Ruthless (45 page)

Olaf was easy to spot with his fiery red hair
long and shaggy around his shoulders. He dressed as his warriors.
She had never seen him thus. A man who had once looked like an
ordinary Highlander now looked like a savage.

Feradoch, too, was visible. He was the only
warrior to shun his heritage. She snorted, knowing he felt himself
too comely to cover his body with ugly clothing. His hair blew like
a silky, yellow pennant in the wind.

Only the soldiers following Olaf and Feradoch
wore their Viking helmets. Those riding behind them were without
armor on their heads, but round leather shields hung from their
arms. They carried bows and full quivers across their shoulders.
Claymore's across their backs. Did they expect an easy capitulation
from Clibrick?

She knew what they thought. Olaf would
convince Magnus to hand over herself and Esa. Because of his
terrible vow! Her stomach churned. She looked toward the helmet
stand. Olaf's ancient helmet he'd given Magnus at the blood oath
was gone! She prayed he would not wear it. It would only serve as a
reminder of what he had vowed.

The sun had risen before the balance of
Olaf's army had splashed onto the beach afore Clibrick Castle.
Magnus was not surprised at their numbers, for he'd trained many of
them. Never had he thought he'd live to regret forcing them to be
skillful.

He did now.

Not a word came from Olaf. He calmly set up a
camp of tents spread clean across the far opening close to the
waters of the loch. He walked out onto a large layer of rocks on
the water then stood staring out over Loch Naver. He seemed sad to
Magnus. As though he didn't like being here.

Olaf wore only short wool around his middle
and animal pelts covered his chest. He'd left on his skin boots,
not caring waves splashed up on them. His shaggy, reddish hair flew
away from his face, and his beard ruffled in the stiff breeze. Did
he close his eyes and savor the feel of the sun and the mist on his
face?

Magnus tore his eyes from his foster father
and joined Angus and Graemme with their three commanders. They had
talked over and practiced all siege preparations since they'd first
learned Muriele had fled Kinbrace. Archers and slingers defended
the walls at each embrasure, ready to step behind the merlons when
fighting began. They were a massive show of force letting Olaf know
he wouldn't have an easy time of it.

Even the women and children had been busy.
Muriel and Esa had gathered them in the great hall. The women
brought every piece of clean cloth they could use for bandages.
They tore them in strips and rolled them in balls, following
Grunda's instructions. The older women were in charge of the
children. They took them up to the third floor where the windows
were too high for arrows to reach.

While Esa kept the women occupied, Muriele
and Grunda gathered herbs for cleaning, healing and lessening the
pain of wounds. Later in the day after all preparations were
completed, Muriele made sure the women armed themselves with their
eating knives. They brought down the oldest children and all went
out into the baileys where she told them to collect the biggest
stones they could find and build piles of them to keep a ready
supply for the slingers.

She watched from a tower window looking down
at the front barbican where Magnus, his father and Gramme stood.
Olaf and Feradoch rode their horses close to the walls, showing
they had no weapons. Having lived with Angus through most of his
life, Feradoch knew Chief Angus would never order Clibrick warriors
to attack unarmed men.

Muriele shivered when she heard Chief Olaf's
thunderous voice.

"Angus, meet us on open ground. Unarmed. As
we are. We fathers have shared our sons. Surely we can settle this
vow without bloodshed between us."

Magnus stepped in the open embrasure above
the barbican. With his hands on his hips, his head held high, he
looked half Highlander and half fierce Viking.

"We agree. We can settle this peacefully when
all the facts are known," he answered.

She watched, horrified as Chief Angus and
Magnus went down to the barbican door and laid their weapons aside.
The guards opened the iron-studded door enough for each man to pass
through, and then slammed the oak beam down on the supports. Every
archer on the walls nocked an arrow and aimed their weapons at the
two Vikings.

They no sooner approached the men than
Feradoch started making demands.

"As your blood brother, you must honor your
oath to avenge me. The witch-woman Muriele killed the lass Esa. She
..."

Magnus held up his hand for silence. "Esa
isna dead."

"She is. I saw her dead body myself and had
her disposed of in the woods," Chief Olaf said.

