Ruthless (12 page)

Bending on one knee, he propped her against
the wall. When she winced and raised her hand to cushion her head,
he ran his fingers around her skull and found a lump behind her
right ear. 'Twas not the only one, for above her right eye, an
angry red bump began to swell.

"Who struck ye?"

Muriele pressed both hands to her temples,
hoping to still the walls spinning around her. They did not. She
closed her eyes for a bit and swallowed back a sharp retort to his
first foolish question then answered the second.

"I know not."

"Hmpf. Did ye give a man reason to think ye'd
swive him?"

"Give a man reason? I have paid no heed to
any man at Kinbrace."

He huffed in disbelief.

"Ye went to the warrior's quarters to tend
the hunter. Women dinna intrude where men sleep unless they are
servants. When there, ye did not give them cause to think ye eager
for bed sport?"

Muriele blinked and winced. "Where else would
we tend the hunter?"

"Nae in the warrior's barracks."

"On the dirty ground, then?"

Her eyes flashed fire at him. He ignored
her.

"The next time ye sustain an injury,
ye
should lie on the cobblestones."

"Dinna be foolish."

"Ha! Men are the foolish ones." When he
stiffened, she knew she had gone too far. "Any man who thinks me
easy to bed will find a knife betwixt his ribs."

"Brother, you'd best pay heed to her threat.
I wouldn't turn my back to her if I were you." Feradoch's voice,
though teasing, held a hint of warning.

"Ye dinna have to warn me. The Chief has
taught me well to place my trust in no one but the two of ye."

"Aye, Father has the right of it. But your
brother's greetings easily drew you in at Clibrick. You may be too
trusting with
your
family."

Magnus' brows near met in a warning frown to
quiet Feradoch. Grasping Muriele's chin, he turned her face from
side to side, noting her eyes when they faced the shadows and when
they looked into the lighted stairwell.

"I dinna think ye harmed yerself, though yer
forehead will be unsightly for a few days." He leaned back and
studied her face.

She hoped he could not read her thoughts, for
she wanted to scream she hadn't banged her own head back and forth
on the wall!

"Do ye think ye can get up?"

"Aye."

As he helped her to rise, he glanced around
them.

"Ye've strewn clothing over half the landing.
Once ye clean up here, see Cook for sustenance. Await me
there."

He waited until sure she stood on her own
then turned with Feradoch to go back to the front stairwell. He
shot one more command over his shoulder.

"And dinna lure men into the kitchens with
ye!"

Muriele held a taut rein on her temper. Her
hissed reply barely left her lips.

"Eejit!"

o0o

"Now what is this warning ye were about to
give?"

Magnus stopped midway down the stairwell and
stepped into a niche built into the thick walls. He stooped to look
out the arrow slit to see a clear, blue sky. Sunlight danced on the
blue waters of Loch Achnamoine, inviting him for a swim. The brisk
breeze changed his mind. Encountering the cold stone when he sat on
the narrow bench, his bare arse tightened with surprise. When his
balls cringed and shrank, he thought it wise to stand and adjust
his clothing, cushioning his flesh before he sat again.

"I've lived at Clibrick these many years.
I've learned much of your family by earning their confidence."
Feradoch hesitated and looked reluctant to tell Magnus something
hurtful.

"Cease with yer hints. Tell me what ye truly
mean."

"I wish to spare you any unpleasant surprises
when you return there." He shifted in his seat as if his arse, too,
resented the cold contact. "For nigh on seventeen years, Graemme
has been as an only son in your father's eyes. The Chief even
allows him to believe he will be commander over the warriors."

"Graemme has always known as first-born I
will some day take my father's place."

"He reports to Chief Angus he fears you will
stir trouble amongst the Morgan warriors. Word came to him you
slaughter without purpose."

"He has no reason to think I start combats
for the joy of killing."

"Truly? Did you not order five men hanged
because they swived one woman who was such a weakling she died?
They but sought a night's sport with the daughter."

Magnus snorted. "They were common churls who
raped and killed a noblewoman. Dinna forget it."

"Then the next day you led in beheading
several skilled warriors because of useless village children? Those
men could have swelled our ranks."

