
“A fine place, this,” he repeated softly, “and something to fight for.”
Katrin agreed. She wished suddenly she’d approached this man, who had something gentle inside him, for training. But he would no doubt have had to go to O’Hanlon anyway, for permission. Still and all, she found the prospect of facing the Gallowglass commander…intimidating.
Do not be a fool, she told herself. Ye be a strong woman, intimidated by no man.
Yet not until after supper, when Master Finlay took up his harp to play for a much smaller company, did she relax. With his music, her cares seemed to lift and fly away from her, and she remembered other things. The beauty of his stories and the love of which he had sung.
One so brave and strong, it withstood time itself.
She sat listening with her eyes closed and visions in her head, and her heart longed—just a bit—for such a love. But she was not a woman who succumbed to such feelings.
She was a woman who desired the feel of a sword in her hand.