"Look atop the barbican." Magnus turned and
bellowed, "Sweyn, bring Esa forward!"

Sweyn reached behind him and took Esa's hand
to bring her to stand at his side. She glared down at Feradoch with
such contempt he flinched.

No one could mistake the dusky beauty nor
fail to recognize her throaty voice.

"I live, though Feradoch tried to throttle
me. Had Muriele not stopped him when she did, Grunda wouldn't have
been able to save me."

Olaf called to Sweyn, "Have the lass turn
around so we may see 'tis truly her."

Esa put her arms in the air and stood before
an embrasure. She turned slowly, several times, letting them see
her unmistakable tall body and black tightly curled hair. She
stopped when Sweyn took her shoulders and gently put her behind him
again.

Olaf looked his son in the eye, but Feradoch
broke the contact. Olaf's shoulders were a little less straight. A
crease formed between his eyes.

"So Esa lives! The witch Muriele still has to
pay for trying to kill me!" Feradoch shouted.

Olaf's eyes chilled as he looked at Angus.
"Esa doesn't matter. Keep her. But Muriele must return with us.
Your son will honor his vow else I will topple this castle to the
ground till naught is left but stones."

"Esa matters," Angus said. "Because she
lives, she and Grunda told us what occurred that night. Feradoch
thrashed Muriele with his belt and tried to kill Esa. I canna call
what Lady Muriele did was treachery to my foster son, but defense
for herself and her friend.

Feradoch stepped belligerently forward, his
nose almost meeting Angus' own. "They tell you lies, old fool. She
was born with the mark of a knife's blade betwixt her shoulders.
Could anyone but a witch cut with a blade made of skin?" He
straightened and showed a small scar on his arm then stepped
back.

"Ye are daft!" Magnus near snorted with
disgust. "Her stepfather's to blame for branding her. And ye are to
blame for thrashing her. The stones on yer belt left unmistakable
scars on her skin."

Olaf frowned at Feradoch then looked back at
Magnus. "There is no blame in a man thrashing a woman. But it is
treachery when Muriel tried to kill him on the night of their
handfast."

Angus spoke up. "There was no treachery. She
didna stab him for the beating but was trying to save her friend.
Think on it. I have a priest inside the chapel. We will ask him to
help settle this. What say you we cool our tempers and meet again
afore nightfall?"

Feradoch scowled, ruining the beauty of his
face.

"Nay, we settle it now. Send for the
priest!"

"As you wish. Fergus, send Father David to
us."

Muriele waited with Esa at the solar window
where they could see the clearing beyond the castle walls. When a
knight escorted the priest to the two Chiefs, she wondered if Olaf
had thought of some ploy to force Magnus to return her. How she
wished she were the witch they claimed. If so, she'd turn herself
into a mouse and scurry close to overhear them. Her stomach sank.
Mayhap she should make plans now to escape from the castle.

As she quietly threaded her way through the
women in the solar, bits and pieces of the women's whispers drifted
to her. It seemed some thought she should return to Kinbrace. As
many of them knew Feradoch, they were fearful if the Gunns won the
battle, they and their families' lives would become a living Hell.
Those who Feradoch had branded and forced to be his leman wanted
Chief Angus to fight and drive him away.

Below in the clearing, young Father David
listened closely to Feradoch. The priest's face was pale, his
expression earnest. Magnus hoped he wasn't afeared of the Gunns'
fierce appearance. He certainly looked it.

"Uh, hmm, I agree. I do not believe there is
anything wrong in beating a woman."

Feradoch's face brightened with triumph.

"But," the priest continued, "the weapon for
punishment should be as church law stipulates. A stone riddled
belt, no matter how beautiful, is not the same as a twig as large
as your thumb."

"Shite on you!" Feradoch shook his fist in
the priest's face.

The warrior guarding Father David shoved
himself between them.

Feradoch didn't care that he cursed at a
priest. "There still is her crime of trying to murder me." He
looked at him with scorn. "You hide like a scullery maid. Step
forward like a man. There is no church law saying an eating knife
is not a weapon!"