Magnus sucked his teeth in disgust. "They
were barely above savage beasts."

"An army of such men wins many victories."
Feradoch's lip curled with scorn.

"Nay. Their type canna be trusted or
trained."

Feradoch shrugged, dismissing Magnus' words.
"This killing of your so-called beasts lends truth to their worries
you live up to your name."

"My name?"

"Aye. Ruthless." Feradoch shook his head in
sympathy. "Tales have spread as far as Clibrick about the
blacksmith you hung last winter."

"The man killed his third wife within as many
years. I dinna think beating a woman to death because she failed to
give him a cockstand was reason to kill."

"'Tis not the way we heard it. Word came to
us he did them a kindness by killing them."

"A kindness?" Magnus' brows quirked. He
paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, mulling over Feradoch's
words.

"'Twas said you forced his wives to swive you
while he watched."

"Huh! I have ne'er forced a woman."

"Blood lust fills you after battle." Feradoch
shook his head in sympathy. "You truly dinna remember?"

"Ha! I truly
know
I never did such."
Magnus studied his blood brother's serene face. "What proof do ye
have?"

"I fear it is dead and buried. 'Tis why the
blacksmith killed them. He couldna bear to see their shame and
released them from their torment. Surely you recall spending
yourself then branding them?"

"Your tale gets more foolish by the word."
Magnus shook his head in disbelief. "The brand? Was it an 'M' for
my name or an 'R' for my character?"

"Neither. An eye opened wide. Staring. Above
the springy curls of their pleasure cave." Feradoch nodded and
continued. "You spat on the burn saying it would cool the
flesh."

Magnus snorted. "And ye believe the
blacksmith would make a branding iron for me to use on his
wives?"

Feradoch shrugged. "Not ours. Mayhap the
blacksmith at Clibrick forged it for you when you visited."

"Ha! Not even an eejit would consider such a
thing." Magnus' lids narrowed. As he studied the placid, blue eyes
gazing back at him, his lips tightened. "Enough of this. Ye can
assure Graemme no such thing occurred by my hand."

As Magnus stood to leave the niche, the back
of his neck prickled. Ever alert, he whipped his head to look
behind him.

He blinked and the hate flashing like fire
deep in Feradoch's gaze had disappeared.

Had he imagined it?

"
I
caused myself trouble?"

Muriele muttered and kicked a small stone on
the floor so hard it flew over a pair of crumpled breeches. She
reached down to grab the offending garments and near fell on her
face.

"Ohh!"

As the walls spun and the floor pitched, she
held her arms out at her sides to steady herself. Great gasps of
air kept her from spewing.

Once her stomach settled, she was more
cautious on how she gathered the rest of the laundry. Once it was
safely in her arms, she entered the bedchamber and stored Magnus'
clothing in his chest.

"The fool thinks I tempted some churl to
treat me like an animal?"

When had she started talking to herself? Did
the twin blows to her head make her brainsick?

She stepped over to peer into the polished
steel hanging over the washstand. Studying the throbbing lump on
her forehead, she turned her face to the side. Placing her fingers
cautiously on the swelling behind her ear, she tried to peer at it
from the corner of her eyes.

"Huh! I hope a plump fowl doesn't light on my
head and attempt to hatch them!"

She giggled at the silly thought. When Grunda
called her name from the open doorway, Muriele jumped.

"Ye would need two hens, lass. One in front
and one in back."

She hurried over to examine Muriele's
forehead and muttered a curse on the assailant. He'd probably awake
to a tarse no longer than his big toe come morning. With worried
eyes, she shook her head and clucked in sympathy.

Muriele grinned at her. "Dinna cluck too
loudly, else we'll have a flock of feathered friends hopping and
flying up the stairwells."

"Sit!"

She sat. Grunda gently parted Muriele's hair
in back and examined the swelling there.

"'Twill be sore when ye sleep this night, but
I dinna think the lout caused serious damage."

"Ah. Sir Magnus believes I caused it." She
snorted. "He acted like I'd sat on the hard floor and took turns
bouncing my head against the stone wall."

"Pfft! Men are fools!" She patted Muriele's
shoulder. "Did ye keep yer meal down?"

"I had naught to come up."

