Chapter 13 #2
Tair exchanged a look with Dorchad, who shrugged. Left to him, the Chieftain would let the wench see how she’d been coddled. Mayhap ’twould still her tongue .
The laird folded her hands between his. “’Tis dangerous. You’re but a mortal, and easily slain.”
“I can help with the slaves,” she countered. “Cath said the women sometimes fight you out of fear. I could show them that they can trust you—assuming they can.”
Tair swore under his breath, but lifted one of her palms up to press it against his chest. “I shallnae lose you in the midst of a raid. You’ll no’ be near the fighting, and have Lochran by your side at all times.”
Lucy’s face glowed with affection. “I’ll be careful.”
As they embraced Dorchad left the chamber, more confused than angry now. On his way to the garrison hall he encountered his twin, who was carrying a tray with food and brew.
“Knock and wait,” he advised his brother. “Else you walk in on them facking in there.”
L ochran woke to the sound of his steward opening his trunks and taking out his fighting blades, and the scent of masking, a concoction peculiar to the clan that they used to conceal their features during their night raids.
Made from a paste of soot, beeswax and tallow, it completely covered their skin, making them appear like demonic shadows in the darkness.
“I didnae reckon the laird should choose me to accompany the raiding party,” he told Ninian as he kept his eyes shut and groped for his blindfold. “Who shall remain behind and oversee the stronghold? Seneschal?”
“Aye, my lord.” The steward came and placed the blindfold in his hand, lingering there and shifting his feet as Lochran tied it on.
“Tell me,” he said to Ninian, knowing the man only grew nervous when he had something unpleasant to report about the clan.
“The laird had a bout yesterday with Chieftain Dorchad, and beat him into the ground after they quarreled,” the steward said slowly. “Garia watched them fight, and later told me.”
Since both men tended to be more controlled than any others in the clan, this was indeed quite troubling. “Did your lass repeat what they said to each other?”
“She couldnae hear them from the gallery, but ’twas likely about Mistress Brooke,” Ninian said. “Chieftain’s spoke often about sending her away, while our lord seems to trust her more and more of late—enough to be with the raiding party. ”
He touched the steward’s arm. “Dinnae permit this worry you. I shall sort out the matter and make peace.”
“As ever you do, my lord.” He sounded relieved. “I’ll go and fetch your washing water.”
After tidying up and changing into his darkest garments, Lochran retrieved a garden knife and a quiver. He carried his tray down to the kitchens, and then walked to Sgathan’s work room. His keen ears detected the sounds of two voices within, so he listened for a moment.
“–your bruises shall fade, but the memories shallnae,” the seneschal was saying. “You cross too many lines with our brother, and he shall keep his word.”
“Do we serve a laird, or the laird’s wench?” Dorchad countered.
Lochran knocked once, which silenced both men, and then went inside. “Forgive me, Seneschal, but I wished speak with you about the night watch.” He turned his head in Dorchad’s direction. “I couldnae help overhear what you just said, Chieftain. You ken we serve Tair, of course.”
“Of late I cannae say,” Dorchad grumbled. “He so coddles the wench he places her above the clan.”
Lochran chuckled. “You mistake the matter entirely, Chieftain. Tair would never set a woman above the MacRune. She’s but his recompense for all his efforts on the side of right.”
“For our raiding?” Dorchad made a contemptuous sound. “Spare me your bizarre musings, Night Watch. The laird doesnae need any woman.”
“No one’s ever repaid Tair for what he’s done for us.
Think on just his efforts to civilize the MacRune, and teach us to be benevolent toward mortal kind,” he chided.
“He searched for all of us, did he no’? And brought us together to form the clan.
He built this place with us and gave everyone purpose.
Instead of preying on the weak and helpless, we rescue and protect them.
Did you forget that from the beginning ’tis ever been Tair’s efforts alone that changed us all? ”
The chieftain grunted. “So you say. Such matters no’ when the nosy wench strides about as if she’s the laird. She’s to ride with you tonight, if that interests you.” When Lochran didn’t reply, he said, “Our lord holds a grudge for me speaking against her.”
