Chapter 11
How could she not have known this was the one the three looked back at in the passageway? The sly Northman was average with the blade but a master in manipulation. He could barter with the devil himself regarding the cost of brimstone.
“Well done.” The slender and keen-eyed enemy looked at her protector.
“Aonghus MacCade, your quality with the blade is superior, even to that of Rune’s, though he had grown to be a bit older and slower these last few years.
Would you not agree, Keirah? I must declare, a mere brush in time away from my Lord Kollungr and you have strayed to a very promising place for finding a newfound champion.
” Torsten’s eyes studied Aonghus with a heavy respect.
Aonghus gave a low growl before taking a step.
“Tsk, tsk, Scotsman.” Torsten waggled his finger in the air. “I hold no weapon; I am here to offer terms for the fair Keirah’s return to her most ardent admirer.”
“Then you shall leave with one less tongue,” Aonghus snarled, “Northman.”
“You Scots, always so passionate in your ways.” He tilted his balding head toward the side as he taunted.
“I see Keirah has melted herself right back into this defiant trait as well. However, before you claim my tongue to join Clyde’s head, I would care to offer a trade which may be most” – he rubbed the end of his pointy flaxen beard between his fingers – “sought, for one lacking a clan such as yourself.” Aonghus stiffened.
“Yes, Scotsman, I have heard your tale of woe regarding being banished by your clan – a bastard really.” Torsten made a shocked expression.
“I bring good tidings in a fresh horizon for you. With Rune placed at death’s gate, a warrior shall be sought to fill his position.
” Torsten, cold to his own soul, only loyal to Kollungr.
“Being a warrior in fortune, I would believe the price could be more than ever dreamed.”
Thump. A thick bag of coin hit the floorboards between them. Of course – if brawn hadn’t succeeded then bribe would be next, the same as Torsten had done in Oslo with that…wait, why did MacCade just lower his sword?
“If I do not seek to serve the Northern lord?” Was he actually considering this?
“Then this shall be the first payment in more gold coin to come.” Torsten rubbed his jaw in a way calling to greed when he sensed the prey easing into his web.
“Enough to build your own castle, begin a clan in your own rendering, a place of respect among the lords here within the Highlands – your Highlands. What say you, MacCade?”
To her horror, Aonghus wiped his blade on Sturan’s unmoving tunic before sheathing the sword to step forward. “I would care to count the gold first.”
Torsten grinned like a demon’s descendent. “For certain.”
“MacCade,” she whispered, but her voice broke on the second syllable by a sob.
Only his back remained to her vision, which was slowly turning blurred by tears at his departing form. No, it couldn’t be, he would never betray her.
“Do not fear, Keirah,” Torsten murmured, “I shall make certain a promising word is said regarding your manners once we have returned to Lord Kollungr…what are you doing?!”
She gasped as Aonghus in one swift movement swept up the leather bag of coins, covered the distance in a single stride that would take most men three, and grabbed Torsten by the mantle around his throat.
The Northman’s scream was muffled when her Scotsman stuffed the bag into his mouth, causing blood to rain on his chin at the force with which the coins were jammed.
In another flawless move, he threw Torsten into the chamber’s lone chair; in three swipes of Torsten’s waist strap the Northman was tied up and looking at her mercenary with eyes wide as the hearth behind him.
Aonghus removed his dagger to place it at the enemy’s throat.
“I would slay you directly, then hang your hide for Lord Kollungr to find – perhaps in blood eagle, calling to your raiders’ traditions once unleased upon our lands.
” Somehow Torsten’s eyes turned bulgier.
“However, there is a purpose to your survival. Take a hard look upon the Scotswoman present.”
Her protector grabbed the few remaining hairs on Torsten’s head to jerk his attention toward her. “You see her?”
Torsten gave a wee nod.
“You tell your Lord Kollungr, she is nae longer under his charge, nor will she ever be once more,” Aonghus ground out between clenched teeth.