"Ye've not eaten since early morn?"

"Nay." She huffed in disgust. "He kindly
ordered me to the kitchen. Then he warned I should not lure men in
with me."

"Ye best ask Cook for something easy on the
stomach. I'll bring a potion for yer head to ease the ache.
Come."

Grunda stood to the side watching Muriele
walk across the room. "Ye seem to have yer balance back."

Muriele would have nodded in agreement, but
at the moment, she didn't think bobbing her head would be wise.

The kitchen stood outside the keep against
the right curtain wall, far enough from the Great Hall to provide
safety from fires. Though Muriele sat at a bench close to the open
doorway, sweat trickled down her spine. On the opposite wall, a
fireplace large enough to cook two oxen had a huge cauldron of soup
simmering. A second hung on its iron hook far to the right. 'Twas
stew from the noon meal kept warm for patrol warriors
returning.

Muriele watched Ivar the Stout, the head
cook, toss scraps of raw meat into the soup. When he'd cleared all
from the chopping block, he looked over the few hares the hunters
had provided for the day. He shook his head and frowned,
displeased.

From what she could tell, his wife was
responsible for making the food palatable—behind his back. Whenever
he turned, the red-faced woman tossed a handful of spices in the
pot and gave it a quick stir.

"The stew is quite tasty, Ivar. What is yer
secret?"

Muriele had tried to identify the contents of
the large bowl his wife placed in front of her. 'Twas obvious what
had started out as roasted mutton a day or two ago had become stew.
She came across pieces of stringy meat that was neither mutton nor
hare.

Ivar snorted, not bothering to answer.

"Huh! 'Tis the old rooster what chased him
around the well and pecked at his arse one time too many." His wife
swatted at two spindly boys who were too slow wielding their
paddles to remove round loaves of brown bread from the ovens on
each side of the fireplace.

Though lambs and pigs were fenced outside,
Muriele looked around the huge kitchen, puzzled at the small amount
of fresh-killed deer, wild hogs, hares and grouses.

"The hunters have had ill luck lately?"

"Aye." Ivar threw the plumpest hare onto the
chopping block and eyed her with dislike. He near growled when he
spoke. "From Blackbriar arrows!" Picking up a huge butcher knife,
he slammed it down with vigor, severing the head.

No doubt, he would have preferred her neck
beneath its blade.

o0o

Magnus strode across the front bailey,
unaware of anything around him. Had the smell not alerted him, he
would have trod through a pile of fresh horse dung. Hopping in a
quick side step, he avoided it.

For truth, light from the arrow slit had
played tricks on his sight in the alcove. He hesitated and stared
at the tip of his boots, pondering.

He knew of no reason for the silvery flash of
hatred in Feradoch's eyes.

As he entered the kitchen doorway, Ivar's
heated remark and the vicious strike of the knife drew his eyes to
Muriele. He expected her to freeze, her eyes wide, body stiff.

Instead, with squared shoulders and head held
high, she stared Ivar in the eyes. Her courage pleased him. When
Ivar turned away, she shoved a lock of hair back from her sweaty
forehead and winced on brushing against the purpling bruise.

"Grunda tells me ye were responsible for
supplying food while ye lived in the forest."

She had not heard him approach, for she
startled and her eyes widened. Just as quickly, calm spread over
her face.

"Aye."

"And afore the siege, ye went out with the
Blackbriar hunters and supplied as much as the best of them?" He
dragged over a tall stool and straddled the seat. If his stones had
a voice, they would have sighed in comfort from the heated wood. "I
dinna believe ye have the strength to bring down an animal larger
than a wild piglet."

"Huh!"

When he pricked her anger, she stiffened and
her jaws squared much as a man's would. The intriguing golden
flecks in her eyes turned to dark amber.

"Sweyn and I feasted on the hare stew ye
left."

She blinked. She had forgotten the food she'd
prepared for her mother's return. Her face fell as the memory
crashed in on her.

He stretched his shoulders backward. Her gaze
skittered away from looking any lower than his chin. Curious, he
leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs. Feeling bare
flesh there, he kenned her problem. From her low chair, her eyes
were level with his groin. He ignored it though his cock stirred
with pleasure.