Chapter 9 #2
A scar etched across the left shoulder, then maybe a mark from an arrow on the right – aye, he certainly had seen conflict befitting a warrior.
As he turned toward her, she discovered he had hair sprinkled over his torso, which appeared more the size belonging to a barrel than a Scotsman.
He shed his chausse while he took to the floor with a lone, swift movement, so all left on was his thin knee-length braies slung low upon his waist, which revealed trenches along his lean hips leading straight down to the dark forest shadowed beneath the pale linen at the top of his…
“Tell me of King H?konsson and the four Northmen who hunt you.” His voice summoned her thoughts. “This shall take your thoughts and mine from the desire I now see within your eyes.”
Her attention darted up to discover he was looking right at her! “Pardon.” She swallowed – hard.
“Nae pardon needed.” He raised an eyebrow, stretched his arms, and placed his hands behind his head; it only amplified the magnificence given by nature on display.
“It brings me pleasure to know you care for what is before you.” Care?
He is a Gaelic warrior divinity! “Forthwith, to halt the urge in acting upon the thoughts we are both considering, perhaps it would be best to speak in tones and terms not in the flesh variety, agreed?”
Let’s see: what topic would ease their urges?
Urges…hmmmm, the past. She leaned up on both elbows, growing serious.
“Aye, the Northmen’s king is not as you would consider.
” She held nothing back. “If not for Scottish blood flowing in my veins or Lord Kollungr’s treatment with Sturan MacNaller’s treachery at the helm, I would most likely be upon the fleet sailing south with King H?konsson.
” His eyes gleamed with shock. “Do not judge me, MacCade, I simply speak the truth; you are the only one to ever hear these traitorous words. King H?konsson rules with a hard hand, even more since slaying the duke who dared at trying to claim his crown years ago before I came to be in the Kingdom of Norway. However, he also is a fair and just ruler. He never knew I was Lord Kollungr’s thrall; this is story for another moment.
The purpose King H?konsson took to his fleet, which sails here while we speak, is the hell unleased by our King of Scots’ treatment toward those isles under King H?konsson’s protection.
I know…I know the attacks came about after King H?konsson refused King Alexander’s offers.
In my humble opinion, the offers set forth by the Scottish delegation sent to Bj?rgvin were admirable. ”
Aonghus was right; it worked – any desire in her flesh vanished at the terse topic.
“I have made my choice. It came clear for me the moment I stood at the siege of Rothesay Castle and saw my countrymen slain. In my shadow-glances, the horrors I see are strong, but something regarding those nine lads born of the Highlands slain before me under false promises pierced an iron determination into my soul to find King Alexander and warn him of what is about to unfold. Their deaths shall not be in vain, understood?” She pressed higher on her elbows and at him with her stern question.
He gave a solemn nod. “Aye. You speak in a manner I have never encountered from a lass before.”
She gave a dry chuckle. “Lord Kollungr detested the trait, as has any other who wears chausse and not a gown.”
“Fools” – he reflected the sentiment she gave earlier upon his circumstance back at her – “the whole shite gathering of them.” A short pause aired before he continued, “However, your admiration of King H?konsson vexes me, if he keeps one such as Lord Kollungr close at hand.”
“Lord Kollungr is a master in charm; never would you guess his true nature. Only those closest have ever born witness to the evil which lines his soul. It was shown bright to me the moment I tried, once, to break away…he dragged me to the fjord where we were journeying near, then forced me under the water’s edges so I might see the grin upon his face directly above while I thrashed frantically.
” Aonghus gave some curse in Gaelic under his breath she couldn’t quite catch.
“The keeper swore to me that very day, if I ever attempted such a feat once more, the result would be tenfold in suffering…”
Bang! Before she could finish the reply or move on to telling him more about the Northern hunters, she almost jumped out of her skin after something hit the wall directly on the other side above her head. Bump, bump, bump. A steady rhythm. Then a familiar voice echoed through the plaster.
“Lord Evander!” Fiona?
Raising up on both elbows, she kept looking at Aonghus, who cocked a brow. “Is that…?” Before she finished naming the culprit, Evander yelled back.
“Fiona, quicker, move your arse, quicker!”
