Chapter 6 #2
Keane turned away, lest he shame her by remaining any longer and witnessing her tears. She was proud, he sensed. And worse, he suspected his kindness had somehow wounded her. He didn’t like to ken what that revealed.
The instant he was gone, Lianae swiped away her tears. She was her father’s daughter, she reminded herself, and a daughter of Moray should not cry.
As the night grew darker yet, a curious halo blanketed the ruins, but the glow was less the blush of firelight and more a lucent quality, not unlike the illusion of daylight on a snowy landscape.
A coat of frost on the moss-covered stones gave the ruins a jewel-like ambience.
It was a strange sight, stranger yet for the company she kept.
He knew what her charm stones were. The fact was not lost to Lianae. She took one out of her hem to study the marks.
Her Viking ancestors had used rune stones like these to read fortunes, but each small stone would have held a different rune… unlike these.
Could they be payment to the Other Realm?
Now that their king was a man of faith, the practice of leaving stones on the eyes of the dead was past, but they had once been used as payment to Sluag, the god of the Other Realm.
For those still in the land of the living, the stones drew upon the forces of the Other Realm to heal the sick.
And still, for a very few, who lived betwixt this world and the next, the stones were said to be conduits…
Some were fashioned into larger stones, and used as keek stanes. But Uhtreda’s were not so large. They were the size of little pebbles, each bearing a single mark—two moons and a lightning rod betwixt…
Perhaps they could be used for healing?
In any case, they were now hers and Lianae refused to give them up.
Fortunately, no one seemed interested in taking them from her—nor even the least bit in her, if the truth be told.
Once the Scots were all tucked into their pallets, she half expected the one called Keane to call her to his bed, but he did not.
True to his word, he left her free to come and go as she pleased, but Lianae had no wish to venture out alone, despite the feeling that her brothers might be near.
Mayhap tomorrow.
Heaving a sigh, she got up off the stoop and made another sweep of the area for her stones. Come morning, when they could see a bit clearer, Keane had promised to help her find the rest, but until then… she eyed his pallet longingly.
She was searching in vain.
Despite the strange glow they were surrounded by, there was not enough light to conduct a proper search, particularly now with the falling snow.
It was only by chance that Keane had discovered the one beneath his boot, perfectly round and smooth.
After seeing the one caught within the folds of her purse, he’d realized what she was searching for.
Come morning, the remaining stones would all be buried at least two-feet deep and no one would find them again until spring.
Nevertheless, he’d promised to help her, and help her he would, but in the meantime, he sorely wished she would join him beneath the blankets.
Even from where Keane lay, he could tell that she was shivering beneath her fancy cloak, despite the added benefit of his breacan.
And in spite of her threats to leave, she had stayed.
By now, he was pretty sure that whatever it was that awaited her out there…
she feared that far more than she did Keane or his men.
Stubborn lass.
He wished she would relent. Though if there was one thing he’d learned in dealing with his sisters, it was that there was only so far a man could go to assert his will. He’d crossed that line but a few times before his sisters quite rudely put him in his place.
To that effect, Lianae reminded him most of Lael, although there was a softness about her that his sister did not possess.
She was more like his brother’s wife—prickly, but gentle in her bearing.
She appeared every bit a lady in her English finery, and yet she had mettle—a trait that fit quite neatly with the dún Scoti women.
Years of living in the Mounth and fending for themselves had given the dún Scoti womenfolk far less complicated tastes, but they were no less capable of leading men about by their noses.
Strong women were valued by his kinsmen, and in fact, in days gone by, the line of kingship had come to them, not through their fathers, but through their mothers.
Lianae reminded him of a queen. Like a lodestone, his gaze was drawn to her.
She was seated atop a ruined stoop, warming her hands with the heat of her breath, though her gaze remained riveted upon the campfire. Every once in a while, she would peer over her shoulder at the dark forest behind her, but then she returned to stare longingly at the flames.
Stubborn lass, he thought again.
Full of pride and too headstrong for her own good, she would rather freeze to death than join his men beside the fire.
Well, she wasn’t going anywhere, he realized.
And he’d made it perfectly clear to his men that they should leave her be.
Once the girl was cold enough, she would seek his bed, he had no doubt.
She didn’t strike him as witless or foolish, and on nights like these, both man and beast knew better than to sleep alone.
Even the horses were all huddled together beneath the tarp and his men were heaped beneath another, with adjoining pallets that made good use of body heat and blankets.
Crowded and a jumble of limbs, Keane would warrant that not a single one of them would complain about feet wandering beneath the blankets tonight.
In fact, he was quite certain the most coveted spots to place one’s toes were beneath another mon’s arse cheeks—not that he wanted anyone near his own.
And yet that was not why he’d taken his pallet so far from the others.
His reasons for that were twofold: Now that he would take his place as their leader, it was important to make certain all the men knew their places.
Previously, he and Cameron had provided a strong, united front, one that bolstered them whenever they were unsettled.
But the second reason, and the one that held most sway, was simply that he would be far more approachable lying separately from his men.
For that reason, he’d chosen a spot half hidden from the rest of the pallets, beneath a broken eave, which should afford them a modicum of privacy.
No matter that they believed themselves equals, his sisters—all three—had never been very keen on sleeping near the men.
Not even Lael, who, far from considering herself Keane’s equal and thought herself above most men, would let her guard down enough to sleep comfortably amidst grown men.
Only Kellen had ever merited a spot upon her pallet—mostly because Aidan had refused to share his bed with a five-year-old, and somehow, Kellen had taken more to Lael than to any of the rest of his sisters when first he’d arrived in Dubhtolargg.
More oft than not, Lael would carve herself a place somewhere alone.
Turning onto his back, Keane placed one hand behind his head to stare up at the starless night, thinking about Lili’s son.
He would be ten and six by now, but he hadn’t seen the boy in five years—not since the day Keane left the vale.
Out of everyone, he missed his sister Cailin most of all.
For most of their life the two had been inseparable.
The night was calm, but there was a sting in the air that promised colder weather yet.
Snow lit upon his lashes, but he didn’t particularly care.
Back in the vale, he’d spent many a night just like this…
and he wondered what his sister Cailin would say if she could spy him now…
sleeping in a heap of rubble merely to say he’d slept one day in the cradle of their kin.
He thought of Meara next, the lass he’d once believed he’d loved.
But to little avail, he tried to picture her face.
It eluded him now, after so long. She was fourteen when she’d died of fever from a contaminated well and she went so fast that Keane scarce had time to blink.
One day she was giggling, spying on him at Caoineag’s Pool, and the next, she was lying upon a pyre.
“May I?” asked a soft, feminine voice, interrupting his reverie.
Keane blinked, turning to find, not Meara, but Lianae standing a few feet away.
There was nothing similar about them. Meara had had dark lovely hair and bright green eyes while Lianae reminded him of a burnished idol.
Arms crossed and shivering ferociously, she stared at him longingly—or rather, not at Keane, but at his blanket.
All thoughts of Meara vanished at once.
Smiling, Keane lifted the blanket in welcome.