Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
T air paced the passages of Gealladh for half the day, trying to find a task that would divert his thoughts from Lucy, who seemed bent on tying his cock in a knot.
He growled at maids who stepped into his path, and made every guard he passed stiffen.
Outside the sky grew dark yet again with storm clouds that had lingered since early morn.
If he did not soon resolve this standoff between him and his wench, the whirlwinds would soon come and raze the highlands until nothing made by mortals remained intact.
All for a woman whom he’d already given great pleasure, and who denied herself more for some silly facking notion.
He ended up in the lists, where he saw the war master checking the blunted blades and staves the garrison used for sparring.
Cath remained vigilant about such things, for he knew that in the heat of a match the men could sometimes lose their control and attack each other in earnest. That often resulted in unwanted injuries.
Tair appreciated his concern for the men, yet at the same time it annoyed him so much he wanted to punch his war master in the head.
“You’ve naught to do but make more work for the smith?” he demanded.
Cath gave him a sideways glance. “Do you wish me rule over the clan in your stead?”
Being reminded that the war master was his older and much stronger brother, and had basically allowed him to become laird, only made Tair’s temper boil higher. Lightning streaked overhead, jumping from one cloud to the next.
“I need your aid.” He forced out the words. “How many mortal wenches do you take to your bed?”
“No more than three or four at once.” Thanks to their sire’s brutal training during his boyhood, Cath had never learned how to laugh or smile, but something like amusement filled his eyes as he met Tair’s gaze.
“You mean, in all? I dinnae count them, my lord, but a fair amount. Less than a town, more than a village.”
He grunted. “How do you persuade them come to you? ”
“I ask, most come. A few offer and I go to them.” The war master peered at him. “You wish to ken how to lure…but you’ve bedded Lucy Brooke.”
“Once,” he said, and then knew it was a mistake to admit as much. “’Tisnae about Lucy.”
“You facked her but one time?” Cath shook his head. “Doesnae she ken how to pleasure a man? Mayhap you should gift the wench to me. I’ll keep her abed and shrieking my name until she learns how to use that fetching wee arse.”
A faint red haze came over Tair’s vision. “Dinnae speak of her as you do your hoors.”
“Do you jest? She’s but a mortal wench, like any other.” The war master peered at him. “Ah, now the truth unveils. You fancy that female. Why? She’s a mannerless slut with no home, no family–”
That was all Cath got out before Tair’s fist collided with his chin, sending him sprawling back against a straw target. The pole snapped as he seized and brandished it like a club, his skinwork coming alive with copper-violet light and crawling over his dark skin.
“Do you wish for death?” Cath demanded.
His fist didn’t care how lethal his brother was. “Serve as my cluet then, you friendless castoff.”
The insult worked better than a second punch; the war master let out a vicious curse as he lunged for him.
Tair grabbed him and used the power of his attack to sling them both to the ground.
Dirt flew as they rolled and grappled and hammered at each other, splitting the skin over their knuckles with the force of the blows.
He tasted salt and blood, making his darkness billow up inside him.
With all his might he kept the madness from overtaking him, for Cath’s tattoos had gone still and dark again.
They ended up jerking away from each other, scrambling to their feet and retreating to opposite sides of the sparring circle.
“Bastart.” The war master swiped his mouth with the back of his fist. “Rune didnae cast me off. He brought me here to keep me alive and find my mortal kin.”
Tair hid his surprise behind a grunt; Cath never spoke of the past. Then again, he had been acting oddly of late. “You missed your mortal màthair so much you couldnae abide the paradise of Elphyne?”
“That lady drowned herself just after he took me from her.” He looked away, but not before pain flashed across his battered face.
“The dark Fae wouldnae cease bracing me, for to them halflings, they’re naught but an abomination.
The only reason I wished remain in Elphyne, ’twas gone.
You’re my only family, you and the other halflings Rune littered across this realm. ”
Tair knew Cath was older than the rest of them, but now he wondered how much older. “Had he sired me on Brenna by the time you came?”
“Aye. As a young lad I watched her swell with you.” He rubbed his right side. “My skin, ’tis yeukin, my lord. Do you wish beat on me again, or shall your temper subside?”
No one ever wanted to hear that the war master had itchy skin.
“Dinnae tempt me crack more of your ribs.” Tair glanced up at the tower where Lucy would be pacing the floor of his bed chamber. “She’s no hoor, Cath. I cannae use coin to tempt her. Nor do words reach her.”