Aonghus appeared annoyed at having their conversation interrupted. She flopped onto her stomach when a second slam came at the wall, as if the couple were about to take their fornicating directly through the beams and atop her head!
After the dash from her, Aonghus’s expression changed to full-on wrath. He began to stand, looking prepared to engage with the boisterous couple. Since she was now facing the foot of the bed, lying on her tummy looking down at him, she raised her hand to stall him.
“Leave them,” she said, surprisingly not mortified. The reason was explained: “Fiona sounds to be enjoyin’ herself; ’tis better than the widow Inga.”
Aonghus remained on his back at her request, to gaze up at her. “Widow Inga?” he questioned, over another thump.
“Aye,” Keirah confirmed, her eyes straying to his grand torso once more and the bruise from her teeth on his collarbone in the yew tree during the storm. “Another who saw the devil behind Lord Kollungr’s charming mask.”
Resting her chin on her hands folded beneath, she began to explain the grim topic.
“You have heard of Lord Kollungr and my terms in shadow-glances regarding my maidenhead’s veil or mere touch by his hand.
Well, he had a slight direction about how to make me suffer in a different respect if he could not so much as claim a kiss.
” He leaned up on one elbow, so his face was closer with full attention when the thumping grew quicker and louder next door.
“Lord Kollungr would pay call to the widow Inga at a hall near his territories north of Bj?rgvin. Four times each fortnight, he ordered that I should accompany him to listen.” She noticed the fist Aonghus rested his temple upon; the knuckles blanched.
“I was posted in a chamber just beyond a screen where he would take his pleasure, except the widow Inga does not sound as Fiona. She would scream in a painful way as soon as he disappeared behind the screen with her. Then when he, well…” She paused, mortified and yet relieved to be sharing her grizzled past with him.
“When he would ‘complete’, a few moments later he’d cry my name. ”
There was a strained silence between them.
Aonghus asked, “His cock or his balls?” Her brows hit her hair.
“Pardon?”
“Stuffed in his mouth when I kill the bastard?” he asked, again, matter of factly as if they discussed the crowds at market day.
“MacCade, I” – she choked the words – “I will leave this to your discretion.”
“Aye,” Aonghus replied. “Do not worry, Cluaran, if it is a wee cock and balls, I can fit all in the bastard’s mouth at once.”
Should she thank him? Ahem. Throat clear, she mouthed the words, “Much appreciated,” and added clearly, “There perhaps is another variety of torment which would suit a Northman in Lord Kollungr’s stature more than what you have offered.
I hold a means to inflict this revenge on my behalf in the way of a coin that shall brand him a traitor. ”
His next words surprised her even more. “You bore the brunt of his wrath, Cluaran, ’tis your choice upon the punishment.”
He was giving her the choice, but before she could speak further, the thumping became louder and Aonghus pivoted the topic back to the original subject. “Keirah, the Northern prick did not know how to prepare a lass.” He nodded toward the fornication taking place against the wall.
What was he talking about? “Prepare a lass?”
He nodded again toward the thumping source. “Your description where ‘wee cock’ charged behind the screen and was atop Inga a mere moment later calls to mind he mounted her dry each time.”
“Dry?”
He paused a second and she noted his gaze strayed toward her lips.
“When you seek to prepare a lass, you must not mount her straightaway,” he began, his voice thick.
“She must be readied.” He raised his hand to brush a stray curl from her temple; the tiny hairs on her neck’s back rose to attention.
“Cluaran, the lover begins with a spark, here” – he brushed his thumb, coarse from warfare, over her lips, which quivered – “then to here” – his caress moved down the curve of her neck over her raging pulse – Oh, my – “lower and lower feeding the flames inside the lass, caring for those flames across her flesh, till a desire from the heat consumes her and nae other till an inferno takes your whole body and soul.”
Well, if talking about kings and kingdoms and keepers had soured the taste for desire on her tongue, the passions echoing the wall with those reflected in Aonghus’s gaze were turning the taste sweet as the honey in the mead from earlier. Her lips strayed to his; how she yearned for a long drink.
Knock. Knock. Her eyes glanced toward the closed doorway…