“Och, she’s lovely,” Lochran said, “and ’tisnae a man among us who hasnae imagined taking her to bed.
” As Dorchad uttered a low growl, he added, “Aside from you, Chieftain. The laird’s done all he can to keep us from surrendering to the darkness in our blood, you ungrateful whelp.
Now he wishes—for the first time—something for himself.
Out of spite you would be grudge him a woman? ” He shook his head .
“Make your peace with the lady, even if ’tis only in your heart,” Sgathan suggested. “You neednae involve yourself with her.”
“Do better,” Lochran said. “Guard her tonight on the raid if I am unable, and assure no harm comes to her. For showing her kindness, I’ll wager Tair shall truly forgive you.” He smiled. “Even the lady may find it in her heart to forgive you.”
He left the brothers in a thoughtful silence and made his way to the gardens, where he went to a patch of ground he cultivated himself, and pulled on his gloves before he used his knife to cut through the thickest stems. The thought of Lucy joining their raiding party seemed like a sign of more to come, although Lochran wasn’t sure why.
Once he had enough stalks to grip easily, he then bound their cut ends together with a cord and placed them into the quiver.
“Fair afternoon, Night Watch.” Lucy’s voice came from his right side, and then she made a startled sound. “Why are you growing stinging nettles, of all things?”
“Our weavers make cloth from them,” he said quite truthfully. “I should like the kind that grow to top three times the height of a tall man, but none of the traders in our ports go that far east. ”
“If you can’t tell me the truth, just say ‘you dinnae need ken’ like Tair does,” Lucy advised him gravely.
“’Tis for fashioning a weapon of my own design. I’m no’ one to wield swords and such, even in the dark of night.” Lochran drew the bundle of nettles out of the quiver. “You see? Dinnae touch, for their bite, ’tis most unpleasant and lasts for threeday.”
“I’ve run into stinging nettles before in my time,” she assured him. “How well does it work? I can’t see giving someone a bad rash as a weapon.”
“’Twill depend on how you wield the thing.” He replaced the bundle before gesturing to his blindfold. “Lash an attacker across the eyes with nettles, and ’twill blind him for a day or more.”
“But no permanent damage. That’s interesting.” She bumped her arm against his. “How did you think up something like this?”
“The healer in the village promised my lady màthair Senga ’twould cure my affliction, and permit me see in daylight.” He grimaced, recalling those terrible days he’d suffered the treatment. “As you ken, ’twasnae successful.”
“Your mother let the healer do that to you?” Lucy sounded angry now.
“She believed his claims at first.” He shrugged. “Once the swelling went down and I could see at night again, Senga went to his dwelling and gave him a thrashing with stinging nettles. She then bid the headman find a healer who wouldnae punish the sick and injured as that eejit had.”
“I like your mom.” She hesitated before she said, “Sorry. All of you have lost your families by now, haven’t you?”
“Some yet have kin living, but Tair arranged matters so that they believe us all long dead. ’Twas a kindness for our kin,” he added when Lucy made a soft, mournful sound.
“Our sire’s blood gives us all many boons we share with the dark Fae.
We shall never grow sick or age, but remain ever and always unchanged.
Those who desire immortality would envy and despise us if they learned of our nature.
Out of spite some might move against the clan in hopes of destroying us. ”
“No wonder you don’t want outsiders finding out about your secrets,” she said, her sadness obvious. “All you really have is each other.”
He shook his head. “Our vassals, they’re mortal, yet they willingly pledge to serve the clan and protect our secrets with each new generation.
They’ve never once betrayed the clan. We’ve a few allies here in the highlands that we trust as well.
’Tisnae a dreadful life for men with dark blood, Mistress Brooke. ”
“I agree. I think it’s admirable.” She let out a long breath. “I’m not one to carry weapons, either. Would you make a nettle whip for me? I’m joining you on the raid tonight.”
“So I’ve been told.” He turned to her. “Give me your hand so I may measure your grip.”