“The purpose in which you will live is to tell him I shall be hunting him once I have seen the Scotswoman safe from all your clutches. The first to fall was that puddle of northern swine piss in the passageway, Rune; ‘your’ Lord Kollungr will be next. You tell him, I shall and will be hunting him directly to hell’s door, understood? ”
Torsten glared at her.
At the lack of agreement, Aonghus growled, “You nod your brow, or I will punch these coins down your throat.” The Northman’s nostrils flared from pain when Aonghus jerked his face roughly back to his.
Torsten gave one mere inkling in brow before Aonghus slammed his fist into the foe’s jaw, dropping his head onto his chest, casting Torsten unaware.
***
Her feet had gone beyond numb hours past, but her heart was a firestorm in emotion from the events at the inn. Aonghus had turned down a fortune, a chance at a fresh life…for her.
Not all seemed as enamored by his actions as she.
After the bloody display, Iain had politely kicked them from the establishment.
She looked toward Aonghus; at least they had let him wash the remains belonging to Clyde and Rune from his skin, also providing some wine for the cuts upon his knuckles and neck.
They left Torsten at the inn for Lord Kollungr’s discovery.
Any hope for securing a horse was dashed after paying the innkeepers a handsome fee to see about the pair of seeping corpses.
Aonghus changed the plan, and they were pressing through the darkness directly on to Stirling with hopes of reaching the castle after dawn.
Keirah tugged the clean cloak and simple navy gown with obscenely low neckline about her – compliments of Fiona, from whom the garments had been purchased given her own hadn’t dried in time.
So here they walked among the woodland’s creatures; howling, hooting, and rustling for survival or fornication.
Conversation had been scarce due to the addition of a newly toothless traitor.
Aonghus had fashioned a leather strap about the prisoner’s ankles with enough give to make certain Sturan might walk but not bolt.
“MacCade, you are a fukin’ prick of a warrior.” Pure hate caressed Sturan’s words. “My ankles were bleedin’ an hour past; you may loosen the damn ties.” Spoken by a vile soulless wretch.
She narrowed her eyes at Sturan then placed her finger under her nose when the breeze took her direction, trying to stifle Sturan’s body odor fumes, which were always rank from his soiled appearance.
“Fortune smiles on you that you may still speak curses.” Aonghus glared at him before giving a shove from behind. “The only reason you still pull breath is the king commanded me to capture you for his own direct attention and question you upon the whereabouts of Seumas and Sorley.”
“Ack! The grand Alexander.” He spat the name. “You are two Highland fools if you think to pledge your loyalty unto that louse.”
She turned to spy Sturan picking at a scab on his palm with his bound hands. “You are the fool to trust Lord Kollungr,” she challenged. “What did the Northman promise you for my return?”
He replied, innocently: “’Twas done in the name of King H?konsson’s service.” Liar!
“You must truly consider me a fool to declare such a falsity,” she pressed, walking backward. Don’t trip on the pebble. Her eyes stayed locked on Sturan’s. “Tell me, what did the troll promise to cross his bridge?”
The prisoner began picking at the scab with a vengeance appearing born from anxiousness. “A vessel.”
“A ship, one of King H?konsson’s fleet?” she asked, disgust raising her voice. “I am worth the price of a ship. Not even one built by House of Kolbeck, given their refusal to enter the conflict.”
“You are worth more than this, Keirah; Lord Kollungr took leave of his senses when you bolted on him,” Sturan retorted.
“The Northern lord promised me another helping in gold coin if you were returned unsoiled after we spied large footprints in the mud beside yours. Appears it will be a vessel and nae gold given you already sprawled upon your back, legs wide, for the first who happened to cross your path.”
Slap! Her hand sailed crisply across his face; this had to be a better fate than what Aonghus had planned while reaching for his dagger. Sturan’s mouth began bleeding again; he spat on the ground, almost hitting her clean gown’s hem.
