Chapter Twenty-four Return to Dundurn
Chapter Twenty-four
Return to Dundurn
Hea shifted on the sack of grain, easing the cramp in her left thigh and the numbness in her backside. After long days of travel, she was beginning to loathe the rickety cart upon which she traveled.
Her faithful pony, Rowan, now belonged to one of the Pict warriors. She had trudged along behind the wagons for the first few days, until her feet grew sore, although now she regretted opting for the wagon.
It had been a relief initially, but days on she had never been so physically uncomfortable.
Rinan sat opposite her, back propped up against the slatted wooden side of the wagon.
His eyes were closed, his face pinched in discomfort.
However, he was one of the more fortunate among the injured—over the last few days they had lost six men, all of whom had died from their wounds.
Rinan bore many lacerations down his right side, but none had festered.
Rinan did not seem to care. His mood had turned morose, and he snarled at anyone who spoke to him. Not that Hea bothered with him—her own mood was bleak enough as it was without him darkening it.
Since their departure from Nechtansmere, she had barely seen Bridei and had not spoken to him. Each evening, one of his men came to find her and escorted her to his tent, where she found food and drink waiting for her. But Bridei never showed his face, clearly sleeping elsewhere.
The situation made Hea feel uneasy. At first, his absence in the tent had come as a relief, for things had been so awkward between them after the battle.
But as the days wore on, she found herself worrying over it.
Their conversation in his tent that night had been tense, full of things unsaid …
perhaps Bridei was sore over it. Maybe he was playing with her.
He rode at the head of his army now, and Hea had only caught a glimpse of him at dawn that morning as he saddled his stallion—a massive, bay beast with hooves the size of iron griddles.
Bridei had turned, catching her watching him, before favoring her with a cocky grin.
Then he had turned away and resumed saddling his horse.
The frequency at which Hea’s thoughts returned to him, made her angry at herself.
What does it matter to you? Best he leaves you be … best you never speak again.
But she could not ignore the twist of grief deep within her as the last of her hopes frayed and snapped, casting her adrift in a sea of desolation.
Deep inside she was still that pitiful waif of a girl who had followed Bridei around the streets of Bebbanburg.
Even now, after everything she had been through, he still had a hold on her.
Loneliness cast its net over Hea when she considered her fate, turning the days dim and the wind cold. She was fast reaching the point where she did not care what happened to her. She only wished for the end to come swiftly.
The cart hit a pot-hole and jolted, dislodging Hea from her perch and launching her onto Rinan’s lap.
Rudely awakened, the warrior gave a yelp as Hea scrambled off him.
“Devil’s turds,” he wheezed, his eyes watering with pain. “You kneed me in the cods.”
Hea gritted her teeth and clambered back onto the sack. She could not bring herself to apologize, for she had not deliberately injured him. Plus … he deserved it. “It’s the road,” she muttered. “It’s badly rutted.”
Rinan glowered at her a moment before pulling himself up so that he could survey their surroundings.
They followed the tail-end of the vast Pict army, which snaked like a great crawling beast through a verdant valley.
Wildflowers and heather bloomed on the hillsides, and the sky was robin’s egg blue.
The sun was hot on their faces, cooled by a soft breeze that blew in from the southeast.
It was a beautiful early summer’s day, yet the glory of it appeared lost upon Rinan. His scowl deepened. “Where are we?”
Hea shrugged. “I have no idea … they tell me no more than you.”
Rinan’s pale-blue gaze shifted to her. “You expect me to believe that?”
Hea held his gaze, her irritation rising. “Believe what you want. I have nothing to tell you.”
Rinan’s mouth thinned. “Prickly today, wicce. What’s wrong … vexed your lover is ignoring you?”
Hea resisted the urge to throw herself at Rinan and rake her nails down his face. Was it so obvious? Was she that transparent that even a clod-headed dolt like Rinan could see it?
Like Ecgfrith, Rinan must also have known of her brief affair with Bridei during his stay in Bebbanburg. She should not have been surprised—the fort was small enough that few things went unnoticed. Even so, the smug look on Rinan’s face caused her temper to flare.
“What happened between Bridei and me is over with,” she replied, biting the words out. “He’s now my enemy, as much as he is yours.”
Rinan huffed out a laugh, wincing as the healing wounds on his chest hurt him. “If you say so … although your words sound hollow to me.”
Hea swallowed a bitter response. She wanted to rage at him, curse him. Only, such an outburst would draw attention to her … would prove him right.
A sight on the southern horizon drew Hea’s attention then—a welcome distraction from Rinan. Stiffening, she turned to look.
A vast hilltop fort hove into view. Five tiers cut into a green, domed hillside, ringed by grey stone. The Pict fort climbed the hillside, crowned at the top by a great stone building that resembled a beehive.
Seeing her attention shift, Rinan twisted round, his gaze traveling west to the fort. “So this is the fabled Dundurn.” His words were bitter, but Hea caught the awe in his voice nonetheless. Like her, the grandeur of Bridei’s stronghold surprised him.
“Aye,” she whispered, her voice catching. “Our new home.”
On the way in, Hea caught sight of rows of stone cairns carpeting a nearby hillside. The army did not stop at the burial mounds, instead making straight for the fort.
The procession snaked around the base of the hill, and along the banks of a glittering burn, before men and horses clattered across the bridge leading into the fort’s lowest level. A deep ditch filled with iron spikes ringed the outer defenses, a sight that made Hea tense.
Bridei lived as a man under siege.
Clinging to the sides of the wagon, and gritting her teeth against each bone-shuddering jolt, Hea took in her surroundings.