“Mayhap she’s fearful. She comes from a different time,” the war master said.
“’Tis unwise for you to show your desire for her so openly.
Vassals gossip, and the villagers, they’re no’ blind.
Once you send her to the village, our enemies shall take her and use her against you—or cause her to suffer and die an agonizing end to torment you eternally.
” He nodded when Tair glared at him. “You ken I speak truth.”
“Aye.” He hated admitting he was wrong, but his war master’s warning stabbed deep. “I dinnae ken what to do with the wench.”
“Think of her life, how short it shall prove, and the happiness you cannae give her. You may never sire her bairns, nor grow old with her.” Cath came to stand beside him.
“I gave my heart to a mortal long ago. I didnae wish to, but you ken how they creep into your every thought, and remain there, like ticks burrowed deep.”
Although his comparison seemed quite apt, Tair doubted Lucy would appreciate being compared to a blood-sucking parasite. “Never tell a wench such.”
“Heed your own counsel, my lord.” The war master bowed and strode into the stronghold, passing Lochran as he did.
The blindfolded man joined him and bowed. “Need you another sparring partner, my lord?”
He regarded him. How the only man in the clan who became blind during the day could tell who he was with his eyes bound shut he would never understand. “Someday you must teach me your trick for fathoming everything with no sight, Night Watch.”
“You must learn the stink of every brother’s sweat,” Lochran told him. “’Tis peculiar to each of you. Cath smells of bread.”
“Dinnae tell me I reek of flowers,” Tair bit out, “or my fists shall answer.”
His mouth hitched. “Of late, you smell of Mistress Brooke.” He held up one hand. “Dinnae clout me for daring to speak her name.”
“I’ve fought enough for one day.” Tair glanced up at the sky, which was beginning to clear, thanks to his bout with the war master eliminating some of his temper. “Did you come in search of me for some reason, Night Watch, or only to prod me?”
Lochran produced a small scroll. “Our men, they’ve confirmed the MacAlen’s claims. Magistrate Duff shall be selling a dozen criminals he’s jailed to slavers when the bastarts arrive.
They’ve also learned the caravan brings twenty more bound to be sold to a dockside brothel in the east. ’Twould seem that the MacAlen sent his own men to search for the slavers, for our scouts took pains to avoid crossing their path. ”
“Fack the MacAlen. Nosy bastart.” Tair took the message and read it for himself. “Take this to Dorchad, and have him choose the men we’ll use on the raid. Ask Sgathan where these caravans encamp when they come to the highlands. Say naught of this to Mistress Brooke.”
The Night Watch chief bowed. “As you command, my lord.”
A fter spending most of the day fruitlessly searching for the cluet, Lucy decided to skip the evening meal and take a tray to the laird’s chamber so she could sulk by herself. On the way to the kitchens she turned a corner and promptly walked into a hard chest.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t look, ah.” She gave Dorchad a pained smile. “Sorry. Please don’t attend to me yourself for what was clearly an accident.”
Without a word the chieftain took hold of her arm and marched her down to the end of the passage, where he shoved her into an open doorway. Lucy nearly tripped over a bunch of sacks as she tried to put some space between her and the demonic MacRune, who had shut the door and bolted it.
“Really, I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, holding up her hands. “Sorry.”
Dorchad folded his arms and leaned back against the door. “I didnae bring you here to beat you, or make you beg, Mistress Brooke. I but wish to talk.”
“Talking’s lovely.” Lucy tried not to make it obvious that she had her back pressed against the wall by copying his stance. “How have you been? The weather’s rather nice, don’t you think? Well, before all those storms yesterday, I mean–”
“I shall talk,” he told her. “You shall listen.”
Wanker. She nodded, keeping her expression pleasant. Sodding wanker. Bloody evil sodding wanker.
“The laird desires you serve as his bed wench. You resist, and the storms come.” He gestured at the window slit. “They come every dawn now, and keep our vassals from their work for long hours.”
“I hadn’t noticed, actually,” she admitted. “Must be sleeping in, or the four meter thick walls. Maybe it’s both.”
Dorchad gave her a dark look before his gaze shifted and he stared at the wall behind her. “Cease your conniving and give him what he wants. ’Tisnae as if you’re a maiden.”
Was he embarrassed by talking about sex? Now this was an interesting development.