Chapter Thirty-Two
When Quarrie rowed Hulda back to the island, her men still half hung off the dragon boat, some with weapons in their hands. She waved an arm at them, gesturing them back, her eyes narrowed against the light.
Incredible eyes hers were, pale as the mist and so full of emotions he could not begin to name them. He did not have to. He could feel them in his own heart.
One of the men leaned out from the rear of the vessel and called to Hulda in her own language.
She replied to him in Gaelic. “All is well, Helje.” She turned back to Quarrie and prepared to disembark. “I will have to speak to my crew, make sure they agree. This boat, it is owned by all of us who have a share.”
He studied her, noting the strength in her face and the determination in those clear eyes. “You think they will agree?”
“We spoke of it beforehand, so ja. And you—you must convince your folk.”
“I will have the much harder task, I fear.”
“Be strong.” She did not add for me, but he heard the words in his mind.
She swarmed aboard the dragon boat and he moved off, still under the stares of her crew. He was growing heartily sick of the oars, but he’d better get used to it, if he wanted to see her.
He did want to see her. More, he wanted her in his life. Part of the weave and weft of it, a mere hand’s reach from him at all times. Whether or not that might be possible, he could not say.
For the life of him, he could not see how he might make it happen.
A number of men waited for him on the shore when he reached the settlement and pulled the small craft in.
Borach, conspicuous among them, asked, “Is all well?”
Hulda’s crew might well have asked the same thing.
“Aye,” Quarrie said shortly. “Summon back the members o’ the council. I ha’ news.”
He must present it to them as such, he told himself as he trudged up to the keep.
A decision made, and naught left open to discussion.
He was not, in an ordinary way, a man to throw his weight around.
Anyone who had followed Da—a force to be reckoned with in his own right—did not.
He’d been a good son. An obedient and dutiful one, always in his place and fulfilling the tasks set before him, for the benefit of all.
Now he must become the chief. Seize the power available to him. This he had not done since Da’s death. Aye, he had stepped into Da’s boots. He had not walked far in them.
He maun make his own path. It was bound to be a stony one. But since holding Hulda in his arms, since kissing her—och, God, the way they had kissed—he did not think there was a force on earth that could turn him from it.
He needed to see her again. Needed—not wanted—to gaze into her eyes. To touch her. To lie with her the way a man lay with a woman, needed it the way he needed to breathe.
He could not let anything, anything get in the way of that.
He made the announcement starkly, once the council had gathered, his ma again present among them. He left no room for quibbling or quarreling. The thing was done.
“I ha’ forged an alliance wi’ the leader o’ the Norse band. They will be sheltering at the inlet north o’ here, given their boat will tak’ so shallow a berth. I ha’ pledged we will no’ harass or worry them while they are there.”
Staring faces met his announcement. A sweeping glance on Quarrie’s part showed him shock, disbelief, and some anger.
“But—” old Morchan began.
“The decision is made. There will be no further discussion o’ it.”
Borald, who had come straight from the shore, narrowed his eyes. “Wha’ do we get in return?”
“Safety from attack by their—”
“We do no’ need safety fro’ them!” exploded an old warrior. “We could defeat so small a band wi’ one hand bound behind our backs.”
“—and fo’ any other marauding bands that come fro’ the north. Mistress Hulda has assured me they will interfere wi’ any o’ her countrymen who do threaten us.”
“Mistress Hulda!” someone hissed.
“It costs us naught but a temporary lend o’ a bit o’ land we are no’ using,” Quarrie concluded.
“Our land,” Morchan objected, “given over to those savages.”
“Wha’ if they will no’ leave again?” asked another of Da’s friends. “Wha’ if they call in others o’ their kind and destroy us? Tak’ the whole settlement. They ha’ strongholds in the east, ye ken. And in Ireland.”
“That will no’ happen.”
A number of voices howled, “How d’ye ken?”
“I trust her. I trust Hulda Elvarsdottir.”
That surprised them so much, they actually fell silent. For a few short moments.
“Trust her?” Borald exclaimed then.
“Trust her?” Kalen roared. “The Norse are a scourge upon the world. Upon our land. And ye would afford them house room? Wha’ when they sally forth and attack our neighbors? Wha’ then?”