“You believe Lord Kollungr was to gift you a vessel in addition to what King H?konsson already promised your clan allies? The very same allies who are loyal to the Northern territories and want to have the Isle of Bute returned to them – a demand once denied by King Alexander.” She leaned forward, angrily puffing the words toward his face.
“Lord Kollungr is one of the highest advisors to King H?konsson, cunning to his bones; there was nae vessel. He lied to you – fool of the Isles!”
A strained silence was heard, with the exception of a screeching owl seeking a squeaking meal. It appeared curiosity got the better of Sturan when he inquired with a low voice: “How are you so certain?”
“Because I lived beside the Northman for years! King H?konsson’s court is a pit of snakes seeking the king’s favor, and Lord Kollungr, who I would call Fálki…”
“Falcon,” Aonghus translated the Northman’s word for the bird of prey.
“Aye.” She nodded at her Scot before narrowing her gaze on the traitor. “Fálki held the innate ability to swoop down” – she made a grand downward gesture with her arm like a bird seeking a kill – “and pluck any snake unto his liking, twisting them to his whim with false promises and threats.”
The prisoner gave a snort, then called, “MacCade?” Aonghus remained silent.
“You are a warrior of fortune.” Greed lined Sturan’s features and tone.
“If you take me to Lord Kollungr with your prize, he may still offer a handsome reward for your efforts to set this right.” Sturan actually had been unaware when Aonghus hauled him over his shoulder leaving the inn, not seeing Torsten’s state.
Aonghus responded by taking his heel and slamming it upon the back of Sturan’s knee, causing the prisoner to collapse onto both, before finishing by placing his blade at the man’s throat.
“Setting right?” Rage towered Aonghus’s words.
“The lass was taken from our shores and forced to the northern leech’s whims for years in servitude.
” She saw her mercenary’s free hand grip, then tighten within Sturan’s greasy hair to ground out in the enemy’s face, “You would be well served to keep silent the remainder of the journey. King Alexander declared he sought you before him, but he did not give any preference if your tongue needed to be present.”
Shoving the boar back onto his feet, he re-sheathed the blade before taking her hand with a silent show of solidarity. Was she beginning to see at every turn why fate chose this warrior for all to come? Aye!
She squeezed Aonghus’s palm affectionately and he met her eyes.
“Cluaran, if you care to practice on your dagger throwing within this grove it would offer some keen targets,” he said, gently.
Just like that, he had gone from being a threatener to a protector.
Was it disconcerting or comforting? The latter – comforting till his flesh touched her, then it simply became an instinctual want humming through her flesh on her part.
Ahem. “Aonghus,” she replied, for his ears alone, “I failed in my efforts the stretch back with trying to stab Hamysh. Since the wretched showing I had considered perhaps I may be a lost cause in defensive tactics of this nature.”
The determination filled his voice like steel. “I do not.”
The pure confidence he had in her was unlike any ever before. It was as addictive as a bloom to a bee. Her hand released his, seeking her own blade. A grin took his lips.
“Keirah,” he challenged her fortitude, “first trunk on the right, lass, you spy it ahead?”
“Aye.” Thump. Ugh, it missed!
“HA!” Sturan gave a nasty half-chuckle at her failure by the blade lying dead on the pine needles.
At Sturan’s jest, she blinked, then saw the nine lads’ desperate faces slain at the traitor’s hand.
Before Aonghus went to retrieve the blade for her, she bolted, tripped on a root but retrieved the weapon, and spun about.
Aim right there! A Gaelic roar tore from her lips, as she threw the weapon.
Sturan gasped at her boldness when the blade struck, right at the edge of his step, stabbing the ground, halting his progression.
The traitor eyed her. “You missed.”
She raised her chin. “Nae, I did not, you treacherous leech.” Sturan’s eye popped wide. “Be thankful I did not aim for your groin after you saw nine lads to the grave at using me for your deceitful plan!”
She met Aonghus’s expression, which reflected an air of approval. “Brillant, lass. Again, aim at the fresh grove.”