Crowds of folk came out to welcome Bridei and his men home.
Cries echoed out across the hillside. Hea watched, fascinated.
The Picts were predominantly dark-haired.
They were not as tall as her own folk, and many were of a lighter build.
The men wore little, save plaid or leather breeches, and the women wore long, swishing plaid skirts and tightly laced leather tunics.
Hea noticed some of the women wore nothing more than a strip of leather across their breasts, exposing their midriffs.
Hea knew she was staring, but she did not care; likewise, the Picts stared back.
She and Rinan were the enemy—but the sight of her bright, untamed mane and his shock of straw-colored hair momentarily overrode any hostility the folk of Dundurn might feel toward them.
Hea knew Heolstor lived among them, but few of them had seen a man with yellow hair before.
The children chattered and pointed before their mothers shushed them. They need not have bothered, for Hea did not understand a word. They spoke a lyrical, lilting language that was pleasing to the ear. It made Hea’s own tongue sound guttural and grating in comparison.
Next to Hea, Rinan sank back down in the wagon, his expression morose. “Savages,” he muttered. “The devil take them all.”
Hea ignored him. Instead, she clung to the side of the wagon as it began its bumpy ascent up through the levels.
The road wound its way up the hill, passing low stone houses with conical roofs of turf or thatch.
The dwellings were so low to the ground that Hea realized they must be dug out of the earth—a wise choice for the winters would be bitter this far north.
Other smaller buildings with conical roofs—most likely storehouses—scattered the terraces, interspersed by wooden enclosures where goats bleated and fowl scratched for grain.
Up and up they went, each level filled with livestock, vegetable plots, and homes, until they rumbled up the final incline toward the fort itself.
Hea craned her neck, taking in the solid round tower. It was windowless, although smoke drifted from two points in its roof. This close, Bridei’s fortress appeared huge; bigger even than the Great Tower of Bebbanburg.
Crowds of folk waited for them here, and amongst the cries of joy at their return, Hea heard wails of grief—as some of the women discovered that their man had been among the fallen.
Hea’s throat constricted at the mournful sound. That was the nature of war, for even victory was bittersweet.
A tall, stone wall loomed before them, the tallest of any they had encountered so far.
Upon it, Hea spied the outlines of men, watching their approach.
Her chest tightened, and she looked down.
The journey west had seemed endless at times; long hard days of travel where she had spoken to no one.
Guilt had consumed her for most of it, and she had cut herself off from her surroundings as she went over the events of the past few months.
How could my vision be so wrong?
To think she had agonized over Bridei’s fate, when he had never been in any danger. All this time, it had been Ecgfrith who had been riding to his doom.
But now they had reached their destination, none of that mattered. Hea had her own future to worry about.
One way or another, her fate would soon be decided.
Bridei rode under the great arch, Croí Cróga’s huge hooves clattering on the wooden bridge, and glanced up at his broch rising like a giant before him. A smile spread across Bridei’s face.
It was good to be home.
He glanced across at where Heolstor rode next to him and saw his friend was also smiling, his blue eyes scanning the crowd that poured out of the broch to meet them.
Heolstor had good reason for his high spirits, for Ciara would be waiting for him.
The woman flew down the steps from the broch and launched herself across the yard toward her husband. Heolstor was ready for her. He swung down from his horse, caught her in his arms, and kissed her soundly. Hoots, lewd shouts, and whistles echoed around them, but the lovers paid them no heed.
Bridei grinned. Heolstor had a knack for the dramatic.
Turning away from the couple, Bridei dismounted Croí Cróga and led him toward the stable complex at the base of the broch.
He felt bone-weary this afternoon and thirsted for a cool cup of ale before stretching out on the furs.
It was as if all the tension of the past few weeks suddenly poured out of him.
He could have slept for a moon.
Bridei was rubbing down his stallion with a twist of straw when Heolstor finally entered the stables. The man looked insufferably pleased with himself.
Tying up his own mount next to Bridei’s, he set to unsaddling it. A few companionable moments passed before Heolstor turned to Bridei and caught his eye. “So what are you going to do with Hea?”
Bridei shrugged, pretending he had not thought about it … when in reality, he had thought of little else. “Not sure.”
“Will you make her your bed slave?”
Bridei scowled, not appreciating the directness of Heolstor’s question. “I don’t know.”
“Well if you don’t, another warrior is bound to claim her.”
Bridei’s soft, warning growl made Heolstor grin. He held Bridei’s gaze and gave a wry shake of his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“What?” Heolstor’s smugness was starting to wear upon Bridei now. If he was not careful, Bridei would wipe that grin off his face.
“The great Bridei mac Beli … slayer of men, charmer of women. It seems you’ve finally come undone.”
Bridei scowled. “You talk rot sometimes.”
Heolstor threw back his head and laughed. “I see it now … why you were so evil-tempered after leaving Bebbanburg. Why you cast Una from your furs. All this time you’ve been pining for Hea.”
Bridei snorted. “Cods. I’ve barely spoken to the woman in days.”
Heolstor merely shrugged, still wearing that infuriating smile. “Aye, and I don’t know whose benefit it’s been for … but it hasn’t been yours.”
Bridei glowered at him. “She’s been through a lot. I was only trying to give her some time.”
“Time for what? To realize you’re a dolt? To decide she really does hate you?”
“Enough,” Bridei snarled. He knew Heolstor was only teasing him—and he usually enjoyed their banter—but he lacked a sense of humor where Hea was concerned. Heolstor’s words cut too close to the bone. “Instead of baiting me, why don’t you go and ride your wife.”
Heolstor grinned back at him. “Aye, I intend to.”