“I mean to further negotiate with Mistress Elvarsdottir to spare those wi’ whom we ha’ alliances.”
“And be damned to the rest o’ Scotland? Where is your conscience, man?”
“Ye maun go back and tell this woman ye ha’ changed yer mind,” said Morchan.
Quarrie looked him in the eye. “That will no’ happen. I ha’ given my word. The alliance is made.”
“Then ye maun be mad—”
Quarrie surged to his feet. “I am yer chief. Ye ha’ sworn fealty to me. If ye ha’ a problem wi’ that”—he narrowed his eyes—“ye are free to tak’ up yer possessions and go.”
Absolute silence met his words. A few of the men exchanged looks. No one accepted his offer.
“Then there is naught more to be said,” declared Morchan at last. “No doubt ’twill all end in sorrow.”
The men filed out, Borald leaving last and looking as if he wanted to speak to Quarrie, though he did not. It bothered Quarrie more than it should. Besides being his master at arms, Borach was his friend. He did not want a break between them.
When only Ma remained behind, Quarrie took a turn about the hall. The place felt big and too empty with everyone gone. With his da’s presence missing. Da had possessed such a grand personality and had been so much a part of this place, it seemed he must linger still.
What would he say to this alliance Quarrie had made with the Norse? Quarrie shuddered to think.
“They are no’ happy,” Ma said gently.
“They will ha’ to grow accustomed to the agreement. ’Tis best for the clan.”
Was it, though? Or best for him? Either way, he could not let Hulda go.
“Sit wi’ me.” Ma came and perched on a bench beside him. “Talk to me.”
“I ha’ had enough o’ talking.”
“Still and all.” She captured his hand. When he lowered himself beside her, she studied him with wise eyes. “Tell me o’ this woman, this Hulda Elvarsdottir.”
Why should she ask him to do that?
“I think,” Ma said very gently indeed, “there is more in it than a mere alliance.”
Ah, so Ma’s instincts were all up and howling, were they?
When he did not speak, she went on, “I did see her down there on the shore. Quite…unusual, I suppose I should say, for a woman to assume a man’s place the way she has.”
Hulda was all woman, though, beneath that rough clothing. Her body supple and willing. Her very spirit calling to his, seducing him.
“Son, are ye attracted to her?”
That made Quarrie look into his mother’s eyes. A good woman she was, a soft spirit every bit as steady as his own, fiercely loyal and generous to those she loved. She must have felt a great attraction to Da.
Softly still, she said, “I ha’ never much believed in love at first sight.
I ha’ no need to. I knew yer father all my life, fro’ the time he was an annoying wee laddie onward.
And by God, he was annoying. He used to pull my hair.
No’ till much later did I see somewhat in his smile that went beyond teasing. ”
“Ye had a good marriage,” Quarrie offered.
“A fine, braw one. It seems now like a dream. I ask myself constantly, how can he be gone fro’ me, and my heart still beating? Quarrie, I understand love. If ye—”
He cut her off with a lift of his brows. “I am no’ in love with Hulda Elvarsdottir.” Did he lie to his ma? But nay, what he felt for the woman could not go by so ordinary a name as love.
“Attracted to her, then.”
Aye, he was wildly attracted. Her mouth hot on his. His hands upon her. An attraction like nothing he’d ever imagined. Madness. Surely it was a form of madness.
“If I am,” he told his mother, “it has no bearing on the agreement.”
“Are ye certain? For aye, though this decision lies wi’ ye, the men are right. Ye ha’ invited a fierce wolf in among our beasts.”
“The wolf may bite, but will no’ turn on us.”
“How d’ye ken ye can trust her?”
“She has given her word to me.”
Ma seemed flummoxed by that. Her lips pressed together tight before she said, “Son—she is a Norsewoman. She may be lying.”
“Anyone may lie, Ma. I might. I may ha’ lied to her also. I could call up a force o’ men and fall upon her company once they are ashore on the bit o’ land I ha’ afforded them. But I will no’, because I ha’ given her my promise also.”
“Aye, well.” Clearly not happy about it, Ma laid a hand to Quarrie’s cheek. “A promise is a sacred thing. I only hope we will no’ pay dear for this one.”
A promise was, aye, sacred. Trust even more so. He believed in Hulda. And that reached deepest of all.