Father David took the warrior's arms and
urged him to move aside.

"Nay. It is a weapon, truly. But Lady Muriele
used it in defense of saving another soul." He looked around at all
of them. "Of the men you have killed, surely there were many you
did to save someone else."

Olaf grabbed his son's shoulders to keep him
from attacking the priest. Feradoch near frothed at the mouth on
hearing Muriele defended. When they were far enough away, the Chief
shook him and whispered fiercely.

Feradoch's eyes gleamed with triumph when
they returned.

"Father David, we have a religious problem
for you to solve. The Lady Muriele and I declared a handfast on the
night she fled. She should be returned to me and honor her holy
vows." His chest expanded with triumph. His smile became evil.

Father David ran a hand over his cheeks and
mouth. He looked to be searching for the right words before he
spoke again. Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath.

"The Lady Muriele told me with Chief Angus,
Sir Magnus and the castle commanders as witnesses, the handfast was
not consummated. She has been absent from you for more than a year,
most of the time sequestered in a convent with no other men. Just
two days past, I joined Lady Muriele and Sir Magnus as man and wife
by the holy sacrament of marriage."

"What about...." Chief Olaf started.

"I myself observed the marriage consummated.
Thoroughly, I might add." The priest's blush was so red all his
blood must have gone to his face.

Feradoch screamed and leapt at Magnus.
Magnus' heart lurched. Where had his foster brother hidden the
knife? It must have been within a pocket of his bright blue
tunic.

Magnus raised his right arm to defend
himself. When Feradoch struck, their arms clashed. Magnus shoved as
hard as he could, deflecting Feradoch's aim. The blade grated
against the top of Magnus's collarbone and ripped through the flesh
of his shoulder.

He jumped back, then crouched and waited for
the next attempt. When his father and Chief Olaf tried to step
between them to intercede, he would have none of it.

"Dinna intrude!" Magnus yelled. "We will
settle this."

The two fathers moved back. Both armies
bristled with arrows already held in taut bows, waiting for their
Chief's signal.

Olaf shouted and waved at his men to stay
away. Angus put up his hand toward the battlements in a hold
gesture. The priest grabbed his cross and started feverishly
praying.

o0o

Muriele had already found a way to leave the
castle. When the negotiations had begun, several of the men
guarding the postern gate had run along the wall walks to watch the
men below, leaving fewer guards. She had just taken her opportunity
to slip out when she heard the men on the barbican shouting.

She pulled her skirts up above her knees. Her
long legs and fear made her run as fleet as a doe. She skidded to a
halt behind the priest. He jumped near out of his robes when he
heard her panting breath behind him.

"Nayyyy!" She screamed and ran toward Magnus,
her short sword in hand.

Chief Angus grabbed her arm and swung her
back to him. His iron vise around her kept her still, though she
struggled like a woman accursed.

"Dinna distract him, daughter. He will fight
his own battle and not thank you for interfering."

How could he be so calm? Her heart fluttered
and jerked until she was near dizzy from its haphazard beat. The
men grappled on the ground. Magnus left hand clenched Feradoch's
wrist holding the knife. Feradoch was able to twist his arm enough
Magnus lost his hold. He sprang back and crouched, circled and
watched for an opening beneath Feradoch's weapon.

Whenever Feradoch struck out with the knife,
Magnus ducked and dodged avoiding it. Blood covered the front of
his clothing and dripped to the ground. Muriele whimpered and bit
her tongue to keep from distracting him.

Finally, Magnus sprung at Feradoch and
grabbed his arm again. Feradoch kicked Magnus' leg and topped him
onto his back. The muscles in their sweaty arms strained as
Feradoch's blade aimed for Magnus' neck. Where they were near equal
in their wresting skills, it forced Magnus to use his left hand,
weakened from the shoulder wound.

Feradoch used his body's weight to force the
knife closer until the tip was near Magnus' throat. Feradoch
snarled and ground out words filled with hate. "All these years,
you stole my father's love. You deserve to die, you bastard!"

Magnus grunted and gave a mighty heave with
his legs until they rolled over. Now, 'twas Feradoch's back on the
ground.